The Knot Impossible

by Barbara Else

  Something like relief flickered in the King’s face.

  But out at sea, waves started to simmer hard at the circle’s mid-point. Under the skin of the sea were flashes of luminous green, surges of movement. At first Rufkin thought it must be a massive sea animal, but it seemed to break up—it re-formed, broke up again with bursts of green and bright blue swirling with sediment. Waves grew wilder, bubbling as the shape expanded and grew.

  Rufkin still held the magazine. It looked as if the magical image of King Jasper saw past his sister through the cabin window to the mist and sea. His expression had changed to one of shock. Rufkin glanced up to see rocks bursting through the waves. The magazine fell from his hands.

  “An island,” Queen Sibilla cried. “It’s an island!”

  Rock continued to heave out of the sea, blue and green steam fountaining from it.

  “Volcano,” Rufkin breathed.

  “Not quite,” said Lord Hodie.

  “Worse,” whispered the Queen.

  Mud and gravel rained on the deck of the Sea Honey, steamed and fizzed amidst the thrashing of water, the rumble of rocks groaning like a huge machine. The super-yacht trembled.

  Now the island began to settle in the form of a cone. The flares of green and blue lessened, but the whole place was surrounded by an unearthly glow.

  A clatter or two on the deck must be a last fall of pumice. Vosco’s hand gripped the side of Rufkin’s pants. The Queen had grabbed the little boy’s other hand. The Sea Honey steadied again. The roaring was just a low rumble.

  But a great ogre bellow sounded behind Rufkin. Under cover of the eruption, Goodabod had burst his manacles. He yanked apart Thunderhead’s cuffs and in the same movement knocked Hodie down.

  Murgott wheeled around. The butler, in handcuffs, lunged into him sideways. Littlewink threw his huge self at Goodabod, and the two mighty bodies began wrestling around the cabin. The Queen dived to snatch up Hodie’s pistol, but Hodie was on his feet again.

  Murgott grabbed the butler and heaved him behind a sofa. He aimed his gun at Thunderhead, but the man had grabbed the back of the Queen’s belt. He snatched her pistol and threw her aside. He set his shoulders into a corner and trained both guns on her. “Drop your pistol, Murgott!”

  Murgott’s weapon fell to the floor. Hodie was completely still. But the ogres still tumbled and roared, kicking and gouging. Goodabod struck the final blow. “I do harm at last to save myself!”

  Littlewink lay and looked at the cabin ceiling, maybe seeing stars.

  Thunderhead jerked one of the pistols at Rufkin. “Get the keys. Release the butler. Then get out of the way.”

  Rufkin hesitated. Thunderhead aimed his pistol at the floor near Rufkin’s feet, and fired.

  Murgott spoke in a hoarse voice. “Just do it, boy.”

  The butler struggled out from behind the sofa while Rufkin fished in Hodie’s combat jacket for the keys. As soon as he was freed, the butler released Calleena and the rest of the crew. In one more minute the cuffs were on Queen Sibilla, Murgott, and Hodie. Goodabod and the crew put all the spare sets on Littlewink, who was sitting up now.

  Rufkin—well, he just crouched with Vosco.

  By now the tip of the island had formed a glowing blue pit. Blue-black with licks of green flowed out like lava.

  Madam Butterly was pale. Even the ogres had turned a light blue. She took a step—she was tottery. She took another step to the door of the bow deck.

  “Don’t open it!” Lord Hodie cried. “The air will be poisonous.”

  “You think it’s a real volcano?” Calleena tried to laugh. Rufkin thought it more of a frightened gulp.

  Thunderhead ordered two crew to the engine room, one to the bridge. The others stayed, weapons ready. After a moment Thunderhead pressed a button by the door and spoke into an intercom. “Slow ahead.”

  The engine started again, and the Sea Honey made for the new island. Madam Butterly kept a hand on the door. The ships in the circle—all they could do was watch and wait, Rufkin supposed. Particles of shiny ash made it hard to focus, but the surface of the sea was unruffled now.

  The Sea Honey reached the new shore. Her bow eased into the shingle and the stones rose around to cradle her. In one stride even Rufkin could be standing on the new land itself.

  At last Madam Butterly slid the door wide.

  An eerie call cut through the air. Rufkin could almost see the sound caress the side of the island. He shook his head to clear his eyes, his ears. The call held huge loneliness but something more—a sort of triumph. As the cry echoed, the sides of the pit drew open.

  There lay a cavern where blue and green flickered and sparked. Deep in the fire, something started to shoulder into the ash of day.

  It was bigger by far than the shape Rufkin had seen in the ocean—that was a sprat compared to what emerged from the cavern. No King Jasper or dragon-eagle could battle a creature so massive. He could hardly tell it apart from the rocks themselves—it seemed to meld into them. Its head, only half-seen, had something that looked like a crown glowing a strange fiery green. What might be a tail seemed to have spines of green-black. This was the deep-dragon.

  Again the call came. Queen Sibilla let out a slow sigh. Rufkin stole a moment to look at her. Her eyes brimmed but her chin was high. The bandana was gone and her hair was spectacular crinkles. Even in handcuffs she had leaned as far towards Vosco as she could. And Lord Hodie stood close to her.

  Rufkin looked back towards the cavern.

  Madam Butterly was trembling so much she had to hold the side of the door. She beckoned Calleena.

  With shaky hands, Calleena straightened Vosco’s shirt. She led him near Madam Butterly.

  “No,” cried Queen Sibilla. “What are you doing…” Her voice choked up.

  Madam Butterly didn’t turn.

  None of the grown-ups looked able to speak, not even Murgott—not even Lord Hodie.

  It was up to Rufkin? “Stop!” he tried to cry, but his voice too was a useless husk.

  Madam Butterly folded her hands into the sleeves of her fur coat and glanced back at last. “It is a deal. When it comes to business, one must keep one’s word.”

  “What deal?” said Lord Hodie.

  “Mistakes can be made.” Madam Butterly moistened her lips before she continued. “Then one does one’s best to put them right. We can’t afford another mistake. You’ll soon be released. And you will thank me. All Fontania will thank me. Keep quiet. Wait.”

  For a moment the shape of the deep-dragon melded back into the rock.

  “The deep-dragon…” Madam Butterly’s voice stumbled. “I didn’t believe an old story about the reason magic resides in Fontania.” She gave a short laugh. “If reason is a word that can apply to magic.”

  Vosco shrugged away from Calleena and flopped on the floor. Only Rufkin seemed to notice him shove a hand under a chair. He dragged out the trumpet and stuck his hand back. For a moment there was a tickling game, Vosco’s fingers with the nose and whiskers of cat. Then the cat pushed out something purple with its front paws and they had a tussle game with the cat’s claws hooked into the pom-pom.

  Madam Butterly looked up the island at the vast shape only half-visible. “I broke through the lowest part of the mine and found a network of caverns—lazulite in brightest blue, great sculptures of crystal as if they’d been formed by an expert hand. Such riches—but there was a price. The deep-dragon lived there—it gave me three years. Three exact years.” She glanced at the clock with two faces. “I had to work fast. This was for everyone’s benefit.”

  Murgott growled with disgust. “That’s what Lady Gall said when she took charge of Fontania thirty years ago. Everyone’s benefit? Her own greed and wickedness.”

  Madam Butterly’s vain smile could have shattered glass. “A leader as commanding as Lady Gall deserved a disciple who surpassed her and reached new heights. A disciple who found she could control the greatest power in all of nature. You see her now.” She moved to
smile across the lounge into the carved frame. VIDA BUTTERLY. FOREVER VICTORIOUS. “Wealth is beautiful. Wealth rules. Wealth is Queen and King and Parliament,” said Madam Butterly.

  The hilt of the dagger showed at Queen Sibilla’s waist. The royal dagger. Her hands had been tied in front of her—she could reach it. Wouldn’t she use it at last? Surely she would be justified.

  Her eyes burned with anger. “But why take Vosco?”

  For a moment Madam Butterly looked the slightest bit sorry. “The deep-dragon’s youngling escaped through the mine. I promised a child in return if the youngling wasn’t found within the three years. Now, it has come down to one child in exchange for the safety of all of us. Or it truly is the end-of-days.”

  “No,” Rufkin tried to whisper but there was only silence.

  “His family. His parents,” breathed Queen Sibilla.

  “That’s why at first I wanted an orphan,” said Madam Butterly. “But his parents are busy with important issues and they have six other children. They won’t miss this last one.” She looked eager again. “And he’s of royal blood. That raises the stakes.”

  Calleena spoke again, her voice hard. “It is only one child. One little boy just doesn’t matter.”

  Madam Butterly wanted a child nobody cared about. But that was the thing, Rufkin understood at last—every child was a necessary child.

  ~

  The deep-dragon took shape again, dark green, darkest gray, and midnight indigo. The eerie call sounded a third time.

  “Enough,” said Madam Butterly. “Now the little boy goes up the island on his own.”

  A four-year-old. All by himself. “No,” gasped Rufkin.

  “Thunderhead, follow my orders,” said Madam Butterly. “Thirty thousand people are watching. They don’t know what they’re waiting for yet. They’re about to see.” She held out a hand.

  Thunderhead passed her some sort of device.

  “The speaker system,” muttered Lord Hodie.

  “Vosco, stop playing,” said Madam Butterly. “Come out here. I’m getting angry.”

  Vosco shot her one of his dark looks. He stood up, slung the trumpet over his shoulder and pulled on the beanie.

  There was no question what Rufkin must do. He squared his shoulders, glanced at Murgott, and gave the merest salute.

  Murgott looked as sick as Rufkin felt. But he muttered. “Boy, an ounce of luck can do more than a ton of experience.”

  Rufkin took a step and began reaching for Vosco’s hand.

  “Rufkin, wait,” whispered the Queen. “Don’t look, but ease back to me.”

  In a couple of seconds he sensed the Queen right behind him.

  “You’ve really chosen to go with him?” she murmured.

  His shoulders stayed straight. He nodded.

  “Then take this.” She slid something into his belt at the side. A shock went through him. The royal dagger.

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m way too ordinary. It’s not allowed.”

  Her breath moved his hair. “Many kings and queens have been far less than you.”

  “Thunderhead,” snapped Madam Butterly. “Get the child out here.”

  Captain Thunderhead wrenched Vosco up by one arm and slung him down on the bow deck.

  Rufkin strode through the door and stood beside him.

  The deep-dragon gave its call yet again. It was the most beautiful sound Rufkin had ever heard. He was going to die, he was pretty much sure of it. His soul hurt because he would not have years more in which to remember such music, born as it was from underground and undersea.

  Blue and dark green flared in the cavern. The creature seemed to lower its head.

  Glints and flashes from the vast ring of ships caught Rufkin’s eye. All those people watching through telescopes and binoculars, and none could help.

  ~ Where is the youngling? ~ said a voice as strong as a furnace, so strong it rippled the water of the mirror-lake.

  Madam Butterly stayed on the deck and raised the speaker-device. “Greetings,” she cried. The words floated over the water in every direction. “Greetings,” she repeated, “to my audience in ships from all over Fontania. You fear that we are living in the end-of-days. You fear the breakdown in nature and machinery. But you are witnessing my great accomplishment. I have brought you the greatest creature, the wonder of underground and undersea. Watch and listen.”

  Now she turned, raised her hand and pointed to the top of the island. “Welcome, deep-dragon. I have for you what I promised. The child is here.”

  ~ Show me ~ the voice called down the island.

  “I’ve kept my side of the deal,” Madam Butterly said into the speaker. “You lost your own youngling, I’ve brought you another. But this is a royal child. He has the potential for magic.”

  ~ I have magic already ~ said the deep-dragon.

  “That is true.” Madam Butterly lifted her chin. “Still, a royal child is more than you asked for, and so I want more for him. A new deal. None could be better for you or for me. In return for my bringing you the royal child, I want ten years’ control of the mines of underground and undersea.”

  Rufkin felt Vosco’s hand slip into his.

  ~ Set the youngling on the shore ~ said the voice from the blue-green furnace.

  Madam Butterly bent down to Vosco.

  “Don’t you touch him!” Rufkin let Vosco go for a moment, and stepped from the bow of the yacht onto the cradle of stones.

  He stretched up his arms and Vosco jumped. Ouch—the darn trumpet gave Rufkin a knock. Then he put Vosco down.

  Hand in hand, they set off.

  ~

  It looked like a long trek to the top. One step at a time, that’s how they’d manage. Gravel and blue-tinged pumice crunched under their feet. It didn’t feel hot, just smelled rather ashy. The stuff like lava had stopped flowing.

  Rufkin hardly dared glance ahead. He smiled at Vosco. The knitted beanie was pretty funny.

  “You look like an acorn,” he said.

  “Nut,” said Vosco.

  They crunched some more steps.

  “Trumpet.” Vosco held it up.

  “True,” said Rufkin.

  “Cat,” said Vosco.

  What? Rufkin looked back. The cat, slinking after them, stopped and looked the other way. “Yes, you spotted it.”

  “Rufkin,” said Vosco. “Big.”

  “Bigger than you. Why didn’t you talk more before?” Rufkin asked.

  Vosco stared as if it should have been obvious. “Becoss,” he said.

  The deep-dragon wasn’t as scary once they were close to it. Rufkin knew that was only because he’d had all those steps one after the other to get used to it. He still couldn’t tell where the deep-dragon began and the rocks ended. His nerves thrummed.

  ~ Two younglings ~ said the deep-dragon.

  Rufkin didn’t see its mouth move. Maybe the voice simply rang in his head. “The little one needed company. Hope that’s all right.”

  Part of the rock seemed to loom closer. ~ Why did you choose to come? ~

  Rufkin didn’t know how to put it into words.

  “Becoss,” said Vosco.

  Words wanted to rush from Rufkin now. “Yes, because he’s not a great one for talking himself. Because it didn’t seem right that someone just chose him, someone not even his parent. Because Vosco doesn’t have any idea what this is about. Madam Butterly’s a user.”

  The deep-dragon’s head came almost into view as it swayed in front of him. That crown was its scales, holding in what looked like molten green metal.

  “You don’t understand,” said Rufkin. “May I explain?” After all he’d nearly made it into the debating team. He took in a breath but coughed. “Sorry, that was the ash.”

  ~ Pardoned ~ said the deep-dragon, or the voice, however it worked.

  So Rufkin did his best to make clear that just because somebody—or something—had lost its own youngling, it didn’t mean it could grab somebody else’s. “And I d
on’t mean you, necessarily,” he said. “I mean, Madam Butterly has no right to do this.”

  The rocks shifted as if the deep-dragon still hadn’t understood. Rufkin held up his hands like little plates. Vosco copied as he’d done way back on the riverboat. “And if she’d done proper research she would have known she had no right to get into your crystal caverns either, if they belong to you.”

  The deep-dragon seemed even more puzzled. ~ Belong? ~

  “And also,” said Rufkin, “what about sharing?”

  The deep-dragon made a sound as if the inside of its head was tied in a knot by now.

  “Let’s start again.” Rufkin tested the rocks with his hand—just warm from the sun—and sat on the lip of the cave. Vosco sat with him, and the cat slunk up.

  ~ What is that? ~ the deep-dragon asked.

  “It’s a cat. This one’s a pet,” said Rufkin. “Do you know what a pet is? It’s—um—it’s not like a child or youngling but it keeps you company. You have to look after it. But usually and actually you have to look after a child far better.”

  “Becoss.” Vosco tipped a handful of pumice into the trumpet and out again.

  ~ The child brought a toy ~ said the deep-dragon after a moment. ~ What did you bring? ~

  Rufkin fished in his pocket. His wrist brushed against the royal dagger that the Queen had given him. He brought out the hero figurine. “It’s a toy but it’s of a real guy.” He pointed to the Sea Honey. “He’s there. He’s a great hero.”

  ~ But you are the one who came up the hill ~ said the deep-dragon.

  “True,” said Vosco.

  “Oh, no, I’ve explained that,” said Rufkin. He brought out the tiny knife too and laid it down with the figurine.

  Vosco picked up the knife, fiddled with the safety sleeve and scratched HELP on a stone.

  “That’s playing,” said Rufkin. “It shows he’s learning.” He flipped up the safely sleeve and put the knife back in his pocket in case Vosco cut himself.

  Vosco tapped the dagger in Rufkin’s belt.

  Rufkin was pretty certain now that he wasn’t meant to fight the deep-dragon with it. He drew it out. “And the Queen let me bring this.” He held it up on palms that tingled.