Nimzovitsch came into the kitchen from his study. He looked blankly at Blart.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘Let us go,’ said Capablanca to Blart.
‘Would you like to see me make some custard?’ asked Nimzovitsch.
Blart fled to the door. He had no wish to be drowned in custard.
‘Farewell, Nimzovitsch,’ said Capablanca. ‘You are a great and noble wizard who has helped me on my epic quest.’
‘I can make scones too,’ replied Nimzovitsch.
Chapter 13
They left the cottage and, swiftly mounting Pig the Horse, rode back to the village square to look for Beowulf. They did not need to look far. As they entered the village square Beo emerged from the tavern supported by two men. Other men from the village spilled out of the inn after them. In a short time the warrior had managed to get to know a lot of people.
‘Greetings, Capablanca and thingy!’ shouted Beo when he spotted his comrades. ‘I want you to meet two new friends of mine. Fine friends they are too. I’d like you to meet Mr Motte and Mr Bailey.’
The wizard nodded curtly in the direction of the two men but his eyes remained locked on the warrior.
‘If you’ve sold that –’ Capablanca began coldly.
‘Ssssshhhh,’ replied Beo, putting his finger on to the wizard’s lips. ‘Know what you’re going to say. Saying I’d sell the horse. As if I,’ here he turned indignantly to Motte and Bailey for moral support, who nodded understandingly, ‘as if I,’ he repeated, ‘would sell a horse. A horse that is needed for a quest to defeat Zoltab.’
‘Quiet,’ urged Capablanca.
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ said Beo with an air of injured pride. ‘These good people say “sell your horse” and I say, “Sorry fellas. Can’t oblige. Got to use the horse to go and fight Zoltab.”’
‘Beo,’ hissed the wizard, ‘shut up and get on the horse. Blart, help him on to Pig.’
Unfortunately Beo had in his drunken state managed to forget that Pig was in fact a horse.
‘I’m not riding a pig,’ said Beo stroppily, pushing Blart away. By now he was no longer simply addressing the immediate group but was speaking to all the inhabitants of the village. ‘I ask you,’ Beo appealed to the general populace, ‘is it right? Is it right that I, Beowulf, am going to have to ride on a pig? I, who would have been a fully fledged knight by now if they hadn’t expelled me from knight school for plunging a weapon into a fellow pupil’s bottom. He said, “lance my boil”. How was I to know it wasn’t that sort of lance? It was a mistake anybody could have made. And now people want me to go on a quest on a pig. Sure it’s not on. In knight school they said it is not only important what you do, it is also important how you do it.’
‘Beowulf, pull yourself together.’
But Beowulf did not reply to Capablanca. Instead he replied to the crowd which had by now gathered in the village square.
‘You see him? It’s all right for him. He wanted to be a wizard and that’s what he is. Capablanca the Wizard. Off to defeat Zoltab. But me, I wanted to be a knight and I’ve tried being chivalrous and I’m always on the lookout for dragons but I’ve got to settle for being a warrior. It’s not –’
Nobody ever knew what the warrior was going to say next. For suddenly he was lifted from the ground.
‘Whoa!’ shouted Beo as he rose into the sky. ‘Help!’
Blart could see blue light flashing from the wizard’s eyes.
‘Capablanca!’ pleaded the warrior. ‘Put me down!’
Beo flew through the air until he floated above an overflowing horse trough. The blue light disappeared from the wizard’s eyes. Beo dropped into the cold water.
‘Aaaargh,’ he cried.
‘Hurrah,’ shouted the crowd.
Pig trotted over to the trough.
‘Get on,’ Capablanca ordered the spluttering warrior.
Beo’s belligerence seemed to have been temporarily washed away by the ducking. Meekly he climbed on to the back of Pig the Horse. Capablanca wheeled Pig the Horse round and faced the crowd.
‘Who will rent me a boat and a crew?’ he asked. ‘My comrades and I must sail forth urgently.’
Nobody in the crowd spoke up.
‘I will pay well,’ Capablanca told the crowd.
Still nobody took up his offer.
‘I beseech you,’ urged Capablanca, pointing to the harbour where ten sailing ships were anchored. ‘Our journey is of great importance. Surely somebody will help.’
But the mention of Zoltab by Beowulf had ensured that no sailor in the village wished to skipper a boat for them. The crowd slowly began to disperse, muttering amongst themselves as they departed. The questors were stuck.
‘What possessed you to mention Zoltab and our quest?’ demanded Capablanca.
Beo did not answer.
‘I was forced to use magic before you revealed anything else,’ continued the wizard. ‘But that too will attract attention. We can only hope that none of Zoltab’s minions were hidden in the crowd.’
And so Capablanca nudged Pig forward and the great horse trotted out of the village square and back through Clegarn towards the great cliffs that lay high above the village. But though Pig trotted as impressively as ever nothing could hide the fact that the questors were going backwards.
Had Capablanca seen the village square a few moments after their departure he would have known his hopes about Zoltab’s minions were forlorn. As soon as the questors left a number of shifty-looking men slunk out of their cottages. After an urgent whispered conversation they scurried down to the harbour, and some time later two boats with dark sails set forth into the open sea – on what business nobody knew.
Chapter 14
‘I only had two flagons of ale,’ insisted Beo.
‘Two?’ repeated Capablanca.
‘Well, maybe three,’ admitted the warrior.
‘Three?’ repeated Capablanca.
It turned out that Beo had drunk ten flagons of ale.
‘I thought if I got them drunk then I could get more information out of them,’ Beo explained.
‘But instead you got drunk and blabbed all the details of our quest,’ Capablanca reminded him. ‘And now nobody will supply us with a boat and so we’re stuck on the wrong side of the Eastern Ocean.’
‘I never said the plan was foolproof,’ insisted Beo. ‘But it was a noble and brave undertaking, worthy of a knight.’
And with that Beo sat back on Pig the Horse and looked at the sea with the air of a man who was much misunderstood but, because of his fine character, was prepared to accept it without complaint.
‘What are we doing up here?’ Blart demanded of Capablanca. ‘It’s making me feel dizzy.’
They had ridden up to the cliffs high above Clegarn. Before them lay the vastness of the ocean, calm and easy and deeply blue. But immediately below them it took on a different character as it hurled itself repeatedly against the rocks and then slipped back to gather strength for its next assault. Here the deep blue was replaced by an angry white foam. Blart had looked over the edge briefly and then pulled his head back. The water below had seemed to call to him and he had felt unsteady and nervous that he might fall.
‘So, why?’ repeated Blart.
‘Yes, why?’ echoed Beo, who had decided that he had spent long enough being noble and misunderstood.
‘Now there’s no need to get worried,’ said Capablanca.
Blart immediately got worried. Beo got worried too, but he was a warrior and so he didn’t show it.
‘It is something that Nimzovitsch the wizard told me about the wild horses of Noved. Horses like Pig,’ said Capablanca.
‘Who’s Nimzovitsch?’ demanded Beo.
Capablanca briefly explained about Nimzovitsch. Blart noticed that Capablanca emphasised Nimzovitsch’s wisdom and knowledge while glossing over his weakness for becoming trapped under dumplings.
‘I spoke with Nimzovitsch,’ Capablanca continued, �
�and he told me a great secret about the horses of Noved. Horses like Pig.’
‘What is it?’
Capablanca paused dramatically.
‘Pig the Horse can fly.’
Blart and Beo looked down at Pig the Horse. He looked like any other horse to them. Bigger perhaps, but still like any other horse. And the one thing they knew for sure about horses was that they couldn’t fly.
‘If he can fly,’ said Blart, ‘then why didn’t he fly off when we trapped him in the gulch?’
‘By the powers,’ said Beowulf, ‘the boy has asked a decent question.’
‘Because,’ explained Capablanca, ‘Pig the Horse can fly but he doesn’t quite know it yet.’
‘What?’ cried Beo and Blart together.
‘I will explain what Nimzovitsch told me,’ said Capablanca patiently. ‘And then all will become clear. You see, flying horses don’t normally need to fly and most go through their lives ignorant of their ability. Their wings are folded away so tightly under their belly that they don’t even know they’re there. They only learn to fly if they are put in a situation in which they must, as a matter of urgency, and then their reflexes take over, their wings unfurl and they fly off happily into the sky … that is the theory.’
‘The theory?’ said Blart and Beo together.
‘You see, it’s all down to timing,’ explained Capablanca. ‘The horse must have enough time to recognise the desperate situation he is in, panic, try everything he normally tries when he’s in trouble and then allow his reflexes to save him by automatically unfurling his wings.’
‘And how long does that take?’ asked Blart, who had been listening carefully because it had to do with his well-being.
‘Ah,’ said Capablanca. ‘Sadly Nimzovitsch retired before he was able to establish a definitive answer to that question. However, he said a big cliff should be enough.’
‘Should be?’ echoed Blart.
‘Indeed,’ continued Capablanca. ‘But horses learn at different rates. If Pig the Horse is stupid then he might not recognise the seriousness of the situation before we are all splattered on the rocks. However if we aren’t splattered we will fly so fast that our chances of succeeding in our quest will be much improved.’
Blart had stopped listening after Capablanca said ‘splattered’.
‘I’m not carrying on,’ announced Blart. ‘That wizard that said Pig could fly was stuck under his own dinner until we came along and I don’t believe him. Even if you put a spell on me for the rest of my life so that I can’t walk and I have to stay up here and starve to death I’m not going.’
And with that he got off the horse, sat down on the grass and jutted his chin in the air.
‘The boy’s right,’ agreed Beo surprisingly. ‘I’ve seen many a thing in my life but I’ve never seen a steed fly. Steeds are for the ground and boats are for the sea. Sure let us all go back to the town and try once more to hire a boat to sail in. That makes sense.’
And Beo allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. He had solved a problem and nobody was bleeding or dead. This was a first.
‘They will not let us hire a boat and we will fall even further behind,’ protested Capablanca. ‘Don’t you see? Zoltab’s acolytes are even now making preparations to help him take control while we are squabbling. A flying horse can travel vast distances at great speed. It is our only hope. Think of the world.’
‘Let’s have a vote,’ said Beo.
‘What?’ said Capablanca.
‘A vote,’ repeated the warrior. ‘I’m against. You’re for. Blart. It’s up to you.’
‘Against,’ said Blart.
‘A boat it is, then,’ said Beo.
‘A boat,’ said Capablanca glumly.
‘Yes,’ said Beo. ‘Don’t worry, Capablanca. Things always work out all right on quests. We’ll be fine. These evil-doers can never get anything done on time. They’re known for it.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Capablanca.
‘We are,’ said Beo reassuringly. ‘Come on.’
‘If Zoltab takes over the world it’s all your fault.’
There was nothing more to be said. Blart climbed on to the horse and Capablanca turned it round and they began to trot back towards the village.
At least, they had for about a hundred paces, when the wizard suddenly yanked hard on the reins. Pig stopped.
‘Oh no,’ announced Capablanca. ‘I’ve dropped my wand.’
‘When?’ asked the others.
‘I had it a minute ago by the cliffs and I haven’t got it now. So we’d better go back.’ Capablanca yanked on the reins again to turn Pig round.
‘What’s that?’ said Blart, noticing a wand protruding from Capablanca’s cowl.
The wizard looked down.
‘Er, that. Oh, that. Yes, that’s my wand. It’s … er … not that wand I dropped. Oh, no. Er … it’s my spare wand … that’s it. Not this one at all. Just go back and get it quick as a flash.’
The wizard kicked. Pig started to run.
‘’Tis fine weather,’ said Beo.
‘It’s too windy,’ said Blart.
‘That’s because the horse is going so fast,’ answered Beo. ‘Sure, if you were sat on the ground it would be a fine day.’
‘No, it’s just too windy,’ persisted Blart.
The thumping of Pig’s hooves grew louder as he accelerated in response to a kick from Capablanca.
‘Look at the sea,’ shouted Beo. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful sight?
‘It’s very blue when you get near it,’ agreed Blart.
And about two seconds later they both simultaneously realised what was happening.
‘Whoa!’ shouted Beo.
‘Help!’ shouted Blart.
The horse gathered pace, urged on by repeated kicks from Capablanca. Its snorts sent gusts of steam into the air.
‘Stop!’ shouted Beo.
‘Now!’ shouted Blart.
But Pig the Horse got faster and faster. To jump off now would risk fatal injuries. They were approaching the cliff’s edge.
‘We had a vote!’ yelled Beo indignantly.
Too late did Pig the Horse see what was coming. Too late did the horse start to disobey the urgings of the wizard. His momentum was too much for him to stop now.
‘This is no time for democracy!’ shouted Capablanca as the horse with its three riders sailed over the edge of the precipice.
Chapter 15
The flying horse is one of nature’s great mysteries. Most creatures, you see, are born with a basic understanding of what they can and can’t do. A puffin is born on the ground but somehow knows it can fly and so when the time is right it tries. A dog is also born on the ground but somehow it knows that flying and it are not compatible and so when it sees an eagle soaring in the air it doesn’t think, That looks good, I’ll have a go at that. For some reason it doesn’t cross the flying horse’s mind that he can fly even though he can.
‘Heeeeeellllp,’ shouted Beo, who was resolving never to have anything to do with voting ever again and to stick to violence in future.
‘Noooooooo,’ shouted Blart as he saw the jagged rocks racing up to meet him.
‘Ooooooopps,’ shouted Capablanca, who had rather less faith in his methods now he was in the air.
But what was going on in their minds doesn’t matter. What matters is what was happening in Pig the Horse’s mind.
As the horse became aware of its own imminent mortality and its small brain dissolved into chaos, its reflexes took over and magically two great wings unfurled beneath its belly and began to beat.
They continued to fall.
The wings beat harder. The jagged rocks rushed up towards them. The wings beat harder still, fighting against the terrible force of gravity and fighting and fighting and winning as Pig the Horse began to rise.
Below them the jagged rocks began to grow smaller. The sea, which had seemed to be awaiting them, seethed with disappointment. The gulls, which lived on the cliffs, di
ve-bombed them with great cries of indignation and fear. But still they rose. Rose all the way up the side of the cliff until they were above it. They could see the place they had taken off from. They could see the harbour. They could see more than they ever had seen before.
‘Capablanca!’ bellowed Beo from the back of the horse. ‘I hope you realise that you’ve destroyed my faith in democracy.’
‘It doesn’t work anyway!’ shouted back Capablanca. ‘Power always remains essentially in the same hands with only cosmetic changes. Now leave me alone. I must plot our course.’
The wizard looked at the sun, then he looked at the horizon, then he looked at the ground, then he looked at the sun again, then he shrugged his shoulders and turned Pig’s head slightly to the left and the horse obligingly began to fly in that direction.
For a few minutes all was quiet except for the rush of the wind as the three comrades savoured the experience of flying high in the sky on the back of a gigantic steed. Then, for the next few minutes, they all stopped being quite so impressed by the beauty of the landscape and the wonder of their flying experience and instead began to feel queasy. Flying on a horse high above the world is an amazing sensation but it is also a disorientating one, and within five minutes each of our heroes had put his head to one side and allowed the contents of his stomach to pour down to the ocean below.
Still, once the contents of their stomachs were no longer inside them our travellers felt better, except of course they felt hungry. But they could sit back once more and enjoy the ride. At least, they thought they could. Something whizzed past Blart’s head. He looked around, but there was nothing. Then something whizzed past the other side of his head. Again he looked. This time he saw. An arrow. He looked down. There were two boats underneath them. They had black sails and little men on deck. Little men who were firing arrows.
‘Capablanca.’ Blart tugged at the wizard’s cowl.
Capablanca turned round. Blart pointed downwards with his finger. The wizard looked down and saw what was happening.
‘Those ships are from Clegarn,’ shouted Capablanca, recognising the sails. ‘Zoltab’s minions must have seen us there.’
The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World Page 6
