by Mike Ashley
Turll charged. Since only about ten paces separated him and the gnome, he could not work up much speed. As he closed, Alaska reached out and grabbed the lance, lifting Turll clear out of the saddle. Eye to eye they glared at one another, then Alaska shook the knight loose.
Turll climbed to his feet and drew his sword. Alaska swung at him with the lance, narrowly missing, and Turll countered with a jab to the great toe. The gnome gave a howl of pain and slammed the lance down on the spot Turll had just vacated, and received another jab in the same toe. Howling with mingled pain and rage, he hopped up and down on his good foot, waving his fists wildly.
His hopping motion made him a difficult target. Worse yet, it presented a serious threat to Floramella, who lay unmoving perilously close to where his large foot came down. A third blow by Turll, to the same toe, made the gnome hop even higher, and this time he landed no more than a finger’s breadth from the helpless maiden.
Then, as Alaska gathered himself for another hop, out of the sky came Princess, swift as a stooping hawk, and snatched Floramella by her silken girdle. As she rose, Alaska flailed out wildly, and one long fingernail caught in the hem of Princess’s skirt.
Gamely, she struggled upward. The frenzied humming was audible below as she slowly rose, bearing the weight of Floramella and Alaska on her delicate wings. She hovered; she wavered; she began to sink. “Keddie! Help!” she cried.
Kedrigern raised his hand and sent a blast of magic at the thrashing gnome. A silent burst of blinding light and a great wind shook the trees; Princess shot upward, then steadied herself and began a smooth descent; a large hooded garment and a pair of oversized breeches fluttered lazily to the ground: Alaska was nowhere to be seen.
“Gnome! Alaska! Reveal thyself, miscreant!” Turll cried, waving his sword and dashing back and forth in the clearing.
“I’m afraid I’ve done for him. You’d better see to Floramella,” Kedrigern said.
“But my feat! I have not accomplished a feat!”
“Alaska’s defeated and Floramella’s been rescued. Your feat is done, Turll, if that’s what it was in the first place.”
“You defeated Alaska, with your magic.”
Kedrigern waved off the remark. “I only shook him loose from my wife. It’s you who attacked him.”
“And my lady Princess rescued Floramella.”
Gently depositing the unconscious maid on the soft greensward, Princess touched down and said, “You made him put her down, Turll. I couldn’t let her be squashed flat, could I? We beautiful princesses have to stick together.”
“But I should have done more! All along, I had the feeling that this was the real thing, the one bold deed, the very feat of all feats that would free my family from the curse of—”
A shrill, piercing cackle of nasty laughter came from overhead, freezing Turll into silence. They looked up as one. High above them, slowly circling the clearing, rode a crone all in tattered black, riding a broomstick.
“Cashalane,” whispered Kedrigern with loathing.
“You had your chance, sonny, and you wasted it, and Cashalane has come to gloat,” the witch cried, cackling once again. “This could have been the feat that freed the house of Turll, but you missed it. Too late now.”
“See? I told you!” Turll said angrily, throwing down his sword and helmet and kicking at the turf.
“Cashalane, what do you mean?” wizard called to her. “The gnome is defeated, the maiden rescued. A noble feat has been done. Free the lad of your curse.”
“Kedrigern? Is that you? Keep out of this, wizard! It’s my curse!”
“Turll is my client. You’re not being fair.”
“Fair? Me, fair? I’m a wicked witch – I can be as unfair and nasty as I please!” Cashalane gave another bone-chilling laugh.
“No, you can’t. There are rules, Cashalane. You put a curse on this lad’s family, and you never told anyone how it could be lifted. ‘Go do a feat’ is not precise enough.”
“It’s precise enough for me. Besides, his feat was easy. Any fool could have figured it out, even a Turll. All he had to do was put three arrows – a gold, a silver, and a bronze – into the rump of a fleeing giant gnome. He had to be blindfolded at the time, wearing one white glove and one green stocking, and he had to hum ‘The Ballad of the Four Fat Friars’ backward. That’s all there was to it.”
“That’s not a feat; that’s a stunt,” said Kedrigern scornfully.
“In my book, it’s feat, and now it’s too late for a Turll to do it. There won’t be another giant gnome in these parts for three generations. By then, the house of Turll will be reduced to beggars and swineherds.” She cackled once again, triumphantly.
Princess tugged at Kedrigern’s cloak. “You’ll be standing here arguing all afternoon, and I’m exhausted. I’m going over under the trees and rest.”
“You’ve certainly earned it, my dear. I’m only sorry things didn’t work out better,” Kedrigern said, squeezing her hand fondly. Then, to Cashalane, he said, “That’s a perfectly reasonable procedure, but you should have made it clear to the accursed.”
“I wanted them to use their imagination,” the witch called down.
“Why do you hate my family so, witch?” Turll asked.
“Your grandfather called me a vile, disgusting, repulsive, ugly, withered old crone.”
“Perhaps he meant it as a compliment,” Kedrigern suggested.
“It was the way he said it – as if I had something to be ashamed of.”
“Well, this young man’s done nothing to you, Cashalane. He’s been very polite, all things considered. So why don’t you just lift the curse?” said the wizard.
Slowly and silently, deep in thought, Cashalane flew in a great circle around the perimeter of the clearing. Twice she circled the little group, and on her third swing, just as she came over the pond, she howled, “No! I won’t! Let the house of Turll be cursed forever! That’ll teach them!”
At the first word, Princess shot up from the cover of the trees, unseen by the crone. She snatched the broom from under Cashalane’s bony bottom, and the witch, as she uttered her final defiance, went plummeting toward the water. Kedrigern pointed, and the broom homed in on his gesture and skidded to a stop before him. He placed a foot upon the handle to secure it, and turned to greet Princess as she came down at his side, unsteady on her feet from sheer exhaustion.
“Well done, my lady!” Turll cried jubilantly.
Jeniby, free of his vow, burbled, “Yes, my lady, well done! Marvelously done! Boldly and bravely done! A most courageous act, a deed of daring, a masterstroke! Never have I seen—” until Turll silenced him.
“A clever move, my dear,” said Kedrigern, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“I wasn’t sure I could bring it off,” she said wearily. “My wings are killing me. But it was the only chance.”
“Let’s see if you’ve persuaded Cashalane to change her mind,” Kedrigern said. He took up the broom, which wriggled in his grasp. “You behave yourself, or you’ll be a pile of toothpicks and kindling,” he snapped. The broom was still at once, its bristles sagging in terror.
Cashalane hung from a branch, the pointed toes of her cracked and dusty shoes almost touching the surface of the pond. “Get me out of this, Kedrigern,” she said in a low, nervous voice.
“That’s the deepest spot right there, Turll,” Kedrigern said languidly, pointing with the broom to the water beneath Cashalane’s feet. “Drop something in there, and it would sink without a trace.”
“Good,” said Turll.
“I can’t hold on much longer. Help me, Kedrigern!”
“Lift the curse.”
Cashalane paused, agonized by the choice, and at last cried, “I lift the curse! Turll and his descendants are free of my curse, and need not do a feat, now or ever!”
“And you will seek no other vengeance on them, or us, or anyone at all, ever, and there will be no tricks about this. Swear by the heads of Hecate and the w
ens of Sycorax.”
“I swear! I swear!”
“Go get her,” said Kedrigern, tossing the broom in the witch’s direction. It glided swiftly over the water until it came to rest beneath her, then it rose and settled snugly under her skinny rump. When her perch was secure, she loosed her handgrip.
“All right for you, Kedrigern,” she said. “And for your flying lady, too. You’ll regret this, I’ll—”
“Remember what you swore, Cashalane,” said Kedrigern in a cold and ominous voice. “Have you forgotten what became of Wozbog when she violated that very same oath? Would you like me to remind you?”
Cashalane’s face contorted. She clenched her fists and grew very pale. After a moment she calmed herself. Her bony hands dropped to her lap. “I’ll be good,” she whispered hoarsely, and flew off without another word or a backward glance.
Kedrigern let out a long sigh of relief. “Well, that wraps it up, Turll. You can bring Floramella home, announce the wedding, and have Llunn the Lavish deliver the reward to me. You know the directions.”
Jeniby spoke up at once. “May I be the messenger? Not only am I familiar with the roads, I am loyal and trustworthy as well, and those are rare qualities in these parlous times when an enemy lurks behind every smile, travel is fraught with perils, and even the bravest knight must look with uncertainty at—”
“You may be the messenger,” Turll broke in. “Leave at once. And now I must see to my fair Floramella.”
“It’s about time,” Princess muttered.
As Turll cradled Floramella in his arms, dabbed her brow with a moist cloth, and lifted his water bottle to her lips, Kedrigern and Princess walked to the heap of clothing that lay in the middle of the clearing. Kedrigern lifted one roomy sleeve and felt the material between his fingers.
“That looks like good stuff,” Princess said.
“Gnomes are skilled weavers. We should take this home. You could make two cloaks for each of us out of the tunic alone.”
“I might as well. Alaska won’t be needing it anymore.”
“No,” said the wizard gloomily.
“I almost feel sorry for the poor creature. He didn’t really hurt anyone, and if it hadn’t been for him, Turll would still be cursed.”
“I know,” said Kedrigern, almost inaudibly.
“Did you really have to annihilate him?”
By this time, Kedrigern was feeling terrible about the whole thing. He recalled his promise to Alaska’s aging father, and his heart sank at the thought of explaining his impulsive action to the old gnome. He lowered his eyes, gazing vacantly and despondently on the expanse of empty breeches.
Something in the left leg stirred, was still, then stirred again. It was about the size of a small cat. Kedrigern turned to Princess with a confident smile.
“What makes you so sure I annihilated him? Didn’t you hear me promise his father I’d find a cure for the lad?” he said.
“You promised to try. But surely . . .”
A tiny groan came from the left leg of the breeches. Kedrigern knelt, reached in, and drew out a little man, stark naked. The gnome covered his eyes against the bright sunlight, scrunched up to preserve his modesty, and groaned, “Where am I? What hit me?”
“Just a bit of magic, that’s all. I’ll put you inside my tunic until we can find something for you to wear, and then we’ll take you home.”
“He had a pouch at his belt. It should be just about the right size for him now,” said Princess, scanning the ground. “There it is. I’ll cut holes in it for his little arms and legs.”
“I seem to remember . . . being big. Was I big?” Alaska asked from inside Kedrigern’s tunic.
“Yes. Very big.”
“Was I bad?”
“You might have been worse. Now you’d better rest. You’ve had a busy time of it. We’ll take you home tonight.”
Floramella was unharmed, but too weak to travel. Turll pitched a tent for her in a sunny corner of the clearing, near the pond, and there she rested. Princess and Kedrigern remained to serve as chaperones. Floramella accepted Alaska’s apology graciously, as did Turll, who saluted him as a valiant adversary and helped bandage his injured toe. All was harmony.
That night, Kedrigern was awakened from a sound sleep. The warning spell he had laid around their little encampment had gone off, but very mildly. Whoever was approaching was small, and probably friendly. Nevertheless, an intruder was an intruder, and not to be ignored. The wizard dragged himself from his blanket and groped for his boots. Princess stirred and mumbled.
“No cause for alarm, my dear,” said Kedrigern, yawning.
“Ngff. Larm,” she said in a muffled, sleepy voice.
“I’m just going to look outside.”
He left the tent. Outside, wide awake, looking preposterous in his makeshift attire, Alaska was waiting. “They’ve come to fetch me,” said the gnome. He pointed to the forest, where tiny points of light moved along close to the ground.
At Alaska’s suggestion, they withdrew to a nearby tree, a huge old oak with a small mound near its base, the kind of site favored by little men. They were soon joined by Alaska’s kin. There were subdued greetings, expression of joy, some laughter, and then a familiar voice called, “Wizard!”
“Yes?” Kedrigern replied.
“You cured my boy. He’s as healthy as ever, and not a mark on him, except for his toe.”
“I use only the best magic.”
“You have done what no one, gnome or wizard, has ever done before. You must be rewarded.”
A praiseworthy attitude, Kedrigern thought. The sort of attitude to be encouraged. But not abused. He was likely to receive a staggering reward from Llunn the Lavish, and there was no need to be greedy. Especially since Alaska’s cure had been a matter of sheer luck. “What I’d really like most is the big suit of clothes Alaska was wearing during his . . . his affliction,” he said.
Embarrassed silence followed his words. After a very long pause, the aged gnome said, “The great suit is a tradition in every gnome settlement, the work of many hands over many years. It will take us long to replace it. But if this is the reward you wish—”
“No, no. I couldn’t think of taking it from you,” said Kedrigern, waving the old gnome to silence. “I didn’t realize its significance.”
“All the same, you must have a reward.”
Kedrigern pondered for a moment, then said brightly, “I have it! The gnomon on my sundial is bent, so I’m always ahead of time, or behind time, and never exactly on time. I know you make the best ones, so just give me a new gnomon and we’ll call it even.”
“Is this all you ask of us?”
“It’s all I really need at the moment.”
“Then you shall have it before the sun rises.”
“Oh, there’s no need to rush. I don’t really have to . . .” But his protests were vain. The little lights vanished, and all was still. Kedrigern waited for a time, but heard only the accustomed noises of the night. Eventually he became uncomfortably chilly, and returned to the tent. Princess did not move or make a sound.
Sometime later the warning spell went off again. Kedrigern groaned, stirred himself, and peeked from the tent. The sky was pale with false dawn, but he could see nothing and no one. The silence was profound. He listened for a time, even inspected the clearing through the Aperture of True Vision in his medallion. All was in order; the world was at peace. He gratefully returned to Princess’s side.
Next morning, when he took up his boot, a slender bundle fell out. It was the length of his forearm, and was wrapped in soft cloth and bound with thread as fine as gossamer. It was heavy and solid. He took it outside the tent and undid it carefully, and when he pulled back the last fold of wrapping, he blinked at the sudden blaze of light as the morning sun infused a multifaceted diamond the size of his thumbnail, set into a golden gnomon engraved with words and signs of power. He gave a long, muted whistle of astonished gratitude, but he had no proper words to say, eve
n to himself. He whistled again.
“Keddie? Have you got a lantern out there? It’s awfully bright,” came Princess’s sleepy voice from within the tent.
“It’s a gnomon. From the gnomes. For our sundial.”
“From the little men?”
“There’s nothing little about them, my dear. Come have a look.”
THE CAT WITH TWO TAILS
Terry Jones
What Spike Milligan and the Goons achieved for radio, the Monty Python brigade achieved for television. It was also a special boon for comic fantasy as most of the Python team, especially Terry Jones (b. 1942) and Terry Gilliam (b. 1940), have a fascination for fantasy, both visually and in the written word. In the case of Terry Jones this has manifested itself in such books as The Saga of Erik the Viking (1983) and the not unrelated film Erik the Viking (1989), the television series Ripping Yarns (1976) with Michael Palin, and the children’s books Fairy Tales (1980), Nicobobinus (1985), The Curse of the Vampire Socks (1988) and Fantastic Stories (1992), from which the following story is taken.
In the olden days all cats had two tails – one for the daytime and one for the night. During the day they kept their long, thick daytime tail curled around themselves and slept tight and snug. But when it grew dark – ah! then each cat would go to a secret place and there it would reach in its paw and pull out a bundle wrapped in mouse-fur. Then it would wait until it was sure . . . absolutely sure . . . that nobody and nothing . . . absolutely nothing . . . was looking. (For cats, you must know, are crafty as only cats can be.) And then it would unwrap the bundle of mouse-fur, and there, inside, would be its own – its very own – night-time tail.
Its night-time tail was an ordinary length and an ordinary thickness, but it would twitch as it lay there in the bundle of mouse-fur. And although it was only an ordinary length and an ordinary thickness, it was nevertheless a very remarkable tail indeed.
Can you guess why? Well . . . I’ll tell you . . . It shone – as bright as day. And every cat would off! with its daytime tail in the twinkling of an eye, and on! with its shining night-time tail. And they’d hold their tails above their heads, and light the night as bright as day, and all the mice would tremble in the darkest corners of their holes.
