Snotty Saves the Day

by Tod Davies

  He’d forgotten, too, the wall of thorny branches. There it was now, rising up, dark green and impenetrable between him and the Plains.

  Snotty threw his body at the wall, and the Crab hacked at it with its claws, but it was no use. Snotty stared at its tangled green mass.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice behind him. He twisted around. The pain in his ankle made him wince.

  There was a Handsome Prince seated on a tall black horse. Snotty assumed this was a Handsome Prince, anyway, from his expensive clothes and self-confident air. As it turned out, he was right.

  “I wonder if you could help me,” the Prince said in a suave voice. “I am trying to find a Damsel in Distress. She is... er...” The Prince pulled a piece of parchment from a red velvet tunic and read from it. “She is located on the Top of the World, and, er, it says here she’s in disguise. Damned irregular, really,” he said in a disapproving tone. “Of course, once I’ve saved her, we’ll put a stop to that.”

  “What?” said Snotty, who stared at an efficient looking sword hanging from the Prince’s belt.

  “Yes. She needs to be rescued, apparently, and, of course, that’s my business. After which I’ll marry her, take her home, put her in charge of my castle, and give her lots of pretty clothes and so on. You know the kind of thing I mean. In return, the deal is she’ll admire me and encourage others to admire me every hour of the day. That’s fair, I think.”

  The Prince looked at Snotty anxiously.

  “Un-huh,” Snotty said, still looking at that sword. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude. But give me your sword, would you?”

  “Certainly not!” the Prince said, offended. “I need it.”

  But Snotty really wanted that sword.

  “Lend me your sword,” he suggested casually. “Come on. It’s not doing you any good just hanging there, is it?” The Prince looked at him doubtfully. “Look,” Snotty coaxed, “Just let me have it for a little while, okay?” Then he had an inspiration. “Give me the sword, and... and...and I’ll tell you where the—er... What did you call her?”

  “The Damsel.”

  “The Damsel. Right. Hand it over and I’ll tell you where the Damsel is. Can’t be fairer than that, can I?”

  The Prince eyed him suspiciously. “You know where she is?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Snotty said. “The Top of the World. She’s sitting up there in the snow. Just above and to the right of the Peak of Transcendence over there.” He put his maimed hand into his pocket and held his breath.

  “Oh yeah?” the Prince said. “If you really know where she is, tell me her name.” At this, Snotty, taking a deep breath, clutched the Key.

  “Her name,” Snotty said, “is Lily.”58

  “That’s it!” the Prince said, excited. “Here’s the sword. Show me the path to the Damsel!” He unbuckled his belt and handed it down. Snotty didn’t bother to thank him. He just lifted the sword up and slashed at the brush, which melted away at its touch.

  “Follow the path behind me,” Snotty shouted over his shoulder as he hacked his way deeper and deeper into the hedge. “There should be drops of blood all the way down.”

  “Is she very beautiful?” the Prince called out after him. But Snotty, almost all the way through, didn’t answer. The Prince shrugged, then turned and followed the path that Snotty had advised.

  As for Snotty, he broke through the last remaining branch, and the Crab, giving his neck one last pinch for luck, disappeared into the brush. Snotty’s heart beat fast and his ankle throbbed as he looked down the mountainside to the battlefield. He dreaded what he would find. But, strapping the sword onto his little body, he set off down the slope, at as fast a pace as he could manage on the slippery rock.

  Over the Plains, the sky darkened with blowing dust and sand and grit. No movement was to be seen except, here and there, a rogue Gnome or two, separated from the main army, looting the piles of massacred Bears.

  One such Rogue Gnome snuffled and snorted as he threw the carcasses aside, yanking off what shirts and hats and tiny weapons he could find. It gave him pleasure, wading through the heaps of corpses and kicking them aside after stealing his souvenirs. So much pleasure, in fact, that he failed to notice he had, in his frenzy, uncovered a moving paw. That paw waved weakly from beneath another body as he prowled past. And the Gnome didn’t notice when the paw pushed the Teddy Bear body above it aside, or when a half-dead Tuxton dragged himself up to the dust-clogged air.

  Pulling himself out, Tuxton saw that his best plan was to make for the boulders at the foot of the Mountains of Resistance. Ducking and crawling, this was what he did. He tried not to look, as he passed, at the limp and contorted faces of his comrades as he used them for cover to hide him from the Gnome. He was almost dead, though, and, worse, his spirit was wounded to death. He had no real chance of escape.

  The Gnome saw him and leapt, grabbing hold of him. He tried his best to twist Tuxton’s neck.

  The little Bear fought back with a fury that took the Gnome by surprise. There was a loud and horrible ripping noise, and the Gnome, his eyes bugging out with shock, went down. A tiny dagger stuck in his gut. Tuxton, one paw held to his face against the swirling of the dust and grit, used all his strength to yank the dagger out. A gush of green guts and vapor came with it. Tuxton wrapped a bandanna around his face against the foul smell and staggered toward the Mountains.

  The sounds of the gloating, looting Gnomes followed him as his stubby legs pounded the desert floor. He ran as fast as he could for the cover of the rocks.

  The Wind howled louder and louder and stronger and stronger, and Snotty had to struggle hard against it as he came skidding down the Path.

  It was here that he met Tuxton, bandanna still wrapped around his face, fighting his way up the mountain.

  “Tuxton!” Snotty cried out, but his voice was sucked into the Wind and blown away. It was impossible to speak, so the two friends fell on each other, exhausted. Tuxton leaned against Snotty, panting gently.

  Snotty pulled him behind a rock, sheltering them from the Wind. “Tuxton, what’s happened?” he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. Then, when Tuxton didn’t answer, he spoke in alarm: “What’s wrong? Why don’t you answer?”

  Snotty held Tuxton by the shoulders and looked into his silly eyes. These eyes looked back with a message of the kind no one would want to hear.

  Slowly and gently, Snotty untied the bandanna from around Tuxton’s face.

  There was no face left. Tuxton’s muzzle with its silly tongue had been ripped away by the Gnome. There was nothing but a void of white stuffing left behind.

  Tuxton’s eyes met Snotty’s and held them there.

  “Melia?” Snotty said finally. “Tia? Fia? Fion, Mion, and Lui?”

  Tuxton shook his head.

  Snotty swallowed hard. “The Dog?” he said. “And... and... Big Teddy?”

  At this, Tuxton’s silly eyes filled with tears. The tears ran over and down his brown plush cheeks.

  And Snotty hurled himself against the Wind down the Path toward the Plains. Tuxton pushed himself from the boulder to follow. But he had spent all his strength in the upward climb, and now he fainted dead away.

  Snotty struggled on down below. He passed his Self on the Path. It whispered, “Where’s your friend?” And Snotty realized that he had, in his rush, left Tuxton behind. Now he turned and retraced his steps until he found the unconscious Bear.

  Holding him, Snotty gave Tuxton Ted a gentle shake. The Bear woke just enough to find the strength to cling to Snotty’s neck.

  And Snotty, with Tuxton clutched to his chest, negotiated the last steep and rocky path down to the desert plain alone.

  The Wind screamed.

  Chapter XVIII

  ALL IS LOST

  On the desert plain, the Wind blew hard enough to knock a boy down.

  The gold sand it kicked up covered the whole of the desert. What had been a battlefield was lost in blowing sand.

  Snotty, Tuxto
n still clinging to his chest, struggled through the sand, which was as deep and shifting as fresh fallen snow. He shouted against the Wind.

  “BIG TEDDY! BIIIGGG TTTEEEDDDDDDDYYYYY!”

  There was no answer, of course. Snotty staggered on a yard or so more, but the wind and the sand were too much for him. Soon he couldn’t go any farther. Snotty and Tuxton collapsed slowly onto the desert floor.

  The Wind howled. The sand buried them both. Only Snotty’s mouth was left, gasping, above it.

  The sky turned darker and darker, and then there was no more light at all.

  All was lost.

  Chapter XIX

  A ROYAL FEAST

  After the darkness came the dawn. It always does.

  The desert plain was empty now. And still. The Wind disappeared as if it had never been. The landscape, as far as the eye could see (if there had been an eye to see), was covered with a thin coat of fine gold sand.

  If there had been a battle here, a massacre, some bloody and infernal deed, it was now so buried, so covered in the sands of Time, as to have lost all meaning. Now it was no more (if it had ever been any more) than a faintly remembered dream.

  There was a dreamer, though. There was Snotty, snoring through his sand-crusted mouth, heaving uneasily in his sleep.

  Windmilling his arms while asleep, flailing against some enemy, Snotty had worked his way free of the sand. He lay there now on the desert floor, warmed by the balmy early hours of the day. His nose twitched at a newly risen light breeze. He gave a gasping snort before turning over on his side.

  In the eastern sky, the morning star shone clear as a jewel. The sky cradling it blushed and deepened and turned to light.

  As the day came forward, the star, instead of making way, clung with stubborn pride to its place in the sky. Instead of fading it shone even brighter than before. And it made a clear, high sound. “BBBBBBBZZZZZZZTTTTTT.”

  Snotty smiled in his sleep, hiccupped, and snored on.

  The star, attracted by the child, moved closer in the sky. Closer and closer it came, shining ever brighter, until it loomed over Snotty, casting over him a silver light. Then that silver light narrowed, extended, and glowed blue, until a blue column glowed right over Snotty’s sleeping head.

  “BBBBZZZZTTTTT.”

  For a moment the light hovered there. Then the blue column slid with an easy movement to the desert floor, where it unzipped—“zzziiippp! ”—from top to bottom. And from inside the column of glowing light stepped the most beautiful young man in the world.

  Snotty slept on. His forehead wrinkled, though, as if something in his dream had changed.

  The young man was cool and elegant and strong. His eyes were a clear, deep turquoise. His hair was glossy black, his teeth pearlescent, his nose straight, his skin a burnished white. His dress was of an understated magnificence that couldn’t be ignored.

  Elegance was the hallmark of everything the beautiful young man said or did.

  As the column of blue light rolled up and disappeared behind him, the young man stood there, reflecting in the dawn. His long, patrician fingers tapped at his well-formed chin. He gazed down at Snotty, and his look was one of perplexity and concern.

  “Dear, dear,” he murmured as he bent down protectively to flick some sand from the child’s face. “Dear, dear.”

  Snotty, snorting and coughing and choking on swallowed bits of sand, sat bolt upright and stared. It was as if he had woken from a bad dream. As indeed he had.

  “Wha...wha...where...,” Snotty said. He remembered something from somewhere and felt blindly around himself in the sand. “Tuxton!” he shrieked. “Tuxton, where are you? TUXTON!”

  He was still only half awake when he scrabbled frantically in the sand, tearing at his hands. The young man watched him. His look was full of sorrow.

  Snotty was almost hysterical now. He jumped up and screamed, “Tuxton! Big Teddy! Melia! Snowflake! WHERE ARE YOU?”

  Swift as a breeze, the young man was at Snotty’s side, his arm around the child’s shoulders, shaking him gently.

  “Ssssh,” he said soothingly. “It was only a bad dream. Sssshhh.”

  At first Snotty refused to be comforted. He turned wildly this way, then that. He saw the beautiful young man. “You!” he said eagerly. “Maybe you know. My friends. Where have my friends gone?”

  The beautiful young man touched Snotty’s chin with his long fingers and gave him a rueful look. “There, there,” he murmured again. “It must have been a nasty one, your dream. But you’re awake now.” When Snotty looked at him, confused, he explained. “A dream. It was only a bad dream.”

  Snotty rubbed his eyes with his fists and took in the scene around him: the majestic, pure, and empty desert. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes again. But when he opened them, it was still the same. The golden sand lying glistening in the early morning sun, under the triangular glory of the Peak. The empty desert, the white Peak and the beautiful young man.

  “Better now?” the young man inquired. “All right?”

  Snotty blinked. The young man looked familiar. “Do I ... do I know you?” he asked.

  “I should think so!” the young man said, smiling. “Good heavens, you have given me a scare! You sleep the sleep of the dead, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Snotty murmured, confused.

  “It was hell waking you,” the young man said. He laughed at Snotty’s mistrustful look and, giving his shoulders an affectionate shake, said, “Snotty, it’s Luc! Luc! Your old pal, remember?” He laughed again and led Snotty, unresisting, over to where a wing chair and a sky blue loveseat sat around a well appointed drinks tray.

  “Luc,” Snotty repeated vaguely as he sat down on the couch. “Oh yeah. I remember.” Luc handed him a cigarette. As Snotty lit it, he noticed with surprise that the skin on his hands and arms was peeling. It wasn’t painful, but it looked raw. Then he returned to grappling with the problem of Luc’s identity. “I remember,” he repeated. “I think.”

  Luc sat in the leather wing chair and deftly shook up a silver monogrammed cocktail shaker. From this he poured out two martinis into crystal glasses. “Luc,” Snotty said, watching this with fascination. “Luc. Yeah. My friend.” To his delight, his friend handed one of the glasses to him. To Snotty!

  “You see, Snotty,” Luc said in his bantering way. “One olive and one onion. Just the way you like it.”

  “Aw, Luc,” Snotty said. “You remembered.”

  They clinked glasses.

  “Chin chin,” Luc said. And Snotty replied by lifting the thin crystal of his glass till it sparkled in the morning sun. Luc leaned back in his chair and gave a comfortable sigh. “This is what it’s all about, isn’t it, Snotty? Good times with good friends.”

  “You can say that again,” Snotty agreed.

  “After all,” Luc said suavely, “you and I have so much in common—being both men of the world.”

  At this, Snotty paused. Just slightly. The glass, on the way to his lips, stopped for just a moment before continuing on. “Delicious, just delicious,” he murmured. Then he remembered.59

  “Yeah!” he said. “I remember now! My friend Luc! The Duke of New York!”

  “Please, Snotty,” Luc said, holding up a modest hand. “You know I don’t like to use any of my titles among friends.”

  “Yeah, right, I got you, of course,” Snotty said. He nodded a vigorous agreement to the good taste his friend showed. “And I’ve always admired you for it. You know that.”

  “And you, Snotty,” Luc said smoothly, topping off Snotty’s glass. “What about you? You’ve always shown such reserve about your background. Why, I can’t remember how many times you’ve stopped an admiring journalist from mentioning, in some magazine article or some Sunday supplement lifestyle piece, that your name means ‘Of the House of Kings.’”

  “Well, Luc, you know,” Snotty said vaguely as Luc seemed to await a response. “It’s not like we want everyone knowing ou
r business, is it?”

  “The hoi polloi,” Luc agreed.

  “Exactly,” Snotty said. Sipping his drink, he noticed again that strange peeling of his skin. It left a layer much rosier and fresher looking than any he had ever noticed before.

  “How well I remember your grandfather,” Luc reminisced. “And how like him you are!”

  “Good old grandpa,” Snotty took a cautious puff on his cigarette.

  “The Duke of Bulgaria!” Luc said. “Such a cultivated man! And your grandmother! The loveliest princess in Christendom. Of course, everyone was in love with her.”

  “But it was old grandpa that won her,” Snotty chimed in, wiping a tear of pride from his eye.

  “Exactly,” Luc agreed. “At a grand tournament. He unseated three different knights!”

  Snotty leaned forward in a confidential way. “Four,” he said.

  “Really?” Luc looked surprised. “I could have sworn.... But you would know, of course. Being his grandson and heir.”

  At this, Snotty spilled his drink on the sky blue couch. “Excuse me, Luc,” he said, embarrassed. He tried to mop up the liquid with the tatters of his purple Teddy Bear clothes.

  Then something stopped him. He suddenly saw it was beneath him to clean up after himself, as if he were somebody unimportant, like a cleaning lady, or a schoolteacher. Instead, remembering his noble lineage, he held up the dregs in his glass for a toast.

  “To Bulgaria!” he said.60

  Luc, who had been watching this with an expression of satisfied pride, murmured, “Very good, Snotty. Noblesse oblige.” Then he joined in the toast. “To Bulgaria,” he agreed. And when Snotty looked down at himself, he saw, in some wonder, that he no longer wore the tattered plush of the Bears. He was dressed, instead, in leather and silk and expensive denim.

  “Thanks, Luc,” he said softly.

  Luc just smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if to say that such trifles needn’t be mentioned between friends. Instead, standing up, he gave himself a light tap on the forehead. “But here I am,” he complained humorously, “forgetting all the rules of hospitality! Don’t you think we should have a small bite to eat, before getting down to the business at hand?”