Davidia and the Prince of Triplock

by Ken Spargo

  ‘I sense food and plenty of friendly inhabitants up there near a freshwater pond. There was a family jumping about enjoying themselves.’

  ‘Did it appear safe?’

  ‘From the sky, yes, but from the ground, we’ll have to find out.’

  The three friends walked along the road toward the Pool of Pududdles. The small, odd shaped farming allotments were neatly kept. All food leaves grew in exactly the same way with identical height and colouring. It was as if a photograph had been placed over the ground. A picture-perfect, idyllic environment, or so it seemed.

  ‘Look, there’s Boo over there with his family,’ pointed Davidia.

  ‘He doesn’t seem happy,’ answered Grunt.

  A group of Jimps were kicking at him, but without their extended claws. Grunt rushed over toward them. A space was made for the huge intruder.

  ‘Are you okay, Boo?’ he asked. ‘They’re kicking at you.’

  ‘This is how we greet each other,’ he replied. ‘My family didn’t recognise me, but they know my tricky foot moves which I was demonstrating to them.’

  Grunt watched the jumping crowd who seemed to be on a perpetual trampoline. They jumped incessantly. Their protruding teeth were to be avoided. They snarled, grunted, farted, spat and wet the ground religiously. Any mess made was quickly cleaned up by the slave moppers. These life forms slunk in and around the toe jumpers and were careful not to be jumped on. They each carried a rake.

  ‘This is Jiminy, Jodiny and Jempiny, my family,’ said Boo proudly. ‘My name isn’t really Boo either, it’s Jaminy.’

  The Jimp family hopped around them wondering which one would make the best slave. The huge round one would exhaust easy, the flying food morsel couldn’t be caught, but the other one would be ideal for leaf collection. The one utensil all slaves possessed was a rake. If it were ever left unattended they would be punished. The rake was the badge of a slave.

  ‘Where’s your rake?’ asked Jiminy, the slimy father Jimp. He had a penchant for kicking his slaves and lately hadn’t kicked any because they had died of exhaustion in the fields. The opportunity was now available for new ones with Grunt’s and Davidia’s arrival.

  ‘We don’t have a rake and besides what would we need one for anyway?’ said Davidia, not keen to work or earn a blister or two on her delicate hands.

  ‘Everyone in the valley has a rake.’

  ‘Where’s your rake, Mr Jimp?’

  ‘Management doesn’t need any, only slaves use them.’

  ‘I’m not a slave, Mr Jimp, so I don’t need one either.’

  Jiminy began hopping erratically in anger – the impertinence of the young life form not willing to be a slave.

  ‘Dad, Dad,’ yelled young Jaminy, ‘isn’t there a test a life form must perform and fail before becoming a slave?’ He didn’t remember the bad parts of being a Jimp, or how they tricked and took advantage of life forms to become slaves. Jiminy wasn’t happy that he had been reminded of the test. He thought it would be a waste of time. Anyway, no life form had ever passed the test before. Now that the test had been spoken about by a Jimp, it was mandatory to abide by it. Jiminy lashed out at Jaminy with claws extended to inflict the pain of disagreement. Jaminy missed the onslaught of attack.

  ‘What is this test?’ asked Grunt. He was used to adversity as a protector of good and wondered how best to appease the growing resentment and anger of Jiminy and family. They were desperate for new slaves; otherwise the catastrophe of work would fall on their shoulders. In Jimp society they would be ridiculed, abused and treated slightly better than slaves by their fellow Jimps. They would be unable to attend any social functions and eventually become a pariah in their own society. Competition for slaves was fierce. Work was a hated word which no one wanted to hear.

  ‘Where do you live?’ asked Davidia, feeling her rumbling stomach juices. ‘Perhaps you can offer us a cup of tea?’

  ‘What’s tea? Never heard of it. Our house is over there,’ answered Jodiny, the calming Jimp. She thought that if she could befriend the prospective new slaves, perhaps they might have a good working relationship. She began to lead them toward the house. Batbit had been flying overhead and noticed that Jodiny jumped every second stone on the footpath. Being a conniving, brilliant, bat commander, Batbit flew low behind her and let out a piercing screech. It was pure intuition. The noise interfered with her jumping antennae and Jodiny miscalculated the next stone and sank into a gooey, muddy substance. It was the Licorice Slick that bubbled just below what appeared to be a solid surface. Grunt remembered the voice that said, ‘Nothing is as it seems.’

  ‘She’s sinking, please save her,’ cried Davidia. Ruefully, Jiminy complied. His interest was in the slaves, not heroics for his family. Jodiny was dragged safely out. Jimps didn’t possess the manners to say ‘thank you;’ however, Jodiny acknowledged her rescue with a wave of a foot.

  ‘Tread carefully, Mr Grunt, we don’t want to sink before we solve the puzzle, do we?’

  ‘A puzzle. Is that a food source in your land?’ said Grunt, unsure of what it was.

  ‘It’s a test. This land seems odd to me, like pieces not properly fitting in. At home mum used to play puzzle time with jigsaw puzzles. Dad always joked about being pulled apart and put back together again. Somehow Mr and Mrs Jimp don’t seem to fit in. Maybe they are part of a puzzle too.’

  They carefully traversed the ingeniously hidden sinking stones underfoot and crossed safely to the Jimp house. From the outside facing the roadway, it looked solid. However, behind the door lay another world.

  ‘Go on, open the door, rounded life form,’ cooed Jiminy to Grunt. ‘Food and rest is almost yours. You only have to push the handle downwards.’ One of the unknown tests for slaves to fail was that if they went or acted first on any occasion presented by a Jimp, it was instant failure and enslavement. Grunt and Davidia had no idea how treacherous a Jimp was. They were the magicians of the valley.

  ‘Let me open it,’ said Davidia as she hastily pushed forward. She grabbed the handle and instead of pulling downwards, she pushed upwards. The door wouldn’t open.

  ‘You stupid door. You aren’t a talking door handle, are you?’ she yelled. Jiminy felt he almost had a new slave in his grasp. Young Jaminy, alias Boo, who was ever so helpful, pushed Davidia sideways and jumped on the handle. The door instantly opened. Jiminy was passing wind with displeasure, grunting noisily and kicking at the wall. His control was leaking down his leg. Damn, another missed opportunity, he thought. Behind the door was a ramp leading downwards to an underground cavern. The interior was sparsely furnished with mats as the only ground cover. A dormitory was off to the side of the cooking room. A strong, thick, ceiling beam support fitted the length of the room. Huge hooks hung down from the beam.

  ‘They look dangerous,’ said Davidia, wondering what they were used for.

  ‘This is where we sleep,’ explained Jodiny, who was still grateful for being there at all. ‘From these hooks we hang slings in which we sleep above the ground. Our legs are constantly active so we must hang high in order to sleep. It would be impossible to sleep on the ground.’

  ‘We call them hammocks,’ replied Davidia. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

  ‘Food sustenance must be earned. Tomorrow, you must cross the Pool of Pududdles. Then you will be rewarded. This dark you must stay here. Next light is a mystery.’

  ‘I like solving puzzles.’ Davidia’s hunger was thwarted by the thrill of what tomorrow would bring.

  Grunt had said very little. He was concerned over the warning by the voice in his head. He sat down and all his external parts withdrew into his body. The necklace jingled slightly. His body was nervous in the company of the Jimps. Davidia was a trusting soul whom he had to protect. Batbit had flown in quietly so as not to spook the Jimps and be impaled on one of their grotesque teeth. The Jimps hopped into their bed slings and their legs twitched all that dark.

  Tomorrow would be the pool of reflections.

  A
vicious, nasty, storm was brewing within the council. Word had spread of the arrival of the new potential slaves.

  ‘Why weren’t we informed? It’s council policy that any new slave is presented firstly to council, otherwise the Claw of Clusters will be invoked. Jiminy and family cannot claim them as a first right. Tomorrow, we will claim them and punishment will be swift,’ said the head Jimp, as its fist thundered onto the table.

  In the dark sky, an evil force sniffed the winds for foreign life forms. Somewhere from down in the valley there was a signal from the past emitting trailers of detection. For many years no such signal existed and no one expected it to be activated ever again. It signalled a threat. The Irrids had detected the feelings it evoked and wanted them erased forever. Grunt was safe underground for the moment and the source of the signal couldn’t be located. The Sinister, another evil demon sent by the Irrids to conquer and control the Valley of Rintslip, patrolled the winds and airways. Its unhappy disposition welled up from being ignored as a serious force when it could only blow strong winds. Now it had tornado potential, a lethal activity it was dying to practice. The head Irrid kept a close watch on her nasty demons and unleashed them when under threat. The weak signals from the past had put a fear into her she hadn’t felt since the time of the Great Split. Sinister would soon come into its own as a mad monster of wind theatrics and try to defeat any signal threats.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ said Grunt. ‘There’s trouble. I feel it in my pores. Look, they’re becoming wet again. At first light, we must leave quietly and cross the Pool of Pududdles, hopefully to safety. I don’t trust the Jimps, except for Jaminy, I mean Boo.’

  Batbit agreed. Davidia was still half asleep. Danger lurked everywhere like a bad smell. Softly, softly, was the escape plan. Whatever the risk, it was worth the chance of freedom than to be enslaved. They didn’t know where the Pool of Pududdles would lead, but felt that for their survival it was essential to take the risk. An inner force seemed to propel Grunt into action.

  ‘Psst, are you awake, Davidia?’ asked Grunt, as he prodded her on the arm.

  ‘It’s too early to get up. It’s still dark,’ she moaned. Fortunately they couldn’t be heard or understood as they transferred thoughts to each other. The Jimp family were snoring loudly and wouldn’t have heard any sounds anyway.

  They are dreadfully noisy sleepers, thought Grunt. Had he known that in Davidia’s world there were animals known as pigs that lived in a pig sty, he would have understood that their sounds were almost identical.

  It was first light as they crept quietly like criminals trying to avoid detection, slowly, slowly, toward the front door. A loud snort was heard. They froze like icicles. Had they been discovered? Seconds went by which felt like minutes.

  ‘Keep moving,’ urged Grunt. ‘I have no intention of being their slave.’

  They made it safely to the front door. No one felt or heard them leave. The atmosphere that surrounded the three was filled with apprehension. It was decided that Jaminy, alias Boo, was to be left behind. It was obvious, even though he existed as only two feet and had been very helpful to them to date, his feet had regained the nasty Jimp jump trait. It was ugly foot bouncing. They felt that his past nastiness would eventually return in full to his feet and they might be on the end of a good kicking.

  ‘It’s early for breakfast,’ said Davidia, realising that at home they never got up this early to eat. ‘I’m hungry.’ In the kitchen, there was a mound of loose food objects lying on top of the bench. Davidia grabbed at the nearest offering. It squelched in her hand. Goo oozed out of it. She was quick enough to lick it before gravity splattered it onto the floor making it inedible. Her face winced in a grimace as the terrible taste danced over her taste buds. Her hunger overrode the nasty taste and she swallowed it whole. Her body shook in fright. ‘I’m not doing that again,’ she promised herself. At least her stomach would no longer complain of being ignored.

  Grunt ignored her comments. Batbit clung to Davidia’s dress as the door opened. It was “so far, so good”. They stepped out into the valley, which had an icy bite to it. Hopefully, they weren’t followed by a series of nasty, gnashing teeth.

  ‘Follow that sign to the Pool of Pududdles,’ ordered Grunt. The plan was to approach the pool and try to cross it without failure. It was a puzzle test that a life form in Jimp belief was doomed to fail. This would allow the capture of new slaves to harass, kick, boss about and above all, work. A rake would be issued to each of them and they would be set to work forever as a slave until expiry in the fields. It wasn’t going to be a pretty picture, if caught. No one had ever succeeded before to outwit and outsmart a cunning Jimp. A human, possibly the brightest animal known, plus the cleverness of Grunt, was about to be played out in a tantalising, teasing puzzle.

  ‘There’s the Pool of Pududdles,’ shouted Davidia excitedly. ‘It’s beautiful. I’m going to paddle my feet in it.’

  ‘Stop,’ cried Grunt. ‘They are dangerous and testing waters. All is not as it seems.’

  Davidia stopped dead in her tracks as if struck by lightening. She hadn’t heard any fear in Grunt’s thoughts before and it stunned her. ‘The Pools are filled with treachery. The clear pool may not be so clear once you are near it. Caution must be exercised at all times and remember that you have to outwit your opponent, a Jimp puzzle master. See the solution before you solve the problem.’

  Unbeknown to the trio, no Jimp had ever crossed the Pool of Pududdles either. Were they to make the first ever successful crossing?

  ‘It’s a wet, water puzzle then,’ replied Davidia. ‘I like puzzles.’

  The Pool of Pududdles was a warm, mud spring, which constantly spat bubbles under the watery surface. The exhaled air from those rounded, bubbly spurters gave the impression they were talking to you. ‘Come on down, the water’s fine.’ In fact, they were actually spitting contempt at any life form that dared to cross. They were arrogant little mud holes. The grey muddy substance had often captured life forms by sending up the slimy reeds that inhabited the creek bed. The reeds tangled around legs, ankles and bodies and dragged the life forms down. Once caught, unhappiness became the emotion of a rake slave. The Jimps wallowed in their cleverness of the “pududdling” of every life form. The Pool of Pududdles wasn’t very wide and solid ground was temptingly close on the other side. Once over there, it was thought that safety and escape had been achieved. Was this correct? Mmm. Achieve it first and see.

  ‘I’m not crossing there,’ said a stubborn and defiant Davidia. ‘I’ll get my dress dirtier. Where do we go shopping? I need a new dress. Mummy always took me for retail therapy when I wanted a new dress. Perhaps, Mr Grunt, you could take me.’

  Grunt was focused on defeating the Pool and not listening to a whinging twelve year old. A series of small stepping-stones could be seen just below the water’s surface. When a mud hole exhaled an air bubble, the ripple made them momentarily disappear. When the water stilled they reappeared and became a small reflective pool, with the stepping-stones clearly visible underneath. It beckoned standing upon. Batbit flew above the water’s surface at skimming level. He noticed gaps between the small pools, which looked dark and murky. Any false step and it would be gurgle, gurgle, to the bottom of the pool. His early-warning radar detector system needed to be fully functional to warn of any stepping disaster.

  ‘Me first,’ said Grunt. Davidia pouted disappointment. He lent forward. His reflection danced off the small pool in delight. It arose to the same height as himself. They stared at each other. Grunt got the fright of his life. He had never seen such an ugly life form. Just then Batbit landed on his shoulder, ‘Not that one, not that one, there’s nothing underneath.’

  ‘But I can see a life form, it’s so ugly. What is it? It’s got all those pieces protruding everywhere and covered in bubbly holes.’

  Batbit whispered in his ear, ‘It’s you.’

  ‘That’s me!’ he exclaimed amazed. He’d never seen himself before and couldn’t bel
ieve it. ‘That’s me!’ Davidia nodded in agreement. He now realised how others saw him.

  ‘Unbelievable.’ Grunt gazed in disbelief that the life form standing directly above a false stepping-stone was actually himself. Wow! No more sleepless darks for him. The stones seem to whisper, ‘Step on me, step on me.’ As Grunt put one foot forward the reflection instantly disappeared. In its place was a pool of a black, muddy, liquid substance, which led to demonic depths. He quickly withdrew his foot and because of his many legs, hadn’t overbalanced and plopped into the pool. Suddenly, the pool returned to clear water again. It was tricky and confusing.

  ‘Miss the reflection puddle,’ encouraged Batbit. ‘Davidia, you do the same.’

  At times, telling a twelve year old a positive life action function would often be met with a contrasting viewpoint and result.

  Grunt had done as instructed and his foot landed on a solid substance just below the water’s surface.

  ‘Safe,’ he grumbled.

  Davidia saw her reflection also rise from a clear pool. She admired how beautiful it was and lent over to touch it. The water began to bubble. A slimy, mud-covered reed slithered from the pool and passed over her wrist.

  ‘Eek! Get off me,’ she yelled. The reed began to circle her hand. It would be the end of her freedom if she couldn’t be saved.

  Grunt couldn’t help her because there was no turning back in the Pool of Pududdles. It was only a one-way trip to the other side. He could only watch the dangerous situation unfold. Batbit had seen the disaster happening. Reeds weren’t his favourite tasting food source; however, to have any chance of saving Davidia he had to forego his tastebud intolerance to reed chomping. He dived like a kingfisher at full tilt, mouth agape and latched onto the threatening reed with his razor sharp, short, spiky teeth. He shook it vigorously like a terrier. His teeth slit through the reed as quickly as a sharp machete through dense jungle growth. Noiselessly the reed released its grip and slid into the murky depths, leaving behind a mud, slime trail.