Maxwell's Closet

by Steven Belskie

  “Well, thank you,” Max paused, “I think.”

  “As do I.”

  Max gave the orc a bewildered look and stared into the rough rock-hewn ceiling. He reflected on how bizarre this world was. He had seen a myriad of odd things so far, and he had been here scarcely a day.

  “What’s your name?” asked Max.

  “Oh, me?” the orc looked around as if the question might be directed toward the chair or one of the fine candleholders. After thoroughly scanning the room, he seemed satisfied that the question was in fact directed at him.

  “My name? Hmmm… no one has ever asked me my name before. I must be given a moment to think.”

  He stood there scratching his finger across his chin. Dark wrinkles of thought creased his face.

  Time wore on. He stood nearly motionless except for a lone finger moving across his chin. After what seemed like minutes, Max grew impatient.

  “Well, have you thought about it?”

  “Yes,” he paused “I believe… that I do not have a name.”

  “That’s horrible!” Max said aghast.

  The orc frowned and said, “I’d like it very much if I had a name. It would be much simpler… many things would be much simpler.”

  “I could give you a name,” said Max, hopefully, “How about Fred? Or maybe Max, just like me?”

  “No, I’m afraid you can’t simply just make up a name and give it to me. A good name, a true name, must fit. It must carry some essence of that which it names. To bestow such a powerful thing is no mere trifle.”

  “Well, I could go looking for one. I’m sure I could find you the best name. If you could just let me go I cou—”

  The orc cut him off midsentence, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything. The executions must run as scheduled. I have two more to get in by lunch and we can’t have any delays.”

  “I understand. I guess your hands are tied.”

  “No, they are quite free from restraint,” said the orc, showing his hands to Max.

  “Perhaps if they were tied I might not have to do this,” he said, frowning. Max saw in his eyes absolute sincerity.

  The orc picked up an axe that had mysteriously appeared at his side. It was large and twin bladed. The blades ran long on both sides, as thin as paper.

  The orc took Max and placed his head down inside an old wooden stand. The wood had a distinct musty smell like a dog that had not been bathed in weeks.

  Max’s heart raced as he heard the orc adjusting the axe behind him. A metallic scrape made him shiver. It was followed by another scrape, and another still as the executioner prepared his tool with the precision and detachment of a cobbler.

  A clock ticked in the background. A heavy breath sounded behind Max as his executioner raised the axe. The ticking seemed to increase in pace. Faster and faster it went, as Max’s heart felt as if it would explode.

  “I’m sorry to do this,” the orc said in a whisper. There was a heavy sadness in the words.

  Just as the orc began to shift his weight to deliver a fatal blow, the door to the execution chamber shot open with a bang. In charged a tall knight, clothed in shining silver armor and wielding a glimmering sword and a splendid shield adorned with a bright sun.

  The orc turned to face the threat. He raised his axe and shouted: “Intruder!”

  The knight sprang forward, dodging under the swipe of the axe. He forced his shield into the orc’s shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards. He pressed his attack forward, hacking with his sword, keeping his foe off balance.

  As he backed the orc up against the wall, he swung his blade in a high arc. The blade reached over the axe and cut off the orc’s arm. The arm hung for a second before falling to the ground.

  The heavy axe fell to the floor with the handle still gripped in the dead fingers. Blood poured out onto the floor, blending with the mud and dirt into a black fluid trickling across the stone. The orc paused, shock written in his eyes. He tried to murmur something and then with a slight smile he collapsed to the ground.

  Max sat in the corner, shaking. A feeling of nausea welled in his stomach.

  The knight spoke in a noble voice: “We must move quickly before his alarm is answered.”

  “Give me a second; I need to take care of something.”

  Max walked over to the dying orc. The orc gasped for his final breaths. Blood poured from his wound and filled the air around him with a sickly sweet smell.

  Max leaned over the body. His eyes met with the eyes of the dying orc. The colored drained from them and his life along with it.

  “I will find you a name. You should have one,” Max said. His voice trembled as tears welled in his eyes.

  The knight stood at the door, watching the exchange. His countenance was marked with a deep bewilderment.

  Finally, he spoke: “We must go quickly. In a few moments these halls will be swarming with orcs.”

  His voice quivered and his eyes darted.

  The sounds of rapid footfalls crashed like thunder rolling down the hallway. Shields and swords clanged against armor as the tumult grew deafening.

  “Now! We must go now!” the knight roared, half frightened, half angry with Max.

  The noises broke Max from his stupor. He leapt to his feet and hurried with the knight’s guidance out the door. Looking over his shoulder Max saw dozens of orcs storming down the hall toward them. They were like one giant black wave ready to crash upon their quarry and take them into the undertow.

  “You must go the way you came in. I trust you can find it. I will hold them as long as I can. Find Prince Hunter. His men are waiting outside.”

  Max ran as fast as he could. His feet slipped and skidded on the damp stone floor. The torches flew past his eyes like comets and the cobwebs parted before him like mist.

  As he ran he dared a glance behind him.

  He watched as the knight threw himself against the wave of black. The orcs dove upon him, striking furious blows against his shining armor. He fought back, hurling orcs off him and swinging his sword the best that he might. Limbs and heads flew into the air, as black blood filled the hallway.

  Still, as one orc fell or was thrown free from the knight more jumped upon him, clawing and hacking. Cracks covered his armor, as hammers and swords and fists beat down against it. Clawing hands ripped his helmet from his head.

  Max could no longer watch, and he focused his gaze forward. He fought back tears as the knight’s sword clattered to the ground and he called out in pain.

  Orcs had already begun to clear the hallway of bodies, and once again they surged down the corridor. Their short armored bodies moved with miraculous speed as they seemed to be gaining on Max.

  As the sounds of the orcs grew louder, Max could see the hallway growing shorter, and he thought he began to imagine a small light at the end. He forced his legs to move faster than they ever had. He found himself making bargains with them as they moved beneath him. He would never make them work again, he promised, if only they could get him to the end of the hall.

  How close the orcs were Max couldn’t guess, but he didn’t dare to look back. He knew that if he did not make it out before the orcs overtook him, it would be the end.

  The sounds of heavy breathing and unsheathing swords grew. The footfalls sounded only feet behind him. The light grew at the end of the hallway. He was only steps away.

  Anticipation of a sharp blade piercing him from behind threatened to paralyze Max, but he pushed on as his legs burned and trembled beneath him, ready to collapse.

  As he reached the end of the tunnel he saw an army of shining knights standing outside. Before them were positioned dozens of archers with drawn bows.

  “Down!” a voice screamed to Max.

  He dove out of the hallway and onto the hard ground.

  Wave after wave of arrows whistled overhead, and he heard them thud dully into orc flesh. Dead orcs fell, as a line of shining knights charged around Max. He heard clashes of metal and screams of agony as a
pair of rough hands pulled him to his feet and dragged him from the battle.

  Chapter 3

  The hot sun beat down on the blistered grass, which, now dry and brittle, crunched beneath the boots of the steel strangers. A silent procession of armor-covered figures marched in an endless line from horizon to horizon.

  Max bounced and bucked on the back of a large black horse. Rays of sun played off the horse’s coat and made it shine with a brilliant luster.

  Though Max found the horse beautiful, it was not at all obedient. As if on a whim it would shoot out from under him, leaving him victim of the first of Isaac’s laws. Each fall added not only to pain of his body, but to the accumulated damage to his pride. What good was a knight who couldn’t even stay on his horse?

  As Max climbed onto his horse for what seemed like the thousandth time a figure pulled alongside him on a grand white stallion. The knight wore shining armor of white and silver that shone like the stars of the night. His long blade strung across his back glistened in the afternoon sun.

  The only odd thing about the knight’s ensemble was his very large and eccentric helm. It had an assortment of metal tubes that ran up toward the sky all the while turning this way and that, forming a matted mess of spirals and swirls.

  “I see you admiring my helmet,” stated the knight.

  “Well, more gaping than admiring,” said Max.

  “Gaping! How dare ye do insult to my helm!” the knight shouted.

  “It’s just that it’s rather odd,” Max said. “None of the other knights have helmets like it, and I must say I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Well, of course you haven’t you insolent boy. I received this helmet as a gift from the king when I was promoted to the rank of Grand General. There is no other helmet like it in all the world.”

  “I don’t mean to seem rude,” said Max, “but it doesn’t seem to make much practical sense. A regular helm would protect you just as well. And this one seems to throw you off balance and its heavy weight must slow you down.”

  “AHH! And in so doing it makes all the practical sense in the world,” the knight answered.

  Max bore an expression of confusion. His nose wrinkled and his eyebrows scrunched as he struggled to make meaning of what the knight said.

  “I don’t see how being slower would help you in a battle.” Max said, “Surely being faster would serve you better in avoiding and countering the enemy.”

  “Well, being faster than average would surely help, but so would being slower than average.” The knight looked at Max as if inviting some argument.

  “Being fast would certainly help to outrun and outflank an enemy, perhaps even to escape from battle if necessary but I don’t see how being slow could be of any benefit,” Max said.

  “It is truly quite simple,” said the knight in a sage voice. “When my army charges out into battle and I charge with them I cannot keep up. So naturally I fall to the back, safe from the clanging swords and the whistling arrows, and there I am better able to lead and encourage my troops. But should something befall the men that I send to the frontline I feel no guilt for I know that I trotted as fast I could and could not have reached the front in time to save them.”

  “Shouldn’t you feel guilty knowing that if you hadn’t worn the helm you would’ve been able to help them?” asked Max.

  “How dare you? This helm was a gift from the king. To not wear it would be an insult to his majesty.” With these words the knight kicked his horse hard and galloped out in front of Max, leaving him behind.

  Max just stared as the knight rode far off to the front of the column, leaving Max sitting alone on his horse.

  He was too busy wallowing in his own loneliness in this strange land to notice a rider pull up alongside him.

  “Why am I here?” asked Max, oblivious to the presence beside him. “How long have I wished for such an adventure? But now that I find it I only wish to be home. In books and movies the hero’s path is always righteous and certain, but here, mine is unsteady and dangerous. It holds no more meaning than my life back home, no more worth than my long nights reading of deeds that I knew I was unfit to perform. I guess I was not meant for greatness.”

  “It may be too early to judge such things,”

  Max jumped in his saddle as he heard the voice beside him.

  “I am sorry,” laughed the rider. “When I came upon you, you were deep in soliloquy and I did not wish to disturb you.”

  The rider was different from the other knights. He wore shining black mail trimmed with strands of jewels and fine metals. His dark hair flew back in the wind as he trotted along. On his side was sheathed a sword with a dragon-head handle. The dragon’s eyes were blood red rubies that seemed endlessly deep. Two arms reached from the side of the mouth scaled with golden armor, and claws of silver reached out menacingly. An armored neck flowed into a gold-plated tail that wrapped itself into a spiral handle. It was more beautiful and yet more deadly than anything Max had ever seen.

  The rider saw Max admiring the sword and he smiled.

  “Quite ornate isn’t it? It is the best sword I have ever seen. It was a gift for my eighteenth birthday, from my father of course,” said the rider.

  “Who exactly is your father?” Max asked, amazed that any one could afford such a weapon.

  “Oh my, where are my manners. My father is the king. I am Prince Hunter,” his voice was deep and majestic and the words seemed noble and brave as they left his mouth.

  “You are the prince?” asked Max, flabbergasted.

  “One of twelve,” remarked the prince, “but the first of twelve in the heart of my father, in the fame of the people, and in the dreams of the women.”

  Max blushed.

  “Well it is truly an honor to meet a prince,” said Max.

  “Not so great an honor as to meet a fine lady. I tell you, boy, do not spend your life chasing cheap women. No, find one you truly care for and do all that you may to win her over.” The Prince stared distantly to the horizon as he spoke, “Ah, but I digress. This sword is truly one of a kind.”

  He drew the blade from the sheath, startling Max as it whizzed mere inches from his face. The prince spun and twirled the blade through the air with unbelievable grace. Small twists of his wrists were all that were needed to send the blade singing through dizzying arcs and spellbinding loops.

  “This,” he said bringing the sword to a sudden stop, “was forged of thousands of sheets of the hardest metal compressed until an unbreakable blade, sharper than anything, was created. Through human flesh, or steel, or even stone can it cut without effort. ”

  “I should hope I never should have to face such a weapon,” said Max.

  “Nor would anyone,” said the prince chuckling, “and you never shall as long as you do no harm to my king or to my country.” He no longer smiled.

  “Well, my boy,” said the prince, the friendliness had returned to his voice, “you seem a rather pleasant child. What had you so sad when I came upon you?”

  Max hesitated before responding. “Well, I feel rather out of place in this land. It seems a place for your kind, Prince. A land for the strong and noble. Not for the weak and cowardly.”

  “I have seen no cowardice in your action, young man. Nor weakness. You are special, my friend. You shall meet the challenge of a worthy adventure. Why else do you think the orcs sought fit to capture you or that we spent our blood to save you?”

  “You mean…” Max paused, “The king knew I was being held there? He sent you to rescue me?”

  “I fear I can say no more dear boy. My father will inform you of it all when we arrive in his court tomorrow. But for now hop onto my horse so you may get some rest. I think in the coming days sleep will be a comfort for which you will have little time.” The prince helped Max climb atop his steed. Max’s eyelids felt heavy, and for the first time in this strange land he drifted happily to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Trumpets blared and bells tolled as
the procession of riders entered through the walls of the city. Great marble gates rolled slowly back to allow entrance to the city’s returning victors. The mighty walls of pure white marble towered overhead, and Max thought he could see eagles circling the splendid gables that rose above the walls.

  The procession moved through the narrow streets as crowds cheered and hooted. In length they arrived at what Max could only assume was the palace. It was as he expected, save for one minor detail; it hovered several hundred feet in the air.

  While the fortress would have been imposing had it sat on solid ground, the sight of such a monolithic construction looming hundreds of feet in the air made the hair on the back of Max’s neck stand straight like a company of soldiers reporting for inspection. As He stood beneath the floating fortress he marveled at how such a monstrosity could be kept afloat.

  “Come on, Max.”

  The prince beckoned Max to follow him. Max fell in toe as the prince moved toward a raised platform off to the northwest of the courtyard. The prince tapped his foot as he waited for something.

  “How are we getting there?” asked Max.

  The prince motioned to a small black blip that hovered in the sky. It was bulbous in shape and appeared to be floating toward the ground.

  As it grew nearer Max could discern a large woven basket and saw a bright blue flame lit from a small central circle suspended over the basket. He realized then that the shape was in fact a hot-air balloon.

  The crew aboard the balloon monitored the descent closely, making slight adjustments to the course. They fiddled with the knobs and levers, increasing and decreasing fuel and weight positioning.

  Max was assisted by the prince as he climbed into the basket. Once aboard he saw that the pilots were short thin men with long multicolored beards and odd-shaped glasses. They spoke in voices that alternated between high and low pitches that seemed to Max the auditory equivalent of a funhouse mirror.

  They paid no heed to the prince or Max as they increased the flow of the gas and rocketed upward. As they rose above the tops of the highest towers Max was taken aback by the breathtaking view. He saw now that the palace wasn’t floating by itself, but rather it was suspended in air by hundreds if not thousands of hot-air balloons.