The Fez Journeys On

by L. T. Hewitt

  Fred Jr read a signpost on the mass of mess, which read: ‘The Island of Rednuht’. There was another one, saying, ‘The Island of Retawnair’. As Fred Jr got closer and the swirling matter became not so much an obstacle as a community, e noticed that there were, in fact, two islands before em.

  How odd, thought Fred Jr.

  Before e had time to work out what to do, the young prophet was met by an odd gentleman twice. That is, the gentleman was present twice.

  ‘Hello,’ said Fred Jr. ‘I see you are intelligent twins,’ e added, as though it were a compliment.

  “Well, that’s what the authorities tell us,” said one of them. “Although when have they ever been right? As you may tell from my brother here,” – he pointed to the twin standing next to him, then looked lost, as though he couldn’t find his other, until the second twin waved, reassuring his twin, himself and Fred Jr – “there he is, we are as thick as mud and completely insane.”

  “Completely,” his brother agreed.

  ‘I do not mean to sound impolite,’ said Fred Jr, ‘but, if you do not mind my asking, who are you?’

  “Well, I,” the first one said, “am King.” So is my brother—”

  “Hello,” said his brother.

  “—but of somewhere else. I’ve allowed him on my land at the moment, as you may see.”

  “You may see.”

  Fred Jr now saw they were both wearing crowns above their huge grey beards and hair, as well as other jewelry. ‘And where is your land, exactly?’

  “It isn’t. It’s space,” said the first king. “I am the King of Rednuht.”

  “I am the King of Rednuht,” said his brother.

  “No, you most assuredly are not.”

  “I know. I was just repeating what you said.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “I am, in reality—”

  “Or fantasy. I find both impossible to believe.”

  The Kings laughed, as they frequently did upon any remark, regardless of whether there was any potential for humourous inference. Laugh first; ask question never.

  The second king proclaimed, though not for the first or the last time, “I am the King of Retawnair.”

  ‘I came here,’ Fred Jr explained, ‘to—’

  “Yes, to get the switch which stops the Cantaloupes coming through.”

  “All you need to do is call it. Ahahaha har!”

  Fred Jr understood. E struggled, however, on how to do so. It is a universal fact that it’s easy to know what one wants, but the difficulty lies in expressing it. All the difficulties I have thus far encountered are down to the difficulty of expressing one’s desires, thought Fred Jr, and e didn’t stop thinking it until e was much older.

  ‘I cannot speak,’ said Fred Jr.

  “Oh, of course you. Aha. Don’t let society’s pressures get you down, hmm?”

  “Anyone, big or small, is allowed a voice these days.”

  “One might call it democracy.”

  “Millions would.”

  “Brought closer by difference,” said the King of Rednuht.

  “And broadened by passivity,” said the King of Retawnair.

  “What else would one call agreeing to something one doesn’t agree with?”

  They both fell back in laughter again. As they relaxed (Fred Jr wondered whether that was indeed the word for not having a care in the world; the more e thought, the less he believed), the rules of gravity, which needn’t be in place, since it was not present on the Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair, slackened and the Kings – seemingly oblivious to the change – began to float around in the mist-less void of a realm.

  “You simply must try some of this cake, hmm?”

  Fred Jr saw that the King of Rednuht was holding a plate, as he floated neither here nor there, which held a colourful slice of Greek yoghurt souffle.

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  “All your desires are answered when you stop believing they never will be.”

  “Are we confusing you?”

  “I wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea of your going away without any of our confusion.”

  The Kings laughed heartily again.

  “One might say we’re quite famed for it.”

  “You don’t have to be mad to work here, hmm?”

  “But you do happen to be hatless in space. Ha ha ha ha!”

  “Ah ah ah ah! Quite!”

  Fred Jr was bewildered by how e could ask without a voice. The next major fault in the Egg’s mission was that e saw a strange apparition.

  ‘Daddy!’ Fred Jr called out. A small piece of his shell broke off.

  “Fred Jr?” said the Space Chicken. “What are you doing here?”

  Fred Jr was confused. This happened very infrequently. The Space Chicken surely knew Fred Jr was going to be there. They’d arranged that earlier at Quack’s command.

  “It’s a ghost of the future,” said the King of Retawnair.

  ‘Like a woff?’

  “What’s that?”

  ‘It is a kind of ghost that looks identical to you and can hurt you unless you shout at it.’

  “That to me is the King of Rednuht.”

  Fred Jr thought for a while. Then e decided what he needed to say.

  ‘I would like the switch which determines whether or not there are Cantaloupes on Glix.’

  Nothing happened.

  “You need to say it out loud,” the King of Rednuht said.

  ‘I cannot do that.’

  “Of course not. Your to young. You need to be of a significant age to have a place in the world.”

  ‘It should be “You’re too young.”’

  “You’re right. But, unfortunately, the world being as it is, it isn’t intellect which defines whether or not we’re important, but age and the lie of maturity.”

  ‘Can you not simply decide the rules of how the switches work?’

  “It is not determined by us,” said the King of Rednuht, floating past, “but by the public.”

  “Their wishes and feeling are what make the world. No petty rules can outway the reality of thought.”

  “That written on paper by quills does not replace the thought of the common dunce. Ahahaha!”

  “Is that not democracy?”

  They both burst out laughing again.

  “Give us the switch,” said the King of Retawnair, “that decides if Cantaloupes come to Glix.”

  It promptly arrived, appearing from the swirling mass of switches surrounding the and rushing through and about the Islands, more common than wind on a mountaintop. Fred Jr flew up to the floating switch and used eir small Chicken arms to pull the attached lever.

  “What did that do?” asked the King of Rednuht.

  ‘You work here; you should know.’

  “It’s our first day.”

  “And there are an infinite number of switches, so we can’t be expected to know about them all.”

  ‘I am not asking you to know about every one in detail. I just expect you to have an understanding of how your islands work.’

  “And,” the King emphasised, as though it were a credit to the extra-Glix’n monarchs that they had not one but a series of lazinesses: one might even go as far as to say a diocese (widely acknowledged to be the highest level of noncompulsion collective) of idlenesses, “we can’t be bothered.”

  “And there are an infinite number of things we can’t be bothered with.”

  ‘“And there is an infinite number”.’

  “And you can’t begin a sentence with a conjunctive.”

  ‘And I do not see any reason why not.’

  Fred Jr started ringing.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the King Twins.

  ‘Hello,’ he said to the phoner.

  “Hello,” said Quack. “Did you know you’re a lot less entertaining when you talk about language?”

  ‘Quack, you are listening to this?’

  “Hello? I’m omniscient. Not to mention omnipot
ent.”

  ‘I thought you concluded you were only semiscient and semipotent.’

  “Don’t say ‘only’ as though they are somehow inferior.”

  ‘But my point remains that you are – categorically defined – inferior.’

  “But you can’t begin a sentence with a conjunctive.”

  ‘Why not? Grandmother, are you there?’

  “Of course I am, sweetheart,” said Margery.

  ‘One can begin a sentence with a conjunctive, cannot one?’

  “Of course. Its opposition is just a silly ride made up so people can pretend they’re better than everyone else. You can say whatever you like, my dear.”

  “You’re doing it again,” said Quack.

  ‘What?’

  “You’re talking about language again.”

  ‘You are always doing that.’

  “Yes, but I am a god.”

  ‘That does not make you better than anyone else.’

  “What?” Quack turned pale blue. “Nobody’s ever said that before.”

  Quack spent some time recovering from this.

  ‘Quack,’ said Fred Jr, ‘have you been watching me this whole time?’

  “I’m always watching you. I look out for each and every person. I created this world and so its produce is also my responsibility.”

  ‘Great. So, is the rift fixed now? The hole which was letting Cantaloupes through should have gone away. Has it?’

  “Yes. There are 10,984 Cantaloupes on Glix.”

  ‘What? But I stopped them.’

  “Time is very complex, as you are to learn in this business, little one. The space of time that rift was open is not directly comparable to the life of Glix. The Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair only exist as for one day – in their own definition of the word ‘day’ – but Glix is around for a lot longer. And, even further, neither the Islands, the King twins nor the rift know how long Glix will last or have any control over the Cantaloupes. If a Cantaloupe comes through, it can land anywhere on Glix, at any time. There are 10,984 of them, spread across a great stretch of time. The only control we have over them is deciding whether they arrive or not. And now we’ve decided. You may return to your father now, Fred Jr. Well done.”

  Chapter 59

  Arthur Cardigan landed in Spotton with an unripe dominut as his 50th item to bury in Britain.

  “Well done,” said Quack. “You’re now over halfway through your mission.”

  “But what have I achieved?”

  “You’re creating life. I’ve told you before, each of these items is soaking in the richness of nature. When they are collected together, they shall form the greatest thinker the world has ever known.”

  “So, we’re making a monster?”

  “No, we’re crafting a genius.”

  “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  “We’re taking pieces of people from all over the country to create one masterful thinker.”

  “Like in a horror novel.”

  “No. All people are created through meeting life and connecting to the world. It’s not just bits and pieces – body parts stuck together. A physical presence isn’t important. It’s our minds that we are. When we read, we experience someone else’s view of the world.”

  The dominut spoke up. ‘That is lovely. I shall be glad to pass on wisdom. So You are going to absorb the wisdom of Britain alone?’

  “What do you mean?”

  ‘It is a large world out there. There is a lot to learn.’

  “Well, a thinker never stops learning. We have all the time that Glix lasts to advance the intellect of this thinker.”

  ‘So will it— Will I travel to distant lands, to learn all I can in my time?’

  “Certainly.”

  “Oh, Sock,” Arthur groaned. “Don’t tell me I have to plant fruit all around the world.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re halfway through your year of training, but this is the end of your planting. From here on out, it’s smaller tasks.”

  “Okay,” said Arthur. “I’ll be here to help whatever benefits the world.”

  “At the moment what benefits the world is this thinker developing. But, now you’ve planted its parts, you can relax and perform some gentler missions.”

  “Gentler than botany?”

  “Gentler than travel.”

  “Can I just ask,” said Arthur, and asked, “what form will this thinker take? How will it absorb the fruit?”

  “The great thinker,” said Quack, “will take the form of an Oak Tree.”

  Clint and Clein sat on the edge of the Fez and kicked the buttons which swan them backwards, Nord on Glix. David Gratton II and Old Man Tales sat inside the tent.

  “I felt rather useless,” Two explained to Old Man Tales.

  “Why?”

  “Well, don’t you think I’m just sort of an extra in the world?”

  “No. You’re an individual. What more can anyone be?”

  “Some people have a purpose,” said Two.

  “My boy, being an individual is the only purpose. Anyone who deludes themselves or others into thinking they hold any level or superiority over anybody, for whatever reason, isn’t worth associating with.”

  “As a child, I was always the isolated one. Now I’m back to being an outcast.”

  Clint popped his head through the tent door, interrupting Two and Old Man Tales’s conversation. “How many of us were there on board the Fez?”

  “Four,” answered Two.

  “Okay. Are you sure it wasn’t seven?”

  “Definitely four.”

  “And was the always a boat attached?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Who’s in there?” asked Dave.

  “It’s David Gratton II and Old Man Tales.”

  “David Gratton?” Dave said from outside of the tent. Dave put his head through the tent door. Upon seeing David Gratton II – whom he identified as David Gratton given that there was a male in the tent who wasn’t Old Man Tales – his head left the tent again. “Space Chicken, I’ve found him. I’ve found David Gratton. Do you need to arrest him or something? Because I don’t really want another hostage situation.” Dave’s head returned to the tent occupants. “How are you, Old Man Tales?”

  “Quite satisfactory, thank you,” the eternal gentleman replied.

  “You just let him call you an old man?” Two asked.

  “‘Old Man Tales’,” Dave pointed out.

  “For now,” said Old Man Tales.

  “No!”

  “What is it, Dave?” asked Two.

  “That wasn’t me.”

  “That is not my name!” came another shout from outside.

  Two, Dave and Old Man Tales left the tent and discovered the Space Chicken screaming at Clint and Clein.

  “It’s the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack.”

  “Oh,” said Clein. “We thought it was the Pat—”

  “No!”

  “Hello, friend,” said Old Man Tales.

  “Hello again,” said the Space Chicken. He lifted a wing in the direction of Two. “Who’s this?”

  “This is David Gratt—”

  “What‽ We can’t have David Gratton on the Fez! What were you thinking? How did you find him?”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  The Space Chicken calmed down. “Oh, you to say he isn’t actually called David Gratton; I was too hasty in my screeching?”

  “Well, no, he is.”

  “What were you thinking‽”

  “He’s David Gratton II.”

  “His son?”

  “Not quite,” said Clint. “But Gratton isn’t here. If you wanted to make sure it was only us who opened the Fez, you’ve succeeded. The only people who are here are Clein and me. And Old Man Tales and Two. And now Dave and you.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Space Chicken, I have lived the length of Glix and more. It is safe to assume I have already
seen the future.”

  The Space Chicken thought for a moment. “Do I die?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “It’s safe to assume that’s a ‘yes’,” Normal Dave said. “If people decline to answer your question, the answer’s almost definitely not positive.”

  “Why are you here?̦” Clein said, from his perch on the end of the Fez.

  “Dave has something he would like to do.”

  “Is it all right,” Dave said, looking at the sapling in the centre of the Fez, “if I feed your Great Oak…” He found himself unable to use the word Tree. “The Great Oak Lifeform a sandwich?”

  “He prefers pizza,” said Clein.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  “Was that Fred Jr?”

  ‘No, it was me, the jam.’

  “The Jam?”

  ‘No, “the jam”. I’m soon to be part of the Oak Tree.’

  “Oh. In that case, go ahead.”

  Dave stepped forward and placed the jam sandwich next to the sprout. "Um, I don't know how to get it under the Tree." But the plant unlodged one root from the Fez and placed it into the sandwich.

  The Space Chicken's phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Quack here.”

  “I assumed, seeing as everyone else is here and I hate my mother.”

  “I see the Tree has joined the sandwich.”

  “Yes,” said Dave. “And the red eagle flies at dawn.”

  Quack went silent and everyone on the Fez looked blankly at Dave.

  “It sounds like a codeword,” he explained. “For spies.”

  “Like in the books?” asked the Space Chicken.

  “Sure.”

  “Anyway, your quest is complete. You’re free to do what you like.”

  “So that’s it,” said the Space Chicken, despondently. “My journey’s over?”

  “Review your list,” said Dave. “What did we have left to do?”

  The Space Chicken thought for a moment. “It started as this:

  “1: Stop David Gratton.

  “2: Stop Michael Rowland Daffodil.

  “3: Solve the Cantaloupe crisis.

  “I realised number 2 wasn’t an issue. We sent Fred Jr to flick the switch in the Islands of Rednuht and Retawnair.”

  “Where?” Dave asked.

  “Space,” the Space Chicken said.

  “Ah,” Dave exhaled.

  “I guess that only leaves the first item on the list. David Gratton. And I’m fairly certain he’s not going to open the Fez.” He walked over to David Gratton II and said, “Just promise me you won’t touch a single button.”

  “Okay,” said Two.

  “I mean it. Clint and Clein are here to open the Fez. Nobody can disturb them.”

  “It’s fine,” said Two. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I think that’s everything done then, isn’t it?” said Dave, wide-eyed. “Our missions are over.”