Porlock the Warlock
&
the Indigo Swan
A sample section of around 19 pages as a scroll down
‘Welcome to Mesopotamia - 2,000 odd years BC. Four thousand years before the home we left behind.’ The Mitsize were so stunned, they couldn’t say anything at all. Finally, after a long pause, Vag said, in a dazed voice -
‘Not many people about, are there?’ Porlock laughed.
‘No indeed, we could hardly land the Thunderduck near a settlement. You see this is a kind of oasis, by which we have landed, and we must cover the ship with sand and branches as best we can. Though no one should come this way, in the short time we’ll be here.’ He took a deep breath - ‘I hope,’ he added, too quietly for the Mitsize to hear.
‘And then we must go to see what can be done.’ So they buried the more striking parts of the ship, in sand - which due to the materials with which they had built it, would neither enter through crack, nor corrode, and could be lightly shaken off by the ship, once started up. Then they laid branches of the dark leaved trees that had fallen in a desert storm, over the rest. And because the ship was a grey-white, once they had finished, it did indeed look fairly hidden, half reflecting back the sand and branches, like camouflage paint.
‘Especially because most people only see what they are expecting to.’ observed Porlock, reasonably satisfied with the result. Vag and Rag exchanged a glance - an interesting thought, it occurred to them, and something which they hadn’t considered before.
‘Whatever we go looking like will be wrong, but we want at least, if nothing else, to stand out as little as possible. And remember! to change history as little as possible is our aim - the last thing we want to do, is take something out, and put something even more unlikely in! Alright?’ the Mitsize were on the point of giggling, as Porlock made history sound like a cake, to them, but when they caught sight of his stern stare, realized that he was in deadly earnest. Their grins faded, and they shook their heads with a chorus of -
‘No Porlock.’ He was about to turn, and pace off to find the Indigo Swan, but as he did so, the force of his own words struck him, and he gave a backward glance of horrible misgiving at the two mops of wild orange-colour hair, standing close together as if hatching mischief. But, he told himself, they were right to leave the planet to look for the Indigo Swan. And Meraud had thought that they should come...
They paced out the directions to the meeting place. High on a hill, yet surrounded by an inconspicuous but large palisade, the Indigo Swan held its court. They entered by a door that opened and then closed, of its own accord.
‘I have brought you here for two reasons.’ said a voice, which sounded different than it had on Charon, but still magisterial. But they could see no one - merely a deep blueness in the air, different to the blueness of the night around them.
‘The first is to tell you what you must do. The second is to give you a gift that will help.’ And so the Indigo Swan explained that it had once been seen, and recorded as part of an epic tale, a song cycle that became an ancient poem. That this tale had been handed down, part myth and legend, with a bit of real history, by word of mouth for many centuries. And then, had been recorded on tablets of clay, to get a copy that could be put into that new way of keeping things - a library. That soon, the story would become more widely known, that any time now, it was about to be translated into several different languages, belonging to those of farther city-states. But that at this moment, only one clay tablet of the many, contained a reference to the Indigo Swan. A single one in the library of the temple, near the palace dwelt in by the king, who now ruled the city once presided over by one King Daimanos. The king about whom the epic tale had been woven in the first place. And it was this tablet that the Indigo Swan wanted them to find - and destroy. ‘Like tearing a page out of a book’ thought Rag. But Porlock was dismayed - to take people’s history away from them? It was monstrous...and yet he bit his lip, knowing that the Swan did not ask it of them, lightly. Also knowing that for years, centuries, the tale of Troy had been the oldest known story. But that lately, this other, older, story had come to light, and had begun to be translated. It was, as the Indigo Swan had said, only a matter of time - history did indeed get buried, especially in this dry preserving soil. And it certainly did have a most alarming habit, of eventually coming to light. Of being discovered by archaeologists...but it still depressed him deeply. Even the Mitsize had heard of King Daimanos, and read the story. But people were always searching the ruins, to see if there was more tale to tell.
‘The gift I grant you,’ the Indigo Swan said, after it had explained what they had to do,
‘Is to give you the power to understand, and be understood.’
‘Thank Heaven for that!’ thought Porlock, knowing that he had not brought any of his dictionaries of ancient languages - let alone grammars or phrasebooks. Unfortunately, Vag had, while not getting bored with the explanation exactly, though he felt it went on a bit, once he knew what they had to do, had wandered off, to gaze at the night sky they had left behind, and out of the palisade enclosure. He had of course, thought that gifts were solid, tangible things, like a box you could unwrap. So once, in the darkness of the un-streetlamp lit night, Vag had gone outside; and the awareness been passed to Porlock and Rag, it was only when the conference had ended, and the voice of the Swan finished speaking, that they found themselves alone on a bare hilltop, and realized that he was gone.
‘Where’s Vag?’ Rag looked round - he had been more awestruck by the disembodied voice than Vag.
‘The idiot!’ groaned Porlock, with a sinking feeling.
‘Vag!’ he shouted.
‘Here I am!’ replied the curly head that popped up from the base of the rise.
‘Is it all over? Where’s the fence gone?’ he asked.
‘You missed the gift!’ Porlock fumed at him, adding -
‘Well don’t blame me, if now you can’t understand a word anyone says to you! Nor they, you.’
‘I suppose no one’s got a -’
‘Ancient Babylonian phrasebooks all got left at home!’ Porlock snapped, and went striding off down the hill, and across the sand. The Twins followed.
‘Not good’ commented Rag.
‘How could I know?’ said Vag, helplessly.
‘Don’t worry - I’ll tell you what people say, - and tell them what you want to reply.’ said Rag, kindly. They ran to catch up with Porlock, whose longer strides took him ahead, swiftly.
‘We’ll just have to pretend you can’t speak.’ said Porlock.
‘What?’ asked Vag.
‘Deaf and dumb! Well, the dumb won’t be so hard to pretend...’ added Porlock, in annoyance. The Twins exchanged a look.
‘Angry.’
‘Very angry.’ they agreed, pulling a face.
The first thing they had to do was to find some clothes - the best they could do, they thought, would be to find a shepherd nearby, whom the Indigo Swan had mentioned to them. It had looked like a desert to them, and in comparison with the green and heathery Moor, this was not surprizing. But they were nearer the city state which was their destination, than the Mitsize had first imagined. And, albeit in marginal lands which were difficult to cultivate, there was agriculture going on nearby. Including this shepherd.
They found the shepherd asleep, - he was wrapped up in blankets, with one coiled as a pillow. And close by, was a bundle of clothes which were being taken by him, having been washed in a river, on the journey back home. Even the Mitsize with their seeming delight in pranks and mayhem, felt guilty on creeping up past the poor man, picking up the bundle and quietly making off with it. A safe distance away, without the danger of awakening him, they unwrapped their booty.
‘I thought you said these would have just been washed!’
‘Pooh!’ said the Twins.
‘I did, and they have. You try and wash without soap or anything like it.’ He shook out a long shapeless garment -
‘I think they’ve done pretty well, myself - can’t imagine later civilizations getting things so clean with only river water! A lot of elbow grease this would have taken. And it’ll be nothing to some of the things you’ll smell in the city.’ The Mitsize looked askance at each other - he had already told them about the lack of what they considered adequate sewage disposal, in the ancient world.
Once dressed, having torn the material down to size, and with crinkled noses in the case of the Twins, they set off for the City. Their own warm clothes they had buried deeply, but they had chosen materials which would rot quickly, in soil, and so should not leave much trace of their coming there.
‘Porlock - we won’t just have stolen all his washing?’
‘No, no - we’ll return everything.’ he replied; - if they got the chance. It was nagging at him too, that at the moment they had nothing to give the shepherd in exchange that wouldn’t be out of place, or rather time. As they went, he tried to instruct or remind the Mitsize of the sort of society and period they would be encountering. At one point, when, again, Porlock was striding ahead, having told them what not to say, Vag whispered -
‘Sounds like we can hardly say anything, to me - we can’t mention anything before - like dinosaurs, can’t mention anything later - not even a bit later, can’t talk about anything we know about, like the Moor or the Beacon, can’t tell anyone about the Thunderduck - what can we talk about?’
‘I suppose we just have to take our cue from what people say to us - and only mention the things we see around us, like walls or whatever. And limit ourselves to asking directions. Or for food.’ Rag whispered back. Rag was beginning to get hungry again himself. Of course, they had set out on full stomachs, and had snacks in their pockets. But they couldn’t just waltz in with lots of unlikely food, so they would still be dependent to an extent, on what they could find to eat in the City. And there again, Porlock had not been encouraging in his descriptions (though Porlock himself was sure there would be something they could all eat, and was keenly looking forward to trying some authentic ancient food). Rag and Vag on the other hand, weren’t so sure.
After their council with the Indigo Swan, the preparations, the hiding of the ship, the hunt for clothes, the trying on, and the covering and burying of their original clothes - (all except an underlayer with pockets, of torches and other useful items, to be used only when no one was about), it was now coming to the end of the night. And they were nearing the City. The earth was just dry and packed together here, dusty but not sandy. They stopped on a rise to look at it.
‘Now I think of it,’ said Porlock,
‘No one would believe we’d been travelling for days - we’re far too well kept. Better put a bit of dust on our faces, - and something on your hair, my friends.’ The Twins gazed at each other - the curly heads of bright orange were not exactly inconspicuous, it was true. So they wetted their hair, from a nearby shallow brook, with deep cut banks, and smoothed it out, oiled it flatter, and rubbed soil into it, to make it darker and less arresting.
‘But we all stand out in a crowd.’ thought Porlock, wearily - his hair was very long, but at least in old societies it was generally a mark of wealth. Besides, the fashions of far off city states would take time to reach the ears of the City. But he was very tall as well - and this was contrasted by the Mitsize being very short. Although he supposed they might just pass for uncle and nephews. He said as much to them.
‘But my real worry is that a great many people - because medicine is still in its early stages, will have something - like one eye, or being lame, skin disease - all the things people get when infections aren’t seen to, or the water isn’t as clean as one would wish. We’ll still stand out like sore thumbs. I suppose we must all pretend to be members of some far off minor nobility. The privileged have always had less problems that way, and better sanitation and suchlike...’ Vag whipped out an eye patch, and stuck it on at a crazy angle. Rag brandished a Captain Hook style spike on the end of a sleeve -
‘Disguises!’ they said in unison. Porlock had to laugh -
‘No, no, no! Most definitely not! Under no circumstance!’ and less loudly he added -
‘Those won’t do at all. As well you know.’ They put them away, regretfully, giving one another an ‘It was worth a try’ sort of look.
‘But there’s no way we can explain our teeth...’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Teeth?’ the Twins asked, looking dubious, and slightly apprehensive.
‘Yes - teeth, - no dentists, and no one had any idea how to stop them coming out or...’ The Mitsize shuddered at the thought.
‘We’ll just have to blank a few out.’
‘Take them out? No!’ the Twins cried.
‘Wait! You misheard me! Blank them out, not take them out! An optical illusion, like...false moustaches - and no, before you ask, none of us needs one of those.’ They looked relieved, then hopeful, then just slightly crestfallen. But relief soon reasserted itself. They knew that it was all terribly important, but having their teeth pulled out had really not appealed at all. Porlock made up some blacking out of some tree bark, mixing it with the sap from the root of a bush, and then carefully painted out the odd tooth, here and there, on all of them, so that (if one didn’t look very closely), they all appeared to have missing teeth. Finally, Porlock braided his long hair, and then they went down toward the City.
Dawn broke as they made their approach, and the rising sun fell full on the walls of the old City - it lit the stone in a rosy pink, which turned slowly to a pale gold, as they watched. It was a breath-taking sight. The Twins couldn’t help remembering how the storyteller had prefaced the song cycle of King Daimanos - that if you go there today, you may see the magnificent walls and temple that he built. And here were, unimaginably, the sight they had never thought to see, of those very walls. They felt awed. The City that, like Troy, was to have it’s song last long after it itself was rubble in the dust. It brought a lump to Porlock’s throat too, as they came up to the main gates, flanked by lion statues. They sat and waited until a doorward came.
‘What do you want?’
‘We seek to enter. We come on business.’
‘What business?’
‘Just journeying across this land. But we seek food.’
‘We do not welcome beggars here.’
‘We will buy food or work for it. We are not beggars.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘From Babylon.’
‘You’ve travelled far.’
‘We have, and are hungry.’
‘What proof have I that you are not beggars?’ At this, Rag plucked up all his courage, and said -
‘I know it isn’t – ’ he was going to use the phrase ‘standard currency’, but thought better of it - ‘er, fashioned or anything, but will this nugget of gold do? It’s real.’ and he handed a glittering, small but still substantial piece of gold to the doorward. The man took it, looked at it, bit it, pocketed it, and then said -
‘No I can see you’re not beggars. Welcome to the City. Enter.’ and so they did.
When safely past the entrance gates, Porlock said
‘Good thinking! But where on earth -’
‘Well, when we first set off - ’
‘We packed some - well, we took our lucky charms ‘ by which they meant the mixture of toys, novel objects, useful items and sundry junk that they packed with them whenever they went away. - Their treasures, which, through the times when others had asked ‘What’s that for?’ or ‘Why take one of those?’ they had got into the habit of replying - ‘Just in case.’ or ‘You never know.’ Which in the end, they had converted to - ‘We’re taking them for luck.’
‘And then we thought, you should never go on an adventure -’ Porlock gave them a hard look - ‘I mean, an important journey -’
‘Task, undertaking -’ they qualified, quickly,
‘Without a bit of treasure.’ Porlock smiled at this then, and couldn’t help just a snort. Far, far too much reading of ‘adventure stories’ and other ridiculous books, but yet, again, it had turned out to be the right thing to do. How else were they to infiltrate the palace or the library, but with the help of a bit of gold? They handed out some to Porlock, in case they had to separate - also some silver, and copper.
‘My keen thanks, my good Mitsize!’ he said, and they bowed, good-humouredly, pleased at the praise. Vag was feeling more up to the challenge, even though he couldn’t communicate with anyone else independently.
‘And we left some for the shepherd - just in case we couldn’t return the clothes...’ volunteered Rag.
‘Oh well done! But why didn’t you mention it?’ Porlock was delighted, it was a weight off his mind.
‘Well, in case - in case you thought we’d changed things too much.’ Vag said, looking at the floor.
‘Mm, there is that, it’s true. But we may not get a chance to return his things, and at least gold nuggets are pretty universal. But do mention it next time!’ again, he thought, things had turned out for the best - but yet another act at another time, without all of them consulting, might prove fatal.
They made their way in, through the levels and layers of the City. People did stare at them. The Mitsize’ size turned out not to be so unusual ‘Of course - never quite having enough food stunts growth!’ thought Porlock. But it made his tallness all the more noticeable. The Mitsize’ marked and almost identical features were another matter. However, whilst their hair was not long, not past collar length, flattening out the curls had at least made it longer, and he bade them pull strands over to cover their faces a little, so that they might be less obviously remarkably similar. They had, when Porlock had worried about this, at first, produced a pair of truly enormous voluminous black hats, which came well down over their eyes, and looked devastatingly eye-catching. As Porlock observed, in hats like that, they could hardly be missed from a hot air balloon. So, they had folded them away again, regretfully, into the tiny packages which they had come in.
They came to a marketplace, and the Mitsize would have been curious to see what was sold - the materials and pots, kitchenware and suchlike - but the terrible smell put them off. Most people who were buying food, were buying grains to turn into stew, or fruit, but the meats that were hung for the better-heeled buyers absolutely stank, - to their way of thinking, in the growing heat of the day.
‘I wouldn’t advise even those most sold on meats to eat those.’ mumbled Porlock.
‘Why do they smell so bad?’ asked the Mitsize.
‘Well - they keep things as cold as possible, - storage jars in shade, buried in cellars, but on the day of purchase - what have they got to preserve them with except salt? Nothing. But without ice or any way of maintaining cold, well... Anyway, it’s one of those things you get used to. The smells might be strong, but everyone here would probably be driven to distraction if they lived by a motorway or airport. It’s what you’re used to.’ he shrugged, seeming to them, less bothered by the awful odour. The Mitsize tried, as unostentatiously as possible to hold rags to their noses. It made the clothes they were wearing, smell positively fragrant in comparison. And for the first real time they thought of the Beacon - which was neither noisy nor smelly, nor anything else unpleasant.
‘But other things will be perfectly good - let’s go and look.’
‘We think we’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.’ they replied, trying hard not look as if they were inhaling treacle.
‘Please yourselves!’
‘But we would like something to eat - if there is anything...’
So off Porlock went. They saw him looking at everything with the keenest interest, the jewellery stall, one that sold mats and rugs, another with plates and bowls, and saw him stop at a hot food stall. He was served something in a bowl, taken from a pot hung over a fire. Then a jug of water. He bought something else, to go with it - a mild look of surprize by the stallholder at the payment, although they were perfectly willing to accept it; and could see that he was a traveller, and so might not have the usual means of currency. Porlock came back, grinning.
‘Here we are.’ he said, sitting with them in a corner of the busy marketplace.
‘Food!’ the Mitsize peered into the bowl, while Porlock seemed to sniff at it with relish. It did not look to them, very appetizing.
‘What is it?’
‘Millet and couscous stew or gruel, from what they said.’ The Twins glanced at each other - these were not grains which they were used to eating. And the idea of gruel, also did not make them any keener. Porlock took the first mouthful -
‘Fascinating!’ he said, chewing, thoughtfully, as if analysing the flavours. Vag and Rag took a bit each, almost simultaneously. And, again, almost simultaneously, were about to spit it out - but a glare from Porlock stopped them, and they hastily swallowed, and sat there gulping, and looking nauseous.
‘Oh for Heaven’s Sake! What was wrong with it?’
‘Not nice, Porlock.’
‘Don’t like it.’
‘Inedible.’
‘It certainly is not inedible - many people have lived on it for centuries!’ the Twins winced, with a mixture of horror and compassion.
‘Come now, have it with a little of this rather fine goat’s cheese I got to eat with it -’ But much as the Mitsize liked cheese, and even goat’s cheese, this was rather too strong, under the hot sun, for the Mitsize’ taste. So whilst Porlock made a reasonable meal, they merely nibbled at the edge of the cheese, and then went without. Porlock slipped in some tablets to the water jug, and it fizzed quietly, and changed colour, so that it was sparkling and clear - they each drank gratefully, as the heat made one thirstier. After the meal -
‘I’m sorry you didn’t like it.’ Porlock said ruefully -
‘But it shouldn’t be too long before we find something more to your taste. And we did eat something just out of sight of the City.’ This was true, but it seemed like a long time and a fair distance away, to the Twins. Porlock returned the bowl, and the jug with thanks, at the stall, and then off they went. The stallholder commented to his neighbour that while travellers these days looked odder and odder, and while this one and his friends took the biscuit, he’d never had a more courteous customer - and one that didn’t try to haggle over the price too! It just showed, he said, that there was nowt so queer as folk, and that it took allsorts; and he ended by saying, ‘Well, may the Gods bless him!’
‘Our other problem,’ said Porlock,
‘Is to explain why we are so ill-dressed, if we are nobility...I was thinking of getting to know our way round a bit, and then asking about the library, but if my history serves me rightly...I think the best thing we can do would be to go straight to the king - present ourselves as travellers who have had a hard journey - been robbed on the way, I think, and so are in whatever we could find. And of course hand over a bit of a present...Ask for his protection. That’s the tradition with guests, I think.’ The Mitsize nodded. It was all fantastically exciting - the ancient city, the beautiful architecture, but they felt danger everywhere. They did stand out, and the obvious lacks that the people suffered from, eye infections left untended, or fleas, were not pleasant to encounter. They made their way further in.
‘Wait here.’ said Porlock,
‘I’m just going to see if I can find out about the best way to gain entry to the king’s palace.’ Once he was out of sight,
‘I’m ravenous!’ said Rag to Vag.
‘So am I! - Why don’t I just go and get something edible to eat.’
‘Did anything look nice? Apart from the fruit - but that isn’t filling.’ The Mitsize loved fruit, but it was for them firmly in the pudding category - that is to say, after something else more substantial.
‘Just some of those honey cakes or something - they looked nice, and I asked Porlock what was in them, and it was all things that sounded fine. - I could stand the smell just long enough to buy us some.’ he said, fishing about in an accessible pocket. Rag was weakening, and about to agree, gratefully, when he suddenly remembered, and said -
‘But you can’t! Because no one will understand you!’
‘Oh, just asking for food isn’t difficult - you just point at what you want! or mime eating...See you in ten minutes!’
‘Why not just wait for Porlock? I’m sure he won’t be long.’
‘Well...’ he shifted about from one foot to the other for about a minute.
‘No...I think he’ll be a while - Hungry!’
‘Why don’t I go?’ said Rag, torn between feeling they should both stay, and concern that if either of them went, it should be the one who spoke the language.
‘Really, - I’ll manage. And I’m good at miming!’
‘But Vag -’
‘See you in ten minutes!’ he said, coming to a decision, and with that, Vag slipped into the crowd. After five minutes Rag wasn’t worried. After ten, however, he was. Though he remembered Porlock saying - ‘Perhaps only two of us should go in, as you two lookalikes might be a bit of a shock at first...So the other one would have to wait quietly somewhere.’ - he wondered if that had been in the back of Vag’s mind - the waiting quietly always went hard with the Mitsize. And who would have to wait, but the one that couldn’t speak? When Porlock returned, he was furious -
‘What did I say to you? To him? Why didn’t you stop him?’
‘What could I do? Hungry Mitsize.’ said Rag plaintively, as if this explained it. It had been next to impossible to find a quiet spot where they could eat anything that they had in their pockets.
‘Whose fault was that? You two are always hungry! We were going to be asking the king for some dinner, anyway!’ he ran a hand through his hair, then checked himself -
‘Oh well, no use sending you off to find him, you’d get lost as well.’
‘But he can’t speak!’
‘Don’t you think I know that?!’ said Porlock, agonized.
‘But I’ve told the guard that two are coming, and I can’t change the story now. We’ll just have to do our best.’ and with that, he hustled them up to the gates. ‘Don’t blame me if they feed him to the lions.’ he muttered, grimly, belying the real anxiety that he felt.
At first, Vag got on reasonably well - he went back to the market, and found it easily, as the City, while rising up out of the land as the only building for some distance, and while boasting impressive walls, was really not very big. Not the size of even the smaller cities which he knew. So he found his bearings quite quickly. He had mimed through the purchase of some honeycakes - but just as he was about to make a successful transaction, another stallholder, winked at a friend of his, who was, unfortunately, a trader of slaves, and before Vag could even fish in his pockets, someone had put a sack over his head. Even those that thought of protesting - that was what happened to unaccompanied strangers - shouldn’t they show more sense? And if you intervened, well - who knew, but you might get taken off as well. Vag was whipped up lightly into the air, and carried off over someone’s shoulder. The honeycake seller stood about blinking at the sudden loss of his customer. A few kindly souls shed tears - he only looked to be a child too - well grown, but so full of bounce and so riotously healthy, he must only have been a young one, they thought.
He struggled violently, of course, but being both short and light to carry, without having his feet on the ground, there wasn’t an awful lot he could do. So he let himself go lax, as if he had passed out. At first his captor was pleased, it seemed. But he was soon less so - as Vag had intended, a dead weight is much more likely to bog down the carrier, and was much more unwieldy, limbs flopping out at you, just where you didn’t want them. He felt or sensed the man descending into the dark. It was then that he wondered whether to be afraid -
‘Buck up!’ he said to himself, and remembered what Porlock had said - that with it being hot and dry, most cities would have cool and maybe even damp cellars or underground places, for a whole number of uses, - and that it was therefore unlikely to be the gateway to the underworld. Then it occurred to him, that the Beacon was underground.
‘The worst thing is, I didn’t even get a chance to eat my cakes!’ he thought.
Meanwhile, Porlock and Rag were following the guards up into the citadel. They went through exquisitely paved courtyards, and passed what looked to be a temple - they caught sight of a great doorway between pillars - was that the temple in the song cycle? Rag wondered, in between worrying about where Vag had got to. After climbing some fine cut steps, they entered the hall of the King.
At last they reached the bottom of the descent - it was dark, but through the holes in the dirty sacking, Vag could see there must be torches lining the walls. They only went through one longish passage, before he was thrown down, roughly, and the sack pulled off him. The first thing he saw was the slave trader - who had a long beard, and sharp-looking eyes, like one used to taking a chance when anything seemed on offer. Two others flanked him, waiting there, sitting on what Vag took to be crates or rocks. Vag scrambled to his feet at once, - Mitsize were quite rubbery when it came to knocks and jolts - which was just as well. But once afoot, with a speed that surprized them, and made the two watchers draw their bronze knives, he stood stock still. Like a statue, only his eyes moving, from captor to captor. The last thing he wanted to do was to inspire them to seize him. - He knew perfectly well that he wasn’t heavy enough to come off well in such a struggle, against three. They did indeed look wary - but then, when he showed no signs of movement or escape, they seemed to relax a little.
‘ ?’ the man asked him, in the language he had been hearing all morning, without understanding. It did not sound alien, in the sense that it had some of the feel of the words in the song cycle - the place names. But it was spoken roughly, with sawn off edges. Whatever he had said, Vag didn’t understand. It could have been what’s your name, or where are you from. He remembered what Porlock had said, and did not answer.
‘ ?’ the man asked, and this time the question was different, or phrased differently. Vag wondered what he should do, but remained silent. How could he tell them that he didn’t understand? He didn’t want his silence to be mistaken for insolence. He shook his head, but this made the man angrier.
‘ !’ - this sounded like curses, from the tone. A nasty thought occurred to him - trying to mime that he was mute was all very well - but what if they wanted to see if his tongue had been cut out or something horrible like that? And then they might think he had been lying, - he took the plunge and spoke -
‘I don’t understand you. I’m a foreigner here. I don’t speak the language.’ he said, evenly, without the usual Mitsize smile. Indeed, it could hardly be credited that someone with such a snub nose could look so serious. Some of those who thought that they knew him might have had trouble recognizing him, for a moment. The three men laughed out loud - and not kindly -
‘ ?’ another one addressed him.
‘I don’t understand.’ Vag repeated, thinking, ‘surely they realize I can’t speak the language now?’ They spoke to each other then - presumably observing to one another that he didn’t speak the language, and remarking on what could be done with him next, given this fact. It sounded argumentative. In fact, the discussion was progressing something along the lines of - well a fat lot of use he is, no one will buy him, because he won’t understand orders. Don’t be daft, said another, we often get hold of foreigners from other cities, and they learn quick enough. Well, we haven’t time to teach him, I didn’t come into this business to teach halfwits how to speak! To which another chimed in, yes but the owner will teach him. Easy. Another replied - you know how lazy the rich are, they won’t want all the bother. Oh don’t be a fool! came the answer - of course they’ll get another slave to teach him. I don’t know why you bothered, said someone else - he looks downright odd to me - have you ever seen such hair? or a nose like that? And he doesn’t look very strong. Then they turned -
‘ .’ say something, the main trader said. The way they all looked at him expectantly made him feel as if they wanted him to do something. So he did speak -
‘Why have you brought me here, and who are you, and what’s the way out I wonder? I wish I knew. Looks like the only way is the way we came in. And you’re all in front of it, of course. At least I think they wanted to me to say something...’ he petered out.
‘Sounds like nothing on earth.’ said one.
‘Sounds like rubbish to me.’
‘No common words at all.’ In an excess of irritation, the trader flung up an arm, intending to strike Vag. But some things the Mitsize could do - and Vag stood stiller than ever, holding his ground, he turned his head like a mechanical statue to meet the gaze of his assailant, and his dark green eyes became paler, a bright emerald green, almost burning or glowing in the dim torchlight. The long twisted strands of flattened hair, oily and dusty, yet still with a hint of dark copper framing the eyes. The man took a step back, momentarily stunned. He let his arm fall, slack, and shook his head. The others had seen the eyes, too - and shifted in their seats, uncomfortably.
‘Just keep him here, till we get the barber.’ One of the seated slavers advised.
‘Yes. Alright. That sounds best.’ he agreed. And with that, they rose and gathered up the remains of a meal they had been having earlier - some meat and a kind of bread, by the look of it, and went toward the entrance of the chamber, with their backs to it, and their faces toward Vag. And then, once through the larger part of the opening, they drew back a metal gate which Vag had not seen in the darkness, and brought it to rest, and fastened it up with several clangs.
‘ .’ the kidnapper addressed him. Luckily for Vag, it was not the custom to keep slaves in chains - unless they proved troublesome. They had gone (though he did not know it), to seek the barber because of the distinctive hair cut which those who lived in the service of others, had to wear. But the moment they were out of earshot - with his sharper hearing, he heard them a little time after they would have heard him scrabbling about in the dark, - he looked around for a means of escape. He glanced at the smoking torches - it would be foolhardy to use those for any purpose, in such an enclosed area. That was why they had left them burning, he guessed. He tried the gates - the locking mechanism was quite simple - it was just a matter of reaching through the bars at one point. But what else was the point of having small, nimble hands? Though he had a powerful grip to go with them. He twisted and turned, until at last, the clasps fell back, and he pushed the gate open, as quietly as possible.
‘Lock-picking Mitsize.’ he breathed, - a little of his usual spirit returning to him. He started running, swiftly and almost silently, back up the passage. Mitsize loved riot and noise, but when it really mattered they could be astonishingly quiet, his light footfalls treading on the dark earth.
But no sooner had he reached the light of the day, when he saw his captors talking with a man not far away. The slaver’s last words to him had been ‘back soon’. He took a deep breath, and plunged in the opposite direction, but they saw him in an instant, and gave chase - at first, he outran them, through a narrow street or two - but when he came to a dead-end turn, the chase was up. He was near the tombs of the ancestors, old kings’s monuments, long back into the past. If he had but known it, over the other side of the wall, he was not far from Porlock and the Temple.
They advanced on him.
‘What shall we do with him?’
‘Well the barber said he’d never seen one like it either.’ they picked him up again, and even his speed could not help him, because of the tight space, and the bulk of the three of them in the way of escape - the high walls all around. They lifted Vag up high, still struggling, - and without a sack over his head, this time he was freer - he bit the slaver, very hard on the wrist. The man’s cry pierced the air.
‘That does it!’ he growled, when the other two had hold of Vag between them. He looked at Vag menacingly, binding up the wound with a piece of cloth.
‘More trouble than he’s worth, I reckon.’ said one his companions.
‘Let’s just feed him to the lions!’ he said in answer, grimly.
The slave trader led them, back down into the centre of the City, and then on as the heat of the day gradually lessened, to the enclosure where the lion pit was housed. Through dusty roads, as the sun was beginning to set, and past more gates. This was the arena where prisoners of war, criminals and other troublesome citizens were fed to the lions, kept by the City as symbols of its greatness, like the lion emblem found on so many pillars, and as statues. Large desert lions they were, and kept hungry for the purpose.
‘What have you brought in with you?’ asked the lion keeper.
‘Escaped slave.’
‘His hair isn’t cut in slave style.’
‘No - he was that much bother. Thought we’d bring him straight here.’
‘Looks almost like a child.’
‘He’s cunning enough though - and quick as a striking snake.’
‘Alright - I’ll give you a good dinner for him.’
‘When will you put him in?’
‘Tomorrow. You’re in luck.’
And with that, they threw him into a cell. But this time there wasn’t only a lock, but a big boulder shifted in front of the gate, by three sturdy guards.
‘Get out of that, if you can!’ said the slaver - and though Vag did not know what he had said, he guessed that it was not pleasant. He pulled a hideous face in reply, an amazing contortion of his elastic features - the man at another time might have laughed. But here, in the cells of the darkened arena, the blood of old and unsuccessful combatants staining the ground, and the memory of the green eyes, instead, it made him start and shudder - so fantastical did it make Vag’s face - like a sudden mask of some imp from the underworld. They hurried away to their dinner, without looking back. Vag sighed, and sat on the ground. It was just lucky that so strangely had he struck them, that no one had thought or rather wanted to, search him. He obviously had no weapons -
‘Which must have helped.’ he thought. So when dark had fully fallen, he ransacked his pockets for the food they had brought with them.
‘Food! At last!’ it seemed an epoch since breakfast. Though he would have loved something warmer and more filling. Afterward, he drank a few sips from the small flask of cordial, one of which, they had each pocketed. It moistened his mouth, but he could really have done with long draughts of clear water. But it was better than no drink at all.
‘I wonder how Rag and Porlock are doing? Better than this, I hope!’ he thought, looking around at the cheerless cell cut into the rock. There was straw on the floor, as if for animals.
‘But at least I can see the stars.’ And once he had eaten, (though not as much as he would have liked, in case it was needed later) he stretched himself out, and fell asleep dreaming of food, - large meals served piping hot on ornate trays, and brimming chalices of rich fruit punch, still steaming...
The dawn broke, and Vag woke with the light - he shivered with cold. Being just a cut in the rock, and opening out on the arena, which was open to the sky, the cell which he was in, was not much protected from the weather. He got up and stamped his feet and threw his arms around himself, to get warm. His head hurt with thirst - it was fine having a bit of cordial to keep one going, and fine to have water purifying tablets - but if no one had given you any water to purify for hours and hours...
‘I must’ve been tired!’ he thought, thinking that he had slept straight through the hard ground and the coldest part of the night, not to say the thirst. But the sun would soon heat up the City. When he felt more warm and alert, he stood still and cocked his head to listen. No one about yet - so he made another hasty meal, followed by small sips of cordial - it washed down the food, and mercifully had a virtue of taking away the hurt in his head - but he still felt dizzy, and his mouth was dry again, soon after. Also he was eating up the reserves - they had only brought what they could carry unobtrusively, thinking that if they had to be much longer, they would rely on what was to be had in the City. There was only one more decent meal left - or two meagre ones, he reflected, ruefully. And not much in the flask either. But he felt he needed to be really as lithe and sharp-witted as possible today. He felt his clothes rustle with the wrappings from his eaten food. Of course they had carried around their rubbish, because it was out of time. Not to say the absence of street rubbish bins for anything except building waste and suchlike. But he didn’t want to be carrying anything extra - so he dug a small hole in the corner of his cell and buried the little empty packages. Afterwards, he flexed and moved -
‘Yes - that’s better. Less crackly.’ he observed, and then curled up in a ball, to sit on the ground again, and wait, trying to clear his mind, and then to remember everything that Porlock had told him about this society; any clue that might help.
But he didn’t have that long to wait. When the sun proclaimed the morning that followed the dawn, the guards came, along with the keeper, to his cell. They moved the big boulder from the gate. They stood at the entrance, looking at each other for a moment - the guards had not really seen Vag in the dark dusk of the day before. He shot up with a single movement, from his ball on the floor, to a wary stance - like a speeded up film of a tree growing. And then stood stock still.
‘ !’ one of the guards exclaimed. What he said was the equivalent of ‘Blimey!’.
‘Ah - it’s just a dancer’s trick - haven’t you seen that before?’ commented the laziest of the guards, who liked to think of himself as cosmopolitan and chic. His family had been herders on the marginal lands, and he had never really stopped being thrilled to get a post as a guard in the arena, in the City no less. So he came across as fantastically relaxed and unhurried, in order to mask this fact.
‘Like a striking snake. Indeed.’ was all the keeper said.
‘Something tells me they’re not coming with a good breakfast.’ Vag murmured, very quietly, under his breath.
‘Out.’ and while the word was not known by Vag, the nod of the head, and the motion of the arm told him what was meant, and he came out, - slowly, in order that they might not lay hands on him. And they did not.
‘Will he bolt?’
‘Even a fool could see this part’s a sealed compound. He’d have to get to the rock arch, before he made the main gates, and then they’d be locked.’
What he said was true - Vag looked about, but could see that it was just a large shallow pit, with the cells bordering it, and rows of stone steps going up, like a curving wall, or, he thought, on looking at the pit, like rows of seats in a theatre? It was early, so only a few were there, but he now noticed that people were beginning to shuffle in, from another entrance, higher up, or behind the seats (separated from the arena by a wall - they only started at it’s height). He started coming out in a sweat, at the back of his neck. He walked very slowly still, deliberately, flanked by guards, and followed by another, with the keeper leading the way.
They came to a rock set in the hard earth. The keeper, knowing that Vag did not speak the language, from the slavers, tried to motion that this was where he must stand. Vag’s heart sank - he had a bad feeling about all of this. He nodded that he understood, and gave an expressionless face to the keeper and guards. Then they all left him. He did not follow, as it seemed that what they wanted of him was to stay where he was. Someone put down a ladder for them, out of the arena, and it was then that Vag thought that he might understand. Fear broke over him. All the time more people were coming in, and taking up seats. ‘Early?’ Vag wondered, and then recollected that in the heat of midday, folk probably sought shade, and so early morning made sense as a time to be out in. But what were they coming to watch? He shivered, but not with cold. They were hitching up some gates from enclosures at the far end. The arch to the main gate was too far off to make a run for it yet. He heard a roar, and then saw the huge desert lions emerge from their pens. Three of them. He told himself - fear is to warn you of danger. Once you know what the danger is, it will only get in the way, and muddy your thinking. He remembered Porlock telling him. He took a deep breath - they started running toward him, hungry and wild - he took up a kind of straddling position, standing with his legs far apart, and his arms outstretched, ready to try and do a somersault or vault of some kind over them. He thought of running away of course - but lions were hunters. They would use their numbers to be in each route at once. And then they were near him - he could see their huge eyes, and huge muscles - and then they came upon him, more slowly now - he stood, tense as a bowstring. A new thought had entered his mind - don’t alarm or surprize them. For that reason, again, as with the slavers, he was still. The largest came up to him, slowed up. Came right near him - sniffed. Vag was not like anything he had ever smelt before. The lion gave him an exploratory lick - and if a lion could have expressed what the Mitsize had done about the millet gruel, it would have done so.
‘Inedible Mitsize!’ thought Vag, almost aloud, and he threw back his head then, and a wild, wild laughter, rang out over the stadium, a sound never heard in the barren place before. The people that were there looked on, amazed, and some in a daze began to cheer. The shrill unearthly sound still carried and echoed of Vag’s laughter - the sound of terror suddenly needless, causeless, of nerves stretched taut and then released. But there was a strangeness in it, a demoniac quality, to the ears of the dwellers of the City - because Vag was not on his guard, - and his difference was made too plain. There was mumbling and shouting - at first many had been inclined to let him off, but when they heard the laughter still high above all other sounds, some muttered that perhaps he had not escaped the lions by fair means. That another test must be gone through. Vag stopped laughing, as soon as he regained his senses. But he felt now that he had lost the crowd. Or half of it - they were no longer with him as the oppressed, the brave, or even the winner. The lions, now milling about, and put off by the general din, (which sounded like nothing that victim or crowd usually came out with) were herded away with other meat, back to their enclosure.
‘How stupid of me!’ Vag thought, sensing what had happened.
‘What next I wonder?’ though he was a little fortified by his success. Someone came out towards him, carrying a small jug - but with palms open, as if in gesture of no violence. The man had also evidently been told that Vag could not speak the language - and he poured a little oil on his hand and rubbed it in, and then tried to motion that this was what he wanted Vag to do. Vag sniffed at the oil. It smelt like something as simple as olive oil. A meal? he checked himself - unlikely, but he was that hungry - he had ‘food on the brain’ as Meraud would call it. He held out his palms to receive the oil and then rubbed them together himself. The man went away again, once this was done. A tall man now emerged from another enclosure - with great bulging arms and legs - ‘he must be their champion’ thought Vag, and he was right. The champion strode toward the small figure - ‘and this must be for a fight’ he thought, sniffing at his hands. But once the champion was near Vag, whenever the champion stretched out an arm, Vag simply slipped away. He could move, and run, because he was so much slighter than the man’s bulk, much faster than the champion. Vag had no intention of fighting. And some of the crowd booed - or at least, he knew they weren’t pleased from the racket - and some laughed, and a few kept on cheering - either him or the champion. He darted hither and thither, always leading the man a merry dance, and always toward the arch and the main gate. Whenever they were at an angle when Vag thought that most of the crowd, which now had filled a number of sections of the seats, couldn’t see, he grinned disconcertingly, as if the whole thing was just a game to him, at the champion. Like the slaver before him, at another time, the champion (who had quite a well developed sense of humour when he hadn’t just been briefed to go and kill somebody) would’ve rocked in the aisles; but from an opponent in the main arena, it was as off-putting as it was deeply irritating. The champion’s face got redder and redder, as he got more out of breath, and more goaded. After some time, the man began to flag - and finally, he simply sat down, the folds of skin rolling over each other at his stomach, as he panted, exhausted in the growing heat of the day -
‘I come to fight! Not play a chase!’ he bellowed, but he was too tired to get up again. Vag now, sprinted toward the gates. And this time, he looked small and desperate - and the crowd (which had kept on gaining in numbers) gave a roar - a call of triumph and for freedom, with notes of hysteria in it, from amazement and amusement in equal measure. Even knowing that it was in earnest for the protagonists, the sight of Vag dodging the champion had been in its way, hilarious. - And once through the small rock tunnel, the main gate was swung open, by the guards, to let out the tiny champion, and so avoid a riot. The feelings had run so high by the end, that they had no desire to be lynched by a crowd that now wanted Vag freed. To his relief, Vag thought -
‘I did get them on my side again! And they couldn’t but open the wretched gate after that!’ He pelted out into the main street - glancing warily this way and that for men with sacks, or unfriendly or suspicious-looking people at every juncture in the roads, and at any spare moment. He had learned his lesson.
Porlock and Rag were shown into the inner court of the palace complex. They waited. Luckily for them, it was one of the days when the king was holding court and meeting visitors from foreign parts.
‘What have we got?’ whispered Rag to Porlock, knowing that mere bribery would not do for the king.
‘Well,’ said Porlock,
‘I did go through the storerooms in the ship, and a few things I packed myself - silver is more normal in these parts and prized, gold more rare, but a much loved precious stone is this -’ and he drew out a huge ball of lapis lazuli - blue as the night sky, and mottled and marbled with white, like galaxies and stars.
‘Wow!’ gasped Rag. It was the size of Porlock’s fist, and sat on his palm like a giant natural pearl.
‘It’s beautiful!’
‘Yes, let’s hope the king thinks so.’
‘But Porlock...’ murmured Rag, thinking -
‘It sort of reminds me of the Indigo Swan.’ meaning the blue and the stars.
‘Yes...Perhaps it wasn’t chance, that it was in the ship. Who knows?’ but now he pocketed it again, as the herald came forward, to tell them that the king would now see them, in the audience chamber. It was a splendid room - a hall, in size, with huge friezes on the upper walls, depicting victorious armies of the City in battle, and woollen and flax tapestries hung from the lower parts of the walls, also with images of scenes for the glory of the City and it’s King. Behind the King, was the most beautiful decoration of all. - The massive stones of the chamber were plastered pure white, and this was done regularly and kept clean, so that in itself, to see an ancient building in use, and as it was kept new and functioning in the time of its use, to them long lost in legend, was extraordinary enough. But set into the snowy plaster behind the King, was a huge mosaic, made of shells, and fabulously coloured - there were indigos, and violets, turquoises, powder blues and royal blues, grass greens and bottle greens, coral pinks and dark maroons, claret red, scarlet, corn gold and apricot...And best of all, it showed King Daimanos, setting the first stone of the Temple of Innana.
‘Blimey O’Reilly!’ breathed Rag, borrowing a phrase from a local lad he had once met in Minewell. Porlock gave him a sharp dig in the ribs, and Rag at once tried to compose himself, and unwiden his eyes (which were looking truly enormous - Mitsize had large eyes to begin with, but when they were amazed, their eyes seemed to grow to saucer-like proportions. Which could be rather arresting, for anyone who wasn’t used to it). - In between worrying about where on earth Vag had got to.
The herald introduced them - Porlock as being a traveller, who had lately come from Babylon, with Rag as his nephew. In their own lands, they had been relations of a king, and had started out with a larger retinue, and better clothes, but had encountered robbers and misfortune on the way. Now they merely requested a change of clothes, to give the King a gift and their respects...And - only if it were convenient of course - to see the majestic Temple of Innana of which they had heard.
The King was at first struck, by Porlock’s height, and the terrible state of the clothes they were in. Then by Rag’s marked features. He heard and weighed up their story - but there was something very graceful in Porlock demeanour, and something of power, also. He reflected that strong and determined must be the traveller who sets out, encounters such obstacles, and still enters the gates at last, of his destination. He was minded to grant them a new set of clothes at once. And he was flattered by their desire to see the Temple. Especially as they had not made mention of making a sacrifice to it, in order to gain some end, or for luck in their travels. It seemed they had just heard of it, and wished to see it.
Finally, when the herald was finished, and they had answered questions about their names or country as best they could - the possible with the evasive, in other words, Porlock came to the gift.
‘And something I have for you, Majesty - not only gold,’ he put a small bag in the hand of the herald,
‘But this -’ and he drew out the beautiful globe of lapis lazuli - the King himself, took the stone, and not accustomed to wonder, nonetheless, gave the stone his whole attention.
‘It is the night sky, reflected and cut out of the Earth.’ he said - and Porlock knew that the gift was the right one.
‘Most sacred of all gems to the gods!’ added the King.
‘My Lord.’ Porlock bowed slightly, in acknowledgment, and the gesture was understood.
‘Few hungry travellers come across the plains bringing such gifts as this. You will come to my banquet tonight.’
‘We should be deeply honoured.’
‘In the mean time, - you have asked for little enough, I will order you clothes, and quarters in the palace - tell my people if there is anything else that you need.’
‘Our gratitude goes with you.’ Porlock replied, and with that, they were led out of the audience chamber, and soon to apartments where there were fresh clothes, sweet smelling with some oil or scent. Though Porlock’s was a little too short, but Rag was given something that fitted well enough. Rag stuffed a bit of the high energy food from his pockets, into his mouth at last.
‘I’m so worried about Vag!’ he said, though a mouthful of biscuit, as soon as they found themselves alone.
‘I know - so am I. But at least our audience with the King went well...’ replied Porlock, thoughtfully. It was a relief to get out of their stolen shepherd’s clothes, and mercifully, the new clothes still covered the underlayer they had each kept - full of pockets, and warm or cool, depending on which was needed.
‘I must go and look for him!’
‘I know how you feel - but you can’t. I want to go myself - though it means trouble - as I must go to the Temple, and meet the High Priest, as soon as possible, and there isn’t much time before dinner - ‘
‘But Porlock - !’ said Rag, almost swallowing a bite, whole.
‘We would have gone together, but in any case, guests can’t turn up and then just vanish - one of us has to stay -’
‘Then I ought to go! Especially if you’re busy -’
‘You can’t go alone - we have no idea what’s happened to him, and the same might happen to you -’ this didn’t help at all, and only made Rag worse -
‘But then I MUST go!’
‘Don’t choke! And what use would you be to him, if you were in the same predicament?’ Porlock answered him, vehemently. Adding -
‘I must go -’
‘But Porlock - I would be better - Mitsize know the sorts of places Mitsize like -’ he gulped down the bolted victuals.
‘I doubt he is somewhere Mitsize like, or we would have heard from him, by now...’ But it was true, it occurred to Porlock, that Rag would sense if Vag were nearby - being almost identical twins gave them some kind of sixth sense about the other, at times. Rag was just opening his mouth to argue, when a member of the palace, one of the many warders, entered -
‘I was told that the King had guests, who had travelled far. Is there anything I can do for you? I hope the clothes are well -’ Rag dived in at once
‘- Yes, please.’ he replied before any reply was expected -
‘Would it be possible for you to accompany me around the City?’ he could feel Porlock’s scowl of it not having been discussed properly, behind his back.
‘It’s just that of course we came straight to the Palace - and I‘d really like to, er - look around a bit.’ he man looked surprized, but not unduly so. Porlock made as if to take the man aside -
‘Excuse my nephew,’ he began -
‘It would be a great kindness to me, if you could watch out for him, and make sure he comes to no harm.’
‘Of course. In my company, it will be seen that he has royal protection -’ and he showed Porlock the emblem he wore, denoting this. Porlock sighed with relief, internally.
‘Well, then - that would be excellent. But I must just warn you -’ and here he whispered to the warder so that Rag could not hear. What he was saying was that Rag was a bit of a wild one, and at home - had it not been for his noble family, he would undoubtedly have been the village idiot, and so to keep a rein on him, high spirited as he was, as well an eye on him, if at all possible. The man nodded wisely, saying,
‘I understand. Of course.’ and so, Rag (wondering what Porlock had been telling the warder and having a faint suspicion of slander), got his wish.
‘Be careful!’ were Porlock’s last words to him, hissed in an undertone, as Rag and the warder set off for the centre of the city.
By S.V.Wolfland
© All rights reserved
