So, as you can see, things had taken quite a turn for the worse. Our hero, Taylor James and his eternal friend and companion, Robert of Roth, laid somewhere in a deep, dark, mysterious cave, surrounded by four hundred or so faithful followers, ignorant of what lie ahead, void of any particular strategy, and quickly running low on rations. They were sleeping, but far from soundly.
Rafey and Jeller, meanwhile, were not sleeping. They were up keeping guard, as they were charged to do, occupying their time with a rather pointless argument over which of them had won the affection of a young, beautiful maiden from their hometown, who, I assure you, was not the slightest bit interested in either one. But reality plays little upon the mind when it comes to love, and so they would continue to argue, back against back upon the ground, late into the midnight hour.
“How could she love you?” whispered the high-pitched Rafey. “I mean, just look atchya!”
“And just what’s wrong with me, ya skinny bag ’a bones?”
“Nothing,” said Rafey, “if she wants t’marry twice the man of any other.”
“Well, it’s better than half the man!” Jeller countered.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I-”
“Shh!”
Jeller cut his hand through the air like a razor.
“Do ya hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?” Rafey returned. “I dun’t hear a thing.”
“Ssssssssshh! Listen.”
Rafey listened, but still he heard nothing. He was just about to bop Jeller one on the head for his nerve-wracking imagination, when something made him shake his head. He listened closer, turning himself in Jeller’s direction – the direction in which they had not yet traveled, where the cave continued to who-knows-where.
“What in the world…?” he muttered.
It started as a distant hum, then gradually grew louder into a vibrant echo. Neither man could believe his ears. It was the strangest thing they had ever heard. It went like this:
Hummmmmm,
Hummmmmm,
Hum, Hum, Hummmmmm…
Hummmmmm,
Hummmmmm,
Hum, Hum, Hummmmmm…
Rafey and Jeller turned to each other in utter perplexity.
“Do…Do…Do ya think we…should…give w-w-w-warning?…” Rafey asked.
Jeller nodded.
Then they both screamed:
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!”
Instinctively, Taylor, Robert, and the rest all jolted from their slumber and made for their weapons.
“What is it?” Taylor demanded, his head jerking from side to side.
“Good Lord!” Robert cried.
Taylor turned in a huff. His jaw nearly dropped from his head.
Before him stood an army, about twice the size of his own, armed to the teeth with rocks and sticks and bows. They held torches, and some even had swords. But it was not their weapons that scared him. No. Not at all. It was something much stranger, much more unusual, much more frightening. It was the makeup of the army itself:
There were tall men with one eye, and short ones with no shoulders. There were men with ears beside their mouths, and some with no ears at all. The noses were large and ugly, or small and flat; the mouths crooked, pale, deformed. Some had teeth protruding from their gums, some gums protruding from their teeth. They wore expressions of utter hideousness, with eyes that moved in different directions, or moved without will, or moved not at all. It was a terrible, horrid sight for both parties, and for a moment the two armies stood in complete confusion.
Taylor’s head shifted back and forth, reviewing those before him in utter astonishment.
“Identify yourselves!”
The voice, deep and resonating, came from a stout, mustached man, who stepped forth ostentatiously. He had a staff in his hand and wore a uniform of sorts, with a blue vest and large, unmatched buttons.
“I am Taylor James,” said our leader, “and these are my men. May I inquire the same of you?”
“No, you may not!” the man declared, raising his stick in the air. “You are on our territory, and therefore it is I who will ask the questions!”
The stout man delivered this speech in the greatest grandeur, after which he paused and awaited Taylor’s daring reply.
“Very well.”
This astounded not only the stout man, but everyone else as well, including Robert, who could not help but have his eyes pop from his head and a lump of saliva run down his throat. For a moment the man knew not what to say to this, and so he coughed into his hand, pretending to clear his windpipe.
“All right, then,” he said at last. “First: Why are you here?”
“We are hiding from the Dark Duke,” Taylor said, “who we are currently in rebellion against.”
“What duke is this?” the man asked. Taylor was pleased to see in the man’s face that he spoke honestly, in complete ignorance of the Dark Duke’s existence.
“The Dark Duke,” Taylor replied, “who now rules over Belsden, Monastero, and Sarbury.”
“He does, does he?” said the stout man, quite matter-of-factly. “Sounds more like a king than a duke. And just why are you rebelling against him?”
“He is a cruel ruler,” Taylor explained. “He has stolen from the people and brutalized them in the process. If we do not stop him, he’ll soon take over the world, for certain.”
“Ah. I see,” said the man. “And, tell me, how is it that you lead such a rebellion? What qualifies you?”
Taylor stared him straight in the eye.
“Nothing,” he said. “But I do have military experience, and I was heir to King Edmund and Queen Beatrice of Belsden, so I have become the perceived leader.”
“You were heir to the throne, eh?”
“Yes,” Taylor replied.
The stout man set himself upon his staff a moment. There was a rustling in the crowd behind him, and then a young boy, deformed, but no more than twelve, approached him to his right. The speaker leaned down so that the boy could whisper into his large, unsightly ear, nodded some few times with an occasional “Uh-huh,” then straightened himself as the boy returned to his spot and spoke in a loud, clear voice.
“If you follow us,” he said, “we can help you. But first you must relinquish your weapons.”
Robert looked to Taylor, as all fell suddenly silent. For a moment Taylor stood stagnant, but then, slowly, almost mechanically, he dropped his sword to the ground before the stout officer. Agree or disagree, Robert did the same.
“Are you crazy?” someone yelled. “They’ll kill us all.”
“They could kill us all now,” Taylor said. “We have no choice but to trust them.”
It seemed like an absurd idea: to trust these monstrous people. But the men saw that their options were limited, and so they complied, tossing their weapons before them just as Taylor and Robert had tossed theirs.
“Turn around,” the stout man ordered.
They did so, and a moment later they heard the sound of shuffling behind them and knew that their weapons were being retrieved. The ugly fellows took some time at it, most probably delighting in what was to them fine weaponry, but soon enough the deed was done and the stout man’s voice rang out once again:
“Turn around,” he said again. Then, “Follow us.”
Some of the ugly army took up guard behind Taylor and Robert’s men. The rest turned round, with the stout man proceeding up to the front. He took a torch in his free hand, and began to lead the procession down into the darkness.
Cosko bit his lip.
Through the darkness they traveled, making light as they went. The cave became steeper in parts, trying on their weary legs, then narrow in others, forcing them to squeeze closer and nearer their captors. The stream that they had found seemed to grow larger as they went, turning into a veritable river soon enough, its noise the only sound, save for the echo it produced off the cave wall.
They had been marching for only an hour, though to the
tired men it seemed more like a day, when, to their relief, they saw light emerging from the darkness. It appeared as a spark at first, then grew gradually into an opening. The men walked faster now, excited; for it had been a long while since last they had seen light so strong. They approached it like thirsty men approach an oasis in the desert, careful not to push on the backs of the ugly army, but anxious.
As they got nearer, they saw that it was not sunlight, but a strange array of candles that lit the way, arranged so that their light bounced easily from one wall to another. The walls grew wider now, and wider yet, and more and more candles soon illuminated their path. Above the heads of the army, Taylor could just make out a clearing, with a white clay house in front. He gazed forth in wonderment, and soon was to discover that this house led unto another, and then another yet, and finally unto a village. As they entered it, Taylor could make out figures down below: deformed beings, just like those who had led them there. There were thousands of them: doing clothes, washing dishes – children playing at games he had never seen before, like “One Eye” and “Hop and Shoot.”
“Why, it’s an underground village!” Robert remarked.
They made their way down a steep hill of steps and into the town. Some of the men from the ugly army spread out and took up positions beside Taylor and his men, and, for a moment, he thought they might be subdued. But the men did not subdue them; instead they cleared a path for them, making certain that none of the deformed villagers (who stared at Taylor and his men as if they were in fact the deformed ones), caused Taylor or his men any harm.
Finally, they stopped before a single white clay cottage with a straw covered roof, and the men motioned for them to sit. The stout man proceeded into this cottage without knocking. Three others guarded the door.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Robert asked.
“I dunno,” Taylor said, “but something tells me we’ll soon find out.”
A moment later they could see the stout man’s body protruding from the doorway, motioning for Taylor to come inside. Both he and Robert arose, but before they could enter, the stout man raised his staff in front of Robert and said, “Not you.”
Robert turned to Taylor, who simply shrugged. There was nothing he could do. Eying the stout man suspiciously, Robert returned to the men outside, taking his seat beside Cosko.
“Things sure are lookin’ ugly around here,” Cosko remarked. “A-ha-ha-ha!”
Robert turned to him, dead-eyed.
“Sorry,” the portly townsman said. “Deranged sense of humor, I suppose.”
…………………………………………..
Taylor was keenly aware of his vulnerability as he entered the cottage. He had no weapons, no friends, and no idea why he was there. If they wanted his head, it was theirs, and there was little he could do about it. And yet, he did not feel unsafe. He felt kept.
Inside was a small, dimly lit room with just four or five candles planted here and there around it, including one in a long silver holder that stood atop a small, elegantly carved table in the center. Before the table was a stool, also beautifully carved, with another, similar one opposite. There was a stool in the corner as well, and two more next to a hardwood desk on the right. The walls were rough with the texture of the clay, and looked peach in the candlelight. There were arched doorways leading off to unlit corridors, and one large doorway behind the table, covered by a red velvet curtain. If it was going to be a sneak attack, Taylor would be an easy target.
“Sit here,” the stout man said, motioning to the stool before the table. “And wait.”
He did so, and the stout man walked off through the velvet curtain with his staff. A moment later Taylor could hear mutterings between him and another, but he could not make out what they were saying. For a few seconds there was silence, and Taylor became suddenly worried. Then, to his relief, the stout man reemerged and took his seat in the corner, his eyes set on the room from whence he had just come. Taylor, too, set his eyes on the curtain, unsure whether there would emerge a man or a wild beast, but curious nonetheless. His curiosity was answered when the curtain swung open, and in came a haggard old man with a white beard down to his feet, and a long purple robe upon his body. He was distorted like the rest, but not quite as ugly, Taylor found – a relieving factor, since the man was now occupying the seat opposite him. They stared at each other for a good while, each one trying to figure-out the other, and then finally the old man spoke. His voice was creaky, but kind, like traveling down a rough road in a pleasant wagon.
“Why are you here?” he said.
“I was brought here,” Taylor replied.
The old man shook his head.
“No. I mean, why did you come to our cave? What brought you here?”
Taylor explained it to him, just as he had explained it before.
“You claim to be the rightful leader of Belsden,” the old man said when he was finished, “but how do we know that this is true?”
“You don’t,” Taylor replied, “and I can offer you little proof other than my word.”
“Which is worth nothing,” the stout man interjected.
The old man waved him off. “Quiet, Pommer! Let me ask the questions.” He turned back to Taylor. “How did you find this cave?”
“Through rumor,” Taylor said. “A legend that we got wind of. We were desperate. We had no place else to go. And so we came.”
The old man nodded and Taylor could see that no further explanation would be necessary. There was silence for some seconds, then the old man leaned forward on his stool and rubbed his chin, a look of concerned wisdom apparent on his distorted face.
“Do you know who we are?” he asked.
“No,” said Taylor, “I’m afraid I do not. Until today I knew nothing of your existence entirely.”
The old man sat back, engulfed in thought. For a few strenuous moments he smoothed down his beard, almost subconsciously it seemed, his eyes off in the distance.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” he said at last. “That is, if you’ll grant me the time to listen…”
Taylor was surprised by the old man’s graciousness. He did not expect cordiality inside a dark hut deep inside a dark cave, but the old man was as genteel as any regal prince.
“Certainly,” Taylor said. “Your time is mine.”
“Good,” said the old man. “Then I ask you to listen closely and carefully; for it is a strange tale, but one that I hope you can understand.
“Many years ago…” he began, “…there was a boy born in your native land of Belsden by the name of Tinsen Pooglie.” The old man pronounced it in syllables: Tin-sen Poo-guh-lee. “He was a very nice boy – kindhearted and good to all – but, unfortunately for Tinsen, he had been born into a family notorious for homeliness – ugliness, if you will. From his father’s side he would inherit uneven ears and small, beady eyes, while from his mother’s side he would take her family’s crooked mouth and ghastly curved spine.
“All his life Tinsen was the butt of everyone’s jokes - teased about his appearance constantly, despite his good will. And because Tinsen was good-willed, he would never do these people any harm, but simply ignored them instead, content to go his merry way despite their ignorance. Yet the people were not satisfied, and persisted in harassing Tinsen, until finally he felt the need to leave Belsden.
“He moved to Monastero, hoping that the people there would be more understanding. Unfortunately, they were not, and Tinsen found himself hardly able to leave his house without being done violence to.
“Then, one day, while Tinsen was wandering alone in the woods, he met a girl by the name of Jabetta Wooglie,” (again he spoke in syllables: Juh-beh-tta Woo-guh-lee) “who was in much the same position as he. Jabetta had been born into an unsightly family as well, and had a tremendous nose and ugly, bloated eyes that were far off-kilter. She was fat and awkward, her cheeks flat as pancakes.
“The two took a liking to each other right away, and bega
n arranging secret rendezvous. Soon enough they were completely in love.
“They were certainly an odd couple, with Tinsen (when he stood straight) towering at seven foot and Jabetta a portly four feet tall. He had to get on his knees just to kiss her, but truly he didn’t care – he loved her.
“But the townspeople were appalled, and insisted that the relationship come to an end immediately. Tinsen, you see, foolishly confident enough one day, had brought Jabetta into town with him, causing the people to gather round and gawk in horror. They felt that any child the two could produce would most certainly be a monster, and that they could not allow the relationship to continue under such a chance.
“But any wise man can tell you that nothing can stop true love. Tinsen wished to marry Jabetta, and, despite the town’s objections, he was able to find an old holy man who was willing to perform the ceremony in secret. Afterwards, when the town found out, the people were outraged, and insisted that something be done. But Tinsen and Jabetta simply settled down to their house in seclusion, and soon enough the tumult died down.
“But then a boy was born to Jabetta, by the name of Gulmer, more hideous-looking, even, than his parents. Again the town was outraged, and some even petitioned the king to kill the boy or banish the family.
“The king, however, thought it best to view the matter firsthand, and so he visited the Pooglie home, or Pooglie-Wooglie home as it was called – for the people never respected the marriage. After seeing the hideous creature, the king decided that it was indeed a monster and must be put to death, and told Tinsen and Jabetta that he would only allow them to live if they agreed to have no more offspring. They pretended to agree, but before the king could return with his executioner, the Pooglie-Wooglies fled into the hills of Monastero, building themselves a cottage surrounded by wood.
“There they would live for years to come, eventually having nine more children, five boys and five girls all together. They lived simply and peacefully there, and did not look for trouble; but, unfortunately, trouble was soon to find them once again.
“A group of hunters, scouring the woods for game, discovered their house and its occupants. Without them knowing it, the hunters had reported them to the townspeople, who in turn reported it to the king. Feeling that he had no other recourse, the king sent in his soldiers to capture the Pooglie-Wooglie family.
“When the army returned with its captives, the king originally scheduled an execution for them. But a kindhearted aide by the name of Walser talked the king out of it, pointing out that there were now twelve of them, and that truly there was no law that gave legality to an execution under such circumstances. Perhaps, he suggested, banishment would be a more sound punishment. The king reluctantly agreed, but where to send the Pooglie-Wooglies? They were not wanted in Belsden or Sarbury, or even Dermer for that matter, and the king could not risk a war by sending another country twelve ‘monsters’ to deal with. And so Walser proposed another idea: Why not instead banish them from the face of the earth?
“At first the king was confused. But then Walser told him about a little-known cave just outside of Tapel which would be just perfect for such a situation. If the Pooglie-Wooglies would agree to live there, and to only come out at night and make certain never to be seen, the townspeople could be told that they had been executed, and none would know the better. It was an ideal plan, he contended. The king, though he did not see how anyone could live in such a place, consented nonetheless, and the idea was presented to Tinsen and Jabetta.
“The two might rather have died than accept such humiliation, but they had their children to think of as well. The only other option was to let their children be executed, and that they could not do. Therefore, they reluctantly agreed. They were permitted to bring some Pooglies and some Wooglies who were willing to go, but no one else was to know. And so it was arranged that they were all to be brought to this cave in secret, where they would live out the rest of their days underground, unbeknownst to those above.
“The Pooglie-Wooglies made as best a home they could under the circumstances, with Tinsen and some of the others hunting only at night, making certain never to be seen by the “undeformed.” Eventually a grandchild was born, a product of a next generation marriage between a Pooglie and a Wooglie, of course, since there was no contact with the outside world. The child was ugly and deformed just like the rest, and with that child arose a tradition of childrearing which continued through generations. As the years went by, the Pooglie-Wooglie clan grew, and eventually there were enough to make for an entire town.
“That town is the one that you see before you. – The town whose eldest citizen speaks to you now. Tinsen Pooglie was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. And we, are the Pooglie-Wooglies.”
For a moment Taylor sat in awe. Truly, it was the oddest story he had ever heard. Why the old man had told it to him, and what he expected to follow from the telling of it, Taylor did not know. But he felt somehow that he should say something.
“I – I am truly sorry,” he said. “It is a terrible thing that has happened to your people.”
“Yes,” said the old man, “indeed, it is.”
He rubbed his face with his hand, from his hairy eyebrows to his tremendous beard.
“May I inquire as to your name?” Taylor asked.
“No, you may not!” cried Pommer from the corner.
“Quiet!” ordered the old man. He redirected himself back to Taylor. “You may,” he said. “My name is Winkle…Winkle Pooglie-Wooglie. In our small community, there is no male favoritism, and so we all go by Pooglie-Wooglie.”
“May I ask you a question, Mr. Pooglie-Wooglie?”
”You may ask me anything you wish, Mr. James, and please, call me Winkle.”
Pommer let out a grunt of contempt, but Taylor paid this no heed.
“In all these years,” he said, “have not you wished to leave this horrid lifestyle?”
“Oh, certainly, we have,” said Winkle, “but the threat of annihilation looms constantly above us. And frankly, we just don’t have enough faith in the human race to believe that it has changed much since our founders’ time.”
Taylor understood. He folded his hands upon the table and took a deep breath.
“Have you any more questions?” Winkle asked.
“Yes,” Taylor replied. Then, leaning forward to look the old man in the eye, he said. “Why have I been brought here?”
Winkle stared at him silently for some time. At last, pushing himself off of the table with his hands, he arose and began pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You were brought here,” he said, “so that I may determine your fate. Being the oldest and the wisest in our little town, I am frequently called upon to make decisions. And here is the decision I have made:
“I will offer you a deal. We will help you, and, in turn, you will help us.”
“Help me how?” Taylor asked.
“This duke you speak of,” Winkle stated, “I believe that we can tell you where he is and what his next move will be. We can also add many men to your army.”
“That sounds very pleasing,” Taylor interjected, somewhat suspiciously, “but what is it that you wish in return?”
Winkle had stopped pacing and was facing the wall as if he were looking out the window, but there was no window there.
“Did you see those children out there, Taylor?”
“I did,” Taylor replied.
“Those children, Mr. James, like me, have never gotten to go outside and frolic in the sun. Never. The time under the sun which you spend so freely would mean an eternity to them. But because of something completely out of their control, they will never get to see that magnificent star, which I myself have only read and dreamed about. I wish they could see that star, Taylor. But I know that if we ever tried to emerge during the day, they would kill us all.”
He turned to face him again.
“That is where you
come into it. If we were to help you, and you were to reclaim your throne, you would then have to grant us permission to live above ground, and safeguard us from attack however necessary.”
Taylor’s eyes fell to the floor.
“Now…” said the old man, stretching himself across the table, a mere two inches from Taylor’s face, “…is it a deal?”
Taylor thought for a moment.
“Before I accept,” he said, “I must know one thing: How do you who has lived under the ground for so long know anything of the Dark Duke? Your man Pommer here seemed to have never heard of him.”
“That question can be answered later. For now, let it be said that you must trust me as I trust you. Now…do you accept?”
Taylor shifted in his chair.
“I suppose I have no other choice but to trust you,” he said.
“Good!” Winkle exclaimed, leaning himself upright. “Then next I must ask that you follow me.”
…………………………………………..
When Taylor emerged from the cottage with Winkle he was glad to see his men in a much happier state. They had been provided with food and beverage, and sat conversing heartily, with Robert the only exception. He had his eyes trained on the cottage door, and was unable to eat. When Taylor came out, he jumped up in a fit of excitement.
“Taylor,” he called, approaching, “are you all right?”
“Yes, quite so,” Taylor comforted. He put his arm on Robert’s shoulder. “If you’d please, Robert, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Winkle Pooglie-Wooglie.”
“How d’ya do,” said Winkle, extending his hand.
“Pleased,” said Robert, somewhat in awe, but shaking nonetheless.
“Robert is my most loyal friend,” Taylor explained. “If possible, I would appreciate it if he could accompany us…”
“Certainly and most definitely not!” shouted Pommer from behind.
“Oh, put a cork in it, Pommer,” said the old man. “I have no problem with that. Now, let us continue…”
Winkle waved his hand forward, and the group proceeded to follow, with Pommer marching at the rear with his staff upon his shoulder. As they walked, Taylor and Robert were each able to take closer notice of the town around them. Truly, it was a marvel. From materials such as clay, mud, wood, and rock, the Pooglie-Wooglies had constructed a town just as beautiful and efficient as any other, if not more so.
Their houses were cozy and inviting, lit only by candlelight, and yet comforting. None of them, it seemed, had locks on their doors, and some did not have doors at all. There were no bigger or smaller houses really – every one was just about the same size, and this did not seem to bother anyone in the slightest. Space was limited, but they made the best of it.
The grounds were decorated with rock sculptures and fake trees and flowers. Green cloth imitated grass. To have real flowers or grass would have been impossible, but the Pooglie-Wooglies made up for it by putting up paintings and laying down animal furs. There were carvings of wood all around, some with deformed faces on them that evidently represented Pooglie-Wooglie ancestry. Taylor saw a large one in the town square that said “Tinsen” underneath, and another one next to it that read “Jabetta.” Two ugly faces.
As they rounded the corner, they noticed a water mill off in the distance, which seemed to churn out water for the entire village. Villagers with buckets were collecting the water and bringing it back to their houses. “That’s our water system,” Winkle pointed out, taking note of Taylor’s amazement. “It comes from holes in the ground up above. Truly, it’s very good.”
Taylor nodded.
They walked on past the water mill and through an alley between the cottages, at the end of which they came to a large clearing with ropes around it, where children were playing at various unusual games. “Our closest thing to a park,” Winkle said. One child somersaulted past them, then rose and scratched at a deformed ear. Taylor smiled at him, but the boy simply stood gazing, as if Taylor and Robert were the strangest beings he had ever seen.
A moment later they were cutting through another alley and into the street again. This street was busier than the last, with Pooglie-Wooglies pulling carts and wagons up and down in either direction, some with people inside, others with food or furs or pottery. One man turned toward Taylor, shouting, “Ten dashniks’ll getchya a brand new set’a silverware,” but stopped suddenly when he saw his face. He coughed into his hand, eyed Winkle suspiciously, and turned quickly back the other way.
“Pay no mind,” Winkle said, “we’re almost there.”
He led them down the street and into a cottage with a red flag above the doorway. This cottage was much different on the inside than the last. While the old man’s dormitory had been dim and little furnished, this one was well-lit by bronze chandeliers with candles, and filled with tables, chairs, pots, pans, bureaus, and even a footstool. There was a lounging chair against the wall, and a table in the center with a bowl of fruit on top. The walls were a bit smoother, it seemed, and reflected the candlelight better.
When they entered, a tall, thin woman approached and greeted Winkle with a polite curtsey. Her face was ugly and her clothes shabby, but still she walked as if she were Queen of the Underlings.
“Hello, Petal,” said the old man. “And just how is our friend doing?”
“Quite well, I must say, sir,” the lady reported. “He was able to get up and traverse the room only but a moment ago.”
“Ah! Very good!” the old man said, very much pleased. “Now…If you’ll allow me to introduce you to the King of Belsden, Taylor James, and his dear friend Robert…”
The lady blanched somewhat at first, but, wishing to show no disrespect, quickly recovered with a bow and said “How d’ya do.” Taylor could have sworn that he saw a hint of anger in her eyes.
“Anyway, Miss Petal,” said Winkle, when the greetings were finished, “if you could please show us into the back room.”
“Certainly, Elder.” She said this as if it were a title. Then, turning on her heels, she led them through an archway and down the hall into a room filled with cots. It was evidently a medical station, and one which, Taylor was certain, must have taken many years to complete. There were all sorts of gadgets and gizmos and medicines around, many of which were far advanced from anything above ground. Two nurses paced the room, tending to Pooglie-Wooglies with coughs and broken legs and viruses. A child with his arm in a sling near the front used his good hand to throw a cup at Robert, and Petal turned to him, cautioning, “Watch it, Meman – you’re already on my last nerve.”
But Robert had hardly noticed; he was far too much in awe of the various machines and contraptions that surrounded him, his eyes bulging like a child’s in a candy store.
Petal led them down the way to the very last cot. This one was by the window, overlooking the market, and had a curtain around it. The light from the chandeliers was especially strong here, and Taylor could just make out the shadow of a figure behind the curtain. A moment later, Petal was drawing the curtain back, and Taylor’s eyes focused on the mass occupying the bed. The man had his back to them, the left of his face resting comfortably on an enormous white pillow. His clothes were ragged just like the rest, but his body was different: straight and tall and normal-looking. As the light entered from the outside, the man slowly began to stir, twitching his shoulders up as if awakening from a bad dream. When he finally opened his eyes and turned to face them, he could not have found two more surprised faces looking back.
“James!” Taylor cried.
“Taylor!” the wounded man returned, quite surprised himself. “Robert! How did you find me?”
“Find you?” Taylor said, taking him by the shoulder. “How did you get here? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” James said. “Yes. Indeed I’m fine. Finer than the others, I’m afraid.”
A look of panic came over Taylor’s face.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “What has happened? Wh
ere is Rosemarie? Where are our families?”
“I’m sorry, Taylor,” James confessed, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye. “Truly I am! I tried, Taylor! Oh!, how I tried!”
“Speak, James!” Taylor demanded. “Tell me what has happened.”
Robert stepped closer and placed his hand on Taylor’s elbow. He could see that James was trying to hold back his tears, his already swollen cheeks becoming quickly redder. His condition worsened as he relayed his story, pausing at times to wipe his eyes and recover his breath, his words staggered and confused.
“It was like this…” he said. “…We were travelin’ along at a good pace – a mighty good pace…When suddenly…there…there was a scream. And then…And then…” – he raised his hands to form some sort of inanimate shape – “A-A-A bear there was…a giant, tremendous bear. So I – I jumped out, n’ father too…and some of the others. A monster bear it was. A monster. But I approached it…I had to. And I fired you see” – his hands became a bow and arrow – “I fired – But it…it barely moved the thing. Barely moved, I tell you! Then…Then I went to fire again, but – before I could – the beast, he-he-he he hit me with – with that massive paw…
“I don’t know how long I was knocked out, but I was. And when I woke, I saw that I was in a bush. And there were men – all around. The Dark Duke’s men – thousands of’m - everywhere! And the Dark Duke upon his horse. And-And-And next t’him, nexta the Dark Duke - there was – there was –”
“Stay calm,” Robert said.
“Who was there?” Taylor demanded. “Who was next to the Dark Duke?”
“That traitor!” James cried. “That traitor, Nome Flag! He was on a horse as well. He had given us up! I wanted to charge right at’m, but I saw my father look toward me n’ wave me down. I’m still sorry I didn’t do it. I crouched back instead, my head still achin’ somethun awful, n’ then I heard the Dark Duke, in a loud, piercing voice, say, ‘Where is Taylor James?’
“And I heard my father answer him. ‘Hopefully reclaiming his throne,’ he says, ‘You won’t find him here.’
“The Dark Duke ordered his men to search the carriages, n’ when they didn’t find you, the Dark Duke took out his sword n’ put it to Nome Flag’s throat as Guardsmen surrounded his horse.
“‘You promised me Taylor James,’ he says. ‘Now, where is he?’
“But Nome says he was deceived – that he thought you would be there for sure, and when the Dark Duke asks him why he shouldn’t kill him on the spot, Nome says that he can still help, that he knows more. The Dark Duke asks him, ‘What?,’ n’ Nome starts lookin’ around at everyone, desperate. Then his eyes fall on Rosemarie and he points to her n’ goes, ‘There, Your Highness! That girl!’
“‘What of her?’ asks the Dark Duke.
“‘Her name’s Rosemarie,’ says Nome. ‘Taylor James is crazy about her. He’d do anything fer her. You take that girl n’ he’ll show up at your doorstep.’
“No!” Taylor cried.
“Yes,” said James. “Then the Dark Duke pauses for a moment n’ thinks it over. Everyone’s quiet, including Nome, who looks as nervous as I ever saw him. But the Dark Duke just starts to laugh. Hard, he laughs. Then all of his soldiers – Farv, too – they all start to laugh. Then Nome. The Dark Duke slowly starts pullin’ away his sword, n’ Nome laughs even harder than before, grabbin’ at his belly, even. They’re all laughing now, strange, hard laughing, when suddenly the Dark Duke thrusts his sword forward n’ pierces Nome straight through the heart. Quickly, the laughter stops. Nome slumps down, dead. The Dark Duke recovers his sword n’ gets down off his horse. He walks over to my sister, his sword still in hand, n’ I almost gave up my cover right there, but father waved me back again. The Dark Duke paces up n’ down, reviewing her. Then he stops n’ touches her face. My father reaches up, but a dozen Guardsmen draw their swords at him.
“Then the Dark Duke says to Rosemarie, ‘I’ve been looking for a woman like you.’ – he runs his fingers through her hair n’ smiles an ugly, devious grin n’ goes , ‘I do need someone to bear my heir, after all.’
“‘I’d rather walk over hot coals and die a miserable death,’ Rosemarie says.
“‘That can be arranged!’ the Dark Duke yells. Then he raises his sword to my father’s neck and says, ‘Won’t you ride alongside me, my dear Rose-marie?’ He presses the sword closer and adds, ‘Please?’
“They knocked Nome Flag off his horse, and swept Rosemarie up onto it. The last thing I saw before falling out cold again from dizziness, was the Dark Duke’s men surrounding everyone and giving orders to march.
“When I awoke, all were gone. I figured to try n’ find you…to tell you…But without food or water or supplies, and with my head so dizzy, there really wasn’t much hope. And so it seems that I fell out again. But this time when I woke, I was down here – with these people – the Pooglie-Wooglies they call themselves. I told them my story, and all about you and the Dark Duke, until finally I passed out again. I woke again later, n’ they gave me food n’ water n’ started to nurse me back.”
“He was mumbling when he arrived,” Winkle said. “He had been found by one of our hunters. Normally, we do not bring back people from the outer world – the surface world – but he was in such bad shape that Lyman - the man who found him – thought he might die otherwise. I was immediately alerted, and the entire matter brought to my attention. When you arrived soon after and told me your story, I knew that it could not be a coincidence.”
“So then you knew of this the whole time?” Taylor asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Winkle. “But I had to make certain of your intentions. I still did not know how it was that you found our cave.”
“Well, as it looks now,” Taylor said, adjusting his sword on his belt, “I must soon be leaving it.”
“How do you mean?” the old man asked.
Taylor glanced at Robert.
“I must rescue my love,” he said. “And the others as well. Who knows what the Dark Duke is planning.”
“But you can’t go now,” Winkle said. “You don’t even know where he is.”
“I’ll find him.”
Winkle shook his head.
“You are not being sensible, young one. If the Dark Duke plans to marry your love, then surely he will not harm her. At least, not right away. And a one-man attempt at vengeance will do you little good against his vast army. You must take time to plan.”
“That’s time we don’t have,” Robert said. “I agree with Taylor. Who knows what the Dark Duke will do to them.”
“You can’t rescue them by yourselves,” Winkle countered. “Even with our help, from what you say, it would not be enough to defeat the Dark Duke. We need more.”
“What more?” Taylor yelled. “While we speak, he could be having his way with my dearest love. There is no time for more, and who would help us anyway?”
He went to step past, but the old man put up his hand.
“There is always Dermer.”
“Dermer?” Taylor questioned.
“Yes,” said Winkle, nodding his wrinkled head. “They might in fact be rather interested in such an alliance.”
Taylor stared him in the eye for a moment.
“There is something you are not telling me.”
The old man smiled.
“My people, I guarantee, will help you,” he said, placing his hands upon his lapels, “but I will not let you waste their lives for vanity’s sake. If you truly wish to rescue your loved ones, and your land, you are going to need our help; without it, you will certainly fail. Do you understand?”
Taylor sighed.
“Good,” said the old man. “Then grant me some minutes before you run off alone. If you agree with what I say, then we both have much to recover. If not, then you go off on your own, doomed to failure, but content in your foolishness. Either way, the information I have to offer you will be to your aide.”
Taylor’s eyes dropped to t
he ground, then slowly found their way back to Winkle’s gaze.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But let’s not waste any time. – I know the Dark Duke won’t.”
Chapter 31
Rosemarie’s Woes