Putkwyz, Ch.18, "Allies"

18


Allies


The first time that King Golman endeavored to go out of the fort, the guards stopped him, so he sat down by the gate and wept and cried, “Why are you so cruel to your children? I want only to smell flowers and feel grass under my feet!”

Filk was at the gate the next time, so when the king approached, Filk lifted his pike and said, “Pass, Sire,” In such a voice that the other guards lifted their pikes and let the king skip out into the meadows where he picked flowers and spent a day wading in a pond, stomping through mud, and talking to birds and frogs and fish—to the amusement of all the soldiers.

Kra and I saw him on our walk after lunch. Kra said, “There’s Golmon enjoying a day in the fields.” He pointed to the king, who was evidently speaking to a bird in a tree.

I said, “Should I go and see if he is all right?”

“No, don’t bother. If he wants our company, he will come to us. I am sure of it. My doctor checked him. Physically he’s in decent condition for a man his age. Only his mind has been affected by his sons’ betrayal.”

Golmon established a routine of going into the fields each day, except when it rained. On rainy days, the gate was locked. However, on sunny, or at least dry days, he could wander freely, even clambering in and out of the airplanes on the field. Sometimes he pretended to be piloting one to Huppof. The soldiers nicknamed him “Moon Pilot.” He also got into the habit of sleeping on a pillow of the flowers he had picked, in the shade of the dungeon during the warm afternoons. Everyone else left him alone, although as night fell a couple guards with the nurse would find him and escort him back to the fort.

Sleeping in the shade of the dungeon was a clever stroke because with his back turned to the meadow, he could see through the low window into Mawgri’s cell and they could talk in low whispers, assessing their situations and keeping each other informed of any plans. Meanwhile, I could look down from my bedroom window to make sure no one else happened upon the conversation.

The loose caftan was an aid to the escape plans. Over many days, Golmon was able to conceal beneath the thick kepoc wool a dagger, two rifles, four boxes of ammunition, four hand grenades, a crossbow, a quiver of arrows, an automatic pistol and a short sword. Kra’s loyal troops had brought such an excess of weapons and ammunition—enough for thousands of soldiers, not the hundreds he had—that the pilfered items were not missed. Golmon brought them in singly and stored them in the wardrobe closet, where—even if the cache of weapons were found—it would not necessarily implicate him or Malcolm.

Filk took it upon himself to visit his old king, knocking on the door shyly, bowing and asking for the king. Usually, the king would be out meandering, so Malcolm would talk to Filk, who always brought something from the kitchen: a pie, a decanter of wine, a loaf of tak bread.

One day, Malcolm invited him in to share a thigh of aubligado. Malcolm sliced off pieces of fowl and put them with leaves of wyrd between two slices of buttered bread. He handed this concoction to Filk. “Here, try it. It’s called a sandwich on Earth. Sit down.”

Filk sat, took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed and then ate the whole thing, burped and smiled and said, “[Why, that’s very good, your lordship.]”

“[It’s simple, but healthy fare.]”

“[I could make one and take it on guard duty. Makes good soldiering food.]”

I smiled and asked, “[Filk, tell me, how do you feel seeing your former king here?]”

He was a little uneasy, but he finally said, “[Well, it’s not right . . . he was a good king . . . he deserves a better end than this.]”

“[Would you like to see him returned home?]”

“[I would if it were possible.]”

“[What if I said it was.]”

“[How? I know Kra intends to keep him here until he dies.]”

“[Would you help him escape?]”

“[If there were a chance, but this a huge land mass, and we’re in the middle of it. Just riding to the sea would take ninety days through some rough country ruled by vicious people.]”

“[Is there anyone else who would help us?]”

“[The chef would. He’s from Sobimeer and is angry that Radimeer’s forces bombed and attacked his homeland.]”

“[Talk to him, see what can be done. However, don’t tell him I am part of the plan. Tell him that the two prisoners and you will take the king away and that he can come, too.]”

“[I will say it is my idea, but I’ll need a plan that he can believe in.]”

“[Tell him that you have arbezes ready to ride and weapons for everyone. See how willing he is.]”

I remained apprehensive because although my instincts told me Filk was on our side, I couldn’t be sure. However, I didn’t think that he was a good enough actor to pose as the sympathetic commoner who still respected his former king. My gut told me that Filk was sincere.

The next day, Filk knocked on my door again.

As soon as I had closed the door behind him, he said, “[Good news, your lordship, the chef is with us.]”

“[What’s his name?]”

“[Dukuf. He said to give him three days during which he will gather the right herbs from the fields, and that the evening before the escape, I should tell him, ‘Make my favorite tomorrow,’ and he will make a special meal for the whole garrison. And, he said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t eat that meal.’]”

“[Ah, that sounds good. What does Dukuf look like? I don’t remember seeing him.]

“[You’ve probably seen him, but he mostly stays in the kitchen. He loves to cook, but he’s not very talkative, but sometimes he comes out of the kitchen. He has orange-and-white scales and usually wears a long white apron over a blue suit . . . and he wears a blue cap.]”

“[Yes, I have seen him, but I didn’t know he was the head chef.]”

“[He’s not a big one for seeking notice.]”

From then on I did notice Dukuf because he began to go out of the fort and into the woods every day after breakfast. On those trips he carried a basket made of black fupil reeds. When he returned, the basket was full and a cloth covered the contents.

Dukuf was a tall, thin Putkur, who looked as if he rarely ate much of his own cooking. Filk claimed Dukuf thought of the food he cooked for others as his daily works of art, but for himself he preferred simpler fare—soups and stews.

Finally, one evening, after Golmon had come in from the fields and a feigned nap in the shadow of the keep, he told me, “Tomorrow is the day. Mawgri says they are ready.”

Therefore, I went to where the guards ate, found Filk and by way of asking how the prisoners were, conveyed to him that the next day would be the attempted escape. As I left the room I heard him tell a server, “Tell Dukuf that tomorrow I want him to make my favorite.”

The day of the planned escape broke cold and overcast with a high wind blowing, so the tented troops had to work to batten down their supplies and secure stakes and lines. The arbezes inside the fort stomped and snorted, showing their unease. The ones outside tugged at their ropes and whinnied. The wings of the four-engine planes shook and wobbled in the gusts. It was not a day that a sane being would venture forth, but it was fine day for an escape because the wind and cold would add to deception and confusion.

That day, Dukuf served steaming bowls of his special stew, but I begged off lunch, saying I was not feeling well.

Golmon and I spent lunch waiting for the moment of escape. I made us sandwiches.

However, when the moment came it was unlike the sigh after a large meal. There was silence. The sound of Putkurs in conversation disappeared. Golmon and I gathered our clothing and our store of weapons from the wardrobe closet. We each put on one of the caftans to cover our contraband and we walked carefully down the stairs. We could hear nothing. I stopped beside one door and listened. Coming from inside the room were snores and deep breathing. At each door, those sounds were all we heard.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dukuf with a bundle at his feet stood as if waiting for us. He said, “[Your majesty, your lordship, follow me.]”

I said, “[Wait.]” I gave him a caftan and one of the rifles.

He said, “[Better you should give me the crossbow. I haven’t learned to shoot a rifle yet.]”

We exchanged weapons.

When we passed the guards’ quarters, we looked in. They were all in deep sleep with smiles on their faces.

Dukuf said, “[They won’t wake for many hours.]”

When we neared the front door, we stopped and waited. Soon we heard footsteps coming up from the dungeon. Around the hall came Mawgri, Luvark and Filk—all dressed in the armor of guards and with swords, pikes and rifles. We gave each of them a caftan to fight off the cold air, and we opened the door and stepped into the fortress square.

I asked Dukuf, “[Did Emperor Kra eat lunch?]”

“[Only one bowl, but that is enough for an hour or two of slumber.]”

The guards in the towers were invisible, and the ones at the gate had sat and were sleeping with their heads against the wall. We six conspirators walked without impediments out of the fort. We stopped at the line of arbezes in the field, chose the mounts we wanted, carefully saddled them, strapped our baggage to the saddles, mounted and rode north toward a town that Filk said would be fairly wide open and where we would be just more of many strangers passing through.

A few scouts who had missed lunch rode in from the forest as we were leaving. We waved as if we were their replacements heading out.

We rode without stopping for an hour, which brought us to a rise in the land, from which we could look back at the fort. We halted there, dismounted, and took a break and let the arbezes drink.

I asked Dukuf, “[What did you put in the food?]”

He smiled and said, “[Two substances: One is called the ‘dream fungus,’ which grows around the roots of trees; it tastes a bit like Miki nuts, but is a mild hallucinogenic with calm-inducing effects. The other is the bud of the wild mordus, which some call the ‘death flower’; it is a relative of the wyrd, but its sap is a powerful narcotic that renders a feeling of well-being and induces sleep. The garrison will sleep for a long time, and when it wakes, the sense of calm and well-being will have left, but the hallucinations will continue for a while. And, of course, to help everything along I poured in a good dose of slavva, which not only heightens taste and hunger, but is a catalyst for other drugs—it grabs them and slings them forward.]”

That was the longest speech he had ever spoken.

With the wind whipping our clothes around us, we stood in the cold air on the ridge and were surprised by an amazing sight.

Suddenly, from over the fort, from inside the roil of low-hanging clouds came streaks of light that smashed into the fort, pulverizing the walls and collapsing the towers and the keep and setting on fire the barracks and workshops. The beams of light came also down on the fields, exploding the airplanes, igniting the arsenal, so it erupted into a huge yellow flaming ball that boiled up to the clouds. The sleeping garrison would never know what had rolled over them as they lay in their tents and in the fort.

Filk exclaimed, “[Great Zacon! What is that?]” Neither he nor Dukuf were familiar with spaceflight machines since they had spent the last twenty years wandering the barbaric world of Myunk. They had known of airplanes and mechanization, but were new to an even greater technology.

Mawgri said, “[Have no fear. Those are my ships. And one should be coming here.]”

Within seconds, a huge silver oblong ship descended from the clouds and hovered just meters from us on the ridge and a hatch opened and a ladder descended to receive us. We unsaddled our arbezes and slapped them to freedom and shouted “Haw! Haw!” to encourage their flight. Mawgri continued, “[Filk and Dukuf, come with us into the ship.]”

The two soldiers hesitated, astonished by the technology for which they had not been prepared. Their eyes widened and their mouths gaped.

King Golmon stepped to them, looked into their eyes and said, “Men, you have served me well. I owe you my life. Return with me to Polimeer where you will be honored and rewarded. You will be home again and you will be heroes there.” He licked both of them to show they were his friends, perhaps even his equals. They licked him back impulsively because they were so happy to see that his dementia had been an act. And so they came, stepping into the new universe to which they would have to adjust.

On board, every one of us was given comfortable quarters and treated royally.

Mawgri and Luvark disappeared for a long time, first cleaning themselves, then eating a solid, savory dinner, and finally sleeping in soft beds—all for the first time in a long while.

Since I had had a much easier time, I spent the afternoon in my quarters fitting my new books into my growing library and completing my journal of “Nowhere Land.”

End of Chapter 18
 
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