The Ickabog

[Orion Balls]

I've recently noticed a few stories about JK Rowling popping up on the Farms because of her social positions and general TERFness.

Meanwhile, during the shutdown, Rowling decided to release a short story for kids at no cost. It's called The Ickabog, and it's a quasi-fantasy about the ignorant yet corrupt monarchy over a country called Cornucopia, orphaned children, and a deadly monster that may or may not live in the northern swamps of said countryside.

There is also an art contest attached to the story. Children can enter their depictions of scenes for a chance to be in the published version of the book. (If anyone will even publish her, now.)

Anyway, I found it to be a decent story, despite the hullabaloo surrounding Rowling at this point. It perhaps needed more plot at the end, but I truly enjoyed it. It was at least entertaining for the seven weeks that she published it online.

Am I a faggot? I am definitely a faggot. But, I like the sentiment behind her releasing this book, and it wasn't a bad fairy tale. It won't earn her back any fans; in fact the general message of tolerance and kindness despite political intervention will probably be used against her by some of the more progressive used-to-be fans. Was wondering what you all think.

 

[NewFriend]

There is also an art contest attached to the story. Children can enter their depictions of scenes for a chance to be in the published version of the book. (If anyone will even publish her, now.)

Should we send over some wholesome artwork?

 

[Orion Balls]

Should we send over some wholesome artwork?

You have to send art to a different site to be judged, as she is not in charge of evaluating the art entries. I'm sure not everything that is submitted has been published on the website. If you feel a need to do so, I guess that's your choice.
E- If you are entering the contest on honest merit, you're too young to be here .

 

[Doctor Placebo]

You have to send art to a different site to be judged, as she is not in charge of evaluating the art entries. I'm sure not everything that is submitted has been published on the website. If you feel a need to do so, I guess that's your choice.
E- If you are entering the contest on honest merit, you're too young to be here .

Some pissed off troons are going to bombard the contest with shitty Assigned Gender comics and wokescold memes regardless, assuming they don't drop the mask and send gore/gross porn.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 1
King Fred the Fearless

Once upon a time there was a tiny country called Cornucopia ruled for centuries by a long dynasty of blond kings. The one who occupied the throne at the time I write about was Fred the Fearless. The "Fearless" thing he had proclaimed himself on the morning of his coronation, partly because he liked the grandiloquence of the word, partly because he had once managed to hunt and kill a wasp by himself ... not counting the five lackeys and to the shoe shine.

King Fred the Fearless came to the throne at the crest of his popularity. He had adorable golden curls and magnificent mustaches, and he looked splendid in the tight breeches, velvet doublets, and ruffled shirts that wealthy men wore at the time. He was reputed to be generous, smiling and waving to anyone he came across and looking tremendously handsome in the portraits that had been distributed throughout the kingdom to hang in town halls. The people of Cornucopia were happy with their new king and many believed that she would do even better than her father, Richard the Honored, who, although no one wanted to comment at the time, had quite crooked teeth.

Deep down, King Fred was relieved to see how easy it was to rule Cornucopia. In fact, it seemed that the country was conducting itself: almost all the people had food in abundance, the merchants earned gold out of hand and the advisers to the throne were in charge of solving any small problem that might arise. The king's duties, then, were limited to smiling at his subjects when he went out in a chariot and going hunting five times a week with his two best friends: Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon.

Spittleworth and Flapoon had extensive estates in the country, but they found it much cheaper and more fun to live in the palace with the king, eating their food, hunting their deer, and making sure he did not become attached to any young lady of the court: they did not want him he married because the presence of a queen would surely wait for the party for both of them. For a time, the handsome blond Fred had shown an interest in the dark and beautiful Lady Eslanda, but Spittleworth had persuaded him that she was too serious and intellectual for the people to accept her as queen. What the king did not know was that Lord Spittleworth resented Lady Eslanda because he had indeed proposed to her and she had rejected him.

Lord Spittleworth was skinny, cunning, and clever; his friend Flapoon was flushed and so fat that it took six men to get him on his huge brown horse. He wasn't as smart as Spittleworth, but he was still a lot smarter than the king.

Both Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon were flattering experts, and whenever they could they pretended to be amazed at how well Fred did everything from riding to playing flea. If Spittleworth had any talent, it was convincing the king to do things that really suited Spittleworth himself; And if Flapoon had a gift, it was to make the monarch believe that there was no one in the world who was more loyal to him than his two best friends.

Fred thought Spittleworth and Flapoon were great guys. They encouraged him to organize elegant parties, elaborate picnics and sumptuous banquets. So, Cornucopia was famous beyond its borders for its gastronomy: each city was known for its typical products and each of these was the best in the world.

Located in the south of the country, Chouxville, the capital, was surrounded by orchards, fields of gleaming golden wheat and emerald green meadows where dairy cows grazed immaculately white. The farms produced cream, flour and fruit that were reserved for the extraordinary pastry chefs in Chouxville to prepare their delicious pastries.

Do me a favor: think of the most succulent cake or cookie you've ever tasted. Well, forgive me if I tell you that in Chouxville you would have died of shame if you had to serve her. If a grown man did not have tears of pleasure in his eyes when he bit into a Chouxville sweet, this was considered a failure and was never made again. The windows of the city's patisseries were full of delicacies such as the Dreams of the Maiden, the Fairy Cradles and the most famous of all: the Celestial Illusions, so refined and so exceedingly good that they were reserved for special occasions, because it was impossible do not cry with happiness when eating them. King Porfirio, from neighboring Pluritania, had sent King Fred a letter offering him the hand of any of his daughters,

"As beautiful as your daughters are, none are so beautiful as to be exchanged for Heavenly Illusions, Your Majesty!"

To the north of Chouxville were more green meadows bathed by rivers of clear water where cows of a jet black color and pink and happy pigs were raised. The twin cities of Kurdsburg and Baronstown fed on this cattle, connected by a stone bridge that drew an arch over the main Cornucopia river, the Fluma, through which brightly colored barges transported goods from one end to the other. kingdom.

Kurdsburg was famous for its cheeses: huge white wheels, massive orange cannonballs, large crumbling drums streaked with blue veins, and creamier cheeses softer than velvet.

Baronstown was renowned for its honey-glazed, smoked hams, bacon rashers, spicy sausages, tender steaks, and venison pies.

The aromatic fumes that came out of the chimneys of Baronstown's red brick kilns mixed with the smells that escaped from the Kurdsburg cheese factories, and in fifty kilometers around it was impossible not to salivate sniffing that deliciously perfumed air.

A few hours north of Kurdsburg and Baronstown were huge vineyards that produced large grapes like eggs that were also sweet and juicy, and if you continued to travel the rest of the day you would arrive in the granite town of Jeroboam, famous for its their wines. Of the Jeroboam air it used to be said that you could get drunk just by walking down the street. The best vintages sold for thousands upon thousands of gold coins and there were several Jeroboam winemakers among the wealthiest men in the kingdom.

But a little further north a very strange thing was happening. It would seem that the land of Cornucopia, of a fabulous wealth, had been exhausted after producing the best pastures, the best wheat and the best fruits in the world. At the northern end of the kingdom was a place known as The Marshlands, where all that grew were tasteless, leathery mushrooms and a sparse, parched herb that only served to feed a few grubby sheep.

The people who tended those sheep did not have the lush, neat, and well-groomed looks of the citizens of Jeroboam, Baronstown, Kurdsburg, or Chouxville: they were emaciated and dressed in rags. They couldn't sell their undernourished sheep cheaply either in the Cornucopia or abroad, so very few ever got to feast on Cornucopian wines, cheeses, meats, or sweets. The most common dish in The Marshlands was a greasy lamb broth prepared with sheep that, because they were too old, could no longer be sold.

The rest of Cornucopia considered the swamps to be weird, rough, dirty, and unfriendly. Her harsh accent gave rise to imitations that sounded like the bleating of hoarse old sheep; the rusticity of their manners was the cause of innumerable jokes. For the inhabitants of the rest of the country, the only memorable thing that had never come out of The Marshlands was the legend of the ickabog.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 2
The Ickabog

The legend of the ickabog had been passed down from generation to generation in The Marshlands and had reached Chouxville by word of mouth. By now everyone knew her. Naturally, as with all legends, it changed a bit depending on who told it, but all versions agreed that, at the northern end of the country, there was a vast, dark and almost always foggy swamp where a monster lived. It was a very dangerous place that people avoided approaching because the monster ate the sheep and the children, and sometimes even took adult men and women who strayed and ended up wandering around at night.

The ickabog's habits and appearance differed depending on who described it. For some it was shaped like a snake, for others it looked more like a dragon ... or a wolf. Some said that it roared; others that it hissed, and some even claimed that it slipped as silently as the mist that suddenly descended on the swamp.

They said that he possessed extraordinary powers: he could imitate the human voice to attract travelers and make them fall into his clutches; if they tried to kill him, he would heal as if by magic or split in two; He could fly, spit streams of fire, shoot poison ... His powers were proportional to the narrator's imagination.

"Don't leave the garden until I get home from work or the ickabog will take you and eat you!" Parents across the kingdom warned their children, and across the country, boys and girls were playing fight the ickabog, they tried to scare each other with ickabog stories and, when these were convincing enough, they had nightmares with the ickabog.

Bert Beamish was one of those children. One night the Beamish invited the Dovetails to their home for dinner, and Mr. Dovetail entertained them for a long time by telling them what he said was the latest news on the ickabog. That night, Bert, who was five years old, woke up terrified and sobbing after dreaming that he was sinking little by little into a misty swamp while the monster's huge white eyes looked at him shining from the shore.

"Don't worry, nothing happens," whispered his mother, who had tiptoed into the room with a candle in her hand and was now rocking it on her lap. The ickabog doesn't exist, Bertie. It is just an absurd legend.

"B-but Mister Dovetail said sheep have disappeared!" Bert whimpered.

"It is true," said Mrs. Beamish, "but not because they have been eaten by a monster: sheep are very dumb animals, it can always happen that some move away from the herd and end up sinking in a swamp."

"B-but Mister Dovetail said people have also disappeared!"

"Only people foolish enough to roam the swamp at night," said Mrs. Beamish. Calm down, Bertie: there is no monster.

"But Mister Do-Dovetail said that people hear voices behind windows and in the morning discover that their chickens have disappeared!"

Mrs. Beamish couldn't contain her laughter.

"The voices they hear are from ordinary thieves, Bertie: in the swamps they steal from each other all the time, and it's easier to blame the ickabog than to admit that his neighbors are bandits!"

"They steal?" Bert said in amazement. He sat up in his mother's lap and looked at her with solemn eyes. "But stealing is very ugly, isn't it, mom?"

"It is ugly!" She replied. She picked Bert up, carefully pushed him back onto the bed, and tucked him in. But luckily we don't live near those uncivilized swamps.

He picked up the candle and tiptoed to the bedroom door.

"Have a good night's sleep," she wished Bert from the threshold; any other day he would have added, "And don't let the ickabog take you by the foot," which was what all Cornucopia parents said to their children at bedtime, but this time he added, "See you tomorrow."

Bert fell asleep again and saw no more monsters in his dreams.

But it so happened that Mr. Dovetail and Mrs. Beamish were very close friends: they had known each other all their lives, they had gone to the same class ... She told him that Bert had had nightmares as a result of their stories and he felt guilty. Since he was the best carpenter in all of Chouxville, he decided to carve a miniature ickabog for Bert and give it to him. He gave her a smile full of teeth and, instead of feet, huge claws; it immediately became the kid's favorite toy.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 3
Death of a Dressmaker

The Beamish and Dovetail lived in an area of Chouxville called the City-within-the-city, intended for those who worked for King Fred. Gardeners, cooks, tailors, pages, dressmakers, bricklayers, stable boys, carpenters, lackeys, and maids occupied beautiful huts near the palace grounds.

The City-within-the-city was separated from the rest of Chouxville by a high white wall whose gates remained open during the day so that residents could visit friends and relatives in other Chouxville neighborhoods and go to markets, and they were closed at night so that, like the king, all the residents of the City-within-the-city slept under the protection of the Royal Guard.

Bert's father, Commander Beamish, was the head of the Guard. Handsome and cheerful, he rode a steel gray stallion and accompanied King Fred, Lord Spittleworth, and Lord Flapoon on their hunts, which were only suspended on Saturdays and Sundays. The king was very fond of her, as was Bert's mother, who was her personal pastry chef, a highly regarded position in a country with first-rate pastry chefs. Due to Bertha Beamish's habit of taking home sophisticated cakes that were not absolutely perfect, Bert was a chubby boy and, sorry to say, the other children sometimes called him a "tallow ball" and made him cry.

Bert's best friend was Daisy Dovetail. They had been born a few days apart and more than friends they seemed like brothers. Daisy always defended Bert from her bullies. She was skinny but agile, and did not hesitate for a moment to fight anyone who dared to call Bert a "tallow ball."

Daisy's father, Dan Dovetail, was the king's carpenter. He repaired and replaced the wheels and axles of the royal carriages and, as he was so adept at carving wood, he also made furniture for the palace. Her mother, Dora Dovetail, was the first royal dressmaker, another prestigious position, for King Fred was fond of clothes and had a team of tailors and seamstresses who made new suits for her every month.

It was precisely the king's great fondness for elegant garments that led to an unpleasant incident that, later, the Cornucopia history books would record as the origin of all the evils that eventually loomed over that happy little kingdom. However, when it happened only a few people from the City-within-the-city ever found out, even though for some it was a terrible tragedy.

Here's what happened.

The King of Pluritania announced his intention to pay a formal visit to Fred (perhaps still hoping to exchange one of his daughters for a lifetime supply of Heavenly Illusions) and Fred decided that for the occasion he needed a new dark purple suit with silver lace, amethyst buttons and gray fur cuffs.

She had heard comments that the first dressmaker was not feeling very well, but she hadn't given them importance; And the truth is that she did not trust that anyone else could sew the silver lace correctly, so she forbade any other seamstress in the palace to do that work. So Daisy's mother spent three nights in a row without sleep, working around the clock to finish the purple suit before the King of Pluritania arrived, and at dawn on the fourth day her assistant found her sprawled on the ground, dead with him. last amethyst button on a cuff.

The senior councilor went to break the news to the king while he was still eating breakfast. His name was Herringbone, and he was a very sensible old man with a silver beard that reached almost to his knees. After explaining to Fred that the first dressmaker had passed away, he added:

"But I have no doubt that some other seamstress will be able to sew the last button for Her Majesty."

King Fred noticed something in Herringbone's eyes that he didn't like and felt a prick of shame in the pit of his stomach.

Later that morning, as his valets dressed him in the new purple suit, Fred tried to mitigate his guilt by discussing the matter with Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon.

"I mean, had he known she was so ill," Fred gasped as his servants stuffed him into his tight satin breeches, "naturally he would have allowed someone else to make the suit."

"How kind you are, Your Majesty!" Spittleworth put in, still examining her pale yellow complexion in the mirror above the fireplace. I doubt there has ever been a more compassionate monarch.

"If that woman was unwell or unfit for the job, she should have said so clearly," Lord Flapoon intervened, lounging in a soft chair by the window. All things considered, that he did not do so was a disloyalty to the king ... or at least to your purple suit.

"Flapoon is right," Spittleworth agreed, finally looking away from the mirror and turning to Fred. No one treats his servants better than you, Your Majesty.

"I treat them well, right?" King Fred asked nervously, tucking in his belly so the valets could fasten the amethyst buttons. Also, today I have to be as elegant as possible, right? You know how well the King of Pluritania dressed, my friends!

"It would be a national shame if you presented yourself in less elegant garb than the King of Pluritania!" Spittleworth replied vehemently.

"Put aside those sad thoughts, Your Majesty," Flapoon concluded. "A disloyal dressmaker is no reason to ruin a sunny day."

However, despite the advice of the two lords, King Fred was not entirely calm. They were perhaps his own imaginations, but it seemed to him that Lady Eslanda was even more serious than usual, that the servants were smiling at him with little enthusiasm and the maids were bowing less deeply. That night, as the entire court celebrated the King of Pluritania, Fred returned again and again to the image of the dead dressmaker on the floor with the last amethyst button in one fist.

After dinner, when King Fred was getting ready to go to bed, the Senior Councilor knocked on his bedroom door and, after the required bow, asked him if he planned to send flowers to Mrs. Dovetail's funeral.

-Ah yes yes! Fred replied in surprise. Yes, send a big funeral wreath saying how sorry I am, etcetera, etcetera. You can handle it yourself, right, Herringbone?

"Of course, Your Majesty," the senior adviser replied. And, if it is not indiscretion, do you plan to visit the family of the dressmaker at some point? You see, they live a few steps from the palace gates.

"Visiting the family?" The king asked thoughtfully. Ugh, no, Herringbone. I don't think I have any desire to… I mean, I'm sure they don't expect me to visit.

Herringbone and the king looked at each other for a few seconds; then the senior advisor bowed his good-bye and left the room with a frown.

The point is that King Fred, used to being repeatedly told by everyone how wonderful he was, didn't like that frown very much, and his regret began to turn into anger.

"Too bad," he told himself, looking at himself in the mirror where he combed his mustache before going to bed, "but after all I'm the king and she's just a dressmaker." Had I died, I never would have expected that she ...

But then he realized that, in reality, he did hope that the day he passed away all the Cornucopia subjects would stop doing what they were doing, dress in black and cry for a week as they had done when their father, Richard died. the Honored One .

"Well, it doesn't matter," he said impatiently to his reflection. Life goes on.

He put on his silk nightcap, climbed into his four-poster bed, blew out the candle, and fell asleep.

 

[Orion Balls]

She might have caught wind of what's going on, but the story was free to begin with, and should remain so. I will be buying a copy, if it ever gets published, but I'm going to try to get the rest uploaded before the cutoff date.

Chapter 4
The Silent House

Mrs Dovetail was buried in the City-within-the-City cemetery, where the remains of several generations of royal servants lay, and Daisy and her father stared at the grave holding hands until long after they the other mourners would have left. As he walked slowly away with his crying mother and scowling father, Bert turned again and again to look at his best friend. He wanted to say something to him, but what had happened was so serious and terrible that it had left him speechless. She didn't even want to imagine how he would have felt if his mother had disappeared forever under the cold, hard earth.

When all his acquaintances were gone, Mr. Dovetail removed from his wife's tombstone the purple funeral wreath that the king had sent and, in its place, placed a bouquet of snowdrops that Daisy had collected that morning. Then father and daughter walked slowly back to a house that, as they well knew, would never be the same again.

A week after the funeral, the king rode out of the palace, accompanied by the Royal Guard, to go hunting. As usual, many of his subjects hurried out into the garden along the way to bow and cheer him. As he nodded or waved back, the king noticed that the garden of one of the huts was empty and that there were black crepes on the windows and on the front door.

-Who lives there? He asked Commander Beamish.

"That ... that's the house of the Dovetail, Your Majesty," he replied.

"Dovetail, Dovetail…" said the king, frowning. That last name sounds like something to me, right?

"Well ... yes, Your Majesty," Commander Beamish replied, "Mr. Dovetail is the King's carpenter and Mrs. Dovetail is ... was ... your first dressmaker."

"Oh yeah," Fred said stunned. I… I already remember.

And, spurring his snow-white steed into a canter, he hurried past the black crepe windows of the Dovetail hut and tried to concentrate on the hunt.

But after that day, every time he rode out of the palace, his gaze wandered to the empty garden and the black crepe of the Dovetail door, and every time he saw them he was assailed by the image of the dead dressmaker with amethyst button on a cuff. When he couldn't take it anymore, he summoned the senior advisor.

"Herringbone," he said without looking the old man in the eye, "there is a house on the corner, on the way to the park ... a very nice one, with a rather large garden."

"The house of the Dovetails, Your Majesty?"

"Ah, are they the ones who live there?" Said King Fred with mock indifference. Well, I thought it was a very big house for such a small family. I understand that it only consists of two members, is that correct?

"That is correct, Your Majesty: there are only two members, since the mother ...

"Look, Herringbone," King Fred cut him off, "it doesn't seem very fair to me that that large and beautiful house should be assigned to only two people when there must be families of five or six who would appreciate having a little more space. .

"Do you want me to transfer the Dovetails, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, I think so," King Fred confirmed, feigning great interest in the toe of his satin shoe.

"All right, Your Majesty," said the Senior Advisor, bowing deeply. I will ask you to exchange your home with the Roach family, who will no doubt be happy to have more space.

"And where exactly is the Roach house?" The king asked nervously, for the last thing he wanted was to see those black crepes even closer to the entrance of the palace.

"At the City-within-the-city limits," the senior councilor replied. Very close to the cemetery, I have ...

"Sounds very appropriate," King Fred interrupted, leaping to his feet. I don't need to know more details. Take care, Herringbone, if you'll be so kind.

And so it was that Daisy and her father were instructed to trade cabins with Captain Roach, who, like Bert's father, was a member of the Royal Guard. The next time King Fred left the palace, the black crepes had disappeared from the door and Roach's children (four burly boys who happened to be the first to call Bert Beamish a "tallow ball") ran out into the garden. and they started jumping and clapping and waving Cornucopia flags. The king smiled and waved at them. Several weeks passed, and King Fred completely forgot about the Dovetails and was happy again.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 5
Daisy Dovetail

After the terrible death of Mrs. Dovetail, the king's servants spent a few months divided into two groups: those who whispered that King Fred was to blame for this misfortune, and those who preferred to believe that there had been some mistake and that His Majesty could not have known how ill Mrs. Dovetail was before ordering that she be the one to finish the suit.

Mrs. Beamish, the king's personal pastry chef, belonged to the second group. King Fred had always been kind to her; on occasion he had even made her come up to the dining room to congratulate her on a particularly good batch of Delicias del Duque or Capricious Fantasies. That is why she was convinced that he was a good, generous and considerate man.

"Believe me, someone forgot to report it," she told her husband, Major Beamish, "the king would never force a sick servant to work." I am convinced that you must feel very bad about what happened.

"Yes, I sure do."

Like his wife, Commander Beamish preferred to think highly of the king because his father and grandfather, before him, had already served loyally in the Kingsguard. Thus, although he had noticed that King Fred seemed very happy after Mrs. Dovetail passed away and went hunting with the same regularity as always, since he knew that the Dovetails had had to leave their house to settle in another next to the In the cemetery, he tried to convince himself that the king regretted what had happened to his dressmaker and had had nothing to do with the decision to move the widower and his little daughter to that other sad cabin.

With the tall yew trees bordering the cemetery blocking out the sun, the Dovetails' new home was downright gloomy. However, a gap between the dark branches allowed Daisy to clearly see her mother's grave through her bedroom window. Since she no longer lived next door to Bert's house, they saw each other less, although he visited her whenever he could. In the new garden they had much less space to play, but they tried to adapt their games and make do with what was available.

What Mr. Dovetail thought of his new house and the king no one knew. He never talked about it with the other servants: he just did his job in silence and earn the money he needed to support his daughter Daisy and raise her to the best of his ability without her mother's help.

Daisy, for her part, loved helping her father in the carpentry shop and wearing overalls. She was one of those people who did not mind getting dirty, clothes were of little interest to her. Still, in the days after the funeral, she donned a different dress each day to carry a fresh corsage to her mother's grave. While she lived, Mrs. Dovetail had always tried to make her daughter look like 'a little lady', as she liked to say, and had sewn many beautiful dresses for her, sometimes from the scraps of cloth that kindly King Fred allowed her to keep when she finished. to make their spectacular costumes.

And it was a week, and then a month, and then a year, until Daisy outgrown the dresses her mother had made for her, but she kept putting them neatly in her closet. People no longer remembered what happened, or they had become used to their mother being gone forever. She, too, pretended to have gotten used to it. Apparently her life returned to a kind of normalcy: she helped her father in the carpentry shop, did her homework, and played with her best friend, Bert, with whom she never spoke about her mother or the king. Every night, however, she gazed from her bed at the white tombstone, in the distance, glittering in the moonlight, until she fell asleep.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 6
Fight in The Yard

Behind the palace was a courtyard where peacocks strolled, fountains bubbled, and statues of former kings and queens stood guard. The children of the palace servants, as long as they did not pull the peacocks by the tail, did not go into the fountains or climb the statues, they were allowed to play there when leaving school. Since Lady Eslanda loved children, she would sometimes make garlands of daisies with them; King Fred, for her part, would simply step out onto the balcony and wave, but that was enough to make the little ones squeal with excitement as they bowed as their parents had taught them.

In reality, they just kept quiet, stopped playing hopscotch, and interrupted their imaginary fights with the ickabog when Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon passed through the courtyard: unlike Lady Eslanda, the two Lords simply could not bear them, and in particular They were of the opinion that they made too much noise at a time when, after the hunt and before dinner, they liked to take a nap.

One day, shortly after Daisy and Bert turned seven, they were playing as usual between the fountains and the peacocks when the daughter of the new first dressmaker, wearing a lovely pink brocade dress, said:

"I hope the king comes out to greet us today!"

"Well, not me," Daisy snapped. She couldn't help herself, although she didn't mean for everyone to hear her.

The other children gasped and turned to her. Under those glaring looks, Daisy felt hot and cold at the same time.

"You shouldn't have said that," Bert told him quietly. As he was right next to his friend, the looks were also glaring at him.

"I don't care," Daisy replied, turning more and more red. Now that she had started, she decided to finish: "If the king hadn't forced her to work so hard, my mother would still be alive."

He had the feeling that he had wanted to say that out loud for a long time.

The children's choir gasped again, and a maiden's daughter let out a scream of terror.

"King Fred is the greatest ruler the Cornucopia has ever had," declared Bert, who had heard his mother utter that phrase numerous times.

"That's not true," Daisy said without lowering her voice. He is selfish, vain and cruel!

"Daisy!" Bert whispered, horrified. Do not be…! Do not be silly!

The problem was the word "silly." "Silly," when the daughter of the new first dressmaker smirked and covered her mouth to whisper to her friends while pointing to her overalls? "Silly," when her father would cry every night, thinking she didn't see him? "Silly," when her mother lay under that cold headstone that she stared through her bedroom window every night until sleep overcame her?

He reached back and slapped Bert across the face.

Then the oldest of the Roach brothers, whose name was Roderick and lately slept in what used to be Daisy's room, yelled, "Don't let him, you tallow ball!" And encouraged the other boys to yell: "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Terrified, Bert gave Daisy a little push on the shoulder without much enthusiasm; she, however, considered that the only thing she could do was pounce on him. A whirlwind of dust and elbows formed until Bert's father, Commander Beamish, who had shot out of the palace at the sight of what was happening, separated the fighting.

"What embarrassing behavior!" Lord Spittleworth murmured as he passed the commander and the two sobbing boys who continued to struggle.

But, as he and Flapoon walked away, a wide, satisfied smile appeared on his face. He was a man who knew how to take advantage of any occasion, and he thought that perhaps he had found a way to banish children — or at least some — from the palace courtyard.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 7
Lord Spittleworth Snitches

That night, as always, the two lords dined with King Fred. After a sumptuous plate of Baronstown venison accompanied by Jeroboam's finest wine and followed by a selection of Kurdsburg cheeses and some exquisite Mrs. Beamish's Fairy Cradles, Lord Spittleworth decided the time had come. He cleared his throat and said:

"I hope, Your Majesty, you weren't disturbed by the nasty fight the children had in the courtyard this afternoon."

-Fight? Said King Fred, who had been discussing the design of a new cape with his tailor and had therefore heard nothing. What fight?

—Oh! I thought His Majesty already knew, ”Lord Spittleworth said, pretending to be surprised. I think Commander Beamish could give you more details.

But King Fred seemed amused, rather than annoyed.

"Well, Spittleworth, it's normal for kids to fight."

The two lords glanced at each other and Spittleworth charged again:

"I said: you are goodness personified, Your Majesty."

"Of course," Flapoon murmured, brushing the crumbs off his vest. Many kings, if they had heard a girl speaking so disrespectfully about the Crown ...

"How, how?" Fred asked, and the smile faded from his lips. That a girl has spoken of me ... in a disrespectful way?

Fred couldn't believe what he had just heard: he was used to children screaming with excitement when he greeted them from the balcony.

"I thought so, Your Majesty," Spittleworth confirmed, looking at his nails. But, as I have already told you ... it was Commander Beamish who intervened to separate the boys: he will know the details better.

The candles sizzled in the silver candlesticks.

"Children say a lot… a lot of nonsense, but in jest," said King Fred. Surely that child had no ill intention.

"Well, it sounded clearly treacherous to me," Flapoon muttered.

"In any case," Spittleworth insisted hastily, "Commander Beamish was the one who clearly heard what you said." Flapoon and I could have misunderstood.

Fred took a sip of his wine and at that moment a footman entered the room to clear the dessert plates.

“Cankerby,” said King Fred, for that was the footman's name, “go find Major Beamish.

Unlike the king and the two lords, Commander Beamish didn't eat seven courses every night: he had finished dinner hours ago. When he received the notice from the king, he was preparing to go to bed. Removing his pajamas, he put on his uniform again and hurried back to the palace; When he arrived, King Fred, Lord Spittleworth, and Lord Flapoon had already retired to the Yellow Room, where they were still drinking Jeroboam's wine and eating another tray of Fairy Cradles (at least Flapoon) seated in satin chairs.

"Ah, Beamish," said King Fred when he saw the commander enter and salute with a sharp nod. I have learned that this afternoon there was a small altercation in the courtyard.

The commander's heart sank: he hoped that news of Bert and Daisy's quarrel had not reached the king's ears.

"Well, it was a petty fight, Your Majesty," he said.

"Come on, Beamish," Spittleworth said quietly. You should be proud that you taught your child not to tolerate traitors.

"But if… there has been no betrayal," Commander Beamish clarified. They're just kids, my lord.

"You mean your son has defended me, Beamish?" Asked King Fred.

Commander Beamish was in an extremely delicate position: despite his proven loyalty to the king, he did not want to reveal to him what that motherless little girl had said. He understood her feelings and for nothing in the world wanted to get her in trouble. But at the same time he was aware that there were twenty witnesses who could repeat Daisy's exact words to the king, and he was sure that if he lied, Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon would accuse him of being disloyal and traitorous.

"Well ... yes, Your Majesty, it is true that my son Bert has defended you," he said at last. However, I think the girl should be excused for making such an unfortunate comment about her majesty: the poor thing has suffered a lot, and even adults talk nonsense when we feel unhappy.

"Have you suffered a lot?" Why? King Fred wanted to know. He could see no compelling reason for a subject of his to make rude remarks about his regal persona.

"You see, Your Majesty… the girl… her name is Daisy Dovetail," Commander Beamish said, looking over King Fred's head at a painting of his father, Richard the Righteous. Her mother was the dressmaker who ...

"Yes, yes, I remember," King Fred interrupted, raising his voice. Very good. Nothing else, Beamish. You can leave now.

With some relief Commander Beamish nodded again and headed for the door, but when he had his hand on the doorknob he heard the king say:

"What were the girl's exact words, Beamish?"

The commander stopped. He had no choice but to tell the truth.

"You have said that His Majesty is selfish, vain and cruel," he replied, and left the room without daring to look at the king again.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 8
Petitions Day

"Selfish, vain and cruel. Selfish, vain and cruel. "

Those words echoed in Fred's head as he put on his silk nightcap. No one could say such a thing, could they? It took him a long time to fall asleep and when he woke up the next morning he felt even worse.

She decided she wanted to show her kindness, and the first thing that occurred to her was to reward Beamish's son for defending him against this obnoxious baby. So he picked up a small medallion that his favorite hunting dog wore on his collar, asked a maiden to hang it on a ribbon, and summoned the Beamish to the palace. Bert, whom his mother had hurriedly fetched from school and donned a blue velvet suit, was speechless in the king's presence, which pleased Fred, who spent several minutes praising the plump boy while the commander and his wife were proud of their son. Finally, Bert returned to school with his gold medal around his neck, and that afternoon Roderick Roach was nice to him on the playground even though, until then, he had always been his staunchest stalker.

The king, for his part, still did not feel well at all: he felt an unpleasant sensation, similar to indigestion, and that night he found it difficult to sleep again.

Fortunately, when he woke up the next day, he remembered that it was Petition Day.

Petitions Day was celebrated once a year: it was a special date when the king offered audiences to the subjects of Cornucopia. Naturally, the councilors to the throne carefully selected those who were allowed to appear before him: Fred did not deal with big problems, he only cared for citizens whose tribulations could be solved with a few pieces of gold and a few kind words; a farmer whose plow had broken, for example, or an old woman whose cat had died. Fred was looking forward to Petition Day: it was a chance to put on his best clothes, and besides, he was moved to see how much his august presence meant to ordinary Cornucopians.

After breakfast, the valets awaited him in a new suit he had ordered the month before: white satin breeches and doublet of the same color with mother-of-pearl and gold buttons, a scarlet-lined cape with ermine trim, and shoes in white satin with mother-of-pearl and gold buckles. A valet held the gold tweezers with which he would curl his mustaches, and a pageboy at attention held a velvet cushion with a collection of jeweled rings, waiting for Fred to choose which ones he wanted to wear.

"Take all that, I don't want it," said King Fred sourly, and waved away the suit the valets were showing him for approval. They were perplexed: they were not sure if they had heard the monarch's words correctly. He had taken a great interest in the process of making this suit and had personally asked for the scarlet lining and sophisticated buckles to be added. I said take it! He snapped again when they didn't move. Bring me something simple! Bring me the suit I wore on the day of my father's funeral!

"Your Majesty is well?" The valet asked as the baffled valets bowed and rushed out in white suits to return in the blink of an eye in a black suit.

-Of course! Fred snapped. But I am a man, not a frivolous puppet.

He put on the black suit. Although it was the simplest he had, it was still quite spectacular, with silver-trimmed cuffs and collar and onyx and diamond buttons. Then, much to the surprise of the valet, he only allowed the tips of his whiskers to curl a little and then dispatched him along with the page who was holding the ring cushion.

"Ready!" , He thought Fred, looking in the mirror. How can they call me vain? Black is clearly not the color that suits me best. "

He had dressed at such unusual speed that Lord Spittleworth, who had the wax removed from his ears by one of the servants, and Lord Flapoon, who was feeding out a tray of Duke's Delights he had ordered from the kitchen, caught by surprise, they had to run out of their bedrooms and put on their vests and boots as best they could on the way.

"Hurry up, you bums!" King Fred yelled at them as the two Lords followed him down the hall. There are people waiting for you to help!

Would a selfish king run to tend to ordinary people who come to the palace for favors? Fred thought. "Of course not!"

Fred's advisers were surprised to see him arrive for once at the scheduled time and dressed more simply. Herringbone, the senior councilor, gave an approving smile as he bowed to the king.

"Your Majesty is on time," he commented. People will be very happy: they have been queuing since dawn.

"Show them in, Herringbone," the king said, sitting down on the throne and motioning for Spittleworth and Flapoon to settle one on each side.

The double-leaf door was opened and the petitioners entered one by one.

Cornucopia's subjects often fell silent when they met the king in person, whose accomplished portrait hung in their town halls. Some would giggle, others forgot what they had come to the palace for, and a couple of times someone fainted. Fred was especially generous that day, handing over a couple of gold coins after each request, blessing a baby, or allowing an old woman to kiss his hand.

Yet as he smiled and handed out gold coins and promises, Daisy Dovetail's words kept echoing in his head: Selfish, vain, and cruel . He wanted to do something special to show that he was a wonderful man and that he was willing to sacrifice himself for others. All the kings of Cornucopia had given away gold coins and granted insignificant favors on Appeal Day; Fred wanted to do something so splendid that it would be remembered for centuries, and buying a gardener a new hat was not enough to make it into the history books.

The two lords, sitting on either side of the king, were getting bored: they would have preferred a thousand times to continue lounging in their respective bedrooms until lunchtime than to be there, enduring the ridiculous troubles of the farmers. After several hours, the last petitioner gratefully left the throne room and Flapoon, whose stomach had been roaring for almost an hour, rose from his seat with a sigh of relief and bellowed:

-Time to eat!

 

[Orion Balls]

Skip Chapter 9
The Shepherd's Tale

"Your Majesty," Herringbone said running to King Fred, who had just risen from the throne, "a shepherd from the Swamps wanted to make a request, but he's been a little late." If you want to go eat now, I can tell him to go away.

"A swamp!" Spittleworth exclaimed, waving her scented handkerchief under her nose. By God, Your Majesty!

"What impertinence, to show up late for an audience with the king!" Flapoon added and gave a little burp.

"No, no," Fred said after a moment's hesitation. If that poor man has come so far, I will receive him. Bring him in, Herringbone.

The senior councilor, delighted with this new proof that Fred was becoming a kind and considerate king, hurried to the door of the Throne Room and ordered the guards to let the pastor in. The king sat down on the throne again, and Spittleworth and Flapoon, with sour faces, again took their seats.

The old man who walked uncertainly and fearfully down the long red carpet that led to the throne had a weathered face and a scruffy beard; He was dirty and his clothes were old and patchy. On the way he had taken off his cap, but when he reached the king, instead of bowing like everyone else, he fell to his knees.

-Majesty! She said, almost out of breath.

"'Majesty,'" Spittleworth mimicked him softly, implying that the old shepherd's voice sounded like the bleating of a sheep. Flapoon stifled a laugh, but his double chin shook.

"Your Majesty," the shepherd said again, "I have traveled five long days to see you." It has been a very rough journey. When I could , I rode hay wagons, but most of the time I came on foot: my boots were full of sparklers ...

"Finish for what you love most," Spittleworth murmured, his long nose buried in his handkerchief.

-… but, along the way, I kept thinking and thinking about my old Patch , and that, when I got to the palace, you would help me.

"'My old Patch '?" What do you mean, good man? Asked the king with his eyes fixed on the shepherd's darned trousers.

"It's my dog, Your Majesty." Rather… it was, ”the old man answered, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Ah," said King Fred, and reached into the purse tied to his belt. In that case, good shepherd, take these gold coins and buy yourself another pe ...

- Nah , Your Majesty. Thank you very much, but it's not a matter of quarters, ”the pastor interrupted him. I'll get myself a puppy, although no dog will be as good as my old Patch .

The pastor wiped his nose on his sleeve and Spittleworth shuddered.

"So what have you come for?" King Fred asked as gently as he could.

"To tell you, Your Majesty, how Patch spied her ..."

"Ah," said King Fred, looking away at the gold clock on the mantelpiece. Well, we'd love to hear your story, but we're a little hungry.

"The ickabog gobbled it up," the pastor concluded.

There was a stunned silence, and after a moment Spittleworth and Flapoon laughed.

Tears overflowed from the pastor's eyes and glistening down his cheeks until he hit the red carpet.

-Already. Everyone from Jeroboam to Chouxville laughed at me when I told them why I came to see you; They laughed and told me I was buzzing . But I have seen that specimen with my own eyes; and poor Patch too, before the ickabog ate it for him.

King Fred wanted to laugh too, as both lords had. He wanted to get rid of the old shepherd and go to eat, but at the same time, that horrible little voice kept whispering to him: "Selfish, vain and cruel."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" He said to the pastor, and Spittleworth and Flapoon suddenly stopped laughing.

"Well, Your Majesty," said the pastor, wiping his nose on his sleeve again, "it was getting dark and there was a lot of fog." Patch and I were heading home along the swamp when he saw a rat-otter ...

-One that? Asked King Fred.

"A rat-otter, Your Majesty: they are like large rats that live in the swamp." They are delicious roasted, although the tail is always a bit hard.

Flapoon looked like he was about to throw up.

"Well," the shepherd continued, "because Patch saw the rat-otter and flew after it." I screamed at him like crazy, Your Majesty, but he like he didn't hear me. And then I hear a howl . " Paaarche! ", shouted him. " Paaarche! What happened ? » But Patch is not coming back, Your Majesty. And then, "the shepherd continued in a thin voice," I saw the ickabog through the fog. He was enormous , with eyes like two lanterns and a mouth bigger than your throne, Your Majesty, and horrible, shiny teeth. I forgot the poor patch: I ran as if the devil were following me until I got home. And the next day I was on my way to come see you: the ickabog ate my dog and I want him to receive his punishment!

The king stared at the shepherd for a few seconds. Then, very slowly, he got to his feet.

“Pastor,” he said at last, “today we are heading north to investigate this ickabog business once and for all. If we find any trace of that monster, you can be sure that we will chase it to its lair and punish it for daring to eat your dog. For now, take these gold coins and buy a ride home on a hay cart.

"Friends," added the King, turning to Spittleworth and Flapoon, who were astonished, "I beg you to put on your riding gear and follow me to the stables. Another hunt awaits us!

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 10
King Fred's Expedition

Fred left the Throne Room with a firm step, very pleased with himself. No one could ever accuse him of being selfish, vain and cruel! Out of consideration for a humble, stinking old shepherd and his silly pooch, he, Fearless Fred himself, was going to hunt the ickabog! True, there was no such monster, but even so, riding to the other end of the country to prove it was an undeniably noble and altruistic act!

Forgetting his food, he rushed upstairs to his bedroom and yelled for his valet to help him remove that hideous black suit and put on the combat uniform he had not yet had a chance to wear: a red tunic with buttons. gold adorned with a purple sash and countless medals that Fred could afford to wear simply because he was king. When she looked in the mirror and found out how good that uniform fitted her, she wondered why she didn't wear it every day. And when the valet put the plumed helmet over her golden curls, she imagined herself in a painting dressed in that garb, riding her favorite snow-white steed, and spearing a snake-like monster. King Fred the Fearless, of course! He even wished the ickabog really existed.

Meanwhile, the Senior Councilor announced throughout the City-within-City that the King was going on a journey across the country and that everyone should prepare to come out to applaud him when he left. He did not mention the ickabog because he wanted to prevent, as far as possible, the people from taking their king for a nut.

Unfortunately, Cankerby, the footman, had overheard two councilors murmuring about the king's strange plans and immediately told a maid who took it upon himself to spread the news through the kitchen, where a Baronstown sausage vendor was gossiping with the cook. Bottom line: By the time the retinue was ready, news that the king was heading north to hunt the ickabog had spread throughout the City-within-City and was even beginning to spread throughout the rest of Chouxville.

-What's this all about? Wondered the inhabitants of the capital who crowded the sidewalks prepared to applaud the king. Is it a joke?

Some shrugged, laughed, and thought the king was just having fun. Others shook their heads and murmured that there must be something more: no king would think of traveling to the north of the country armed and on horseback without a compelling reason. "What does the king know that we don't?" They wondered, worried.

Lady Eslanda went out onto the balcony with the other ladies of the court to see the soldiers and the king assemble, but I have a secret to tell you: even if the king had asked her, she would never have married him because she was deeply in love with Captain Goodfellow. , who at that moment, down in the courtyard, was chatting and laughing with his good friend Commander Beamish. Lady Eslanda, who was very beautiful but also very shy, had never dared to speak to her, and she did not even imagine that such a thing could happen: her late parents had been cheesemakers in Kurdsburg, and at that time no sons of cheesemakers.

Meanwhile, the children had been let out of the school so they could watch the detachment go by, and Mrs. Beamish ran to find Bert because she wanted him to see her father marching from a good place.

When the palace gate was finally opened and the cavalcade emerged, Bert and Mrs. Beamish cheered the king at the top of their lungs. It had been a long time since anyone had seen battle uniforms; How exciting it was, and how beautiful! The sun glinted off the gold buttons, silver swords, and gleaming command horns, and ladies of the court could be seen waving their dove-like handkerchiefs on the balcony.

King Fred led the way on the back of his snowy steed; with one hand he held the scarlet reins and with the other he saluted the crowd. Just behind him, on a yellow stump, was Spittleworth looking bored, followed by Flapoon, furious and fasting, mounted on his gigantic chestnut horse.

And behind the king and lords, the Royal Guard at a trot; all on gray horses, save Major Beamish, riding his steel gray stallion.

Mrs. Beamish was thrilled to see her handsome husband.

"Good luck, Dad!" Bert yelled, and Commander Beamish, though not allowed, waved at him.

The group trotted down the slope, past the excited crowd of the City-within-the-City and arrived at the gate in the wall where the rest of Chouxville exited. There, behind the crowd, was the Dovetail house. Mr. Dovetail and Daisy had gone out into the garden, but they only caught a glimpse of the helmets of the Kingsguard.

Daisy wasn't in the mood anyway: she and Bert still didn't speak to each other, and that morning he'd spent all recess with Roderick Roach, who used to tease her because she wore overalls instead of dresses. Total, neither the cheers nor the noise of the horses raised his spirits.

"The ickabog doesn't exist, does it, Dad?" -I ask.

"No, Daisy," her father answered, heaving a sigh and heading back to his workshop, "it doesn't exist, but if the king wants to believe it does, let him believe it: in Los Pantanos he will hardly harm anyone."

Which shows that sometimes even the wisest are not capable of anticipating the greatest dangers.

 

[Orion Balls]

I need help archiving this, friends. Please help me before the whole thing goes down.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 11
The Journey North

King Fred grew brighter and brighter as he walked away from Chouxville with his soldiers and into the countryside. The news of their sudden expedition in search of the ickabog had already reached the ears of the peasants who worked in those rolling green fields: they ran with their families to cheer the king, the two lords and the Royal Guard as they passed.

As he was fasting, the king decided to stop at Kurdsburg.

"We will eat anything here and sleep wherever, like good soldiers," he shouted at the detachment when they entered the city, famous for its cheeses, "and we will be on our way at dawn!"

But evidently it was impossible for the king to eat "anything" and sleep "anywhere." The guests of the best inn in Kurdsburg were thrown out to make room for him, and that night, after a hearty dinner of grilled cheese and chocolate fondue, he slept in a bronze bed with a duck-down mattress. Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon, for their part, had no choice but to stay in a small room above the stable. They were both very sore after riding all day. You will wonder how it was possible, if they went hunting five times a week, but the truth is that, when they had only been hunting for half an hour, they used to sneak away and sit in the shade of a tree, where they gobbled sandwiches and drank wine until the time came. to return to the palace.

Very early the next day, Commander Beamish went to inform the king that the people of Baronstown were very offended that he had decided to sleep in neighboring Kurdsburg instead of choosing his splendid city. Not wanting it to diminish his popularity, King Fred ordered his detachment to ride in a wide circle through the surrounding fields so that the farmers could cheer for him all the way, so that the cavalcade did not reach Baronstown until the to become night. The delicious smell of sizzling sausages greeted the royal party, and a jubilant crowd waving torches escorted the monarch to the best room in the entire city. There they served him roast beef and honey-glazed ham, and prepared a bed of carved oak with a goose-down mattress, while Spittleworth and Flapoon had to share a tiny loft that usually housed two maids. By now Spittleworth's butt was aching beyond words, and he was also furious that he had been forced to ride forty miles in a circle for the sole purpose of making these sausages happy. Meanwhile, Flapoon, who had gorged himself on cheese in Kurdsburg and had three steaks in Baronstown, lay awake all night, writhing in bed with indigestion. And besides, he was furious that he had been forced to ride forty miles in a circle for the sole purpose of making those sausages happy. Meanwhile, Flapoon, who had gorged himself on cheese in Kurdsburg and had three steaks in Baronstown, lay awake all night, writhing in bed with indigestion. And besides, he was furious that he had been forced to ride forty miles in a circle for the sole purpose of making those sausages happy. Meanwhile, Flapoon, who had gorged himself on cheese in Kurdsburg and had three steaks in Baronstown, lay awake all night, writhing in bed with indigestion.

The next day the expedition finally set off north, and soon they were surrounded by vineyards and grape pickers who were excitedly coming out to wave Cornucopia flags and salute their proud king. Spittleworth was almost crying with pain, even though a cushion had been tied around his buttocks, and Flapoon's belching and groaning sounded over the clatter of hooves and rattling of bridle.

That night, when they entered Jeroboam, they were greeted with trumpets and the entire city sang the national anthem in their honor. Fred feasted on truffles and champagne, then lay down on a silk four-poster bed with a swan-down mattress, while Spittleworth and Flapoon had no choice but to share a room above the inn's kitchen. with two other soldiers. Many drunken Jeroboameans staggered through the streets and celebrated the king's presence, but Spittleworth spent much of the night sitting on an ice bucket with Flapoon, who had drunk too much red wine and, in the middle of the Complaints from the two soldiers, he vomited into another bucket in the corner.

At dawn the next day, the king and his detachment headed for the Swamps still impressed by the loud farewell from the inhabitants of Jeroboam, who made such a noise uncorking bottles that Spittleworth's horse reared up and knocked him to the ground. We had to stop to dust him off, tie the cushion back around his butt, and wait for Fred to stop laughing before continuing.

They soon lost sight of Jeroboam. Now only the song of the birds could be heard: for the first time since they began the journey, the edges of the road were empty. Slowly, the lush green meadows gave way to sparse, parched grass, twisted trees, and stony ground.

"It's a remarkable place, isn't it?" The king commented jovially to Spittleworth and Flapoon, who followed behind. How glad I am to finally get to know Los Pantanos! You dont?

The two lords nodded, but as soon as Fred turned around they began to grin and mimic him under their breath.

At last the royal party ran into a few swamps, and what a face the poor made! They knelt, as the shepherd had done in the Throne Room, forgetting to cheer and applaud the king, but still widening their eyes, as if they had never seen anything like it (and in fact it was because, although the king Fred had toured every major Cornucopia town after his coronation, no one had thought he would visit the remote Marsh region).

"Simple people, no doubt, but very moving, eh?" The king commented happily again, this time to her men, while ragged kids gazed at the horses in admiration: they had never seen such sleek and well-fed animals.

"And where are we supposed to spend the night?" Flapoon asked Spittleworth in a low voice as he surveyed the dilapidated stone huts. I don't see any inn!

"Well, at least we have one consolation," Spittleworth whispered. "The king will have to be content with whatever there is, like the rest, and we'll see what he thinks."

They rode all afternoon until the sun began to set, and then they caught a glimpse of the marsh where the ickabog was supposed to live: a wide expanse of darkness dotted with stones and strange rock formations.

-Majesty! Commander Beamish exclaimed. I propose to camp here and explore the pantanal in the morning! As Your Majesty knows, this place is very treacherous: the fog suddenly descends. We better wait and get closer in broad daylight!

-Silly stuff! Said Fred impatiently, bouncing around in the saddle like an excited schoolboy. Now that we have it in sight, we can't stop, Beamish!

The king gave the order and the detachment continued on until they reached the very edge of the swamp. It was dusk, but the moon was barely visible: black clouds slid in front of it, hiding it. It was the scariest place any of them had ever seen: wild, empty, and desolate. A cold wind made the reeds rustle, but otherwise there was nothing but silence.

"As you see, Your Majesty," said Lord Spittleworth, "the ground is very muddy: if a sheep or a person were to be neglected, the swamp would swallow them easily." And there is no doubt that in the dark any fool would mistake those gigantic rocks for monsters and take the rustle of the reeds for the hiss of some mysterious animal.

"Yes, yes, you're right," King Fred conceded, but his gaze continued to roam the swamp, growing gloomier, as if the ickabog might peek out from behind a rock at any moment.

"So shall we camp here, Your Majesty?" Asked Lord Flapoon, who had saved some Baronstown mince pies and was impatient to eat them.

"In the dark we would never find a monster, even an imaginary one," Spittleworth added.

"True, true," King Fred agreed ruefully. We're going to… gosh, what a thick fog!

And indeed, as they gazed out at the swamp, a thick white mist had descended on them so suddenly and silently that no one had noticed.

 

[Orion Balls]

Chapter 12
The Lost Sword of the King

After a few seconds, it was as if they were all wearing a thick white blindfold: the mist, permeated with the foul smell of mud and stagnant swamp water, was so dense that they could not even see their own hands when they were placed in front of them. face. Recklessly, they began to move from side to side, searching for each other with the soft ground sinking beneath their feet. Soon most of them were completely disoriented, adrift in a vast white sea. Commander Beamish was one of the few who did not get carried away by confusion.

-Be careful! -scream-. The terrain is treacherous. Be still!

But King Fred, who was very scared, ignored him: he started to walk towards where he thought the commander was, but after a few steps he felt that he was sinking into the swamp.

-Help! -scream; the cold waters already covered the shafts of his gleaming boots. Help! Where is she, Beamish? I'm sinking!

There were voices of alarm and the clash of armor from those who had started walking in all directions in search of the king. Many slipped and fell into the mud. Meanwhile, the king kept stirring and trying to make himself heard above the din.

"I've lost my boots!" Why isn't anyone helping me ?! Where have you been ?!

Lord Spittleworth and Lord Flapoon were the only ones who had followed Beamish's advice and stood still as the mist descended. Spittleworth held tightly to a fold of Flapoon's baggy breeches, and Flapoon clung to the tail of his friend's coat. Neither of them made the slightest attempt to help Fred: they just waited, trembling, for calm and order to reappear.

"At least if the bog swallows that worthless man, we can go home," Spittleworth said to Flapoon in a low voice.

The confusion grew. Several members of the Royal Guard, in their vain attempts to find the king, had been trapped in the mud. Splashing, clanging metal, screaming… Commander Beamish scrambled to restore a modicum of order as the king's voice grew weaker and weaker, as if Fred were stumbling away from them.

And then, from the very center of that darkness, came a shocking shriek of panic:

"Help me, beamish, I'm seeing the monster!"

"I'm coming, Your Majesty!" Commander Beamish responded quickly. Keep screaming! I will find you!

-Help! Help! Help me beamish! Cried King Fred again.

"What happened to that idiot?" Flapoon asked Spittleworth, but before Spittleworth could answer, the fog that enveloped them cleared as fast as it had come. Suddenly, they found themselves in a small clearing. At last they could be seen, although high walls of thick white mist still surrounded them on all four sides. The voices of the king, Beamish, and the soldiers sounded farther and farther away.

"Don't move yet," Spittleworth warned Flapoon. As soon as the fog dissipates a little more, we will go to look for the horses and we will retire to a place that ...

But before he had finished speaking, a black figure covered in slimy mud burst through the wall of mist and pounced on them. Flapoon let out a high-pitched screech as Spittleworth tried to attack the beast; if he didn't, it was only because she collapsed to the ground, whimpering. Then the lord realized that the panting and sputtering silt-covered monster was none other than King Fred the Fearless .

"Good thing we found you, Your Majesty!" We have been looking everywhere for you! Spittleworth hastened to tell him.

"The ick ... ick ... ick ..." whimpered the king.

"He's got hiccups," Flapoon said. Give him a scare.

"The ick… ick… ickabog!" Moaned Fred. I have seen it! It is a gigantic monster! It almost got me!

"How do you say, Your Majesty?" Spittleworth asked.

"The mo-monster exists!" Fred gasped. I-I'm lucky I'm still alive! To the horses! We must flee from here as soon as possible!

He tried to get up by crawling up the lord's leg, but the lord moved quickly away so he wouldn't get mud on him. He comforted Fred with a pat on the top of the head, which was the part of his body that was kept cleanest.

"Well, well, Your Majesty." You have just had a terrifying experience: you fell into the marsh. As we said before, those rocks undoubtedly take monstrous forms in the middle of this dense fog ...

"Hell, Spittleworth, I know exactly what I've seen!" Shouted the king, getting to his feet as best he could. He was as tall as one horse riding on top of another, and his eyes looked like two huge lanterns! I drew my sword, but my hands were sticky and it slipped. All I could do was get my feet out of my jammed boots and run!

Just then, a fourth man entered the small clearing that had formed amid the mist. It was Captain Roach, Roderick's father and Commander Beamish's lieutenant — a big man with a jet-black mustache. You will soon find out which foot he was limping on, but for the moment you only need to know that the king was very happy to see him because he was the tallest and sturdiest member of the Kingsguard.

"Have you found any trace of the ickabog, Roach?" The king asked whimpering.

"No, Your Majesty," Roach replied, bowing his head respectfully. I've only seen fog and mud. In any case, I am glad to see that Your Majesty is doing well. Stay here, gentlemen, while I round up the soldiers.

He started to leave, but King Fred yelled at him:

"No, stay with me, Roach, in case the monster comes over here!" You keep your rifle, right? Excellent. In addition to my boots, I have lost my sword… my sword, the one with the jeweled fist!

Although he felt more secure with Captain Roach by his side, the trembling king was more frightened and terrified than ever. Besides, he had the unpleasant feeling that no one believed he had seen the ickabog, an impression that was intensified when he saw Spittleworth look at Flapoon and roll his eyes.

His pride was hurt.

"Spittleworth, Flapoon!" -scream-. I want my sword and my boots! They are out there, somewhere! She added, waving an arm in the direction of the surrounding mist.

"B-but wouldn't it be better to wait for the fog to thin out, Your Majesty?" Spittleworth asked nervously.

"I want my sword!" Roared King Fred. "It belonged to my grandfather and has great value! Go find her, both of you. I'll wait here with Captain Roach. And don't come back empty handed!"