Wilyem Clark
01-12-2016, 02:33 PM
[My apologies for the shaggy-dogness of this "folk tale"!]
Once upon a something-something, in a land far away but not that far, there lived a king who had two sons. The king advised his elder son to marry the princess from a neighboring kingdom; thus he would inherit the right to rule both realms. But the father of the princess demanded that her suitor, to prove himself worthy, travel to the Land of Musical Agrarians and bring back the Harp That Is Also a Plow.
The elder son was an abject coward, and so he persuaded his brother to carry out the task for him; in return, he promised his sibling ample rewards. The younger son accepted his brother’s charge, but once he took to the road, he despaired of ever finding the Land of Musical Agrarians, as it was a place known only via legends and hearsay. He rested one evening under a hazelnut tree, fell deep asleep, and dreamed of failure and doom.
He was awakened by a chirping noise, and was surprised to see a chipmunk running about and eating the nuts that had fallen around the roots of the tree. He grabbed the creature and said, “Piglet, figlet, what a fine little roast you will make!” Whereupon the chipmunk spoke and said, “Spare my life, o wandering noble, and I will gladly do your bidding.”
Fascinated by the animal’s temerity, the prince said, “And what can you do for me? Tell me the way to the Land of Musical Agrarians?”
“Indeed!” said the chipmunk. “Feed me a nut, and I will show you the path.”
So the prince fed the chipmunk a nut and placed him in his coat pocket. He also gathered up all the hazelnuts he could and stashed them in another pocket before going on his way. Sure enough, after a while—a short time or a long time or a middling time—with the chipmunk’s help, he arrived in a valley, and lo! the farmers there sang all day as they worked, and one of their plows resembled a harp, which a plowman strummed as he tilled the fields. The prince at once set to bargaining with the Agrarians, and offered them pieces of gold, but they would part with the Harp That Is Also a Plow on one and only one condition: that the prince give them a horsefeather in trade so that they might fine-tune their crop of Stringed Beans. “Goose quills simply do not suffice!” their leader said.
“And where may I find this feather?” the prince asked.
“Growing from the mane of a flying horse, of course!”
Once more the prince set off, on foot because his courser had perished during the arduous journey undertaken so far; and once more he despaired, for he had no idea where a winged horse may pasture.
The chipmunk gave a chirp and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will show you the path.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and—after many travails or with little effort—he came upon a meadow where a radiant equine with a coat of golden feathers and wings was grazing. Despite his best attempts to steal up on the beast, every time he tried to snatch a feather, the being took to the air and hovered just out of reach. The prince grew tired and collapsed on the grass, whereupon the flying horse said, “I can guess why you are here. Many have coveted my golden feathers, but few can coerce me to yield up even one.”
“That means,” said the prince, “that you can be coerced, since you said ‘few’ and not ‘none’!”
“True,” said the pegasus (but not the Pegasus, for he is mythical). “My terms are these: present me with the fabulous Brocaded Hoof Covers, and I will allow you to pluck a single plume. I need the Covers for when the skies storm, or the winds grow wild, and I am grounded. I so detest dirtying my hooves!”
“And where may I find these wondrous coverings?” asked the prince.
The beast related how he must first locate a flying horse—
“I beg your pardon!” cried the prince. “Are you not he?”
The horse was not accomplished in pronouncing human words, and he corrected himself: “A flying house is what you must find, for that is where a thieving satyr lives, and he has appropriated the covers for his own use.”
The prince again went searching far and wide and high and low and many places in-between, but nowhere could he discover a flying house, until one day while lying on his back he looked up at the sky and spotted a brick manor floating overhead. But try as he might, he could not figure out how to reach the dwelling, and in frustration he beat his fists against a rock.
The chipmunk gave a chirp and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will show you how to enter the flying house.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and the creature told him to climb the highest oak in the adjacent forest. The prince obeyed, and sure enough, while he waited in the branches of the tree, the house sailed by. He lunged at the doorsill and managed to cling to it. With great exertion he pulled himself inside, only to face the fierce countenance of the satyr who lived inside.
“Well-well,” said the satyr. “An uncommon intruder! I praise your courage and physical prowess, but I cannot bid you ‘welcome,’ as no one is welcome in my abode. I will, however, grant you a single wish before I kill you.”
“In that case,” said the prince, “I wish to have the brocaded covers you wear on your hooves.”
“Oh, these old things?” the satyr laughed, displaying the relics proudly. “Is that all? Then I will redeem your wish, but only if you obtain for me the Arrow of Inconsequence, so that I may shoot you with it.”
“’Tis fair,” said the prince. “But where—”
“Tut-tut,” said the satyr. “Time for you to go.” And he pushed his visitor out of the house.
Fortunately for the prince, he landed on a hayrick and was not injured. But he remained perplexed—where would he find such a magical arrow?
Just then a knight rode by. “Hail to thee, friend,” the knight said. “What troubles you?”
The prince told the knight about the satyr’s request.
“O, la!” exclaimed the knight. “Such a minute matter! I shall help thee, for I know of a fletcher who deals in such enchanted armaments; yet before I assist thee, I must enlist thy support in my own quest.”
“To do what?” wondered the prince.
And the knight explained how he was under a curse and could not have a night’s rest unless he camped beneath the Awning of Lucidity.
“And it is after such a strange article that you go questing?” asked the prince.
“Heavens, no! I own the Awning already. But I cannot erect it without the Plexigallas Tent Pole, and that resides in the Contemptuous Cave, which is guarded by the Equally Contemptuous and Fearsome Dragon.”
“Naturally,” muttered the prince.
The knight on his steed with the prince walking alongside crossed rivers and rills, mountains and hills, until the two adventurers came to the mouth of a canyon. “Yonder up this canyon lies the lizard’s lair,” said the knight. “I must dismount and leave my horse here, for the mere odor of the dragon is likely to spook the bravest breed.”
Near the mouth of the canyon lived a wizardly hermit, and the knight placed his steed in this wise man’s care. The hermit advised: “Be you well-armed, I see; but the lurker in the cave is crafty. You may find these to be of some utility.” And he produced a rack of four vials, all identical.
“What are these?” asked the knight.
“Four potions of my own devising,” said the hermit. “They are: the Tonic That Giveth Great Stature, the Elixir of Incompetence, and the Aperitif of Immeasurable Sorrow.”
“And the fourth?”
“Plain water. I can sell you the lot for two gold pieces.”
The prince, who came well-endowed with coin, paid the price.
“How do I tell which potion is which?” asked the knight after the bargain had been struck.
“Alas,” replied the hermit, “I do not remember the order of the concoctions. Trust in your own judgment, and all will go well.”
The questing men bid the hermit farewell and proceed up the canyon on foot. After hours of marching—either few or many hours—they arrived a a huge opening in the canyon’s wall.
“Let us enter,” said the knight, and he fearlessly climbed into the cavern, followed by the prince. Inside, a terrible fetor corrupted their noses, and the knight said, “Undoubtedly this is an imposing beast I am about to confront. I must make use of the Tonic That Giveth Great Stature.” And without debate or a moment’s consideration, he drew a vial out of the rack, uncorked it, and downed its contents all at once.
Amazingly, he had chosen the correct vial, and within a minute he grew in size, at least ten times the measure of a normal man. But the cave was not that big, and its floor was strewn with garbage—part of the dragon’s hoard—and as a result, the knight stumbled and hit his head on a jagged part of the cavern’s ceiling. He collapsed to the floor and died.
Soon after the knight’s demise, a small creature—barely shinbone high—crept out of the debris and addressed the prince: “Why has your friend bumbled into my home and left his carcass here? I’m a very selective fellow, and there is nothing small and shiny about him. Nothing about him appeals to me.”
“Are you the Equally Contemptuous and Fearsome Dragon?” asked the prince in an incredulous tone.
“I suppose some call me that, but really, I am just an ordinary pack-dragon. I prefer compact, manageable, discarded or broken items, and your friend is anything but compact and manageable.”
“My apologies, dragon,” said the prince. “He was only seeking the Plexigallas Tent Pole.”
The dragon snorted in derision. “Why didn’t he just say so? There is the Pole over there in the corner. I have been trying to get rid of it for years. Long and bulky and unwieldy! Please, take the thing with you. And take the corpse as well.”
But the knight’s bloated body was too heavy for the prince to drag out of the cave, and so he left it behind. He picked up the Pole to use as a walking stick and departed, as the dragon railed against visitors and their messy ways.
The prince returned to the hermit’s abode in a dejected state. “My own quest is ended, too,” he moaned, “for I shall never find the fletcher with the Arrow of Inconsequence.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said the hermit. “Dealers in magical wares throughout these parts know Jimmy the Fletcher! He lives on the far side of the Untraversable Desert.”
“Why does that sound ominous?” wondered the prince.
“Some do have difficulties in its wastes,” the hermit elaborated. “But if you hold to a straight line, from rising sun to setting sun, you will survive the crossing.”
And so, riding atop the knight’s steed, and with the Plexigallas Tent Pole and the three remaining vials in his possession—not to mention the chipmunk in his pocket—the prince set his sights on the Desert.
After days or weeks or eons or no time at all, the prince encountered the Desert’s expanse around nightfall, and slept at its edge until the following dawn. Then—using the sun’s path across the sky as a guide—he attempted to cross the sandy wilderness. But when noon arrived, the prince became tormented by an exceptional thirst, and he was driven to drink the contents of one of the vials. Sadly, he erred in judgment, and consumed the Elixir of Incompetence instead of the water; from that moment on, he ambled aimlessly in all directions. The horse perished, and the prince had not long to live himself. Suddenly, a shrill voice sirened to him from a nearby jumble of boulders. It belonged to a maiden, and with great effort the prince crawled to her side. The maiden, who had been stranded there by a genie, said to him: “Oh sir! We are both in dire need! I am parched and you are parched, and the sands surrounding us are parched. Is there no rescue?”
“There is one chance,” gasped the prince. “One of these vials contains water, and the other a dolorous potion. Pick one, and I will partake of the other. At least one of us may survive a day longer.”
So the maiden plucked up one vial, and the prince took the other, and they drank. As fate would have it, the prince’s vial contained the water, and the maiden swallowed the Aperitif of Immeasurable Sorrow, whereupon she began to cry . . . and cry and cry, her tears spilling down her cheeks and across the boulders and soaking into the ground beneath, until the entire desert filled up with her salty effusion and turned into a lake. Alas, the maiden herself was spent by her weeping, and all that was left of her in the end was a wispy veil.
The prince waded across the shallow lake to the far shore, and came upon the village where Jimmy the Fletcher lived. He greeted the crafter and explained his plight. And the fletcher said: “Here is the shaft for the Arrow of Inconsequence, but it will not be complete until it is fitted with four fogfish fins, and I have not seen such a commodity in ages.”
“And where would one find fogfish?” the prince asked wearily.
“Swimming in the Sea of Perpetual Fog,” said the fletcher.
“How far is that?”
“Just on the other side of that rise.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the prince with renewed zeal, “then I will hie myself over yon rise and obtain those fins, you can be sure.”
“Bring them to me,” said the fletcher, “and I will attach them to the shaft for a small fee.”
So the prince—treading on a straight path or a winding path, along a dusty route or mucky route—wound up on a beach bordering the Sea of Perpetual Fog; and indeed, the fog curled and swirled in dense banks right above the water. On the shore was a boat fashioned from the heart of an oilwood tree and very buoyant, but no oars. The prince plopped himself down on the pebbled beach and yet again lost hope, for there was no way to propel the boat once away from shore, and the waters were deep.
As before, chipmunk stirred and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will instruct you.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and the furry rodent directed the prince to insert the Plexigallas Tent Pole into a hole in the boat’s center thwart, thus transforming the Pole into a mast. He then told the prince to tie the maiden‘s veil to the Pole’s upper extremity; the veil became a sail. Soon a light breeze came by and pushed the boat into the Sea.
The prince tugged at a loose thread on the hem of his tunic and gathered a length sufficient to use as a fishing line; he then secured a worm that he had found on shore to the line and dropped it over the side. He waited and waited, but not one fish of any kind nibbled at his bait. After many hours or a few hours, the boat drew up at a dock on the far side of the Sea, for it had been enchanted to berth there.
The dock extended out from a small village on the outskirts of Elf-land; one of the town elders emerged to greet the prince. When he learned of the prince’s difficulties, the elf-elder imparted special knowledge to assist him.
“The first secret you must learn to successfully catch a fogfish,” the elder said, “is that they are very alert beings, and can sense a threat from a mortal like you.”
“What may I do to overcome this obstacle?” asked the prince.
“Within our community bathhouse,” the elder answered, pointing to a nearby structure, “you will find bars of Sneaky Soap. Take one of these on your next trip onto the Sea, and lather yourself up vigorously, until you are encompassed by a single bubble—a Soap Bubble of Stealth—which will shield your mortal stench from the fish. All I ask is that your return the bar to the bathhouse after you are done.”
“That seems easy,” said the prince. “What else?”
“Second, you must employ the right kind of bait.” At this point, the elder lowered his voice and whispered something into the prince’s ear. The prince looked dismayed, but only for a moment, for he recovered and said, “It is a small sacrifice, but it must be made, so close am I to my goal.”
Subsequently, the prince borrowed a bar of sneaky soap and pushed off from the dock. Once he arrived in the middle of the water, he extracted the chipmunk from his pocket and said, “O little friend, we have journeyed far together, but now we must part.” Before the chipmunk could respond, the prince slit the animal’s throat and cut its body into four chunks. He then lathered up the soap until a single bubble surrounded him head to toe, tied a lump of dead chipmunk to the line, and lobbed it over the side. Almost immediately he felt a jerk on the line, and he dragged out of the water a small blue and gold fish with an iridescent fin. He repeated these steps four times, and in short order had the four fogfish he required.
One of the four fogfish began to plead for its life, but the prince would have no more delays or diversions, and he smacked the fish against the Pole until it fell silent.
The prince returned the soap to the bathhouse and was about to leave Elf-land, when an old elf woodworker ran up to him and said, “Before you leave, I wonder if you might like to make a trade.”
“What sort of trade?” inquired the prince.
“I would love to own the rod that you brought with you,” said the elf. “It catches the light brilliantly and will serve as an excellent maypole for our next spring festival. In return, I will give you this sturdy staff that I have carved myself. It will make a much more practical walking stick than that shaft.”
“Well—”
“And to sweeten the deal, I will throw in this Dancing Stool.” The woodworker whistled, and a three-legged stool ran onto the dock and began to execute a caper.
“All right, all right,” said the prince. “I suppose this staff will make as good a mast as the Pole, and although I know of no use for a Dancing Stool, perhaps it will come in handy.”
And so the prince left the Plexigallas Tent Pole with the elves and sailed across the Sea of Perpetual Fog one last time; all the while, the Dancing Stool continued to dance. He bestowed the fogfish fins on Jimmy the Fletcher, who fitted them into the Arrow of Inconsequence for the price of three gold pieces. The Dancing Stool never stood still. With considerable effort the prince crossed the Untraversable Desert; by this time, the maiden’s tears had drained away and the Desert’s surface had turned into mud. The Dancing Stool continued to dance. The prince passed by the hermit’s abode without stopping to say hello. He found the tall oak tree and—abandoning the Stool at the base—climbed up and waited for the flying house to glide by. He latched onto the doorsill again, and was pulled in by the satyr himself.
“Ah, the Arrow of Inconsequence!” the satyr jubilated. “Now remind me what I promised in exchange?”
“Those hoof covers,” the prince sighed impatiently.
“I’m afraid I must emend the terms of our agreement,” said the wily satyr. “In addition to this arrow, I demand that you bring to me—”
But the prince had heard enough. He was tired and cranky and fed up with endless errands. He was also irritated by the Dancing Stool’s incessant antics thus far in their travels. He swung at the satyr with the carved staff and stunned the beast long enough to purloin the Brocaded Hoof Covers. As he jumped from the house, the satyr recovered enough to grab his bow and shoot the Arrow of Inconsequence at the fleeing prince; true to its name, the Arrow grazed the prince’s garments and produced no lasting damage.
This time, the prince did not land on a hayrick; rather, he fell into a thicket and was lucky not to have broken any bones. The Stool scampered up and jigged at him.
The prince located the pegasus and swapped the Covers for a single feather. He then sought out the Musical Agrarians, but they reneged.
“Growing season is over,” they said. “And we don’t intend to plant any more Stringed Beans—they don’t do well in this climate.”
The prince went berserk and cudgeled all the farmers while the Dancing Stool dithered around. The prince picked up the Harp That Is Also a Plow and headed home.
But the prince had been gone for such a long, long time, that in his absence both his father and the king of the neighboring kingdom had died. Moreover, the princess had married the elder son, who now ruled the unified lands.
“I’m sorry, Brother, but no one here has any use for a harping plow. Your dancing chair is amusing, though.”
“What about my reward?” growled the prince as he grew hot.
“What’s the point of handing out rewards for irrelevant services? What’s more, my advisors tell me your presence is a risk to my sovereignty, so get packing, you and your quaint piece of animated furniture.”
The prince could not argue with his brother, for the latter had guards and armed soldiers to back him up. With great reluctance, and after killing a few peasants out of vexation, he took to the road once more, with only the useless Dancing Stool as a companion.
The Moral: Don’t waste your life doing someone else’s dirty work.
Once upon a something-something, in a land far away but not that far, there lived a king who had two sons. The king advised his elder son to marry the princess from a neighboring kingdom; thus he would inherit the right to rule both realms. But the father of the princess demanded that her suitor, to prove himself worthy, travel to the Land of Musical Agrarians and bring back the Harp That Is Also a Plow.
The elder son was an abject coward, and so he persuaded his brother to carry out the task for him; in return, he promised his sibling ample rewards. The younger son accepted his brother’s charge, but once he took to the road, he despaired of ever finding the Land of Musical Agrarians, as it was a place known only via legends and hearsay. He rested one evening under a hazelnut tree, fell deep asleep, and dreamed of failure and doom.
He was awakened by a chirping noise, and was surprised to see a chipmunk running about and eating the nuts that had fallen around the roots of the tree. He grabbed the creature and said, “Piglet, figlet, what a fine little roast you will make!” Whereupon the chipmunk spoke and said, “Spare my life, o wandering noble, and I will gladly do your bidding.”
Fascinated by the animal’s temerity, the prince said, “And what can you do for me? Tell me the way to the Land of Musical Agrarians?”
“Indeed!” said the chipmunk. “Feed me a nut, and I will show you the path.”
So the prince fed the chipmunk a nut and placed him in his coat pocket. He also gathered up all the hazelnuts he could and stashed them in another pocket before going on his way. Sure enough, after a while—a short time or a long time or a middling time—with the chipmunk’s help, he arrived in a valley, and lo! the farmers there sang all day as they worked, and one of their plows resembled a harp, which a plowman strummed as he tilled the fields. The prince at once set to bargaining with the Agrarians, and offered them pieces of gold, but they would part with the Harp That Is Also a Plow on one and only one condition: that the prince give them a horsefeather in trade so that they might fine-tune their crop of Stringed Beans. “Goose quills simply do not suffice!” their leader said.
“And where may I find this feather?” the prince asked.
“Growing from the mane of a flying horse, of course!”
Once more the prince set off, on foot because his courser had perished during the arduous journey undertaken so far; and once more he despaired, for he had no idea where a winged horse may pasture.
The chipmunk gave a chirp and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will show you the path.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and—after many travails or with little effort—he came upon a meadow where a radiant equine with a coat of golden feathers and wings was grazing. Despite his best attempts to steal up on the beast, every time he tried to snatch a feather, the being took to the air and hovered just out of reach. The prince grew tired and collapsed on the grass, whereupon the flying horse said, “I can guess why you are here. Many have coveted my golden feathers, but few can coerce me to yield up even one.”
“That means,” said the prince, “that you can be coerced, since you said ‘few’ and not ‘none’!”
“True,” said the pegasus (but not the Pegasus, for he is mythical). “My terms are these: present me with the fabulous Brocaded Hoof Covers, and I will allow you to pluck a single plume. I need the Covers for when the skies storm, or the winds grow wild, and I am grounded. I so detest dirtying my hooves!”
“And where may I find these wondrous coverings?” asked the prince.
The beast related how he must first locate a flying horse—
“I beg your pardon!” cried the prince. “Are you not he?”
The horse was not accomplished in pronouncing human words, and he corrected himself: “A flying house is what you must find, for that is where a thieving satyr lives, and he has appropriated the covers for his own use.”
The prince again went searching far and wide and high and low and many places in-between, but nowhere could he discover a flying house, until one day while lying on his back he looked up at the sky and spotted a brick manor floating overhead. But try as he might, he could not figure out how to reach the dwelling, and in frustration he beat his fists against a rock.
The chipmunk gave a chirp and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will show you how to enter the flying house.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and the creature told him to climb the highest oak in the adjacent forest. The prince obeyed, and sure enough, while he waited in the branches of the tree, the house sailed by. He lunged at the doorsill and managed to cling to it. With great exertion he pulled himself inside, only to face the fierce countenance of the satyr who lived inside.
“Well-well,” said the satyr. “An uncommon intruder! I praise your courage and physical prowess, but I cannot bid you ‘welcome,’ as no one is welcome in my abode. I will, however, grant you a single wish before I kill you.”
“In that case,” said the prince, “I wish to have the brocaded covers you wear on your hooves.”
“Oh, these old things?” the satyr laughed, displaying the relics proudly. “Is that all? Then I will redeem your wish, but only if you obtain for me the Arrow of Inconsequence, so that I may shoot you with it.”
“’Tis fair,” said the prince. “But where—”
“Tut-tut,” said the satyr. “Time for you to go.” And he pushed his visitor out of the house.
Fortunately for the prince, he landed on a hayrick and was not injured. But he remained perplexed—where would he find such a magical arrow?
Just then a knight rode by. “Hail to thee, friend,” the knight said. “What troubles you?”
The prince told the knight about the satyr’s request.
“O, la!” exclaimed the knight. “Such a minute matter! I shall help thee, for I know of a fletcher who deals in such enchanted armaments; yet before I assist thee, I must enlist thy support in my own quest.”
“To do what?” wondered the prince.
And the knight explained how he was under a curse and could not have a night’s rest unless he camped beneath the Awning of Lucidity.
“And it is after such a strange article that you go questing?” asked the prince.
“Heavens, no! I own the Awning already. But I cannot erect it without the Plexigallas Tent Pole, and that resides in the Contemptuous Cave, which is guarded by the Equally Contemptuous and Fearsome Dragon.”
“Naturally,” muttered the prince.
The knight on his steed with the prince walking alongside crossed rivers and rills, mountains and hills, until the two adventurers came to the mouth of a canyon. “Yonder up this canyon lies the lizard’s lair,” said the knight. “I must dismount and leave my horse here, for the mere odor of the dragon is likely to spook the bravest breed.”
Near the mouth of the canyon lived a wizardly hermit, and the knight placed his steed in this wise man’s care. The hermit advised: “Be you well-armed, I see; but the lurker in the cave is crafty. You may find these to be of some utility.” And he produced a rack of four vials, all identical.
“What are these?” asked the knight.
“Four potions of my own devising,” said the hermit. “They are: the Tonic That Giveth Great Stature, the Elixir of Incompetence, and the Aperitif of Immeasurable Sorrow.”
“And the fourth?”
“Plain water. I can sell you the lot for two gold pieces.”
The prince, who came well-endowed with coin, paid the price.
“How do I tell which potion is which?” asked the knight after the bargain had been struck.
“Alas,” replied the hermit, “I do not remember the order of the concoctions. Trust in your own judgment, and all will go well.”
The questing men bid the hermit farewell and proceed up the canyon on foot. After hours of marching—either few or many hours—they arrived a a huge opening in the canyon’s wall.
“Let us enter,” said the knight, and he fearlessly climbed into the cavern, followed by the prince. Inside, a terrible fetor corrupted their noses, and the knight said, “Undoubtedly this is an imposing beast I am about to confront. I must make use of the Tonic That Giveth Great Stature.” And without debate or a moment’s consideration, he drew a vial out of the rack, uncorked it, and downed its contents all at once.
Amazingly, he had chosen the correct vial, and within a minute he grew in size, at least ten times the measure of a normal man. But the cave was not that big, and its floor was strewn with garbage—part of the dragon’s hoard—and as a result, the knight stumbled and hit his head on a jagged part of the cavern’s ceiling. He collapsed to the floor and died.
Soon after the knight’s demise, a small creature—barely shinbone high—crept out of the debris and addressed the prince: “Why has your friend bumbled into my home and left his carcass here? I’m a very selective fellow, and there is nothing small and shiny about him. Nothing about him appeals to me.”
“Are you the Equally Contemptuous and Fearsome Dragon?” asked the prince in an incredulous tone.
“I suppose some call me that, but really, I am just an ordinary pack-dragon. I prefer compact, manageable, discarded or broken items, and your friend is anything but compact and manageable.”
“My apologies, dragon,” said the prince. “He was only seeking the Plexigallas Tent Pole.”
The dragon snorted in derision. “Why didn’t he just say so? There is the Pole over there in the corner. I have been trying to get rid of it for years. Long and bulky and unwieldy! Please, take the thing with you. And take the corpse as well.”
But the knight’s bloated body was too heavy for the prince to drag out of the cave, and so he left it behind. He picked up the Pole to use as a walking stick and departed, as the dragon railed against visitors and their messy ways.
The prince returned to the hermit’s abode in a dejected state. “My own quest is ended, too,” he moaned, “for I shall never find the fletcher with the Arrow of Inconsequence.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said the hermit. “Dealers in magical wares throughout these parts know Jimmy the Fletcher! He lives on the far side of the Untraversable Desert.”
“Why does that sound ominous?” wondered the prince.
“Some do have difficulties in its wastes,” the hermit elaborated. “But if you hold to a straight line, from rising sun to setting sun, you will survive the crossing.”
And so, riding atop the knight’s steed, and with the Plexigallas Tent Pole and the three remaining vials in his possession—not to mention the chipmunk in his pocket—the prince set his sights on the Desert.
After days or weeks or eons or no time at all, the prince encountered the Desert’s expanse around nightfall, and slept at its edge until the following dawn. Then—using the sun’s path across the sky as a guide—he attempted to cross the sandy wilderness. But when noon arrived, the prince became tormented by an exceptional thirst, and he was driven to drink the contents of one of the vials. Sadly, he erred in judgment, and consumed the Elixir of Incompetence instead of the water; from that moment on, he ambled aimlessly in all directions. The horse perished, and the prince had not long to live himself. Suddenly, a shrill voice sirened to him from a nearby jumble of boulders. It belonged to a maiden, and with great effort the prince crawled to her side. The maiden, who had been stranded there by a genie, said to him: “Oh sir! We are both in dire need! I am parched and you are parched, and the sands surrounding us are parched. Is there no rescue?”
“There is one chance,” gasped the prince. “One of these vials contains water, and the other a dolorous potion. Pick one, and I will partake of the other. At least one of us may survive a day longer.”
So the maiden plucked up one vial, and the prince took the other, and they drank. As fate would have it, the prince’s vial contained the water, and the maiden swallowed the Aperitif of Immeasurable Sorrow, whereupon she began to cry . . . and cry and cry, her tears spilling down her cheeks and across the boulders and soaking into the ground beneath, until the entire desert filled up with her salty effusion and turned into a lake. Alas, the maiden herself was spent by her weeping, and all that was left of her in the end was a wispy veil.
The prince waded across the shallow lake to the far shore, and came upon the village where Jimmy the Fletcher lived. He greeted the crafter and explained his plight. And the fletcher said: “Here is the shaft for the Arrow of Inconsequence, but it will not be complete until it is fitted with four fogfish fins, and I have not seen such a commodity in ages.”
“And where would one find fogfish?” the prince asked wearily.
“Swimming in the Sea of Perpetual Fog,” said the fletcher.
“How far is that?”
“Just on the other side of that rise.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the prince with renewed zeal, “then I will hie myself over yon rise and obtain those fins, you can be sure.”
“Bring them to me,” said the fletcher, “and I will attach them to the shaft for a small fee.”
So the prince—treading on a straight path or a winding path, along a dusty route or mucky route—wound up on a beach bordering the Sea of Perpetual Fog; and indeed, the fog curled and swirled in dense banks right above the water. On the shore was a boat fashioned from the heart of an oilwood tree and very buoyant, but no oars. The prince plopped himself down on the pebbled beach and yet again lost hope, for there was no way to propel the boat once away from shore, and the waters were deep.
As before, chipmunk stirred and said, “Feed me a nut, and I will instruct you.”
The prince fed the chipmunk, and the furry rodent directed the prince to insert the Plexigallas Tent Pole into a hole in the boat’s center thwart, thus transforming the Pole into a mast. He then told the prince to tie the maiden‘s veil to the Pole’s upper extremity; the veil became a sail. Soon a light breeze came by and pushed the boat into the Sea.
The prince tugged at a loose thread on the hem of his tunic and gathered a length sufficient to use as a fishing line; he then secured a worm that he had found on shore to the line and dropped it over the side. He waited and waited, but not one fish of any kind nibbled at his bait. After many hours or a few hours, the boat drew up at a dock on the far side of the Sea, for it had been enchanted to berth there.
The dock extended out from a small village on the outskirts of Elf-land; one of the town elders emerged to greet the prince. When he learned of the prince’s difficulties, the elf-elder imparted special knowledge to assist him.
“The first secret you must learn to successfully catch a fogfish,” the elder said, “is that they are very alert beings, and can sense a threat from a mortal like you.”
“What may I do to overcome this obstacle?” asked the prince.
“Within our community bathhouse,” the elder answered, pointing to a nearby structure, “you will find bars of Sneaky Soap. Take one of these on your next trip onto the Sea, and lather yourself up vigorously, until you are encompassed by a single bubble—a Soap Bubble of Stealth—which will shield your mortal stench from the fish. All I ask is that your return the bar to the bathhouse after you are done.”
“That seems easy,” said the prince. “What else?”
“Second, you must employ the right kind of bait.” At this point, the elder lowered his voice and whispered something into the prince’s ear. The prince looked dismayed, but only for a moment, for he recovered and said, “It is a small sacrifice, but it must be made, so close am I to my goal.”
Subsequently, the prince borrowed a bar of sneaky soap and pushed off from the dock. Once he arrived in the middle of the water, he extracted the chipmunk from his pocket and said, “O little friend, we have journeyed far together, but now we must part.” Before the chipmunk could respond, the prince slit the animal’s throat and cut its body into four chunks. He then lathered up the soap until a single bubble surrounded him head to toe, tied a lump of dead chipmunk to the line, and lobbed it over the side. Almost immediately he felt a jerk on the line, and he dragged out of the water a small blue and gold fish with an iridescent fin. He repeated these steps four times, and in short order had the four fogfish he required.
One of the four fogfish began to plead for its life, but the prince would have no more delays or diversions, and he smacked the fish against the Pole until it fell silent.
The prince returned the soap to the bathhouse and was about to leave Elf-land, when an old elf woodworker ran up to him and said, “Before you leave, I wonder if you might like to make a trade.”
“What sort of trade?” inquired the prince.
“I would love to own the rod that you brought with you,” said the elf. “It catches the light brilliantly and will serve as an excellent maypole for our next spring festival. In return, I will give you this sturdy staff that I have carved myself. It will make a much more practical walking stick than that shaft.”
“Well—”
“And to sweeten the deal, I will throw in this Dancing Stool.” The woodworker whistled, and a three-legged stool ran onto the dock and began to execute a caper.
“All right, all right,” said the prince. “I suppose this staff will make as good a mast as the Pole, and although I know of no use for a Dancing Stool, perhaps it will come in handy.”
And so the prince left the Plexigallas Tent Pole with the elves and sailed across the Sea of Perpetual Fog one last time; all the while, the Dancing Stool continued to dance. He bestowed the fogfish fins on Jimmy the Fletcher, who fitted them into the Arrow of Inconsequence for the price of three gold pieces. The Dancing Stool never stood still. With considerable effort the prince crossed the Untraversable Desert; by this time, the maiden’s tears had drained away and the Desert’s surface had turned into mud. The Dancing Stool continued to dance. The prince passed by the hermit’s abode without stopping to say hello. He found the tall oak tree and—abandoning the Stool at the base—climbed up and waited for the flying house to glide by. He latched onto the doorsill again, and was pulled in by the satyr himself.
“Ah, the Arrow of Inconsequence!” the satyr jubilated. “Now remind me what I promised in exchange?”
“Those hoof covers,” the prince sighed impatiently.
“I’m afraid I must emend the terms of our agreement,” said the wily satyr. “In addition to this arrow, I demand that you bring to me—”
But the prince had heard enough. He was tired and cranky and fed up with endless errands. He was also irritated by the Dancing Stool’s incessant antics thus far in their travels. He swung at the satyr with the carved staff and stunned the beast long enough to purloin the Brocaded Hoof Covers. As he jumped from the house, the satyr recovered enough to grab his bow and shoot the Arrow of Inconsequence at the fleeing prince; true to its name, the Arrow grazed the prince’s garments and produced no lasting damage.
This time, the prince did not land on a hayrick; rather, he fell into a thicket and was lucky not to have broken any bones. The Stool scampered up and jigged at him.
The prince located the pegasus and swapped the Covers for a single feather. He then sought out the Musical Agrarians, but they reneged.
“Growing season is over,” they said. “And we don’t intend to plant any more Stringed Beans—they don’t do well in this climate.”
The prince went berserk and cudgeled all the farmers while the Dancing Stool dithered around. The prince picked up the Harp That Is Also a Plow and headed home.
But the prince had been gone for such a long, long time, that in his absence both his father and the king of the neighboring kingdom had died. Moreover, the princess had married the elder son, who now ruled the unified lands.
“I’m sorry, Brother, but no one here has any use for a harping plow. Your dancing chair is amusing, though.”
“What about my reward?” growled the prince as he grew hot.
“What’s the point of handing out rewards for irrelevant services? What’s more, my advisors tell me your presence is a risk to my sovereignty, so get packing, you and your quaint piece of animated furniture.”
The prince could not argue with his brother, for the latter had guards and armed soldiers to back him up. With great reluctance, and after killing a few peasants out of vexation, he took to the road once more, with only the useless Dancing Stool as a companion.
The Moral: Don’t waste your life doing someone else’s dirty work.