the road to the wicked city - 19. the rider's dream, continued

by jeremy witherington

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looking out of the single small window in his room above the stables when he saw a lone rider appear out of the darkness… the rider/prince/stable boy immediately headed for the stairs and was already down in the stable when he heard mary magdalen calling… “clod! clod! you lazy little bastard, where are you!” clod was the name the rider was called by in the inn, “i am right here, mistress.” “right here! why are you right here?” mary magdalen held her lantern up and gazed at the stable boy with her dark eyes. “are you reading the future again? practicing the dark arts up there on your bed if straw? there is a rider coming up the road, be here to greet him.” “yes,,mistress, i know.” “you know! how did you know? “i was looking out the window.” “a likely story. why were you not getting your sleep? we have a busy day tomorrow, even without this new guest.” “i could not sleep.” “bah!” mary magdalen came closer and aimed a kick at the boy but he danced away from it. suddenly st christopher appeared behind his wife. “what is going on here? leave the boy alone, and get back yourself and prepare for this guest.” with a last baleful glance at the stable boy, mary magdalen departed. “wake paracelsus up,” st christopher told the boy. “he is probably dead drunk, as usual. and prepare for this new guest, who may be robin hood.” “or he may be the sheriff of nottingham, or the emperor constantine,” said the boy. “indeed, he might. but treat all guests with the same respect. “ “yes, master, i know.” “and no politics! no politics in my inn! but you are a good boy, you know that.” and with that mild admomition, the saint departed, and the boy went in search of paracelsus in the dark recesses of the stable. paracelsus was the ostler. he was often incapacitated by drink, and the boy did most of the work in the stables. paracelsus had a small demon growing out of the back of his head. eventually the demon, when fully grown, would fly away and leave paracelsus to his own brain and thoughts. but now, as the stable boy attempted to rouse the ostler, the demon stared malevolently at him. “paracelsus, wake up!” the ostler awoke with surprising suddenness and looked up at the boy. “where am i?” he asked. “wait - i remember. but i had the strangest dream. let me tell you about it -“ “and i have a tale to tell,” squeaked the demon, from the back of the ostler’s head. “the dream and the tale will both have to wait.,” said the boy, “a lone traveler will shortly be here.” he pulled the ostler to his feet. “i will greet him, along with the master. just be on your feet and ready to help me when i bring his horse in, can you do that?’ “i can do that,” paracelsus mumbled. “who is this traveler?” “he may be robin hood, or he may be the sheriff of nottingham.” “or he may be john the baptist,” replied the ostler. “or even cyrus the great.” “whoever he may be, i hear his horse’s hooves now. i leave you. be ready!” the boy got outside just in time to be standing beside st christopher as the traveler rode up. the traveler dismounted and the boy took the horse’s reins that were tossed to him. the traveler towered above both the saint and the boy. his face was hidden by the brim of his long hat. “greetings, sir,” the saint intoned. “and who might you be, if i may presume to ask?” “i have many names,” the traveler replied, “but you can call me - the stranger.” the stranger! “welcome, stranger,” st christopher said. “and if you have a tale to tell, we will be happy to listen.” 20. the flowerseller's dream, continued

the road to the wicked city - 18. the rider's dream

by jeremy witherington

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the self proclaimed prince spread his wet cloak out in front of the meager kitchen fire. he took his hat off and took a small sword, little more than a knife, off his belt and placed them both on the table in front of him. without his heavy cloak and wide hat he was a much less imposing figure, almost scrawny looking. despite his starved appearance, he wrinkled his nose at the steaming broth zucky ladled out in front of him. “it’s not much, master, but it is what we will be having ourselves”, zucky told him, taking a bit of pity on him as he beheld the loathsome concoction. “and i thank you for it,” he managed to reply. alexa took a seat across from the prince, and zucky filled her bowl . zucky filled a bowl for herself and took a seat on the prince’s right, facing the fire. “you will excuse us, my friend, if we eat with some haste,” said alexa. “but we want to get out and salvage what we can from your horse, before any - rivals - get there. rivals from the skies and the swamp, “she added,” no humans that we know of.” “you are welcome to accompany us,” zucky added, “if the prospect of butchering the faithful beast does not distress you unduly.” “of course you can stay here and dry out,” alexa said. “if you wish.” the prince nodded, after managing to swallow a mouthful of the slimy broth. “i think i will do that” he said. “i think i will go upstairs and pay my respects to your invalid - the dragon. it seems the polite thing to do.” “suit yourself,” zucky told him, “you are not likely to find him very communicative.” “you can find your own way,” alexa added. “trust us, he is beyond the niceties, and will not know a proper introduction if we were to make one.” with that the trio fell silent, with the prince sipping hesitantly from his bowl and the two girls attacking theirs with gusto. * when the girls had bundled themselves up on heavy rags, and left the house armed with a couple of wooden buckets and two fearful butcher knives, the prince found himself alone. what i would give for a glass of wine, he thought, but the girls had not mentioned wine, and he had thought it rude to ask. perhaps when they returned, he might find a way to broach the subject. he got up from the kitchen table and went in search of the dragon. when he got upstairs to the ground floor, he suddenly felt an overpowering tiredness. i will just sit down for a minute, he thought, if i can find a comfortable chair. he found himself in the library. he found a wide chair, not quite a sofa, and collapsing into it, fell fast asleep… the deck of cards alexa had given zucky was on a small table in front of the chair, but he did notice it. * he dreamed, as he often did, that he was a stable boy at an inn, on a long dark road in the middle of nowhere. st christopher, who had retired from his occupation as a ferryman, was the innkeeper. mary magdalen, still a beauty, though a shrew, was the saint's wife. he, the prince, was looking out of the single small window in his room above the stables when he saw a lone rider appear out of the darkness… 19. the rider's dream, continued

the road to the wicked city - 17. the dragon

by jeremy witherington

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“lonely and desolate as the place is, some trace of civilization must remain?” zucky stared up at the “lone rider”. finally she said, “you can come down and sit by the fire in the kitchen. but you have to let us go out and get the meat off your horse.” the rider laughed. “that does not sound too hard a bargain. but who is this ‘us’ you refer to?” “my sister and myself.” “ah - a sister! you are an ugly little thing. is your sister as ugly as you?” “oh no, master, she is as beautiful as i am ugly,” zucky replied, looking straight into the rider’s eyes. “ha, ha! you do not say so. then perhaps this adventure may not end so badly after all. and does this splendid establishment house any other inhabitants?” “only the dragon upstairs, the one who has kidnapped us, and requires us to wait on him night and day,” “oh ho!” the rider seemed at first put out, and then amused by this. “then he must be the master of the house! i presume he does not spend his days sitting by a kitchen fire. present me to him if you please.” zucky shrugged. “i will ‘present you to him’ as you put it, if you insist. but he spends his days in a sickbed, having been greatly weakened by a curse put on him, and is barely coherent at the best of times.” “but in that case,” the rider began - “but - who is this?” alexa, curious as to why zucky had not joined her in the kitchen, had reascended the stairs and now stood behind her facing the traveler. “you must be the beautiful sister!” exclaimed the rider, with a gallant flourishing bow. “in my travels, i am often promised the sight of wonders, but never have i seen the promise so happily kept. you are indeed the most ravishing creature i have ever met!” “that is all very well,” replied alexa, “but who are you and what are you doing here?” “he is a vagabond, no doubt some sort of brigand,” zucky said, “and he rode his horse to death in the storm.” the rider ignored zucky and addressed alexa. “i beg your pardon, but i am prince rabon, lawful heir to the lost kingdom of abazon, and besides being a weary traveler seeking shelter from the storm, i am also an experienced swordsman willing to slay a dragon, one of which, i am told, inconveniences your uniquely lovely self.” “he didn’t say anything to me about slaying the dragon,” said zucky. “the dragon can’t be killed,” alexa told the rider. “if he could, we would have tried it ourselves.” “and why, if i may ask, can he not be killed.” “because if you try to kill a dragon , the world will disappear. everybody knows that.” “i did not know that,” replied the rider. “in any event, i am willing to make the attempt, for this world is not worth living in, my lady, if i can not serve you.” “you wish to serve me, do you?” asked alexa, with the hint of a not very warm smile. “i do indeed!” “and who did you say you were ?” “i am prince rabon, lawful heir of the lost kingdom of abazon, at your service.” “and is anybody going to find the lost kingdom any time soon?” alexa asked. “at least he said the same thing twice,” said zucky. “look here, why don’t you come down to the kitchen with us, take off your wet cloak and hat, and have some soup. and we can continue this interesting discussion.” 18. the rider's dream

the road to the wicked city - 16. the rider

by jeremy witherington

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outside the wind stopped whistling, and began to howl. as alexa and zucky reached the door to the kitchen stairs, suddenly they heard what sounded like a furious pounding on the front door. “what is that?” zucky asked. “just the wind,” alexa shrugged. “i think it’s a little more than the wind,” said zucky, as the banging continued. ”the wind picked up some big hollow log, and is banging it against the door.” “as regular as that?” zucky persisted. “sure, every time it starts to roll away, the wind blows it back. elementary, my dear.” then they heard what sounded like a voice! “did you hear that?” zucky asked. “it is just some animal trapped in the log - a monkey or a raccoon or something,” alexa replied. “do you know what i am going to do?” asked zucky. “no, what are you going to do?” “i am going to go open the door and see what is out there.” “really? well, wait please, until i am on the other side of this door, because i don’t want a monsoon washing over me.” and with that, alexa opened the door to the kitchen stairs, entered it, and quickly closed it behind her. “scaredy cat!” zucky called after her, and then made her way across the “front parlor” to the big front door. as she did the voice - definitely a human voice - got louder but she could still not make out any words. zucky pulled at the door handle. it did not give right away - the girls hardly ever used it but exited and entered the house by the back door closer to the kitchen. she pulled harder and the door flew open, followed by a blast of wind and rain that knocked her on her back. as she struggled to get up she saw a tall figure standing over her. its body was covered by a long black cloak and its face by a wide brimmed black hat, both streaming rain. “who might you be?” zucky gasped through the water in her face. the figure did not answer, but with a flick of its wrist sent the heavy door crashing closed behind it. “i could ask you the same.” it answered zucky in a deep voice. “do you need some assistance getting up? you do not look very comfortable lying there like a wet sack of oats.” zucky pushed herself to her feet. “i asked you first.” “i am a weary traveler,” answered the man, pushing his hat back to reveal a long dark face, “seeking shelter from the storm.” he smiled, showing fierce white teeth. “obviously.” “are you alone?” zucky asked. “yes, i am alone.” “do you have a horse?” the man shook his head. “i did, but he gave out about a mile back, at the edge of the swamp. zucky stared at the man, “and you just left him there?” “yes, i left him there. should i have carried him?” “is he still there?” “i don’t know. i don’t know how much the vultures mind the rain. why are you so interested in my poor horse?” “that’s a lot of good meat you left back there, master. we could use it here for our soup.” the man laughed, really laughed, showing zucky his white teeth. “well, this is a fine welcome for a gentleman and a lonely traveler! i seek shelter and hospitality and all you want is to eat my horse! not exactly the most elegant reception i have ever received.” “you won’t find much elegance here, master,” zucky replied evenly. “none at all, in fact.” the lone traveler looked around the gloomy and dusty front parlor. “but surely you will not deny me all hospitality? lonely and desolate as the place is, some trace of civilization must remain?” zucky considered her reply. the rain beat harder on the windows. 17. the dragon

the road to the wicked city - 15. kobra's tale, continued

by jeremy witherington

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in time, kobra continued, the crone, whose name was yima, became a great friend to me and a loyal follower, to whom i owe much. in fact, when the revolution triumphs i plan to make her minister of information or perhaps minister of education. for kobra remembers and will reward his friends, as surely as he remembers and will destroy his enemies. at this the bandit took another gulp of his brew, and gazed fixedly at the innkeeper over the top of his foaming mug. where was i? at my first encounter with yima, when she evinced some amusement at my request for books on theology. despite the humor she found in the situation, she was agreeable enough to get up from her comfortable chair and find me some weighty tomes , explaining to me as she did so that as the library had no books in the subject written expressly for the young, i would have to make do with those written for scholars and enthusiasts. i was amenable to this, and accepted the books she found for me with as much grace as my undiplomatic young self was capable. the books astonished me. no doubt my destiny would have unfolded in any case, as it is written in the stars, but they were the first hints i had of a world other than that described in the pieties and tales of my mother and my schoolteachers. at this kobra paused, and the innkeeper began to hope that he would lapse into reverie and silence, as he often did, and that he, the innkeeper, might be released to return to his bed. but the bandit continued. i had, of course, assumed that “theology” applied to the church of my mother and her ancestors, so what was my bewilderment and astonishment at being introduced to the entirely different views of the cosmos of the great ozymandian sage barkus, and the even greater tamerlanian philosopher mardo. the writings of barkus and mardo, as well as some of their cohorts and explicators, opened my eyes to the great struggle unfolding in the universe - the great cosmic war and struggle which will culminate with the arrival of the great hero who will bring the war, and history, to a close. the hero who is, of course, none other than myself - kobra! and the bandit again stared at the innkeeper as if daring him to even hint at questioning or contradicting him. the innkeeper had no thought of doing any such thing, but smiled and urged kobra to continue his fascinating account of himself. but the innkeeper did wonder, as he often had before, at exactly what kobra’s game was, and why he continued to arrive at the inn at all hours of the night, even when, as tonight, he did not seem to have any particular favor to ask, or task for the innkeeper to perform. when kobra had first introduced himself to the inn, and continued to return to it, the innkeeper had supposed that he had the same object in mind as so many other wayfarers who passed through - the innkeeper’s beautiful daughter. the same daughter who had so entranced the four travelers introduced at the beginning of our story, that they had resolved to fight to the death for her favors on the coming morn. the same daughter who was even then regaling the poor fool, one of the four original aspirants, with her own tale… 16. the rider

the road to the wicked city - 14. kobra's tale

by jeremy witherington

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the innkeeper knew from experience that kobra could often be impatient and peremptory, but could also, when the mood took him, be talkative and desirous of an audience, and that when he was, there was no hurrying or abandoning him. kobra had told the innkeeper many tales of his life, a number of them seeming to conflict with each other. now he launched on another version. you may wonder , my friend, how i came to this pass - the most wanted man in the empire, but at the same time, one with that empire almost within his grasp! it all began, as so many tales do, with a woman - in this case, my mother. i had a brother and five sisters. my mother had little time for, or interest in the sisters, except to try to get them married, and they need not concern us here. for my brother snd myself she had great hopes and dreams. my brother was some years older than i. older than the five girls, where i was younger than all but one of them. he was strong, and i was weak. mother wanted both he and i to be great champions of the church. andrew, like his namesake, was to be a great missionary and go forth to convert great legions of the heathen. although i do not think mother had any clear idea of who the “heathen” were. the natives of distant lands, who lived in tents and caves and grass huts? or the godless and godforsaken masses of the great modern cities, huddled in their taverns and opium dens and flophouses? i was a walk and sickly child, not given to the rough games and pastimes of youth, and mother’s plan for me was to embrace a profession whose very existence has been largely forgotten in today’s world - that of a theologian. mother herself had only the most obscure idea of what a theologian was, except that she wished me to obtain glory by becoming one. we lived in the great capital, in humble though far from wretched surroundings, in the narrow streets surrounding many of the great old churches and cathedrals, as well as the buildings housing the rabbit warrens of the new imperial bureaucracy. the great imperial library, already falling into neglect and disuse even then, was located only a few streets away, and as a child i frequented it, especially on winter days, when it provided some warmth, and in the heat of summer, when shade could be found in its cavernous depths. of course most of the ancient manuscripts and handwritten books were kept out of the reach of the ordinary patrons, let alone to a child, but newer and humbler productions were available to all who entered, under the indifferent eyes of the librarians, who all seemed to be dozing behind their desks. books could be taken from the shelves and read at long wooden tables. i preferred books with brightly colored pictures, and was largely indifferent to the words in them. but one winter day, my mind wandered to mother’s repeated injunctions that i should become a theologian, and on an impulse i decided to ask one of the elderly librarians if they had any books on the subject of theology. the ancient crone i approached seemed at first perplexed, then amused, by my request. “we get few requests for that subject, young man, and i do not ever recall one from so young as yourself,” she smiled at me. i was a little nettled at her attitude, for although it was meant kindly enough, i have never been able to bear being laughed at, even in the slightest degree. but look here, innkeeper, fill my glass if you please, and your own as well. the innkeeper, who had been keeping his eyes open with difficulty during this long preamble - though the bandit’s reminder that he “had never been able to bear being laughed at” had aroused a measure of alertness - sprang to his task. 15. kobra's tale, continued

the road to the wicked city - 13. the princess

by jeremy witherington

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"help me… help me… “ what had at first sounded like a scratching at the little door was now a more distinct pounding. the flowerseller’s only thought was that he did not want kobra to return, for any reason, and have himself, the flowerseller, brought back into his field of vision… did he have time to reach the stairs and get safely up them before kobra and the innkeeper heard the cries and pounding and returned? the flowerseller sprang to the door and turned the handle. the door did not open right away but with a jerk he got it open. a gust of wind and rain hit him in the face, and a body brushed by him before he could focus his eyes on it. but he knew immediately that the body belonged to a beautiful young woman. “close the door - quickly!” the beautiful young woman whispered, and he obeyed. “you must help me,” she hissed, and dragged him into the shadow beneath the stairs. too bewildered to speak, he listened as she went on, “do you know who kobra is - the bandit?” “why, yes,” stammered the flowerseller - “keep your voice down!” “i have just seen him,” the flowerseller continued in a lower voice, “he is in the front of the inn, with the landlord - “ “here - now? kobra is here?” the young woman’s eyes widened, and they burned into the flowerseller’s, through the strands of wet hair that lingered on her face. “yes, i saw - and spoke to him not a minute ago.” “ah - he is ahead of me!” the young woman glanced back toward the front of the inn. “now you must help me more than ever! i am a princess - “ “and a most beautiful one,” the flowerseller interjected gallantly. “the most beautiful i have ever seen.” “thank you, kind sir, but as i say, i am a princess, come to claim my kingdom both from the wretched usurpers who violate it now, and from the threat of the even more wretched followers of kobra - “ seeing the terrified glances the flowerseller continued to cast toward the front of the inn, the self-styled princess paused and then continued - “but perhaps we can discuss these matters in some safer and better lit venue. you have a room here in the inn, sir?’ “yes, i do.” “then lead me to it,” the princess commanded. “but the landlord - i am not sure -“ “you are not dealing with the landlord, you are dealing with me. you were courtier enough to pay me a compliment, now show yourself champion enough to help me!” struck dumb, the flowerseller began to climb the stairs as rapidly as he could. he could hear his own heart beating , and the dripping of water from the princess’s clothes on the steps behind him… the wind flared up again, and rain beat against the walls as they climbed the staircase. the light was still showing underneath the door to the fool’s chamber when they reached the landing. the princess followed the flowerseller into his room, and he closed the door behind them. the princess shook some water off herself, took her hat off and threw it in the bed, and sat down in the one chair. “now, sir, you shall be privileged to hear my story. it is a long one, and a sad one…” 14. kobra's tale