I'll find the castle whenit springs from the ground, or falls from the sky, or materializes out of thin air. Or when it turns up on the horizon.
The weather is exciting: wind and dark clouds up close; thunder, lightning, and rain in the distance. But the Plains of Ich are a mere flat infinity of waving grass, an unbroken disc of green stretching to all horizons, a front lawn for Insurance Nation. At this point I'd welcome the sight of a pile of dog poop just to break the tedium. I feel like an ant in the Astrodome.
We fly on. And on. I turn left, and left again. The horizon doesn't change. And then it does. I slow down and squint.
The deep purple clouds overhead part for an instant, so that a single shaft of light can drop like a fly ball into the middle of the landscape. It looks adventitious. At least, I think it does. Maybe I mean advantageous. Or truculent. I've never been sure what truculent means, but it sounds great. * Anyway, what I'm saying is that I notice this pop fly of light not only for its truculentness, but also because it glints off of something.
“Hey, Norbert!” I say, pointing.
There it is again. Another glint. I alter my course, shifting Barnaby under my left arm like a football. He's not much bigger than a football anyway. With difficulty, I drawmy new sword. I don't want to be caught by surprise. The weapon feels warm and alive in my hand.
“Look ahead, Norbert. Tell me what you see.”
He frowns, pauses.
– I see a settled land, under a strong king. I see a beautiful youth with a secret sorrow. I see children playing in a golden afternoon. I see treachery and murder, and the land in ruins. Then, for some reason, I see a tennis racket, and the six of clubs.
“Very funny,” I say. “What I meant was, do you see the knights up ahead? The sun glinted on their armor a minute ago.”
–
Yes, Dingwall. They're sitting down at a picnic table, eating and drinking. Their hair is the color of straw, and their mustaches fly in the wind like banners. There's a lake behind them.
My mouth fills with water at the thought of food. “Do you think they'd let us eat something too?”
–
There's enough on the table for an army! Anyway, they have no weapons that I can see. And they're waving at us.
By the time we get there they are on their feet, waving and calling cheerful greetings. As Norbert said, they have blonde hair and enormous mustaches.
I stop worrying. These guys are obviously friendly. And they're real people, not proteors. I put away my sword as they crowd around me. They're not too much smaller than I am. For Jupiter, they're pretty big.
“Pleased to meet you, flying travelers,” calls the biggest knight, in a voice of brass. He comes up to my chin.“We've been expecting you. My name is Mount, and I am a knight of Ich.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sir Mount,” I say, bowing clumsily. “My name is Dingwall and I come from Earth. These are my friends: Prince Norbert of Betunkaville, and Barnaby, a rocking horse.”
Sir Mount salutes Norbert and strokes Barnaby's head. He introduces the other knights, who turn out to be his brothers. Their names are Vey, Mise, and Prise. Mise and Prise are twins.
“How do you do,” I say. “Sir Vey, Sir Mise, Sir Prise.” Vey has bulbous staring eyes, Mise has a long thin nose that crooks a little to the side, Prise has tufted eyebrows that point up all the time. They say they're pleased to meet me. They have English accents, like all the knights I've ever seen or heard of. They say “what” a lot, even when it doesn't mean anything. Kind of the way I say “kind of.”
“Sit down, what?” says Sir Prise. “You must be hungry.”
“Yes, yes,” says Sir Mise. “When I was a boy, I was always hungry. Still am, what?” with a laugh.
“What what?” say the others.
It's hard to take them seriously. Remember the uncle who used to throw you into the air when you were a kid? Who jumped into the pool with a loud splash, so that your mom
The weather is exciting: wind and dark clouds up close; thunder, lightning, and rain in the distance. But the Plains of Ich are a mere flat infinity of waving grass, an unbroken disc of green stretching to all horizons, a front lawn for Insurance Nation. At this point I'd welcome the sight of a pile of dog poop just to break the tedium. I feel like an ant in the Astrodome.
We fly on. And on. I turn left, and left again. The horizon doesn't change. And then it does. I slow down and squint.
The deep purple clouds overhead part for an instant, so that a single shaft of light can drop like a fly ball into the middle of the landscape. It looks adventitious. At least, I think it does. Maybe I mean advantageous. Or truculent. I've never been sure what truculent means, but it sounds great. * Anyway, what I'm saying is that I notice this pop fly of light not only for its truculentness, but also because it glints off of something.
“Hey, Norbert!” I say, pointing.
There it is again. Another glint. I alter my course, shifting Barnaby under my left arm like a football. He's not much bigger than a football anyway. With difficulty, I drawmy new sword. I don't want to be caught by surprise. The weapon feels warm and alive in my hand.
“Look ahead, Norbert. Tell me what you see.”
He frowns, pauses.
– I see a settled land, under a strong king. I see a beautiful youth with a secret sorrow. I see children playing in a golden afternoon. I see treachery and murder, and the land in ruins. Then, for some reason, I see a tennis racket, and the six of clubs.
“Very funny,” I say. “What I meant was, do you see the knights up ahead? The sun glinted on their armor a minute ago.”
–
Yes, Dingwall. They're sitting down at a picnic table, eating and drinking. Their hair is the color of straw, and their mustaches fly in the wind like banners. There's a lake behind them.
My mouth fills with water at the thought of food. “Do you think they'd let us eat something too?”
–
There's enough on the table for an army! Anyway, they have no weapons that I can see. And they're waving at us.
By the time we get there they are on their feet, waving and calling cheerful greetings. As Norbert said, they have blonde hair and enormous mustaches.
I stop worrying. These guys are obviously friendly. And they're real people, not proteors. I put away my sword as they crowd around me. They're not too much smaller than I am. For Jupiter, they're pretty big.
“Pleased to meet you, flying travelers,” calls the biggest knight, in a voice of brass. He comes up to my chin.“We've been expecting you. My name is Mount, and I am a knight of Ich.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sir Mount,” I say, bowing clumsily. “My name is Dingwall and I come from Earth. These are my friends: Prince Norbert of Betunkaville, and Barnaby, a rocking horse.”
Sir Mount salutes Norbert and strokes Barnaby's head. He introduces the other knights, who turn out to be his brothers. Their names are Vey, Mise, and Prise. Mise and Prise are twins.
“How do you do,” I say. “Sir Vey, Sir Mise, Sir Prise.” Vey has bulbous staring eyes, Mise has a long thin nose that crooks a little to the side, Prise has tufted eyebrows that point up all the time. They say they're pleased to meet me. They have English accents, like all the knights I've ever seen or heard of. They say “what” a lot, even when it doesn't mean anything. Kind of the way I say “kind of.”
“Sit down, what?” says Sir Prise. “You must be hungry.”
“Yes, yes,” says Sir Mise. “When I was a boy, I was always hungry. Still am, what?” with a laugh.
“What what?” say the others.
It's hard to take them seriously. Remember the uncle who used to throw you into the air when you were a kid? Who jumped into the pool with a loud splash, so that your mom
Similar Books
