The King of the Hummingbirds by John Gardner Page B

just as he’d chased off a hundred before him. And so the eldest son failed and was humiliated and left his equipment there and never again dared show his face in public. Then it was the second eldest’s turn.
    The second eldest had a different virtue. He always did everything in style, for, as he sometimes explained, “People don’t remember a man so much for what he does. They remember him for the flourish with which he does it.” (Which is true.) So the first thing the second eldest did was tie his majestic white horse to a tree, and the second thing he did was cover the garden gate with orchids. Then, calling, “Stand back, princess!” he picked up a huge golden battering ram and began to hurl himself at the gate. But halfway there he changed his mind, for the orchids had attracted the attention of the bears and two of them were coming straight at him, and it wasn’t worth the candle. So the second son failed as the first had failed, and he left his equipment and dropped out of public view.
    â€œRuined!” said the coppersmith.
    â€œThere’s still Olaf,” said his wife.
    The coppersmith scoffed, having no respect for his wife’s opinions; but then, on second thought, he told Olaf to go over to the castle and work on that gate.
    â€œYes sir,” Olaf said, understanding how his mother and father felt and seeing that whichever way he turned his case was hopeless. Nevertheless he combed his hair, and his mother packed him a lunch, and, followed by his ants, mice, owls, and wolves, he set out. Part way to the castle he met the band of huge, burly thieves he’d done a favor once, and since he had no plan worked out yet and knew that sometimes a man could use helpers, he asked if they’d go to the castle with him, and for old times’ sake they said yes.
    When they’d gone a little ways, they met the king’s sheriff, who’d been after that band of huge, burly thieves for years, and Olaf asked timidly, “Could I borrow your horse, sheriff?” For the sheriff was his friend, and he didn’t want to be tired and sweaty when he broke down the garden gate and rescued the princess, in case he should.
    â€œWell, all right,” said the sheriff, because Olaf was his friend and because it would be handy, he thought, to know exactly where those thieves were. The sheriff got down and walked with the thieves, and Olaf rode ahead on the palomino.
    They went a little farther and they met the village mayor, who had been trying for years to get in good with the sheriff for political reasons. When Olaf saw the mayor in all his finery, he said, “Excuse me, mayor. Could I possibly borrow your coat and hat so I don’t look like a common peasant when I rescue the princess, in case I do?”
    â€œWell,” the mayor said, liking young Olaf and thinking an act of kindness might impress the sheriff, “all right, if you really need them.” So Olaf put them on, and the village mayor came walking along behind him with the sheriff and the others until they came to the front of the castle, where the king was playing quoits.
    â€œSir,” said Olaf apologetically, understanding exactly how the king must feel, interrupted at his game, “my friends and I have come to try to rescue the princess.”
    The king put on his glasses and stood dangling his quoits. “And who the devil are you ?” he said.
    Olaf said, “I’m Olaf, king of the hummingbirds.”
    â€œHah!” said the king. He tapped his chin. Then, tossing his quoits away and signaling to his knights and servants, as well as to the coppersmith and Olaf’s mother, who’d decided to come watch, the king said grimly, “ This I have got to see.” And they all went to the gate that wouldn’t open.
    The situation was more hopeless than ever, and everyone knew it, even (in a dim way) the coppersmith’s son Olaf. The thorn inside the lock was