180. The Man Without a Sack

 

180. The Man Without a Sack

At the party held in honour of Don Alonso on Book Day, Uncle Gen and I each read a chapter of Don Quijote and did it very clearly and sonorously, I think. Everyone clapped enthusiastically when we were done and I don’t think they were just being polite. Or rude either. While Doña Estrella was serving refreshments, Uncle Gen drew Michael aside and asked him where he could find the Puca Garth. Michael is Garth’s favorite cousin and he was able to tell Gen exactly under which bridge Garth would be lurking in the afternoon of  the next day. Michael offered to accompany Gen, but my uncle would not allow it. If things should go badly, he didn’t want Michael’s relationship with Garth to suffer for it. Michael was probably the one friend Garth had, and Uncle Gen thought a friendless Garth would be an even more bitter, sullen and bearish spirit than he already was. Uncle Gen said I couldn’t accompany him either. There was no telling how Garth would react when Gen approached him about Alpin and he didn’t want me to run risks.

Michael then offered to meet Uncle Gen at the Rock of Hope, a spot in Minced Forest that was close to a crossroads near the bridge. He would also wait there until Uncle Gen’s business with Garth was done. Should Uncle Gen not return as expected from this meeting, Michael would try to find out what had happened to him and tell my father. Uncle Gen made light of the affair and said blood wouldn’t flow to the river even if it happened to be right below the said bridge. He was grateful for the offer, but Michael needn’t feel so concerned.

I had heard where Uncle Gen would be before he strolled to the bridge and made up my mind to be hiding near the Rock of Hope and follow him stealthily to his meeting with the puca. When I told my sisters  Heather and Thistle about this, they insisted on coming too. I tried to dissuade them, but there was no way I could. If someone had told Don Alonso about this meeting, he would have insisted on coming, and there would have been such a crowd there that there simply would have to a spectacle so as not to disappoint it. I understood why Uncle Gen wanted prudence, and I wished I hadn’t told anyone about this, but I had. And the girls and I were going to go at all costs.

The next day, right after noon,  we sneaked to the Rock of Hope, always hiding behind trees and bushes. But when we got there, we received a huge surprise. There was no trace of Uncle Gen. But there were eight children bound together with thorn wire standing closer to the crossroads than to the rock. Thorn wire is the fay equivalent of barbed wire, except  there is no way it will hurt you physically, but it makes you think it will. Of course, hardly anybody can break loose from thorn wire without help. Its psychological impact is tremendous.  But also there was one unbound little girl who was picking daisies and making herself a garland. I took a closer look at her and said, “Louisa?” She smiled. I had recognized the nicest of Sherbananian Jane’s ever so many children.

“Your uncle is rounding us up to take us somewhere where we will live happily ever after,” Louisa explained when I asked her what she was doing there. When I asked why only she was unbound, she said she wanted to go to wherever Gentlerain wished to take her. So did her brothers and sisters, she said, but they were pretending not to. These were making it very difficult for Gentlerain to collect them because there were  ten of them and they were like naughty monkeys that jumped and climbed and swang from one tree to another  and threw things and led the poor man a merry dance.

At that moment Uncle Gentlerain appeared with a ninth kid under his arm. The kid was kicking and squiggling and even bit Uncle Gentlerain who only said, “Ow!”

Uncle Gen went about his business and bound the kid he was carrying to the rest. Then he went for the tenth. “One more and this is over,” we heard him mutter. “What the pesky mannekins!”   

He jumped up a tree and from there to another and disappeared among the leaves. When he reappeared, he had another child under his arm. This one was laughing and squeaking outrageously.

“Fine, so I hope you won’t  go about saying the man with the sack got you,” he lectured the bunch, once he had tied up the tenth kid too. “Because that is all I need to my credit. To begin with, I didn’t bring a sack. I should have, because then none of you could have bitten me so easily. What I am doing here is definitely for your own good and I hope for mine, so don’t spoil it saying I enslaved you and sold you to fiends and demons. Your mother says you have to go and I am doing the best I can for you. If you had been obedient kids and had just stayed at home clinging to your mummy´s apron strings maybe none of this would be happening. But you had to skip in and out of the chestnut grove when you no longer needed to hide there and even tried to wander further in and now you are inside and staying inside. I could have clobbered your brains with a forget it spell, but I don’t believe in forgetting anything. Those spells are all defective anyway. You would forget for a while and then you would have stange memories and wonder if you were crazy and other people wouldn’t bother to wonder, they would just  lock you up in an asylum for the insane. You’ll be much happier where I will send you, believe me, and no one will burn you there for witchcraft or stab you in the heart with a stake like they tried to do to your brother Manolus. Isn't that so, Manolus? Of course it is! Don't you ever forget that.  If you kids hadn’t grown those horns, maybe you would have lasted a few months before someone went after you, but it’s obvious you are being  too obvious about what has happened to you. Which is why you have to go.”

The bound kids responded squealing with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” said Uncle Gentlerain. “But laugh if you must. It’s less annoying than hearing you cry. Just don’t go saying I was mean to you. You have no idea what I could have done instead of this. Now, understand that you have to behave where you are going. Because if you don't, they won't want you there and will return you to me. And you will be left at my mercy. And the least I will do is return you to Sherbanania where you know what to expect from your mean countrymen, because the good Sherbananians won't be able to protect you.”

Then all the kids began to shout with surprised delight.

“What are you yelling about now?” roared Uncle Gentlerain so he could be heard over the noise.

“I think it’s because of me,” said a faun that was standing at the crossroads. “They find me amusing.”

This faun was yet another of the Thorn brothers, but unlike Mons, Pons and Fons he did not live in Minced Forest. He lived quite far away in Rolling Hills. His name was Bronze Bronzethorn and with him was his eldest son, a little faun called Eleutherium. This kid and Louisa took an immediate liking to each other and she lost no time in telling him that when she finished the garland she was making he could hang it from his horns.

Uncle Gentlerain turned to the bound kids and continued lecturing them.

“Now these people you are going off with are very kind people and a lot more civilized than you are, for all the scaling mountains and balancing on stones and jumping from one rock to another that they practice. Don’t laugh at their legs. Yours will probably turn that way too. They won’t mind your having horns because they have them too. That should make you happy. They will feed you better than you have eaten since the sheriff left you. Maybe even better than ever. And they’ll teach you many curious and useful things. Try to become as much like them as you can. Put Sherbanania behind you! Understand that these are your people now.”

The bound kids were quiet now and wiggling only a very little and pretending to be serious.

“Now, tell Mr. Thorn you want to go with him and Eleutherium, because they won’t take you if you don’t go freely.”

All the kids began to shout they did want to go. Uncle Gen made them hush and asked each one, one by one, to say if he or she was willing. All of them said they were, but Uncle Gen wasn’t too sure they meant what they said.

“I have a feeling they can’t be trusted,” said Uncle Gen. “Maybe you should take them bound. I suppose I hesitate to release them, because you have no idea what it has taken me to trap them. I have to ask you too again, Bronze. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Bronze said he was, turned to his son and signalled for him to proceed.

Eleutherium drew a flute out of nowhere. It was almost larger than he was. He began to play Prelude to an Afternoon of a Faun on it.

“Let them loose,” nodded Bronze.

Uncle Gen did and the eleven children departed in a neat little row, following Eleutherium down one of the four roads that crossed there.

“And now, you three snoops show yourselves. I know you are here,” said Uncle Gen.

He meant us, of course, and we did show ourselves. Up close we noticed the  skin on his hands and face was a mess of red scratches, some of which bled a little. Bruises from a few bites and bumps showed on it too.

And Uncle Gen said,  “Now, I am bushed from flitting after those feral mannekens through the flourishing foliage and as I could bet you already know I still have to drop by a bridge to interrogate a bilious elf. There is no telling how he will react when I mention Alpin. But the forecast is stormy.  If you insist on coming after me, know that you may have to look after yourselves. I might have more than I can handle arguing with that fanatic. Should things get out of hand, be prepared to run and let us hope he doesn’t determine to die hard.”