The Order Disturbed
Fropperdaft Hafful TaTerribee VIII, Ancient Order of Reprehense, 3rd Degree; Lord Reckoner of Heights; Most Eminent Swellhead of the Keepers; Baron Sheriff of the Forever End; Peerless Berzerker of the Crowning Glory; Grandee of Maev Astuté; and High One of all Hedgelands; was wealthy in the things of the world and a creature of the world’s thoughts. He fancied himself a philosopher, astronomer, inventor, merchant, and monarch without equal.
A big, loud Wolf, with a haunting emptiness in his eyes—as if he were always deeply drugged—a metallic, mirthless laugh constantly accented his speech. He loved the finest brocades and velvets, yet was rarely seen in fine clothes. A tyrant without peer, his dungeons were eternally full. Behind the vacant look in his eyes was a brilliantly inventive mind. Often he solved wildly complex problems so rapidly that his thoughts were far ahead of his words. This was the reason for the apparent emptiness in his eyes—his mind was far beyond the present moment. At any given time, the High One’s thoughts might be entirely unrelated to what was actually happening around him.
The Throne Room of Maev Astuté reflected this quality of Fropperdaft. A spacious room atop a high tower of the castle, the Throne Room was unlike any other seat of royal power. From floor to ceiling the room was perfectly jumbled with books, ledgers, piles of parchment scrolls, and tools of all kinds. Pipes and hoses ran here, there and everywhere. Pieces of iron, piles of coal, and wood shavings covered much of the floor. A large fire burned in a massive circular fireplace in the center of the room. Open on four sides and supported at the corners with sturdy stone columns, the fireplace was attached to a massive bellows. Heavy hammers, a large anvil, tongs and other tools for working red-hot metal were arrayed around the fireplace. The purpose of the fire was more than warmth—it was a metalworking forge.
Although the Throne Room of Maev Astuté was mostly a combination of library, blacksmith forge, and workshop, it did also have a throne. Near the high windows at one side, a high golden throne served as the symbolic seat of royal authority. But, as often as not, Fropperdaft met visitors and held audiences while he continued tinkering on his inventions and experiments. His royal robes and crown usually hung askew on a hook in the corner, while the High One worked in baggy oil-spattered dungarees and a huge blacksmith’s apron. New visitors to the High One were wide-eyed in wonder when they first saw such an unorthodox Throne Room. But the whispered jokes and titterings had no effect on Fropperdaft. With sparks flying as he hammered red-hot metal and the bellows working loudly, visitors often had to yell to be heard as they consulted with the High One about important affairs of state. Fropperdaft’s mind was elsewhere than the day-to-day, mundane affairs of his realm.
How different was his brother. A year or two younger than his royal sibling, Colonel Snart looked older and wiser, perhaps only because the craftiness and intelligence in his eyes looked more promising. Unlike the long, wildly-curling hair worn by the High One, Colonel Snart had a short-clipped military haircut. He spoke with the affable good humor of a creature well-used to the ways of the world. The differences between the two were summed up by the food and drink they consumed as they talked. Fropperdaft ate nothing but the finest cheese and sweets that money could buy, and liked Rotter Wine by the glass. The Colonel took what he could get, where he could get it, but always refused to “eat better than my troops.” As he stood toasting a slice of mackerel sausage on a long fork over the fire, taking deep swigs of Frog’s Belch Ale from a pewter pot, two more unlikely brothers could not be imagined.
Their differences were nowhere more obvious than in their discussion. Colonel Snart was a military regular of sorts, posted to a remote outpost of the Norder Wolves. Many years ago, as an idealistic young adventurer, he had gone to help defend the Norder Wolves from attack and had stayed and become a citizen. Because of his relation to the High One, and a number of worldly dealers he had met in the course of his duties, Colonel Snart found a natural niche conducting a “tidy little trade,” as he termed it, between the Hedgeland and the Estates of the Norder Wolves. He was constantly seeking ways to improve the tidy little trade and was hoping to persuade his royal brother to help him.
“Esteemed brother, you are the High One...your power is without equal. Even more, your mind is greater than all. Why do you insist on wasting your potential? You might buy more cheaply the things you crave, and sell more dearly the things you steal, if you would use your inventiveness to improve our tidy little trade. You have invented a great traveling machine—one such as the world has not before seen. It could carry our commerce easily over the mountains. It would save months of journeying by foot and boat. The riches you have now would be a mere pocket of dust in comparison.”
Fropperdaft was not listening. Instead, he was talking non-stop, as if no one else was speaking. Delivering his observations on the mechanisms and theory of his most recent invention, he strode rapidly around the room, waving his arms wildly as he worked equations in the air and pointed out the details of his invention as he saw them in his mind.
“You see, dear Colonel,” he said, “the fundamental problem with traditional passenger or cargo balloons is that they are dependent on air currents to move. They move only as fast as the wind and go only where the currents carry them. But, I have invented a balloon that does not depend on the winds! With a very precise boost at launch and a continuing source of propulsion, the balloon can be steered wherever the pilot wishes.” Giving the bellows a mighty squeeze for emphasis, a shower of sparks shot off of the forge onto the stone floor directly in front of Colonel Snart.
Then he continued. “Adding a bicycular fan-jet to the balloon allows the passenger, with minimum effort, to greatly boost propulsion power. The jets can be manipulated to enable precise control and steering—even in strong winds!” His metallic voice became even more loud and harsh: “With this bicycular balloon, the construction of Maev Astuté will accelerate. Stones will fly up to the castle by the dozens with the aid or my invention. Maev Astuté will ascend into the heavens rapidly. I will be the greatest builder of all the High Ones. Why should Maev Astuté crawl into the skies, one level at a time? I will finish Maev Astuté! Erelong I will be a god!”
“Yes! Yes!” Colonel Snart exclaimed, “Your bicycular balloon will be the invention of the age! It will revolutionize travel. But don’t waste it on building Maev Astuté! Let it carry the tidy little trade...We both will be wealthy beyond any dream we have ever had. I will send you as many additional slaves as you need to build Maev Astuté. The work can continue as it always has. But let me use the bicycular balloon for the tidy little trade.”
The High One gave another powerful squeeze to the bellows sending another shower of sparks around Colonel Snart’s feet. “You see, dear Colonel,” he replied, “trade cannot compete with divinity. A god no longer craves fine cheese. I will build the glory of Maev Astuté! What other High Ones have labored for over centuries, I will exceed a thousandfold.”
Walking over to a set of double doors, Fropperdaft continued, “Behind these doors is my finest invention. You will be the first to see it.” Opening the double doors, he revealed a sleek bicycle with several silver metal cylinders attached behind and below the seat.
“Notice, dear Colonel, that this unique machine looks like an ordinary bicycle. However, looks are deceiving. When a rider mounts the machine and pushes forward, this bicycular balloon slides onto a launcher that accelerates the machine to a high speed. Then, at precisely the moment it reaches maximum velocity, it shoots out of the castle through an automatic door. It flies into open air and the balloon inflates. The boost of the launch, with speed added by the rider peddling the fan-jet mechanism, propels and steers my airborne wonder! If my calculations are correct, my bicycular balloon will easily lift a full-load of stones and steer through the fierce and unpredictable mountain winds. With many of my new machines, Maev Astuté will be finished rapidly.”
The High One looked majestically at Colonel Snart. “Soon, you will see...” His words were broken off by the sudden entry of a Royal Patrol detachment. They were escorting a Wood Cow who was obviously their prisoner. The Wood Cow carried a frail and unconscious Coyote over his shoulders. The Skull Buzzard wearing a commander’s insignia stepped toward the High One and whispered in his ear. Fropperdaft’s face became pale for an instant, but then took on a harsh scowl. He was shaking with rage.
“You! Wood Cow! Drop to your knees and lick my boots right now, or die! How dare you disrupt the sacred climb! You have killed a Royal Patrol! No insult like this has ever occurred before in all the ages of the Hedgelands. Drop to your knees and grovel! Beg for mercy! Lick my boots! Plead for your life!” The High One stormed on and on in a very bad temper, his voice rising to a higher and higher screech. The more he screeched and ranted, the less he seemed actually to be present. The shock of such an unparalleled affront seemed to have sent him into a blind rage.
For his part, Emil said nothing, but his mind was racing. While Fropperdaft screeched, becoming less and less aware of what was happening, Emil surveyed escape possibilities. The Royal Patrol guards were agog, never having seen such a spectacular show of bad temper. Their watchfulness was not sharp, Emil noted.
Only Colonel Snart seemed to have his wits about him, watching Emil’s every move. He seemed to sense that the Wood Cow was dangerously clever and brave.
Emil spoke softly into the Coyote’s ear: “OK, old fellow, don’t worry. It’s going to get a little rough for a few moments, but with the help of the Ancient Ones, we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.” The unconscious Coyote did not reply.
In one swift movement, Emil suddenly tossed the Coyote off his shoulders and, with a single mighty heave, sent the poor creature sailing directly into Colonel Snart’s face. The startled colonel had no time to react as the body of the Coyote hit him full force, knocking him backward toward the forge. Staggering backward, Colonel Snart reached to break his fall and put both his paws directly onto the red-hot coals of the forge.
“YEOOOOWWW!” Colonel Snart howled and leaped away from the forge holding his burned paws. In the same instant, Emil scooped up the Coyote once again. Holding the poor creature tightly under his arm, he dashed toward the open double doors where the bicycle was parked.
The sudden commotion brought the Royal Patrol back to their duty. “Grab him,” the Skull Buzzard commander yelled. “Stop him! Don’t let him get away!”
But it was too late. Emil threw himself on the seat of the High One’s bicycle—as he supposed it to be—and pushed off, hoping to escape. He succeeded beyond his wildest imagination. With the Coyote draped over his shoulder, Emil had the ride of his life. The High One’s bicycular balloon worked perfectly. Launched with exactly the velocity Fropperdaft had calculated, and peddling furiously, Emil and the Coyote sailed high over the Don’ot Stumb Mountains.
For days following all these unparalleled events, the High One secluded himself in his Throne Room. The Hedgeland folk were anxiously watchful. What would the High One do? The sacred climb had been disturbed. A Royal Patrol had been attacked and killed. Rumors flew that the same Wood Cow had brazenly attacked the High One’s brother within the Throne Room of Maev Astuté and escaped with the most precious possession of the High One. Something awful would surely be coming out of Maev Astuté. But what?