Novel, eh?
So. Beginning of a theoretical novel. Would you continue with a book that began like this?
The guardsmen asked him to tell the full story, from beginning to end, and Kay did.
“Once upon a time,” he began with a soft cough. “Once upon a time there was a young boy from the Northern provinces, and he was born with an incurable wickedness about him.”
“You needn’t go back that far.”
“Shush-shush-shush,” Kay slurred. “It is a good story, excellent in the telling. It is best when told in full.”
One of Kay’s fellows, a small, filthy man of indeterminate age, dressed all in animal skins, nodded furiously, though his brow was furrowed with gentle concern. The head guardsman sat back in his chair, groaning. He was an unlettered man from the countryside, and he detested theatrics.
“Born with an intolerable wickedness about him,” Kay repeated as he settled back into his tale. “And the town elders set about trying to cure him of it. They said to him ‘Look! Here is land! You must till it and farm it and bring life to it, and reap the good things you have sown.’ But the boy looked at the vast expanse of fields and said to the elders, ‘Every man in a thousand miles farms the land and receives nothing but aches and pains and a handful of food in return. I would do better to take what is already growing, and save myself a great deal of trouble.’
“The town elders were not to be put off, and they said to the boy, ‘Here is grain! You must thresh it and grind it and make dough of it and bake it in the fiery clay ovens, and make bread of it.’ But the boy still felt that this was a tremendous lot of work for something that could easily be acquired through thievery, and so remained firm in his opinion.
“Growing desperate, the elders said, ‘Here are the beasts of the field! You must raise them and feed them and work them and slaughter them and get them to fuck and make still more beasts.’ The boy was unmoved.
“So the elders said to him, ‘You are a villain and a disgrace; your idleness is not to be believed! Know, boy, that if all the world were to do as you say, then all the world should be nothing but thieves and whores and general vagueabonds.’”
“It’s pronounced ‘vagabond’,” Kay’s second companion sighed, ennui dripping from every syllable. He was rather better dressed than his fellows, in a fine velvet coat, with excellent riding boots, which he had thoughtfully propped up on the table.
“Just so,” agreed Kay goodnaturedly. “So the boy replied, ‘Very well. Let the world be a single great nation of thieves, and let me be their king!’” He then grinned with remarkable broadness, as though he had just said something infinitely clever.
The guardsman was unimpressed. “Does this story, perchance, end in you and your two friends here stealing half the larder and all of the wine cellar of an establishment by the name of ‘The Ululating Seagull’?”
Kay’s look suddenly became quite guarded. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
“We did,” said the filthy man in a rasping whisper of a voice. Under the grime, he seemed quite sheepish. “We could easily return most of the larder, but I’m afraid the wine is long gone.”
Kay gave a dreamy hiccup. He did not seem overly bothered by his friend’s confession, though the bored gentleman gave the filthy man a very dark look.
“Your name?” the guardsman inquired of the filthy man.
“All,” he replied.
The guardsman scowled. “That is not your name.”
“Is!” the filthy man protested.
“Isn’t!”
“Is!”
“No one in the world is named All,” said the guardsman, who suspected that the filthy man was being difficult on purpose.
“Listen here, sir,” said the filthy man primly. “I am called All. Kay calls me All; he calls me All,” and here he gestured to the bored gentleman. “My friends call me All when they bless me. My enemies call me All when they curse me. My mother and father, rest their souls, called me the name of All. Do not deny me the name. It is the only one I have.”
“Very well,” said the guardsman, who was getting to be rather tired of long speeches. “All it is.”
“Thank you,” All said.
“And your name as well,” the guardsman said to the bored gentleman. He hoped to himself that this one would be straightforward and honest.
“Haven’t got one,” said the bored gentleman shortly.
The guardsman could have wept.
“Sure you have,” said Kay. “It’s a lovely name.” He chuckled to himself at some private joke while the bored gentleman’s handsome face crumpled with anger and distress.
“One of the prettiest I ever heard,” All agreed, though there was a certain nervousness in his manner, and he glanced continually from the bored gentleman to the guardsman.
“Just give it to me so I can go home,” growled the guardsman.
The trio was, for once, speechless, though Kay and All sniggered to each other like school children.
“Alright,” hissed the guardsman, who was now red as fever and dripping with perspiration, “That’s fine. That’s just as well. You don’t need a name to execute a man, after all.”
That effectively destroyed the jovial attitude of the three men. “Beg pardon?” All gasped, suddenly very polite.
The guardsman smiled for the first time all day. “Well, lads, what did you think was going to happen? You stole food, and in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a famine on. You’re to be made an example of.” He laughed, belly shaking, at the dropped jaws and horrified eyes of the three. “Not so jolly now, I find. Well, come along, my boys. Come along to your cells. We’ll execute you in the morning. Thanks so much for the confession.”
They fought, of course, but there were a great many guardsmen, and only half of them were drunk, and soon the three men were dragged off to a black and frozen cell at the very bottom of the guardhouse.
“I don’t suppose we get a last meal?” the bored gentleman called. He sounded almost wistful.
The head guardsman locked the cell’s iron door with a cheerful click of the keys. “No. No point, is there? You’ll be dead in a few hours anyway. No sense wasting food on you.”
“True, true,” he said with a sigh. “That’s very sensible. Canny bumpkins.” The bored gentleman’s chin began to wobble dangerously. “You just had to confess, didn’t you?” he howled at All. “You’ve killed us; I hope you realize that!”
“They knew it was us anyway,” All protested. “The confession meant shit. Anyway, Aubrey, you can’t tell me you knew they’d do anything worse than put us in the stocks for a few weeks.”
“Don’t say my name out loud!” the gentleman, no longer bored, screeched.
All rolled his eyes. “They’re executing you tomorrow. You’re not going to be any more condemned to death if they find out who you are. “
Aubrey became exceedingly fretful then, curling into a tight ball in the corner of the cell and tugging at his dark, curling hair.
Kay, who now stood in the center of the cell, shook his head. “Oh, calm down, you wilting daisy. All, let’s strategize.”
Kay put an arm around All and bent to rest his chin on All’s shoulder. He also shut off his sense of smell, which was a gift Kay had developed after years of living in close proximity to All. “My friend, that was a very foolish thing you did back there.” All flushed. “Fortunately for you, I did many, many foolish things back there, so I cannot hold it against you. Still,” he continued, pressing his bony cheekbone against All’s neck, “I think that if we don’t find a way to escape before sunup, we shall be a pair of dead fools. Suggestions?”
All chewed his lower lip nervously. “There’s no window,” he said, “And the door looks too thick to break down.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” spoke a rich, disembodied female voice. It seemed muffled by a good deal of stone and wood and iron.
“Who said that?” All asked.
“Your neighbor from across the way,” said the woman’s voice humorlessly. “My cellmate and I are escaping tonight. Would you be interested in joining us?”
Kay straightened up, suddenly quite sober for the first time that night. He flashed a terrible smile and a peculiar glint appeared in his eye. “Very.”
The guardsmen asked him to tell the full story, from beginning to end, and Kay did.
“Once upon a time,” he began with a soft cough. “Once upon a time there was a young boy from the Northern provinces, and he was born with an incurable wickedness about him.”
“You needn’t go back that far.”
“Shush-shush-shush,” Kay slurred. “It is a good story, excellent in the telling. It is best when told in full.”
One of Kay’s fellows, a small, filthy man of indeterminate age, dressed all in animal skins, nodded furiously, though his brow was furrowed with gentle concern. The head guardsman sat back in his chair, groaning. He was an unlettered man from the countryside, and he detested theatrics.
“Born with an intolerable wickedness about him,” Kay repeated as he settled back into his tale. “And the town elders set about trying to cure him of it. They said to him ‘Look! Here is land! You must till it and farm it and bring life to it, and reap the good things you have sown.’ But the boy looked at the vast expanse of fields and said to the elders, ‘Every man in a thousand miles farms the land and receives nothing but aches and pains and a handful of food in return. I would do better to take what is already growing, and save myself a great deal of trouble.’
“The town elders were not to be put off, and they said to the boy, ‘Here is grain! You must thresh it and grind it and make dough of it and bake it in the fiery clay ovens, and make bread of it.’ But the boy still felt that this was a tremendous lot of work for something that could easily be acquired through thievery, and so remained firm in his opinion.
“Growing desperate, the elders said, ‘Here are the beasts of the field! You must raise them and feed them and work them and slaughter them and get them to fuck and make still more beasts.’ The boy was unmoved.
“So the elders said to him, ‘You are a villain and a disgrace; your idleness is not to be believed! Know, boy, that if all the world were to do as you say, then all the world should be nothing but thieves and whores and general vagueabonds.’”
“It’s pronounced ‘vagabond’,” Kay’s second companion sighed, ennui dripping from every syllable. He was rather better dressed than his fellows, in a fine velvet coat, with excellent riding boots, which he had thoughtfully propped up on the table.
“Just so,” agreed Kay goodnaturedly. “So the boy replied, ‘Very well. Let the world be a single great nation of thieves, and let me be their king!’” He then grinned with remarkable broadness, as though he had just said something infinitely clever.
The guardsman was unimpressed. “Does this story, perchance, end in you and your two friends here stealing half the larder and all of the wine cellar of an establishment by the name of ‘The Ululating Seagull’?”
Kay’s look suddenly became quite guarded. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
“We did,” said the filthy man in a rasping whisper of a voice. Under the grime, he seemed quite sheepish. “We could easily return most of the larder, but I’m afraid the wine is long gone.”
Kay gave a dreamy hiccup. He did not seem overly bothered by his friend’s confession, though the bored gentleman gave the filthy man a very dark look.
“Your name?” the guardsman inquired of the filthy man.
“All,” he replied.
The guardsman scowled. “That is not your name.”
“Is!” the filthy man protested.
“Isn’t!”
“Is!”
“No one in the world is named All,” said the guardsman, who suspected that the filthy man was being difficult on purpose.
“Listen here, sir,” said the filthy man primly. “I am called All. Kay calls me All; he calls me All,” and here he gestured to the bored gentleman. “My friends call me All when they bless me. My enemies call me All when they curse me. My mother and father, rest their souls, called me the name of All. Do not deny me the name. It is the only one I have.”
“Very well,” said the guardsman, who was getting to be rather tired of long speeches. “All it is.”
“Thank you,” All said.
“And your name as well,” the guardsman said to the bored gentleman. He hoped to himself that this one would be straightforward and honest.
“Haven’t got one,” said the bored gentleman shortly.
The guardsman could have wept.
“Sure you have,” said Kay. “It’s a lovely name.” He chuckled to himself at some private joke while the bored gentleman’s handsome face crumpled with anger and distress.
“One of the prettiest I ever heard,” All agreed, though there was a certain nervousness in his manner, and he glanced continually from the bored gentleman to the guardsman.
“Just give it to me so I can go home,” growled the guardsman.
The trio was, for once, speechless, though Kay and All sniggered to each other like school children.
“Alright,” hissed the guardsman, who was now red as fever and dripping with perspiration, “That’s fine. That’s just as well. You don’t need a name to execute a man, after all.”
That effectively destroyed the jovial attitude of the three men. “Beg pardon?” All gasped, suddenly very polite.
The guardsman smiled for the first time all day. “Well, lads, what did you think was going to happen? You stole food, and in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a famine on. You’re to be made an example of.” He laughed, belly shaking, at the dropped jaws and horrified eyes of the three. “Not so jolly now, I find. Well, come along, my boys. Come along to your cells. We’ll execute you in the morning. Thanks so much for the confession.”
They fought, of course, but there were a great many guardsmen, and only half of them were drunk, and soon the three men were dragged off to a black and frozen cell at the very bottom of the guardhouse.
“I don’t suppose we get a last meal?” the bored gentleman called. He sounded almost wistful.
The head guardsman locked the cell’s iron door with a cheerful click of the keys. “No. No point, is there? You’ll be dead in a few hours anyway. No sense wasting food on you.”
“True, true,” he said with a sigh. “That’s very sensible. Canny bumpkins.” The bored gentleman’s chin began to wobble dangerously. “You just had to confess, didn’t you?” he howled at All. “You’ve killed us; I hope you realize that!”
“They knew it was us anyway,” All protested. “The confession meant shit. Anyway, Aubrey, you can’t tell me you knew they’d do anything worse than put us in the stocks for a few weeks.”
“Don’t say my name out loud!” the gentleman, no longer bored, screeched.
All rolled his eyes. “They’re executing you tomorrow. You’re not going to be any more condemned to death if they find out who you are. “
Aubrey became exceedingly fretful then, curling into a tight ball in the corner of the cell and tugging at his dark, curling hair.
Kay, who now stood in the center of the cell, shook his head. “Oh, calm down, you wilting daisy. All, let’s strategize.”
Kay put an arm around All and bent to rest his chin on All’s shoulder. He also shut off his sense of smell, which was a gift Kay had developed after years of living in close proximity to All. “My friend, that was a very foolish thing you did back there.” All flushed. “Fortunately for you, I did many, many foolish things back there, so I cannot hold it against you. Still,” he continued, pressing his bony cheekbone against All’s neck, “I think that if we don’t find a way to escape before sunup, we shall be a pair of dead fools. Suggestions?”
All chewed his lower lip nervously. “There’s no window,” he said, “And the door looks too thick to break down.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” spoke a rich, disembodied female voice. It seemed muffled by a good deal of stone and wood and iron.
“Who said that?” All asked.
“Your neighbor from across the way,” said the woman’s voice humorlessly. “My cellmate and I are escaping tonight. Would you be interested in joining us?”
Kay straightened up, suddenly quite sober for the first time that night. He flashed a terrible smile and a peculiar glint appeared in his eye. “Very.”