“Come on, everyone, gather ‘round. I have a story to tell you all.” The old man made big motions with his arms as the children all inched closer, intent looks in their eyes. The old man took out a pipe and had just lit it when a caught the glare of a young mother. He choked on the smoked and put it aside.
“Now, it’s not an original story, I have to admit. Actually, it’s cliché after cliché. But, I’ll do the best that I can to make it original, and better, although I’m sure you sprouts won’t mind if it’s not. You haven’t developed that cliché-hating taste yet.” One child waved his arm. “Yes, little tot?”
“What’s a cliché, mister?”
“Well, basically, it’s something you’ve heard before, but not in the same way. So, this story is just like all your other favorite stories.” With this, there was much rejoicing.
“Once upon a time, there was a man named Jeffrey Tacron. He was a member of the lower class, but he had been able to get a job at King Clement’s castle as a footman. Although that would technically make him a guard, King Clement’s kingdom was a peaceful one, with skillful diplomats, so all he really did was greet those who entered the castle as they came.
“One day, a good month after Jeffrey had turned 23, the king had a feast to celebrate the engagement of his daughter, Elizabeth, to the prince from a neighboring kingdom. His name was Henry Rodut, and he was to become ruler of the kingdom south of Clement’s. A stream of visitors came in, and Jeffrey had his hands full greeting them all.
“‘Good morrow, sir,’ he said to the first.
“‘Good day.’
“‘Hello, monsieur.’
“‘Hi.’
“Oh, but that last greeting was much to informal for lowly Jeffrey to use with such an upstanding citizen as the Royal Advisor of Boswria, the dark country (shadowed by tall mountains) to the north of King Clement’s Shrumia. He stuck his crooked head out of the dark window of the coach, and scowled.
“‘And just who are you to say such a dirty word to me, Reive?’
“‘I-I’m sorry, sir,’ Jeffrey stuttered, ‘I just thought it would help me greet you all more efficiently.’
“Reive grinned maliciously. ‘You thought, did you? Didn’t anyone ever tell you what happens to people who think when they shouldn’t? I’ll have you locked up for this disrespect. Guards, grab him, and follow me. I know the way to these dungeons.’ Jeffrey’s fellows, afraid to stand against Reive, did as they were told.
“Reive slid down the corridors, his (you guessed it) black cloak flowing behind him. The wind made it flap and it hit Jeffrey numerous times in the face. Finally, they reach a cell deep below the castle. Reive flung open the door and motioned for them to throw Jeffrey in. He slammed it shut, and sent the guards back to the door. He walked off in the other direction, muttering to himself.
“‘I’m so aggravated…it already wasn’t a good day, having to celebrate my prince’s loss, then this lowly piece of….” The old man stopped momentarily. “This slimy peasant is rude to me, well, I’ll make it all better…’ Jeffrey could no longer hear Reive, but he knew he was up to no good. Unfortunately, Tacron was locked away and could do nothing about it.”
“What happens next, Mr. Storyteller? What’s the bad man going to do?”
“Well, I’d tell you, but I think the lady over there wants your attention.” The old man waved at the young mother from before, who was holding a tray of juice boxes. The children got up simultaneously, and stampeded over to her, their little hands grabbing at the boxes until everyone was satiated, as well as messy.
“Okay, sit back down now, so I can finish the tale.”
“Now, Jeffrey was alone in that dank cell for quite some time, worrying about the events happening above; however, he had no way of escaping.
“Jeffrey, of course, had a family, and among them was a son named Kenneth. Because this was such a joyous occasion, the King had also invited the families of his employees to the castle, though they would dine in a smaller section on the castle, on food not quite as good. Nevertheless, they still came to the castle, and Kenneth knew something was amiss when his father was not there to greet him at the castle’s gates. He tried to question his father’s co-workers, but they gave him no response. Kenneth dashed into the castle, and darted down to the dungeons, where he feared his father was being held. It’s the only place he would be that the other guards wouldn’t speak of.
“Kenneth descended into the darkness, calling out in whispers that echoed into thundering cries. He listened carefully, and soon heard his father call back. He followed the voice to the lowest levels, where there was barely any light. ‘Oh, father, what happened to you?’
“ ‘I was apparently rude to some higher-up,’ responded Jeffrey, and then he motioned over to a nearby wall, where a ring of keys conveniently hung. Kenneth ran over, grabbed them and loped back. He fumbled with the keys until he found the right one, and freed his father. Jeffrey grabbed his son and dragged him quickly up the stairs.
“ ‘Where are we going?’ asked Kenneth.
“ ‘Reive is up to something, and I think the princess will be in danger. We have to do something; it’s our civic duty.’ They reached the upper levels, and the guards turned, surprised to see him. They made no motion to recapture him, though, and he and Kenneth scuttled into the kitchen area. They slipped around the counters, past the fireplaces with the bubbling cauldrons, and into the hallway that led to the main dining room.
“They sprinted down the hall, Kenneth a half-step behind Jeffrey, and when they reach the large oaken door, Jeffrey stopped. Kenneth plunged into him, but the door didn’t open. Jeffrey moved his hands over the door, because he knew how to open it, you see, and found a small latch on his left. He lifted it, and pushed the door open, and slipped in, telling Kenneth to stay behind.
“Jeffrey quietly approached the dais, trying not to draw attention to himself, and hoping that Reive would not notice him. He got the attention of King Clement’s head of security, the knight Sir Richardson, who was sitting on a lower level right near the dais. ‘Sir, I must tell you something.’
“Sir Richardson was annoyed that his meal was interrupted, so he didn’t treat Jeffrey very well. ‘What is it, Tacron? I’m trying to eat.’
“ ‘Well, sir, I think Reive is plotting something, something that may bring harm to the kingdom, or to the princess. I heard him muttering before…’ Of course, Sir Richardson would hear nothing of it. Reive was a respected person from Boswria, of course Tacron had merely misheard. Sir Richardson sent Jeffrey back to his post at the door. But, as I’m sure you already know, Jeffrey had no intention of going back to his post.
“Kenneth tried to asked Jeffrey about what happened, but he was hushed. Jeffrey led the way into a lesser-used area of the castle. This path brought them to the rafters above the dining room. There they waited, and watched the events of the night unfold. They kept close to the door.
“Some time later, as Kenneth’s eyes began to feel droopy, Reive stood, his wine glass in hand, preparing to make a toast. Jeffrey couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew that this was the moment he was waiting for. He nudged Kenneth, and caught the last few words Reive said. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot allow the princess to wed Henry. She belongs in Boswria.’ The black cloak fluttered in a breeze that wasn’t there. Reive grabbed the princess, and disappeared. The entire assembly started muttering things, most prominent among them being shocked gasps of “warlock.” Reive reappeared near the door, and started to make his final gloating speech.
“Jeffrey didn’t hear it. He had already made his way down to the ground floor, unnoticed by anyone, as they all had their eyes on Reive. He made his way toward Reive, but tripped, and fell sprawled onto the floor. This, however, turned out to be a good thing. Reive, with a final flash of his cloak, turned to leave, but did not see Jeffrey getting up onto his knees. He stumbled over the guard, cursing his luck. Before he could get up, Kenneth fell from the rafters, crushing Reive’s ribs. The evil advisor died there on the ground. Jeffrey helped the princess up, and returned her to the dais.”
The children had obviously liked the story. One of them raised his hand. “Yes, little one?”
“Did Jeffrey get to marry the princess because he rescued her?”
“Oh, good heavens, no, don’t be silly. The princess married Henry Rodut, and Jeffrey went back to his job as a guard. He got a little bonus, though. Besides, most of it had been a fluke, right?”
“I guess,” said the little boy, but he seemed disappointed that such a good deed was barely rewarded.
The old man could tell this, and added, “But Jeffrey became a hero to those closest to him, and that’s what really matters, right?” The little boy smiled, and nodded.
Copyright © 2003 by James R. Cleveland