The Ickabog(10)
The king looked down at the shepherd for a few seconds. Then, very slowly, he got to his feet.
“Shepherd,” said the king, “we shall travel north this very day to investigate the matter of the Ickabog once and for all. If any trace of the creature can be found, you may rest assured that it shall be tracked to its lair and punished for its impudence in taking your dog. Now, take these few gold coins and hire yourself a ride back home in a haycart!
“My lords,” said the king, turning to the stunned Spittleworth and Flapoon, “pray change into your riding gear and follow me to the stables. There is a new hunt afoot!”
King Fred strode from the Throne Room feeling quite delighted with himself. Nobody would ever again say that he was selfish, vain, and cruel! For the sake of a smelly, simple old shepherd and his worthless old mongrel, he, King Fred the Fearless, was going to hunt the Ickabog! True, there was no such thing, but it was still dashed fine and noble of him to ride to the other end of the country, in person, to prove it!
Quite forgetting lunch, the king rushed upstairs to his bedroom, shouting for his valet to come and help him out of the dreary black suit and into his battle dress, which he’d never had the chance to wear before. The tunic was scarlet, with buttons of gold, a purple sash, and lots of medals Fred was allowed to wear because he was king, and when Fred looked in the mirror and saw how well battle dress became him, he wondered why he didn’t wear it all the time. As his valet lowered the king’s plumed helmet onto his golden curls, Fred imagined himself painted wearing it, seated on his favorite milk-white charger and spearing a serpentlike monster with his lance. King Fred the Fearless indeed! Why, he half hoped there really was an Ickabog, now.
Meanwhile, the Chief Advisor was sending word throughout the City-Within-The-City that the king was setting off on a tour of the country, and that everyone should be ready to cheer him as he left. Herringbone made no mention of the Ickabog, because he wanted to prevent the king from looking foolish, if he could.
Unfortunately, the footman called Cankerby had overheard two advisors muttering together about the king’s strange scheme. Cankerby immediately told the betweenmaid, who spread the word all over the kitchens, where a sausage seller from Baronstown was gossiping with the cook. In short, by the time the king’s party was ready to leave, word had spread all throughout the City-Within-The-City that the king was riding north to hunt the Ickabog, and news was also beginning to leak out into wider Chouxville.
“Is it a joke?” the capital’s inhabitants asked one another, as they thronged out onto the pavements, ready to cheer the king. “What does it mean?”
Some shrugged and laughed and said that the king was merely having fun. Others shook their heads and muttered that there must be more to it than that. No king would ride out, armed, to the north of the country without good reason. What, the worried folk asked one another, does the king know, that we do not?
Lady Eslanda joined the other ladies of the court on a balcony, to watch the soldiers assembling. I shall now tell you a secret, which nobody else knew. Lady Eslanda would never have married the king, even if he’d asked her. You see, she was secretly in love with a man called Captain Goodfellow, who was now chatting and laughing with his good friend Major Beamish in the courtyard below. Lady Eslanda, who was very shy, had never been able to bring herself to talk to Captain Goodfellow, who had no idea that the most beautiful woman at court was in love with him. Both Goodfellow’s parents, who were dead, had been cheesemakers from Kurdsburg. Though Goodfellow was both clever and brave, these were the days when no cheesemakers’ son would expect to marry a highborn lady.
Meanwhile, all the servants’ children were being let out of school early to watch the battle party set off. Mrs. Beamish the pastry chef naturally rushed to collect Bert, so that he’d have a good spot to watch his father passing by.
When the palace gates opened at last, and the cavalcade rode out, Bert and Mrs. Beamish cheered at the top of their lungs. Nobody had seen battle dress for a very long time. How exciting it was, and how fine! The sunlight played upon the golden buttons, silver swords, and the gleaming trumpets of the buglers, and up on the palace balcony, the handkerchiefs of the ladies of the court fluttered in farewell, like doves.
At the front of the procession rode King Fred, on his milk-white charger, holding scarlet reins and waving at the crowds. Right behind him, riding a thin yellow horse and wearing a bored expression, was Spittleworth, and next came Flapoon, furiously lunchless and sitting on his elephantine chestnut.
Behind the king and the two lords trotted the Royal Guard, all of them on dapple-gray horses, except for Major Beamish, who rode his steel-gray stallion. It made Mrs. Beamish’s heart flutter to see her husband looking so handsome.
“Good luck, Daddy!” shouted Bert, and Major Beamish (though he really shouldn’t have done) waved at his son.
The procession trotted down the hill, smiling at the cheering crowds of the City-Within-The-City, until it reached the gates in the wall onto wider Chouxville. There, hidden by the crowds, was the Dovetails’ cottage. Mr. Dovetail and Daisy had come out into their garden, and they were just able to see the plumes in the helmets of the Royal Guard riding past.
Daisy didn’t feel much interest in the soldiers. She and Bert still weren’t talking to each other. In fact, he’d spent morning break with Roderick Roach, who often jeered at Daisy for wearing coveralls instead of a dress, so the cheering and the sound of the horses didn’t raise her spirits at all.