The Ickabog(13)

“Thank heavens we’ve found you, Your Majesty, we’ve been searching everywhere!” cried Spittleworth.

“Ick-Ick-Ick — ” whimpered the king.

“He’s got hiccups,” said Flapoon. “Gave him a fright.”

“Ick-Ick-Ickabog!” moaned Fred. “I s-s-saw it! A gigantic monster — it nearly caught me!”

“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon?” asked Spittleworth.

“The m-monster is real!” gulped Fred. “I’m lucky to b-be alive! To the horses! We must flee, and quickly!”

King Fred tried to hoist himself up by climbing Spittleworth’s leg, but Spittleworth stepped swiftly aside to avoid getting covered in slime, instead aiming a consoling pat at the top of Fred’s head, which was the cleanest part of him.

“Er — there, there, Your Majesty. You’ve had a most distressing experience, falling in the marsh. As we were saying earlier, the boulders do indeed assume monstrous forms in this thick fog —”

“Dash it, Spittleworth, I know what I saw!” shouted the king, staggering to his feet unaided. “Tall as two horses, it was, and with eyes like huge lamps! I drew my sword, but my hands were so slimy it slipped from my grasp, so there was nothing for it but to pull my feet out of my stuck boots, and crawl away!”

Just then a fourth man made his way into their little clearing in the fog: Captain Roach, father of Roderick, who was Major Beamish’s second-in-command — a big, burly man with a jet-black moustache. What Captain Roach was really like, we are about to find out. All you need to know now is that the king was very glad to see him, because he was the largest member of the Royal Guard.

“Did you see any sign of the Ickabog, Roach?” whimpered Fred.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said, with a respectful bow, “all I’ve seen is fog and mud. I’m glad to know Your Majesty is safe, at any rate. You gentlemen stay here, and I’ll round up the troops.”

Roach made to leave, but King Fred yelped:

“No, you stay here with me, Roach, in case the monster comes this way! You’ve still got a rifle, haven’t you? Excellent — I lost my sword and my boots, you see. My very best dress sword, with the jeweled hilt!”

Though he felt much safer with Captain Roach beside him, the trembling king was otherwise as cold and scared as he could ever remember being. He also had a nasty feeling that nobody believed he’d really seen the Ickabog, a feeling that increased when he caught sight of Spittleworth rolling his eyes at Flapoon.

The king’s pride was stung.

“Spittleworth, Flapoon,” he said, “I want my sword and my boots back! They’re over there somewhere,” he added, waving his arm at the encircling fog.

“Would — would it not be better to wait until the fog has cleared, Your Majesty?” asked Spittleworth nervously.

“I want my sword!” snapped King Fred. “It was my grandfather’s and it’s very valuable! Go and find it, both of you. I shall wait here with Captain Roach. And don’t come back empty-handed!”





The two lords had no choice but to leave the king and Captain Roach in their little clearing in the fog and proceed onto the marsh. Spittleworth took the lead, feeling his way with his feet for the firmest bits of ground. Flapoon followed close behind, still holding tightly to the hem of Spittleworth’s coat and sinking deeply with every footstep because he was so heavy. The fog was clammy on their skin and rendered them almost completely blind. In spite of Spittleworth’s best efforts, the two lords’ boots were soon full to the brim with fetid water.

“That blasted nincompoop!” muttered Spittleworth as they squelched along. “That blithering buffoon! This is all his fault, the mouse-brained moron!”

“It’ll serve him right if that sword’s lost for good,” said Flapoon, now nearly waist-deep in marsh.

“We’d better hope it isn’t, or we’ll be here all night,” said Spittleworth. “Oh, curse this fog!”

They struggled onward. The mist would thin for a few steps, then close again. Boulders loomed suddenly out of nowhere like ghostly elephants and the rustling reeds sounded just like snakes. Though Spittleworth and Flapoon knew perfectly well that there was no such thing as an Ickabog, their insides didn’t seem quite so sure.

“Let go of me!” Spittleworth growled at Flapoon, whose constant tugging was making him think of monstrous claws or jaws fastened on the back of his coat.

Flapoon let go, but he too had been infected by a nonsensical fear, so he loosened his blunderbuss from its holster and held it ready.

“What’s that?” he whispered to Spittleworth, as an odd noise reached them out of the darkness ahead.

Both lords froze, the better to listen.

A low growling and scrabbling was coming out of the fog. It conjured an awful vision in both men’s minds, of a monster feasting on the body of one of the Royal Guard.

“Who’s there?” Spittleworth called, in a high-pitched voice.

Somewhere in the distance, Major Beamish shouted back:

“Is that you, Lord Spittleworth?”

“Yes,” shouted Spittleworth. “We can hear something strange, Beamish! Can you?”

It seemed to the two lords that the odd growling and scrabbling grew louder.