The Ickabog(22)

“Well, they’re chewy,” said Fred, dropping half his Folderol Fancy back on his plate. “And what are all these scrolls?”

“These, sire, are suggestions for improving the kingdom’s defenses against the Ickabog,” said Spittleworth.

“Excellent, excellent,” said King Fred, moving the cakes and the teapot aside to make more room as Spittleworth pulled up a chair.

“The very first thing to be done, Your Majesty, was to find out as much as we could about the Ickabog itself, the better to discover how to defeat it.”

“Well, yes, but how, Spittleworth? The monster is a mystery! Everyone’s thought it a fantasy all these years!”

“That, forgive me, is where Your Majesty is wrong,” said Spittleworth. “By dint of ceaseless searching, I’ve managed to find the foremost Ickabog expert in all of Cornucopia. Lord Flapoon is waiting with him in the hall. With Your Majesty’s permission —”

“Bring him in, bring him in, do!” said Fred excitedly.

So Spittleworth left the room and returned shortly afterward with Lord Flapoon and a little old man with snowy-white hair and spectacles so thick that his eyes had vanished almost into nothingness.

“This, sire, is Professor Fraudysham,” said Flapoon, as the mole-like little man made a deep bow to the king. “What he doesn’t know about Ickabogs isn’t worth knowing!”

“How is it that I’ve never heard of you before, Professor Fraudysham?” asked the king, who was thinking that if he’d known the Ickabog was real enough to have its own expert, he’d never have gone looking for it in the first place.

“I live a retired life, Your Majesty,” said Professor Fraudysham, with a second bow. “So few people believe in the Ickabog that I’ve formed the habit of keeping my knowledge to myself.”

King Fred was satisfied with this answer, which was a relief to Spittleworth, because Professor Fraudysham was no more real than Private Nobby Buttons or, indeed, old Widow Buttons in her ginger wig, who’d howled at Nobby’s funeral. The truth was that beneath the wigs and the glasses, Professor Fraudysham and Widow Buttons were the same person: Lord Spittleworth’s butler, who was called Otto Scrumble, and looked after Lord Spittleworth’s estate while he lived at the palace. Like his master, Scrumble would do anything for gold, and had agreed to impersonate both the widow and the professor for a hundred ducats.

“So, what can you tell us about the Ickabog, Professor Fraudysham?” asked the king.

“Well, let’s see,” said the pretend professor, who’d been told by Spittleworth what he ought to say. “It’s as tall as two horses —”

“If not taller,” interrupted Fred, whose nightmares had featured a gigantic Ickabog ever since he’d returned from the Marshlands.

“If, as Your Majesty says, not taller,” agreed Fraudysham. “I should estimate that a medium-sized Ickabog would be as tall as two horses, whereas a large specimen might reach the size of — let’s see —”

“Two elephants,” suggested the king.

“Two elephants,” agreed Fraudysham. “And with eyes like lamps —”

“Or glowing balls of fire,” suggested the king.

“The very image I was about to employ, sire!” said Fraudysham.

“And can the monster really speak in a human tongue?” asked Fred, in whose nightmares the monster whispered, “The king … I want the king … where are you, little king?” as it crept through the dark streets toward the palace.

“Yes, indeed,” said Fraudysham, with another low bow. “We believe the Ickabog learned to speak Human by taking people prisoner. Before disemboweling and eating its victims, we believe it forces them to give it English lessons.”

“Suffering Saints, what savagery!” whispered Fred, who’d turned pale.

“Moreover,” said Fraudysham, “the Ickabog has a long and vengeful memory. If outwitted by a victim — as you outwitted it, sire, by escaping its deadly clutches — it has sometimes sneaked out of the marsh under cover of darkness, and claimed its victim while he or she slept.”

Whiter than the snowy icing on his half-eaten Folderol Fancy, Fred croaked:

“What’s to be done? I’m doomed!”

“Nonsense, Your Majesty,” said Spittleworth bracingly. “I’ve devised a whole raft of measures for your protection.”

So saying, Spittleworth took hold of one of the scrolls he’d brought with him and unrolled it. There, covering most of the table, was a colored picture of a monster that resembled a dragon. It was huge and ugly, with thick black scales, gleaming white eyes, a tail that ended in a poisonous spike, a fanged mouth large enough to swallow a man, and long, razor-sharp claws.

“There are several problems to be overcome, when defending against an Ickabog,” said Professor Fraudysham, now taking out a short stick and pointing in turn to the fangs, the claws, and the poisonous tail. “But the most difficult challenge is that killing an Ickabog causes two new Ickabogs to emerge from the corpse of the first.”

“Surely not?” said Fred faintly.

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” said Fraudysham. “I’ve made a lifelong study of the monster, and I can assure you that my findings are quite correct.”