Fantastic Stories Page 7

  ‘So, since nobody else seems to be doing anything, I, Frederick Ferdinand Fury-Paws The Forty-Fourth, intend to do something about it!’

  ‘Oh, do be careful!’ twittered his wife, who was always alarmed when her husband used his full name. ‘Don’t do anything rash, my dear! Don’t let your strength and size lead you to do things you might regret!’

  But before you could say ‘cheesefeathers!’ that mouse had scuttled off to the Father Of All Things, and made his complaint.

  The Father Of All Things listened with his head on one side. And then he listened with his head on the other side.

  Then he turned to the Mother Of All Cats, who was pretending to be asleep nearby, and said: ‘Well, Mother Of All Cats? It doesn’t seem fair that you should have two tails when every other creature has only one.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ replied the Mother Of All Cats. ‘Some creatures have two legs, some creatures have four legs, some creatures have six legs and some – like the ungrateful centipede – have a hundred! So why shouldn’t us cats have two tails?’

  ‘Because,’ said the mouse, ‘it’s unfair to us mice. You can see us by day and by night! We don’t stand a chance.’

  And so they argued all day long, until the Father Of All Things said: ‘Enough! All creatures have only one head. And as it is with the head, so it should be with the tail.’

  At this all the mice cheered. But the Mother Of All Cats twitched her crafty whiskers and smiled and said: ‘Very true. Therefore let us cats have only one tail in future – but do you agree to let us choose which sort of tail?’

  The Father Of All Things turned to the mouse and asked: ‘Do you agree to this?’

  And the mouse replied: ‘Yes! Yes! But only the one tail!’

  So the Father Of All Things said: ‘Very well, you may choose.’

  ‘Then,’ said the Mother Of All Cats, giving her tail a crafty flick, ‘please take note that we cats choose the sort of tail that is thick and long to keep us warm (like our daytime tails) and shining bright to light the night (just like our night-time tails) – both at the same time.’

  ‘That reply was crafty as only a cat’s can be,’ said the Father Of All Things. And all the other mice turned on Frederick Ferdinand Fury-Paws The Forty-Fourth and said: ‘There! Now see what your meddling’s done! It’ll be twice as bad as it was before!’

  The mouse bent his whiskers to the floor and cried out: ‘Oh, please, Father Of All Things, don’t allow the cats to have tails that are like their daytime tails and like their night-time tails both at the same time, or, I fear, we mice will all be destroyed!’

  But the Father Of All Things replied: ‘I cannot go back on my word.’ And he turned to the Mother Of All Cats, who was sitting sleek and crafty as only cats can be, and he said: ‘Mother Of All Cats, do you promise to be satisfied if I give you a tail that is like your daytime tail and like your night-time tail – both at the same time?’

  And the Mother Of All Cats smiled a crafty smile, and said: ‘I agree.’

  And all the cats and stoats and weasels cheered, and the baby mice crept even further into their mothers’ arms and their fathers wrung their paws in despair.

  ‘Then, from this day forth,’ said the Father Of All Things, ‘let all cats’ tails be like their night-time tails – ordinary in size, neither thick nor long. And let them be also like their daytime tails – not shining bright to light the night – but just ordinary tails.’

  And no sooner had the Father Of All Things said this, than there was a crack and a whizz, and all the cats’ tails turned into ordinary tails, very much like they are today.

  When they saw that, all the mice cheered, and the cats blew on their whiskers and slunk off into the forest.

  But now I have to tell you a terrible thing, which goes to show that cats really are as crafty as only cats can be.

  That very night – the mouse said to his wife: ‘My dear, now it is dark, let us go for a promenade, for – thanks to my efforts – it is now perfectly safe to walk abroad at eventide, since cats no longer have tails that are shining bright to light the night, and they will not be able to see us.’

  And his wife said: ‘As always, my dear, you know best.’

  And so they put on their best summer coats and frocks, and they stepped out of their hole and at once were pounced upon by the cat. For cats, of course, have all got special night-time eyes, and have always been able to see as perfectly well by night as they can by day – with or without their shining tails.

  They really are as crafty as only cats can be…

  THE FLYING KING

  THERE WAS ONCE A DEVIL in Hell named Carnifex, who liked to eat small children. Sometimes he would take them alive and crush all the bones in their bodies. Sometimes he would pull their heads off, and sometimes he would hit them so hard that their backs snapped like dry twigs – Oh! There was no end to the terrible things he could do. But one day, Carnifex got out of his bed in Hell to find there was not a single child left.

  ‘What I need is a regular supply,’ he said to himself. So he went to a country that he knew was ruled by an exceedingly vain king. He found him in his bathroom (which contained over a hundred baths) and said to him: ‘How would you like to fly?’

  ‘Very much indeed,’ said the king, ‘but what do you want in return, Carnifex?’

  ‘Oh … nothing very much,’ replied Carnifex, ‘and I will enable you to fly as high as you want, as fast as you want, simply by raising your arms like this,’ and he showed the king how he could fly.

  ‘I should indeed like to be able to do that,’ thought the king to himself. ‘But what is it you want in return, Carnifex?’ he asked aloud.

  ‘Look! Have a try!’ replied Carnifex. ‘Put out your arms – that’s right, and now off you go!’

  The king put out his arms, and immediately floated into the air. Then he soared over the roofs and chimney-pots of the city. He went higher and higher, until he was above the clouds, and he flew like a bird on a summer’s day. Then he landed back beside the devil and said: ‘But what is it you want in return, Carnifex?’

  ‘Oh, nothing very much,’ replied Carnifex. ‘Just give me one small child every day, and you shall be able to fly – just like that.’

  Now the king was indeed very anxious to be able to fly – just like that – but he knew the terrible things that Carnifex did to small children, so he shook his head.

  ‘But there are thousands of children in your kingdom,’ replied Carnifex. ‘I shall only take one a day – your people will hardly notice.’

  The king thought long and hard about this, for he knew it was an evil thing, but the idea of walking anywhere, now he’d tasted the thrill of flying, seemed to him so slow and dull that in the end he agreed. And from that day on he could fly – just like that.

  To begin with all his subjects were very impressed. The first time he took to the air, a great crowd gathered in the main square and stood there open-mouthed as they watched their king spread out his arms, rise into the air, and then soar up beyond the clouds and out of sight. Then he swooped down again and flew low over their heads, while they all clapped and cheered.

  But after a few months it became such a common sight to see their king flying up over the city that they ceased to think anything of it. In fact some of them even began to resent it. And every day some poor family would find that one of their children had been taken by Carnifex the devil.

  Now the king’s youngest daughter had a favourite doll that was so lifelike that she loved it and treated it just as if it were a real live baby. And she was in the habit of stealing into the king’s bathroom (when he wasn’t looking) to bath this doll in one of his baths. Well it so happened that she was doing this on the very day that the king made his pact with Carnifex, and thus she overheard every word that passed between them.

  Naturally she was terrified by what she had heard, but because girls were not reckoned much of in that country in those days, and because she was the least
and most insignificant of all his daughters, she had not dared tell anyone what had happened. One day, however, Carnifex came and took the king’s own favourite son.

  The king busied himself in his counting-house, and would not say a word. Later that day he went off for a long flight, and did not return until well after dark. But the boy’s mother was so overcome with grief that she took to her bed and seemed likely to die.

  Then the youngest daughter came to her, as always clutching her favourite doll, and told her all she knew.

  At once the queen’s grief turned to anger against the king. But she was a shrewd woman, and she knew that if she went to the king and complained, he would – as like as not – have her head chopped off before she could utter another word. So, instead, she dressed herself as a beggarwoman, and, taking her youngest daughter with her, crept out of the palace at dead of night.

  Then she went about the kingdom, far and wide, begging her way. And everywhere she went, she got her youngest daughter to stand on a stool, still clutching her favourite doll (which everyone thought was real) and tell her story. And everyone who heard the tale said: ‘So that’s how the king can fly!’ And they were all filled with anger against the king.

  Eventually all the people from all the corners of the realm came to the king to protest. They gathered in the main square, and the king hovered above them looking distinctly uneasy.

  ‘You are not worthy to be our king!’ the people cried. ‘You have sacrificed our very children just so that you can fly!’

  The king fluttered up a little higher, so he was just out of reach, and then he ordered them all to be quiet, and called out: ‘Carnifex! Where are you?’

  There was a flash and a singeing smell, and Carnifex the devil appeared, sitting on top of the fountain in the middle of the square.

  At once a great cry went up from the crowd – something between fear and anger – but Carnifex shouted: ‘Listen! I understand how you feel!’

  The people were rather taken aback by these words, and one or two of them began to think that perhaps Carnifex wasn’t such a bad fellow after all. Some of the ladies even began to notice that he was quite handsome – in his devilish sort of way … But the king’s youngest daughter stood up on her stool, and cried out: ‘He’s a devil! Don’t listen to him!’

  ‘Quite, quite,’ said Carnifex, licking his lips at the sight of the little girl still clutching her favourite doll. ‘But even I can sympathize with the tragic plight of parents who see their own beloved offspring snatched away in front of their very eyes.’

  ‘Well, fancy that!’ said more than once citizen to his neighbour.

  ‘Whoever would have thought he would be such a gentleman…’ whispered more than one housewife to her best friend.

  ‘Don’t listen!’ shouted the king’s youngest daughter.

  ‘So I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Carnifex, never taking his beady eyes off the little girl clutching what he thought was a small baby. ‘I’ll give you some compensation for your tragic losses. I will let you all fly – just like that!’ And he pointed to the king, who flew up and down a bit and then looped-the-loop, just to show them all what it was like.

  And there was not a single one of those good people who wasn’t filled with an almost unbearable desire to join him in the air.

  ‘Don’t listen to him!’ shouted the little girl. ‘He’ll want your children!’

  ‘All I ask,’ said Carnifex in his most wheedling voice, ‘is for one tiny … weeny … little child a day. Surely that’s not too much to ask?’

  And, you know, perhaps there were one or two there who were so besotted with the desire to fly that they might have agreed, had not a remarkable thing happened. The king’s youngest daughter suddenly stood up on tiptoe, and held up her favourite doll so that all the crowd could see, and she cried out: ‘Look! This is what he’ll do to your children!‘ And with that, she hurled the doll, which she loved so dearly, right into Carnifex’s lap.

  Well, of course, this was too much for the devil. He thought it was a real live baby, and he had its head off and all its limbs torn apart before you could say ‘Rabbits!’

  And when the crowd saw Carnifex apparently tearing a small baby to pieces (for none of them knew it was just a doll) they came to their senses at once. They gave an angry cry, and converged on Carnifex where he crouched, with his face all screwed up in disgust, spitting out bits of china and stuffing.

  And I don’t know what they would have done if they’d laid hold of him, but before they could, Carnifex had leapt from the fountain right onto the back of the flying king, and with a cry of rage and disappointment, he rode him down to Hell where they both belonged.

  And, after that, the people gave the youngest daughter a new doll that was just as lifelike as the previous one, and she was allowed to bath it in the king’s bathroom any day she wanted.

  As for Carnifex, he returned every year to try and induce the people to give up just one child a day to him. But no matter what he offered them, they never forgot what they had seen him do that day, and so they refused, and he had to return empty-handed.

  And all this happened hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and Carnifex never did think of anything that could persuade them.

  But listen! You may think that Carnifex was a terrible devil, and you may think that the flying king was a terrible man for giving those poor children to Carnifex just so that he could fly. But I shall tell you something even more astonishing, and that is that in this very day, in this very land where you and I live, we allow not one… not two… not three… but twenty children to have their heads smashed or their backs broken or to be crushed alive every day – and not even so that we can fly, but just so that we can ride about in things we call motor cars.

  If I’d read that in a fairy tale, I wouldn’t have believed it – would you?

  THE DANCING HORSE

  A FARMER WAS WALKING DOWN THE ROAD one day, when he saw the most extraordinary sight. One of his horses, who should have been grazing in the field with all the other horses, was dancing.

  The farmer rubbed his eyes, and then he looked again, as the horse skipped around the field on two legs, turning pirouettes and wheeling and bowing and curtsying around and around the field.

  Eventually the farmer yelled to the horse: ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’

  And the horse replied: ‘I hear this music in my head that makes me want to dance.’

  And on it went, round and around the field.

  Well, the farmer said to himself: ‘People would pay a lot to see such an extraordinary sight as a dancing horse!’

  So he took the horse to market, and charged people a penny to come and see it. When everyone had assembled, the town fiddler played a jig on his fiddle, and the farmer led out his dancing horse.

  But the horse just stood there and didn’t dance a single step.

  Well, of course, the audience booed and the farmer had to give them their money back. And when they’d gone, he turned on the horse and said: ‘What’s the matter? Why didn’t you dance?’

  ‘I didn’t feel like it,’ replied the horse. ‘I couldn’t hear the music in my head.’

  ‘Didn’t feel like it!’ exclaimed the farmer. ‘Listen here! You’ve made me a laughing-stock! I’ll not feed you again – not so much as a single oat – until you dance!’

  Then he took a stick and beat the horse.

  Then, once again, the farmer gathered a crowd, and they each paid a penny to see the wonderful dancing horse. Once again the fiddler played a jig, but once again the horse didn’t dance a single step. It was so miserable, it just stood there all the time the fiddler played.

  Well, of course, the farmer was more furious than ever. He turned on the horse and shouted at it: ‘Listen to me! Either you dance, or I’ll sell you to the glue factory, where you’ll be boiled up to make glue!’

  The horse was naturally very frightened by this. And so, when the farmer once again summoned the crowd, and t
hey’d paid their pennies, and the fiddler played his jig, the poor horse tried to dance. But its heart was so heavy that its feet were like lead, and the noise of the fiddler’s jig blotted out all the sound of the music in its head.

  Pretty soon the crowd started jeering again.

  ‘Call that a dancing horse?’

  ‘My cat dances better than that!’ they yelled, and demanded their money back.

  The farmer turned on the horse, white with anger, for he’d never touched so much money before, and now he was having to give it all back.

  ‘You lazy, ungrateful creature!’ he shouted at the horse. And there and then he took it and sold it to the glue factory.

  Now it so happened that the day was Sunday and the glue factory was not working until the next morning. So the horse was put into a field to wait. When it found itself back in a field of grass, it was so happy to be away from all those staring faces and its cruel owner, that it started to hear the music in its head once more. And once again it started to dance around the field – a sad but graceful dance.

  And there, I believe, it is still dancing to this day, for the owner of the glue factory happened to look out of his window and saw the horse dancing so beautifully in the field below. And he said to himself: ‘Clearly this is a mare that dances for love not money.’

  And he let her dance in that field as long as she lived and heard the music in her head.

  MACK AND MICK

  ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WERE TWO BROTHERS who could never agree about anything. They argued about what to have for breakfast. They argued about what to have for lunch. They even argued about which side of the bed they should sleep on.

  One day Mack said to Mick: ‘I can’t stand living with you another day. I’m leaving!’