STORY: The Lumberjack's Song - Part Four

The party sets off in a disorganised fashion. Hurghak is deeply absorbed in rearranging his papers and preparing a report for the revolutionary committee. Laurie is humming a new tune designed to spellbind everyone in the castle so that the polite ent can make a daring escape. Meneldil is nervously rustling his leaves, and the soldiers are all too deeply buried in luggage to hear the soft padding of a large, long-nosed creature sneaking behind them.

Nothing much happens on the journey, yet the commander breathes a sigh of relief as they see the drawn bridge of castle Hare before them. "Trumpeteer - blow the signal of our return!" he cries.

"Half a minute", a soldier says. "I say we chop the walking tree, and use it to cook our lovely green-skinned Miss Hyerion here." He glares sourly at the orc, who beams back and offers him a newspaper. "Even orcmeat's bound to be better than the bloody gruel they serve in the enlisted men's messhall. We don't get the fancy stuff you toffs get in the officers' messhall."

The ent perks up. "I say, comrade, you have a... aaah... valid point there. The heirarchy of the armed forces is an instrument of... umm... repression of the people, not to... hrmmm... mention the... errr... trees. I wrote a paper about it once which... hoom... analysed the possible marginal utility of employing... bararoom... revolutionary tactics. I happen to have a short abstract handy which, if you would just release me, I could readily give you..."

"Oh, shut up", the commander snarls. "Right, chop away, but remember to save some wood. I'm told Her Majesty desires a new, bigger chest." He turns to the herald, ignoring the sniggers of the troops. "Now, will you please sound those confounded trumpets?"

A wild trumpeting fills the air. "Not so loud, please," the commander winces. The herald stares in some confusion at his untouched trumpet. The sound repeats itself, louder this time.

"You might... ahhh... want to take a look at what's... erm... behind you" the ent suggests politely. The commander and the entire army turn around. A mûmak stands there, thoughtfully twirling a house-sized boulder in its trunk. It tosses the boulder aside, crushing six wagons.

"You might find that... hroom... releasing us will be rather... well... conducive to your retaining your general roundness" the ent says. "And could you give us the keys to the castle while you're about it?"

The commander shrinks visibly and starts to shiver. At first he is still hesitant to hand out the keys, but a few more stomps and boulders by Spot convince him to hand the keys to the nearest person, which happens to be Hurghak. The majority of the army is retreating, fleeing, hiding behind bushes or jumping into the castle's trench, proving Hurghak's theories about the morale in a feudalistic army.

Hurghak leans over to Meneldil. "I'm very interested in your paper, I mean, the one about the hierarchy of the armed forces. May I have a look at it?"
He is interrupted as the drawbridge comes down - obviously the guards had been fooled by Spot's sound - and reveals a great iron door with a small lock. Hurghak unlocks it, and finally, with Meneldil's help, he manages to open the heavy door. Then, as self-confident as ever, Hurghak walks into the entry hall of Castle Hare. Still assuming the revolution has won, he wants to say: "Hello, Comrade-Captain Leila! I have done my info-point, and look at this ent, I've even recruited a new aspirant for our party! He's very interested, or he might be, perhaps, I think. When do the victory celebrations start?"

This is what he wants to say. But actually, all he sees is a huge portrait of the Queen in all her glory, and the door guards in their traditional royalist armour, pointing spears at him. And all he actually manages to say is: "Uh."

The ent draws himself up to his full height. He is feeling wide awake now, and his sap burns with anger at the memory of the corruption brought by the invading armies. The Queen - he remembers the dragon told him something about her being a rabbit - must be told that they have breached the river. Resolutely, he walks up to the door guards. "Ah, my good men", he says, "if you would be so kind as to take us to your rabbit queen, we have a rather... taratarataratallyho... important message for her..." He rummages in his hair and finds a carrot and a cabbage leaf that must have gotten in there in the camp. "And gifts", he adds, holding them out for the guard to see.

He turns back to the lumberjack, who has been unusually quiet. "If they turn... well... hostile, do you think you could... hoom... sing?", he whispers. "It might drive them away." He readies branches to stuff into his ears.

The guards scratch their purple livery and look at each other. "Cen yo unnstand wotsez?" asks one. "Nah, sounds gobbledish tomb ee," replies the other. They fasten the grips on their pointy things, clearly uneasy about the monstrous creatures that have been let into their domain.

Just as Hurghak wonders how they can get Spot into the entrance hall to enjoy the effect of mûmak persuasion, the situation changes. The guards stare transfixed at Meneldil's gifts. "En orrinsh aicicle," mutters the first at the sight of the carrot. "En a leaf of peas," supplies the other, who has eyes only for the cabbage. The royal guards exchange looks again, this time full of comprehension.

"Hyeronian diploms," says the second one respectfully (to his Queen, of course, not to the diplomats), while the first turns to the visitors: "So, ya cam te parlee, ehh?"

With perfectly coordinated movements, the guards unlock the great doors, step aside, stumble, and salute the guests. Hurghak gathers all his pamphlets and prepares for a charm offensive, while Meneldil has to use all his skill to bring all his leaves unscathed through the doorway. "I think I, hroom, could do with an, ooom, leafcut," he remarks.

As the softly humming Laurie walks in behind the two, the guards' eyes become teacup-sized again.

"They ev e dubbel to aur Queen?" asks one.
"Dressed es e lumberjack?" responds the other.

The ent looks curiously at the figure perched somewhat uncomfortably on an overstuffed chair at one end of the room, with a rather strangely-shaped sceptre on her lap. He looks at the lumberjack, and back at the figure. Comprehension dawns. "Ah", he tells the lumberjack brightly, "I presume this is your... erm... aged aunt... whom you have come to visit?" He turns to the guards, and says, "Now could you show us into the throneroom, please?"

Hurghak just stands there and stares at the queen for a moment or two, his brain working furiously. So something has gone wrong, clearly. Somehow the revolution must have failed. But... but this is undialectic! Feudalism is ready to fall, it should have fallen! Few things can arouse Hurghak's anger - one of them is when things refuse to happen as they should, as they must, as Marcks and Leninûl have PROVEN, erudammit. He ignores the confuzzled ent and the doorguards and storms on towards the queen. Standing before her, he yells: "So-called Queen! What have you done to my comrades? Where is Captain Leila? Tell me!"

Suddenly Hurghak realizes that it might not be terribly clever to reveal his political opinion in such a situation. Instinctively, in his panic, Hurghak reaches into his backpack and takes out what has been always a consolation to him - a huge book. Threateningly, he waves "The history of social movements in Hyeronian peasantry, Vol. II" at the guards and the queen.

Queen Rabbyt regards the boisterous intruders contemptuously, as only a reigning monarch can do it, for one icy minute. She then calls out, in a thundering voice, a command that she has found useful a number of times before, and has therefore improved, developed and honed into perfection:

"Guards - grab'em!"

The two guardians of the door have had the opportunity of observing the Ent for long enough to conclude that they'd rather not tackle that, and sprint towards Hurghak instead. A fierce battle, mainly focused on avoiding being swallowed by the book, ensues. Meanwhile, a company of freshly gleaming guards, led by an exceedingly well-polished dwarf, swarms in to attack the Ent, who valiantly defends himself with the veggies. Grunts and punches on cabbage echo through the hall like the sound effects of a bad kung fu movie.

The lumberjack remains ignored by all. In all the brouhaha, everyone even fails to notice his warming-up scales and thrills where he imitates the birds of the forest, a great tree falling, a motor saw, and a ridiculous joke as only lumberjacks know how to make them, all at once.

However, no one could fail to hear as Laurie erupts in an ode especially composed for the Queen, complete with lumberjack jokes. It resounds through the throne room, ricochets off walls, echoes from the domed ceiling, and assaults the listeners' ears from every conceivable direction.

Laurie's song, which has earlier only reduced peaceful squirrels into homicidal maniacs and fine firs into January-style Christmas trees, is now free from the sound-absorption of the forest. Now, it has become a powerful weapon. The guards, most of whom have the experience magnified even further by their helmets, get knocked out one by one. Even the Ent and Orc, who think they had heard everything, shudder and whimper at the power of song fully unleashed. The Queen raises an eyelid.

"For Rabbyt, queenly Queen of Queens, I therefore raise my fingers!" intones Laurie, and salutes the Queen with two fingers and a beaming smile. Hurghak sinks down on his knees and praises Leninûl, Meneldil leans against the nearest wall and groans. The Queen's guards remain lifeless. The Queen rises to her feet, clutching her AK-47.
"I see that my hour has come at last. I pray of you, let my end be swift as suits one of royal blood!" Rabbyt declares dramatically, and flings the gun down with a clatter.

Hurghak lifts his head. Meneldil ceases his lamentation. Laurie's smile contracts into a wrinkle of puzzlement. "Sorry?" he asks.

Seeing his puzzlement, the Queen, in turn, reflects it, by raising her other eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?" she asks. Taking the other's blank stare for a yes, she draws a deep breath, of reassurance or of something else.

"I guess the truth can be hid no longer, 'Lumberjack'," the queen declares. "You are my sister."

"NOOOO!" cries Laurie. "IT CANNOT BE TRUE!"

He - or she - collapses on the floor, the clank of the travelling-axe the only sound in the great hall.

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