Cynical Tales for Cynical Children Page 13

  “great big cat hating dogs”

  The royal procession was easy to see coming which, if you think about it, is the entire point of a royal procession. This one consisted of three carriages, a cart full of royal servants, the royal honour guard, the regular army, several courtiers, their servants and a group of young children on a school trip8.

  “Why did I ever listen to you?” Young Tom stood on the bridge to get a better view of the entourage coming round the corner “I'll be drawn and quartered for this you know. Then they'll stitch me back together and get really mean”

  “You're forgetting you've got a cat on your side”

  “You know what? You’re right, you and me cat. Win or lose we'll stand together”

  “Yes” the steel capped feline quickly pushed his master into the river with, it must be admitted, a little more force than strictly necessary “and, then again, no”9

  “Help me!” the shoe wearing tortoiseshell shouted to the royal procession as they approached the bridge “Oh sire, please help! The Marquis of Carabas is drowning”

  “Why haven't you gone to your masters aid?” asked one of the courtiers whom nobody liked

  “He's drowning, in water. Cat. Water. Do I need to draw you a picture here?”

  “Could you lot stop making jokes and rescue me already? I am actually in some distress here”

  With much apologizing and smiles all round Young Tom, now playing the part of the Marquis of Carabas was quickly rescued, dried off, dressed in fine clothes and everyone was quickly on their way again.

  “Wouldn't you like to marry such a handsome man?” the queen asked her daughter softly

  “He is as handsome as they say Mother although I do wonder just how rich he really is10”

  “I see you've been talking to the cat”

  Curled on his masters lap the cat smiled at the queen and princess, an act which most of feline kind usually reserve for kings “As I said before my queen, the marquis is rich and although he owns all this farmland he'll still insist he doesn't have a penny to his name”

  8

  Strictly speaking they weren't attached to the royal procession and were only included due to the fact a teacher had won the opportunity in a game of cards the previous night. The moral of this small aside is to never assume you can bluff someone who has honed their skills by listening to a dozen students repeatedly claiming variations of “a dragon ate my homework”

  9

  The moral of this part is to never assume your cats aren't listening when you’re talking about getting dogs.

  10 Marrying for money is only distasteful among the Nouveau Riche who can't seem to shut up about the horrible stuff.

  The poor don't go on about money because they haven't got any while the rich assume they are perpetually in funds.

  This tells you something about the way the world works.

  “Is that true?”

  “Take a look at the rags you found him in princess. His fine clothing is now worn by a beggar he passed on the road and took pity upon. Of course my master can easily speak for himself while I run on ahead and ensure the preparations for the royal visit are in order”

  “Ho there filthy peasants!” the tabby in plimsolls called out to yet another group of peasants who were working yet another field “if anyone asks I want you to be sure and tell them these lands belong to the marquis Carabas. Got that?”

  “This is our lords land. I don't think he'd want us lying about who has rightful claim to his property” a lanky peasant looked up from doing something complicated and rural with his pitchfork.

  “We're the ones who work the fields” someone else objected “doesn't that give us more claim to the produce from the fields?”

  “Can any of us really claim to own it though? Perhaps it owns us and we've just been called on to tend it for a while”

  “Look mate. All I know is that I've been working on these fields all season now and if anyone tries to take my fields away they'll get this pitchfork right up their nose!”

  “Nobodies trying to take your fields away. They're just owned by the marquis of Carabas rather than, um, whoever it was that actually owned them before” the cat quickly held up a paw in order to forestall another debate about land, ownership and the combining of the two.

  “Hang on a minute fuzzball. Are you telling us that the Ogre just gave our fields away?”

  “Ogre? What Ogre?”

  “The one who lives up at the great big castle and rules all he surveys is the one I’m talking about boyo”

  “Mean and vicious you say?”

  “Well I didn't actually. The rents are a little steep but his door is always open”

  “He most likely rules over you with an iron first I imagine”

  “Not exactly an iron fist. He's firm but fair I'd say”

  “He's not afraid to get stuck in come the planting season either and when we had that fire he was right beside us the whole time”

  “You're right, come to think of it, all things considered he's probably one of the better lords”

  “Then it's agreed lowly peasants. I shall free you from the tyranny of the ogre lord and all you have to do is tell the king you work in these fields in the name of the marquis of Carabas”

  “Who?”

  “I don't have time to sit around answering daft questions!” the well heeled cat turned a well crafted heal on the peasants and headed off to the next field in order to repeat the conversation unto perpetuity.

  All difficult questions of land ownership aside as peasants they knew exactly where they stood on the social scale11 and none of them wanted anything to do with anything which might attract the attentions of those on the other end12.

  This is the reason why, when the royal procession went by and the actual embodiment of the other end of the social scale asked about the their fields they made certain to assure the royal personage the Marquis of Carabas was the undisputed ruler of this field and all the fields round these parts, why he was a regular field magnate he was.

  It was while the procession mixed with the common folk, albeit from a safe distance, the worlds most audacious stilettoed Persian had discovered there really was a castle and it really was owned by an ogre who really wasn't in a good mood at all13.

  11 The extreme bottom.

  12 The extreme top.

  13 Not because of having to personally answer his door the day after he'd fired all his servants for being useless layabouts.

  It was because he was an Ogre and it is rare they are in a good mood about anything. This tells you something about the nature of Ogres.

  “I ate the last person brave enough to knock at my door” the ogre mentioned by way of greeting his latest unwelcome visitor “you may consider this to be your warning. I'll keep your boots though, my nephew has a birthday next week”

  “A timely warning indeed good sir and in truth I wouldn't have come visiting if it hadn't been for the events of this morning. I was talking with some friends of mine and your name happened to come up in the conversation. Over my protests they made light of the fact you can change your shape into enormous creatures such as elephants and, um, larger elephants”

  “Cat, I'm going to let you live. But only so that you can return to your friends and tell them I resent the implication I am solely versed in pachydermalogical prestidigitation. I spent seven years at magical university and can, in fact, do other things”

  “That's exactly what I said, yet my friends insisted on a wager and, well here I am”

  “Then get back to them I said and let them know I can take any form I desire”

  “I will, at once my lord only, might I see this magic? I don't doubt your word of course. It's just that my friends won't enjoy losing their money”

  “Fine, if it gets rid of you then watch this one, you will observe there is nothing up my sleeves and.

  Hoopla!” the dense puff of smoke cleared quickly to reveal a tiny mouse where there had once been a vast ogre �
�are you happy now?”

  In a flash the cat sprung at the mouse shaped ogre and ate him in two bites because boots or no boots the only way to win an actual game of actual cat and actual mouse is to not be the mouse.

  “Incredibly happy” he burped genteelly by way of an ironic eulogy before running out to meet the royal carriage and welcoming the royal entourage in the name of the increasingly famous, yet humble, Marquis of Carabas.

  My dear Marquis” the king proclaimed “You're a fine handsome young man with a great deal of land and a magnificent castle. You can't swim of course but nobodies perfect. Tell me, are you married?”

  “Why no sire, I'd like to be of course but what would your wife say?”

  It was obvious to anyone with the eyes to see the princess and the marquee would get married and from time to time the cat, who now wore a selection of boots each day would wink at him and whisper

  “You see I'm worth a lot more than any mangy donkey or half ruined mill aren’t I?”

  EXCOGITION

  •

  What am I to do with nothing more than a cat?

  These fatal words, along with his other assorted lamentations, make it clear Young Tom was counting on a large bequest from Dad having clearly forgotten about the most basic rules of these kinds of stories.

  Most relevant is the one which decrees the youngest son never gets anything which looks like its worth having14.

  •

  Why didn't he actually get a job instead of just sitting and waiting for the cat to come back?

  It's not like he doesn't have experience in the milling industry, it's likely the brothers had suffered something of a falling out, possibly having something to do with the nature and amount of their fathers bequests.

  •

  Exactly how does the “Marquis” explain all the Ogre sized furniture?

  Not to mention the fact all the pictures on the walls depict famous ogres throughout history.

  Perhaps he doesn't, after all the nobility don't do things as we normal people do and living in an ogre themed castle might just be seen as somewhat eccentric.

  14 Had he examined the painting more closely he would have realized it was the work of a master artist whose daughter had been kidnapped by treasure seeking brigands and the painting was the key in working out a complex series of clues which would have led to both riches and love for everyone concerned.

  RATIOCINATION

  From a technical standpoint this is the kind of cleverly masterminded scheme where, even if it looks as though you've won you've actually lost.

  Case in point is Young Tom, he might appear to be on top of world with a castle, lands, a princess and all sorts of nifty things you get in this kind of situation. However, if you look past all the glamour you'll see a man who will have to be on his guard for the rest of his life. If anyone should discover his lowly origins then his only recourse will be to strap on the royal running shoes and get the heck out of Dodge, or Carabas as it were.

  Well if he's not the winner then who is?

  I'm certain you've guessed by now it is the titular cat who, in such a short time, has turned his owners life around, gotten an especially warm spot by the window and all the boots he'd ever need. While he's done this he's managed to stay in the background so if the unthinkable ever happens then he can plead ignorance while pointing at the Marquis who has a good head start15.

  Finally, we have to think about the moral to all this because heavens forbid the children who read this don't learn a valuable lesson from it all.

  “You've got to identify your goal and let nothing stop you”

  Despite being a good description of the cats actions it's not a good lesson due to the fact his single minded ambition borders on obsession.

  “People are just things. They're only there to be manipulated”

  This could work, if you were reading the story to cats or children you don't like and want to grow up to be a high functioning sociopath.

  “Cats rule, dogs drool”

  This is the one, nice, safe and who's going to complain, the dogs? Ha! They're all too busy slobbering and chasing things!

  15 Although I defy you to show me any cat who ever became a stool pigeon.

  THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

  In which we learn of the consequences of paying your employees.

  Propaganda. That thing where such minor inconveniences such as the truth, reputable sources and verifiable facts which get in the way of your intended message can be ignored more or less at will.

  Just as advertising attempts to convince the general public of their superior products and services so propaganda does the same thing except, in their case, the message is focused firmly on the enemy1.

  In order to explain this concept further I present a story which most people would consider to be about how everyone should come to the aid of everyone else when they need it the most. However once we’ve pinned back the layers and exposed the beating heart of the narrative we find, aside from a particularly messy metaphor, that this is nothing more than the kind of pro-elf propaganda which has been coldly calculated to tug on the heartstrings and advance the cause of Elf Supremacy.

  hen you take into consideration the whims and assorted peculiarities of the third race it is understandable if variations of this story have been played out before.

  Unless you happen to be a Smith of some description that is. Elves and fairies don't Wdo well against cold iron, a fact they would quite like us to forget and thus is important to remember.

  In order to put everyone on the same page2 it is important to at least begin with a setting of the scene which starts in a country so old it wasn't even referred to as the old country. Nestled deep within the country was an ancient and crumbling city. In that city was a cramped and winding street and, finally, on that street was a shoemaker who had never been good enough to be frequented by anyone worth noticing.3

  Although he had spent the entire day engrossed in his work he does take the rare opportunity to look into the camera and grumble his lines which are not really important enough to listen to suffice to say to touch upon the pertinent facts in enough detail as to leave no doubt that he's poor, old and those darn kids with their darned rap music don't show him enough respect.

  Late one night, due to a heavy workload and a rather distressing tendency to waste time grumbling about things he couldn't control all day long, the shoemaker put down his tools and joined his wife in the back of the shop where dinner had been waiting for far too long.

  “How did we do today Carl dear?”

  “Not bad dear, not bad” Carl hazarded from the depths of his meal and a kind of leathery stew the exact origins and ingredients he had refused to speculate on for the last twenty years “except for that last pair of dancing shoes I've caught up with all the orders. There's no rush though, I'll get a good nights sleep and finish them off in the morning.

  “All right then Mr Snugglybottom, come to bed” The pair climbed the marital stars and at this point we draw a somewhat tasteful curtain over the proceedings of the rest of the night.

  “I thought you were going to finish those shoes in the morning” Bonnie Snugglybottom commented as the pair unlocked the doors of the shop.

  “What are you talking about? I'm going to stitch them up after breakfast”

  1

  Whomsoever they might be this time around.

  2

  It goes without saying that if you're reading this then literally speaking you are, in point of fact, on the same page as everyone else. Welcome to the joys of semantics

  3

  This gets pretty complicated so I hope you’re making notes. At least better notes than the ones I’m making

  “Then what are these supposed to be? Scotch mist?” Bonnie gestured to a pair of dancing shoes which had been intricately constructed from the individual pieces of leather left out the previous night.

  “That's none of my work. Where did they come from?” Carl asked in amazeme
nt and the pair were still debating the topic until that afternoon when the client arrived, paid handsomely for the shoes and left with a promise to recommend Snugglybottom Shoemaking Services to all his friends.

  That night, before he locked the door Carl Snugglybottom looked over at his workbench where the leather and assorted materials for a pair of heavy boots were marked out and, once again, when the pair opened the shop in the morning the boots were sitting on the table in a fully completed state which left the Snugglybottoms as the victims of the strangest case of breaking and entering in the history of ever.4

  “Just who in the heck is doing all this?” an exasperated Carl demanded of the universe in general “I don't wish to appear ungrateful but most of the shoe fetishists in this city just like to smell them.

  They've never shown any interests in their construction”

  “Perhaps it's someone looking for an apprenticeship” Bonnie Snugglybottom mused as she looked out the window along the empty streets.

  “Someone who can do this quality of work is looking for an apprenticeship? I don't think so”

  “That's unfortunate because the alternative is that it's someone trying to muscle you out in which case we're going to have to do something about it. It's not like this would be the first time we've had to deal with some upstart cobbler stepping onto our turf ”

  “Whoever it is they've certainly gotten my attention. I think it's well past time Mr Cleverclogs and I had a bit of a chat”

  “You think I'll need my brass knuckles?”

  “Probably not at this stage love. Lets keep it as friendly as we can, at least until we find out exactly who we're dealing with. Tonight we're going to hide in the shop and catch my newest apprentice in the act”

  That night the empty shop was baited with yet another pair of unfinished shoes and as the midnight hour was struck5 the front door was carefully opened by a pair of Elves who might be described as thin if one were to be satisfied with completely missing an opportunity to use the word, emaciated. As the frozen northern winds blew around the shop and dropped the temperature to freezing levels the Snugglybottoms watched in wonderment as the Elves worked on without regard for the continually dropping temperature or the constant wind which threatened to rip the already threadbare rags which they wore.