Adventure Three: The Heroes of the City of Gold
The City of Gold, which the city on the horizon was so appropriately named, was not a construction of Belamy's previous dreams. When you are dreaming, your vision is typically very narrow and therefore, so is the scenery. When Belamy dreamt of the space ship repair shop, she had not considered where these space ships may have come from or who their owners might have been; naturally, when you dream, you do not consider such things. But when you keep a dream world in a small corner of your bedroom, those things consider themselves.
Belamy was presently walking through the city.
From afar, the city had glittered and sparkled ethereally in the light of the sun. Now close by, Belamy could see that each building was not really made of gold (which would melt in such warm climes) but of granite inlaid with golden flecks of dust. The granite was cool and very glossy to the touch.
The streets were paved of white cobblestones, so intricately placed that there were no uneven patches over which Belamy might stumble. Every so often she would pass a fountain, and these fountains spouted waters from springs deep within the earth, and pooled into stone aqueducts which trailed throughout the city upon high arches. There were many gardens full of flowering plants, and several of the houses were bordered by grape vines and olive trees.
Each house was lined with granite pillars and was shaded by triangular roofs. Belamy could look straight into one home, which was cushioned with rugs and silk pillows for sitting or sleeping. There was a washtub with a curtain and a paper screen that led to rooms deeper inside the house. All the houses that Belamy passed were similarly designed.
The people who walked the streets were mostly in pairs or groups of three, and every body seemed contended and peaceful. The women wore long flowing dresses and sashes of light fabrics which looked very comfortable, and men wore tunics and trousers. Belamy felt curious eyes studying her funny dress, but she was too busy staring at the enormous structures that were the buildings of the heart of the City of Gold.
There were towers that were so high she had to crane her neck to see their tops, with jeweled patterns across their doors. There were museums and theaters, all of which were so great that she could not see where one ended and the next began, and maybe they were all just one incredible building. Belamy even spotted this world's Hall of Justice, and she remembered where it was located in case she would ever need just assistance.
Everything was shimmering in the evening sun.
Belamy found herself walking into an expansive open circle which she could only guess was the center of the city. This circle was filled with people selling their colorful wares: clothes strung on lines, food in barrels, paintings on their easels, perfumes in painted glass bottles, and Belamy even saw a man who was blowing little sculptures made of light, in much the same way one might blow glass. There were banners gliding back and forth on the soft wind, which served as signs for each merchant, detailing his specialties. Belamy spotted a booth with a banner that read "Destinations, Transportations, Informations". She approached the booth and called attention to a small old man who was sitting close by.
This man had wild white hair that had been combed back as best as it could be, and he was wearing a suit with tails. He looked to Belamy like a conductor she had once seen when her mother had taken her to the symphony, except this man's suit tails looked like those of lions, and they swished back and forth.
"Excuse me," Belamy said. "Will you give me some informations? I am new to this circle."
The man coughed and said to her, simply, "It is a square."
Belamy turned around, studied the absolutely circular shape of the area, and replied, "It is a circle."
"Yes, it may be in the shape of a circle," the man told her. "But it is a square, I assure you."
Belamy did not believe this man, but she did not protest any more. Grown ups, she thought, are incredibly dedicated to their definitions of the world.
"Where can I find the rulers of this city?" Belamy asked the old man. "I would very much like to speak with them before I have to turn in for bed."
"The rulers of the City of Gold are not rulers, to be precise. Rather, they are Heroes," the old man said.
"Who are these heroes?" Belamy asked.
"Not only heroes, but Heroes; it is a title, you see.” The old man’s tails swished side to side. "I can tell you where they live, and provide transportations if you would like. I cannot guarantee that they will entertain your company, of course."
"I am sure they will, for I have no company; it is only me," Belamy said. The old man studied her for one reason or another, but she ignored his study and persisted; "Can you tell me more about these Heroes? What have they done to claim such a title?"
"You may ask them yourself, if you are so lucky," the old man said. "Let me call you a hansom."
Belamy was mistakenly flattered. "Thank you," she said as the old man walked around the back of his booth. (His tails hung low to the cobblestone, flicking now and then). He whistled, and within the minute, two zebras clopped to a halt in front of him, pulling a small carriage behind them.
"Zebras," Belamy said, delighted. She approached the one closest to her and stood just next to it, so that she was at least in a full half of its vision.
"I'm sure you hear this all the time," she said to it, "but I have always been curious to ask; are you white with black stripes, or black with white stripes?"
The zebra, in a pitchy voice, replied; "Neither, as a matter of fact; I am pure white, but Master insists I only walk underneath window shutters during the day."
Belamy looked up and the pair of zebras whinnied a great joke.
"That was not very funny," she said, feeling foolish as their laughter subsided.
"It was very funny," the further zebra assured his companion, in an equally pitchy voice.
"It did not take me long to write," the closer zebra told Belamy.
"Can you write?" Belamy asked, eyeing his hooves.
"I can dictate," he told her. "And the more I do so, the better chance my words have of being heard and written."
"That joke will probably not be written," Belamy responded, still feeling foolish.
The old man, who had gone back behind his booth, now returned with two long carrots.
"Would you like to feed the zebras?" the old man asked Belamy.
"Yes, please," the further zebra said.
"I am very anxious to eat a carrot," the closer zebra added.
"I will do so," Belamy said to them, "if you promise not to trick me again."
"I do so promise," the further said very quickly, and Belamy let him munch on his carrot. The closer zebra hesitated.
"If the journey becomes quite long and boring," he said, "could I tell my joke just once more?"
"Can you not say anything else?" Belamy asked. "Let us compromise."
"I have plenty of words," he finally agreed.
"My friend here is a philosopher," the further zebra said with a sideways nod, swallowing the last of his carrot.
"I would not say so much," he replied, modestly, "although you must admire my intelligence. Most animals do not have a sense of humor."
Belamy gave him his carrot, and was fascinated by the way his ears could turn back and forth to the different noises of the market. She stepped inside the small carriage, which was clearly made for two (if two did not mind a tight fit), but as there was only one of her, it was quite comfortable.
"Take this young lady to the Heroes' villa," the old man instructed the zebras.
"Yes, Master," they replied in synchrony, and the carriage began to roll smoothly down the street and away from the busy market. Belamy settled back in her seat and gazed up at the tall buildings surrounding her. They passed a sculptor's workshop and Belamy fancied the man inside was the stone Sybil's father. The zebras, true to their word, did not play any more tricks, although the zebra who had played the one was inclined to speak abstractly.
"We are all of magnificent evolution," he would say. And, "A tree may very well have the greatest sense of real time." Or what was rather humorous to Belamy was, "I would not be surprised if I had been dreaming each of you in past moments ago, as I am sure I am awake during only the present moment, and the rest is left to memory.”
The journey was not very long, and for the young dreamer, not nearly long enough. The zebras pulled the carriage easily up to the top of a hill, where the long villa sat. It was just as beautifully carved as the rest of the city, but was much larger than the other houses Belamy had seen. There were courtyards and gardens outside, which continued through the interior of the villa through grand arches that stood in place of columns in the entryway. Belamy got out of her seat and thanked her ride.
"You are welcome," each zebra replied. The philosopher was especially pleased.
"We will wait here for you," he offered.
"I would like that, thank you," Belamy said, and she turned from them and walked straight into the shaded, grass-covered foyer.
"Who goes?" a commanding voice asked. It came from the other side of a tree (which was growing through a hole in the ceiling), and she peered around the tree to see a guard in uniform, holding an elegant spear.
"I have come," Belamy corrected him.
"Not without authorization," the guard said. "Your name, please?"
"Belamy," she replied. The guard pulled two scrolls out of his pocket, and scanned each of them in turn.
"Well, you are not on the black list of R. Harlow, nor that of T. Harlow," the guard told her. "They have been met with several enemies, you see."
"I see." Belamy did not see. His comment was rather confusing to her. "Excuse me, but who are R. and T. Harlow?"
"Why, have you not come to meet them?" the guard asked her.
"Are they the Heroes, then?"
The guard seemed to be concentrating on a thought, and he finally said; "Did you not know that they were the Heroes?"
Belamy paused, then responded; "Are you replying to my questions in questions?"
"Yes." He gave a small sigh.
"I won that match, then," she said.
"You do not have to tell me," he said. "Come then, let me show you into the foyer, where you may wait to meet our city Heroes. They will be very happy to have your company."
"I was told that they would feel differently," Belamy said. "But now I am sorry that I did not bring one."
"One what?" he asked.
"A company, of course."
The guard gave Belamy a funny look and instructed her to wait while he told the Heroes of her arrival.
After a few minutes with which Belamy used to admire the garden, the guard returned and she was escorted down a wide passageway. Although this passage was enclosed, the ground was still grassy, and remained so until she was finally led into a great dining room. There at the table sat what Belamy could only guess were the two Heroes of the City of Gold, smoking casually from pipes.
One was very light-haired and of strong build. He sat puffing on his pipe with the air of a man who knows so many things that he does not even bother to tell people any more, for people would merely become boggled. The other wore his dark hair long, and he was very gaunt in complexion, and sinuous in build. He sat hunched in his chair and drew on his pipe with the air of a man whose pipe is stolen quite often. When Belamy entered the room, they both looked up from their smoking and waved the guard away.
"Come, sit with us, and tell us about your self," the blonde man said in a jovial manner.
"We have been without a friend for so long," the dark one added. "Our people, we believe, are intimidated by us."
And Belamy, on her part, having pulled a chair across from the two Heroes, was politely intimidated by them.
"My name is Belamy," she started, looking from one to the other. "I have come from a distant land to visit your city."
"For what reason?" the dark one said, curiously.
"Yes, are you a tourist? An anthropologist?" the blond one added, fixing his grip on his pipe expertly.
"What is an anthropologist?" Belamy asked.
"One who learns about the people of distant lands," the blond one said.
"I am an anthropologist, then," she told them.
"You are very young to be an anthropologist," the dark one interjected.
"Come now, brother," the blond said, "we must not be picky about our guests."
"Won't you tell me about your selves?" Belamy asked them, very curious about their pasts now. "You say you are brothers. Did you perform heroic deeds together, then? How have you come to be the Heroes of this city?"
"So many questions!" the blond said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I am up for the task. You may record our conversation on paper if you would so be inclined. I will add the manuscript to my book, in fact. I am writing my life's accomplishments, you see, and it truly helps to organize them by relaying them aloud."
Belamy agreed to record their conversation, and the guard was called back to fetch a pen and some paper. With her materials, she felt purposeful, and so at ease, for the remainder of her stay.
"Let me begin, then," the blond suggested. Belamy was ready with ink and skill. "My name is Rufus Harlow. Along with my brother, I am a Hero of this City of Gold. When I was a boy, I met a prophet woman who told me that I would one day overcome an evil king and take his throne, as a benevolent ruler. She told me that I would save a kingdom from certain despair.
"This, I will tell you now, did not occur. As I grew into a young man, I fell madly in love with a beautiful girl from my hometown. When I approached her father to ask for her hand in marriage, he told me that I could marry his daughter under one condition: that I fulfill the woman's prophecy, because such a girl as his daughter was fit only for a king.
"I was then determined, and surely set by fate, to overcome an evil king. There was only one I knew of, a dark man who had succeeded the throne soon before my love had begun to bloom. The small town from whence I came knew about the prophecy. They were sure that it was I who would overthrow this evil king.
"I traveled to the kingdom, and using my gifts of charm and swell words, I was allowed a company of the king. I tricked him into making an impossible deal with me, which I was sure to win. Now, everyone knows that the king always employs the most expert taxonomist (a taxonomist, if you do not know, is one who records the species of animals). And this taxonomist was employed for life so long as he continually recorded a certain number of new animals per year. For some reason this is vitally important to kings.
"At any rate, I tricked the king by first telling him that I was certain I knew of one creature that had been ignored on the taxonomist's list of animals. The king (who is always very close to his taxonomist), insisted that the list was at present more than one hundred-thousand animals long, and there was no possible way that he could have ignored even the smallest of insect. We soon came to a deal, and it was made just so: If I could find one animal that was not on this list, the king would give up his crown to me. If I failed, however, I would be beheaded for wasting the king's time and insulting his taxonomist. This deal, as you surely have realized, was as much as I had hoped for.
"The risk, I admit, was great. But I had a plan from the start, you see. All I would have to do, I decided cleverly, was find the most skilled costumer in the kingdom and have him sew for me a most convincing costume of the most unheard-of creature. Then, I would convince an actor friend of mine to play an equally unheard-of part for this creature, and I would thus present him to the king.
"I found a gifted costumer soon enough, and as he hated the evil king as much as any body, he agreed to put his soul into the creation of a creature that might fool him. My actor friend also agreed to play the part of the creature, and when we tested the charade for the first time in the costumer's shop, I must admit the beast had me frightened for a moment. Within a fortnight of our deal, and with the promise of a lady’s love in my heart, I presented the fantastic creature to the king.
"The king was thoroughly convinced, I must say, and I was confident that my plan had worked. I would soon fulfill the woman's prophecy and marry the girl that I loved. Unfortunately, the king was so thrilled by this new and amazing creature that he insisted my friend continue to gallop about his court for an extended time. My friend, of course, having grown very hot inside his costume, began to tire, as he was merely a man made to look like a fantastic creature. He soon grew so weary that he had to rest, and as he panted on the floor, the king uncovered my clever plot.
"I knew then that I was going to die, and we were led to the scaffold. My friend, who had no time to change out of his costume, was to be beheaded as an exotic beast. I knew not how I would escape this dreadful end, and had given up all hope. Just as a crowd was forming for our execution, however, the evil king was approached by a messenger of the old queen, his mother. This messenger announced that the king was, in fact, not the true king; he was an illegitimate son whose true identity had been hushed for fear that there would be no other person of royal blood whom might rule the kingdom. In fact, the king's mother, at that precise moment, revealed that she had a truly legitimate son, who had been living as a costumer for most of his adult life, and was only then discovered by his signature on the paw of the exotic beast. "Henry Thorvold" the signature read, and the queen explained that the costumer (rather, the rightful king) had been taken from her as an infant, but not before she had named him and written that same name on his sleeping basket. This was all confirmed through birth records, at a later date.
"With no longer any reason to hide the bastard's identity, the messenger thus exposed the king as unworthy and he was banished from the kingdom forever. My actor friend and I were released from death and the old queen thanked us both for inadvertently reuniting her with her son at long last. The costumer assumed his place on the throne and ruled the kingdom so well, that the father of my true love allowed us to marry at last.
"So now you know the story of my heroism, and how I gained the title of Hero in this City of Gold."
The tale of Rufus had been very long, but so exciting for Belamy that she had forgotten to record past the first paragraph. But something was troubling her.
"That was very lovely," Belamy said, simply. "But how does it make you a hero? It seems to me that it was all luck by the end."
"Miss Belamy, understand this: the definition of a Hero is rather vague. A Hero is a man who has an adventure and gets married. That is truly what a Hero is, and that is how this city has allowed me to live here as such. Now, I have grown short of speech. I hope you enjoyed my tale."
"Very much," Belamy assured him. She then met eyes with Rufus's dark brother, who had remained silent, smoking broodingly on his pipe throughout the story.
"You have been so patient," she said to him. “I would love to hear about your adventure and marriage."
The brother sat up a bit straighter and cleared his throat. "Forgive me if my story is not as exciting as my brother's. He has a gift of words. Shall I begin?"
Belamy readied her pen, determined to write this story down in its entirety. She nodded for him to continue.
"My name is Teller Harlow. I have walked in the shadow of Rufus since we were very young. When he left on his adventure, I had no friend to talk to or save me from my strange thoughts, and I was consumed by suspicion. Was my father ashamed that I had remained at home while my brother had gone to save the kingdom? Did my mother sigh when she looked at me because she could not bear to think that she had produced such a pathetic son who would be so soon forgotten by the enemy Time?
“Every where I turned, the people met eyes with me. And their eyes revealed their disappointment. That stupid boy, they were thinking, he will not amount to anything and will soon be forgotten, being the younger brother of a great adventurer, and with not one friend. They hated me, I knew. So, in spite, I vowed never to love another, as no other has ever loved me.
"I was consumed by jealousy because I knew that my father would always be more pleased with my brother than me. I could not control my desire to prove myself to my father, so I searched for a way to serve him some honor, even if it should kill me or make a villain of me. What is a villain, anyway? It is a person who is always in doubt, and can never prove himself as much as he desperately tries. I could never prove myself as a clever and charming person, and so as a young man, I decided to turn my life onto a different course. From then on, I would concentrate solely on honoring my father in some way, to make him proud of me, even if it meant I was to lose my life in the process or become a villain to everyone.
"My father was a wealthy merchant who had many competitors. There was one competitor in particular, a dreadful man from a town only a few miles west from my own, who always seemed to steal away my father's customers. Our family's riches began to grow sparse because of this man, and my father cursed his name. This was the man who would give me a chance to gain my father's pride at last. I would take care of the competing merchant and end our family’s suffering.
"And so, I crept through the night in dark disguise, to murder the merchant in the twilight hours and take back the money that was rightfully my father's. If I were to succeed in my plan, I knew we would be once again rich, and my father would not doubt the character of his youngest son any longer. With a heavy heart and a pointed blade, I set out on my treacherous task, thinking of nothing but my chance for redemption.
"I arrived before sunrise at the merchant's house, which was silent with unsuspecting slumber. I slunk into his bedroom with narrow and heartless vision, but as I raised my blade for the soul-snatching blow, I could but stare at his sleeping form. It may have been that my hesitation disrupted the balance of his sleep; it may have been that he could smell the sweat that oozed from my brow; it may have been any number of things, which ultimately awoke the sleeping merchant to find me looming-- a caricature of death-- above him.
"My hand was suddenly unfrozen by his waking gasp, but far too late for me to do any damage, and the merchant shouted and shouted. His guards were instantly upon me. With one blow of the arms, I was unconscious. When I awoke, I had been put in chains, and it was explained to me that I would be exiled forever. And so I was. The wealthy merchant collected the rest of my family's money as a debt for attempted murder, and my father died of shame."
Belamy had ended the record of Teller's story even sooner than she had ended the first.
"That story was not heroic at all," she said finally. "Of that I am sure. There was no adventure, and no marriage."
"Miss Belamy," Teller said, leaning back in his chair, nonchalant, "a Hero is not simply determined by adventure and marriage. The people of this city understood that. A Hero is a man who lives suffering as all he knows falls to pieces. When the people of this City of Gold heard my story, they did not question the title. I am, most definitely, a Hero."
Belamy looked from one brother to the next. They seemed to have no quarrel in the other's definition of a Hero. They both sat quite content, puffing on their pipes.
"Did you record our histories?" Rufus finally asked.
"It was a difficult task," Belamy admitted. "I was unable to complete either. I will remember your tales and record them later, if you would not mind it."
"Certainly," Teller said.
"I would enjoy dictating again," Rufus agreed. "This was all very much fun."
Belamy thanked the Heroes for their time and left the villa to the awaiting hansom. She left with the zebras through the city and across the grassy plain to the space ship repair shop. Belamy also thanked the zebras for their ride, and arrived back in her little bedroom just before bed time.
When she was finally tucked safely between the covers of her bed, she had a most peculiar dream that would affect her secret world forever after. And so it began, Dear Reader; The Adventure of the Emperor Milo.
Adventure Four: The Emperor Milo
Copyright 2010
