You probably recall that there was once a town that lost all its wool and mutton because the boy who was hired to tend the sheep got bored. He took to hollering “Wolf!” when there was no wolf, just to see all the townsfolk turning out to help him. Naturally, the one time there WAS a wolf, no one believed hi when he hollered, and that story ends rather red.
No far away, in another town, another shepherd, Jack, heard all about this, and saw the moral at once. “What a shame!” he thought. “Anybody should realize that if you tell lies about important stuff, you’re going to get hurt. The secret is to tell lies about stuff nobody cares about. You can have just as much fun, and keep out of trouble.”
Jack got to be pretty good at this. Shepherds, you understand, have very little to do all day but look at sheep, to make sure none of them get into trouble or turns out to be a wolf who took the job under an assumed name. So he had plenty of time to practice unimportant lying.
He’d lie to anybody who walked by. “You might want to walk careful around that rock there, Mister,” he’d say. “It just hopped across the road to get to that place, and I’m sure it winked at me.”
The traveler would stare at Jack and then walk over to kick the rock, or just walk around it, way wide. Either way, no one got hurt, particularly. And if the traveler was going in the direction of town, and mentioned the strange story the shepherd had told him, the townsfolk would tell him, “Well, Jack’s an honest lad at heart. Anyhow, he never hollers ‘Wolf!’ when there’s no need.”
But because the sheep spent their time in a lush green pasture that had no attractions beyond grass, not many travelers did pass by. That didn’t bother Jack. He’d just sit and lie to the sheep. This made no difference because the sheep never listened.
“You know,” he’d say, “I understand the queen needs new robes. So I’m going to have to start feeding you goldenrod. That way you’ll grow golden fleece.”
The sheep, busy nibbling every blade of grass right down to the ground, were too preoccupied to pay much attention to this, though one or two would say “Bah!”
So Jack would go on, “Yep, that’s how we do it. Goldenrod. The golden fleece. Had a terrible fuss a few years back, when I was feeding sheep goldenrod and they got into some bluebells. The wool came out green, of course, from the mixing of the yellow and the green. The queen was ever so angry. But then I showed her that, just the way there was real gold mixed in with the golden fleece, there were emeralds mixed with the green fleece. So she decided not to cut off my head but instead cut me a piece of her own personal rhubarb meringue pie, baked by the royal bakers, and served to me on a golden platter. She said I could take the platter home if I liked, but Mom and Dad had told me to fetch all the firewood I could carry, so I just didn’t have any room for that.”
He would just go on and on. It got so that he could tell a hundred lies to the sheep every day, and two hundred on Saturday so he wouldn’t sin by working on a Sunday.
One morning, he had just settled himself onto a soft spot of grass under a tree, and propped his crook against the trunk, when a small red head popped out of the grass. Jack didn’t notice, because he’d already started in on his first lie.
“Did I ever tell you about the purple sheep?” he inquired. None of the sheep replied, being busy, and he explained, “I was sitting here, just as you see me now, when I noticed this purple sheep mixing in amongst the others. Now, I don’t swear to know every sheep in a flock by first name, but I was reasonably certain there hadn’t been any purple ones when I left town. So I reached out with this crook right here and caught the fellow by one hind leg. “Oh, sir!’ he squealed, which surprised me because no sheep had ever called me “Sir’ before. ‘Oh, sir! Let me go and I will grant you three wishes!’ Well, I thought about it and….”
“I beg your pardon.”
Jack looked all around the sheep to find out where this voice had come from, but finally thought to look down. The head of a small fox was regarding him from the grass. Jack was alert at once. In general, a fox wasn’t big enough to carry off a whole sheep, but foxes were known to be crafty.
“My name is Cavia,” said the fox, tipping its head to one side. “What’s yours?”
It didn’t make any difference, and Jack saw no reason to be on first name terms with a fox. So Jack replied, “My name is Rudolph Fairbairn McButtermilk the Fourth.”
“Ooh,” said the fox, rocking back on its haunches, “An honor to meet you, I’m sure.”
“I know,” said Jack.
“Anyone with a name like that is far too grand to be a shepherd,” the fox told him.
Jack had often thought this even leaving the name out of it. But he yawned and said, “Well, a fellow must do something to pass the time.”
The fox eased a little closer. “Well, Rudy…do you mind if I call you Rudy?”
Jack raised his nose. “I prefer Rudolph.”
“Okay, Rudolph,” said the fox. “Would you mind being a prince instead of a shepherd? You look like strong young man who could rescue a princess from a curse and marry her and live happily ever after on a prince’s salary.”
“Well, now.” Jacked leaned back and looked up at the clouds. “I don’t know that I care so much about the money, but I suppose a fellow ought to do what he can to rescue a princess.” This may or may not have been a lie, as Jack knew very little about money and nothing about princesses.
“Do you mean it?” asked the fox, apparently anxious. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Jack felt this question was a little too personal, so he replied with a question of his own. “Why? Do you know where there’s a princess who wants to be freed from a curse?”
“I do. If you’d be good enough to follow me, Rudolph, I’ll show you.” And with a flip of its brushy tail, the animal vanished.
Jack rolled to his right and studied the grass where the fox had been. A big hole was waiting; the fox had just gone down inside. This bothered Jack. Being a conscientious shepherd, he had check the area for holes in the ground a sheep might fall into before stopping there. Sheep. Being interested in little but grass, would fall into any hole that was there, given the opportunity And there had been no such hole as this when Jack was checking.
Before Jack could make up his mind how he thought about this, the fox’s head reappeared. “You coming, Rudolph? The princess is under a curse, so she’s not going anywhere, but I have other things to do if you’re not interested.”
Jack got up, looked around at the sheep, and then stepped down into the hole. The path he found there was not particularly pleasant. Water was dripping, and Jack was sure he could hear something creeping along the path. Then he remembered that HE was creeping along the path.
“How much farther?” he asked the fox, half walking and half sliding along a part of the path that had a lot of sharp rocks.
“Oh, any time now,” the fox called back. “See the light up ahead?”
Jack did see a bright spot ahead of and below him. He blinked, and the light rose before him like smoke blown on the wind. He blinked again: the damp dark tunnel was gone. Now he stood on a narrow dirt path littered with boulders, and lined with tall red and blue columns. Far below him, on both sides of the path, he saw a vast city, shadowed but shiny. Tall, thin buildings reached up to the ceiling of an enormous cavern, with glowing spires and shimmering lights he did not understand. It was all so sparkly, and yet so silent.
“Heads up!” called the fox, as Jack stood staring. Jack looked down, of course, and saw the fox’s tail disappearing under a boulder to the right of the path.
“Ahem,” said something else.
Jack had hitherto neglected to look straight down the narrow path. Not much more than twenty yards ahead of him sat a great gate with golden bars, blocking any forward progress, although Jack estimated they were far enough apart for him to squeeze through. (Shepherding is not an occupation in which one puts on fat.) But there was a sentry ox next to this, and blocking access to the gate was a huge hand, standing on fingers each taller and broader than Jack. Where the wrist should have been was a broad bald unfriendly head.
“Why do you approach the city of Merripat?” demanded this head. The mouth showed rows of broad, flat teeth.
Jack threw himself on the ground and, groveling in an amiable way, cried, “Oh, Master! This vicious fox told me there was unguarded treasure in this place! If I would just follow him, I would find unguarded storehouses where I could walk in and take all the chewing gum and maple sugar I desired! But when Your Magnificence appeared, the traitor ran away!” Jack threw a hand toward the boulders to the left of the path.
The hand scratched its nose with its little finger…or leg. “Him again, eh? I’ve had trouble with him before. “Wait right here. I will deal with both of you together.”
The fingers hurried the sentry past Jack and up the path. Scooting forward, Jack plunged at the gate. He had estimated correctly; he squeezed between bars without any trouble. The fox, coming from behind its boulder, simply squeezed under. They ran down the path until they were out of sight of the sentry box.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Rudolph. You really tricked him.”
“That’s not very funny,” Jack told the fox. “You could have told me about him beforehand.”
“What did you expect?” Cavia demanded. “Cursed princess always have guards on hand. Or vice versa. But I knew he wouldn’t get anyone as daring as Rudolph Fairbairn McButtermilk the Fourth under his thumb. Come on.”
Jack had stopped in the middle of the path. “Are there any more gates like that one ahead?”
“Why?” asked the fox. “Are you thinking of turning around and going home?”
Jack saw the point, and followed.
Blogsy Babbles 