CHAPTER 4: The Last of the Mahmoots
"BORSTAL
REMAINS THE LAST OF HIS KIND,
search the world over, there are no more to find...”
Nam sat at a table surrounded by thrones, as
a handservant offered him stewed monkey bones.
Nam scowled and said, “Meat! It’s bad for the mind!”
He pulled from his pocket a cloth sack of figs.
“Persia declined when it began to eat pigs,”
he said as he bit & he chewed, then resumed:
“Your life takes direction from what you’ve consumed.
Grow strong as a tree when you eat from its twigs!”
“Spare us your diet,” remarked Jaffa al-Am.
“I’ve known a few sages who loved their smoked ham.
Some cultures, of course, decline to eat pork,
believing the rough beast unclean for the fork.
I’ve no aversion myself to roast lamb.
“Now, please,” said the Khan, “return to your tale.
This ‘borstalbeast’ is
beyond our pale...”
Nam interrupted: “A ‘mahmoot’ it’s named.
In our most ancient legends its prowess is famed.
And its taste, for once hunters took to its trail.”
Nam
finished his meal and produced from his sack
a string. “You should always apply to each crack
in your mouth such a tool as you see.
It sets all the food that is trapped in them free.”
With the string, Nam went on the attack.
The Council observed him, some with disgust,
others amused, still others distrust.
Who was this boy? And what was his game? And
what could he do with a monster so tame
versus a great dragon’s power-mad lust?
‘Beware the night, beware the day,
when Snatchgrin happens along your way.
Is it a cloud that has blocked the sun?
But no, look up—the Dreaded One!
Goodbye tomorrow, greet death today!’
“What do you need to begin this hunt?”
said Queen Junelilly Moss, who rolled to the front
of the chamber and reached
for the vase which Borstal’s arrival had breached.
She picked up four pieces, one with a grunt.
Falco, who assisted his queen in most things,
made a move to assist from his place in the wings.
He stopped as he knew the queen would rebuke
his gesture to help. Then up spoke a duke:
“My gracious great queens, wizards, khans, wizened kings...”
The ritual greeting was a formal device,
a protest would follow and it wouldn’t be nice.
“Let us remember,” the duke said and then smiled,
“We’re speaking about a wild beast and a child.
The odds are quite long on this roll of the dice.”
He chuckled and sat to a bit of applause.
His words had in fact given each of them pause.
Snatchgrin had bested the best of the lot.
What could a boy do great champions had not?
Nam finally stood on behalf of his cause.
He began with a sneer. “Each of you sits on your
high golden seat, your arses grown big and soft as your feet.
While this dragon devours the wealth of your lands,
has one of you lifted a sword in your hands?
It’s yours sons & your daughters who feel Snatchgrin’s
heat!”
The Council erupted with curses & cries.
A young viscount stood and exclaimed, “These are lies!”
It took ten more minutes for calm to prevail.
(Not a few of the crowned heads yelled: “Put him in jail!”)
Nam hid his emotions behind narrow eyes.
Order returned with a stentorian call by
Queen Junelilly Moss (just plain ‘Lilly’ to all).
“Council!” she said. “Dear Council, relax!
Remember our motto, what we seek? ‘Semper Pax!’
The duke who had spoke spoke again to the hall.
He was the Duke of the Thatchers. No longer amused,
he said: “Lilly, this boy is not only confused,
he has no respect for the powers that be.
He’s a child with a dangerous pet, can’t you see?”
However, this child had made the duke feel quite bruised.
“Well, isn’t he right” said the queen, with a scowl.
“You all sit here and think, ‘I’m as wise as an owl.’
Yet hundreds keep falling to Snatchgrin’s bad breath.
As we dally & dawdle he delivers more death,
while you rave at this boy and cry ‘Foul!’
“He’s braver than us, he’s willing to try.
You are quite aware you could easily die?”
said the queen, rolling up to Nam’s chair at the table.
Nam nodded: “I’ll do what I’m able to do, that is all.”
The queen rolled away with a sigh.
Silence prevailed. The duke clucked his tongue.
On the back of his chair, Nam’s back-sack was hung.
He retrieved it and pulled out a couple of figs.
Jaffa al-Am thought idly of pigs,
a reprieve from the scolding by Lilly, which stung.
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