CHAPTER 7: 'Anchors Aweigh!'
"ONE
BY ONE, PLEASE STAY IN LINE!
One
bronze each, the view’s quite fine!”
A stableboy pricked each hand with a nail
that dropped a bronze into his pail.
Inside, he counted 59.
A hundred more people stood outside
of the royal stable. Many tried
to peer through the planks and see the beast
the little dark man had brought from the east.
It stood in a spot more than ten stables wide.
“The Council! The Council!” an old woman said,
pointing her arm and nodding her head.
Off in the distance, like a duststorm cloud,
came the clamoring, swirling Council crowd.
The stableboy ran in fear for his head.
The Prince of the Archers—Follett by name—
caught the stableboy and said, “What’s your game?”
The stableboy twisted away and ran.
Nam silently cursed his disrupted plans—
a piece of the profits had been Nam’s aim.
Prince Follett yelled for the crowd to disperse
(While he stashed all of the bronzes inside of his purse).
Not a few of the citizens smirked at the Prince,
and muttered the name they knew made him wince.
“Prince Folly,” said someone. “They don’t make them
much worse.”
The stable doors opened and Nam walked inside.
He returned in a moment on Borstal Bold’s hide.
Onto a dock, he guided the beast,
then onto a ship where stood a glum priest.
Last rites had been ordered in case all of them died.
"Nam
and Alissa, Prince Follett and crew,
each of you know what you set out to do,”
said the Khan in remarks he knew made no sense.
But he needed some rhetoric to cut the suspense.
“May the terror of Snatchgrin finally be through!”
The mothers & fathers & lovers all cried,
despite reassurances they should feel pride.
The ships took on wind and floated away.
Who knew if ever they’d return some day,
or bring glorious news that Snatchgrin had died.
An old man walked along the beach,
watching the ships while eating a peach.
“You watch,” he said to a child on the sand,
“if that old Snatchgrin doesn’t give them a hand.
"Oy! The fine subtleties of a dragon’s screech!”
‘Beware, behold the dragon’s plume!
Snatchgrin rides on a witch's broom.
Build your houses underground,
when Snatchgrin flies don’t make a sound!
Snatchgrin’s name spells doom, spells doom!’
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