The Diamond Tree (2 page)

Aha! thought the prince. So that’s it! A mountain with a dragon in it. He ran his thumb along the blade of this sword to make sure it was sharper than dragon scales, then rowed ashore.

The island appeared to be deserted. Yet Prince Dall had taken no more than five steps along the beach before he was joined by a short, heavily bearded man dressed from cap to boot in tattered deerskin.

“Hi ho,” said the man. “Welcome to the Island of Fire, sire. Watch your boat for half a gold sovereign?”

“Thank you, no,” said Prince Dall.

“How about a map of the interior, then?” said the short, heavily bearded man. “A day tour to Dragon Mountain? An umbrella to keep the ash off your head? Or how about this, a colorful parchment that gives the history of the island in words and pictures, hand-illuminated by monks? Only two gold sovereigns.”

“You certainly have a lot of things to sell,” said Prince Dall.

The short, heavily bearded man nodded his head so eagerly his stomach shook. “That’s because I own the concession rights to this side of the island,” he said. “Picked ’em up a few years back. Of course, the dragon was a bit more active then and the crowds larger. Nevertheless, I can’t complain. We still get the occasional prince and boatload of pilgrims. Would you be interested in a hot sausage to go, cooked by the dragon himself?”

Prince Dall shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I would appreciate it if you would direct me to the center of the island.”

“Right,” said the short, heavily bearded man. He pulled a piece of folded foolscap from his jacket pocket and held it out to the prince. “Map of the interior. One gold sovereign.”

Prince Dall sighed but gave him a gold sovereign anyway. “Pleasure to be of service,” said the short, heavily bearded man. He tipped his hat, turned on his heel and walked off down the beach.

Sure enough, not far from where the prince had beached his boat, the map indicated a trail leading into the center of the island. Prince Dall found it without difficulty and started off. He had not traveled more than five minutes, however, when he was joined by a short, heavily bearded man dressed from cap to boot in tattered green broadcloth.

“Hi ho,” said the man. “Welcome to the interior of the Island of Fire, sire. Could I interest you in a genuine piece of hand-carved lava rock? A perfect example of native handicraft. Just two gold sovereigns.”

“You look familiar,” said Prince Dall. “Didn’t I meet you back at the …”

“No,” said the short, heavily bearded man. “I seldom ever get over to that part of the island. Too busy with concessions here in the interior, you see. Would you be interested in some dragon’s
breath repellent? Or how about a nice souvenir dragon medallion? It’s a good likeness and guaranteed silver.”

“No, thank you,” said Prince Dall. “I’m really only interested in getting to the center of the island.”

“Right,” said the short, heavily bearded man. He pulled a piece of folded foolscap from his jacket pocket and held it out to the prince. “Map of the interior, one gold sovereign.”

“But I already have a map,” Prince Dall protested. He held his map up for the man to see.

“Oh, my!” said the short, heavily bearded man. He slapped the side of his head so hard Prince Dall winced. “That’s terrible. You’ve got last year’s copy. I’m afraid you’ll never find your way with that. You’ll need a new map. It’s only…”

“I know. One gold sovereign,” sighed the prince, reaching into his purse.

“Pleasure to be of service,” said the man. He tipped his hat, turned on his heel and walked off down the path.

Sure
enough, Prince Dall’s new map showed a second trail branching off from the first no more than 100 paces back the way he had come. Retracing his steps, he found the turn without difficulty and in less than a minute came upon a large wooden sign with an arrow carved on it. Next to the arrow were the words “This Way to Dragon Mountain.”

On the back of the sign was a much older message, upside down that said, RED COACHMAN TAVERN, J. DEVON, PROP.

Next to that was the faded image of a red coachman with outstretched arms. In the direction the left arm pointed was a path.

“So much for red men who hang upside down,” the prince muttered.

In less time than it takes for a birthday candle to burn down, the path took Prince Dall to a rocky shore overlooking the mainland. Drawn up on the shore was a dory, painted in dark green and red. The prince started toward it and was immediately joined by a short, heavily bearded man dressed from cap to boot in tattered blue wool.

“Hi ho,” said the man. “Welcome to the Island of Fire mainland ferry, sire. Trip to the mainland, two gold sovereigns. With lunch, three gold sovereigns. Could I interest you in a beautifully done, hand-stitched tapestry of the dragon in full eruption? Or how about some fishing line and a hook fashioned from a dragon’s claw? You can fish your way across. Could catch dinner, you know.”

“You don’t happen to have relatives on the island do you?” asked the prince.

The man shook his head so vigorously his hat almost fell off. “No sir,” he said. “No time for family when there are concessions to attend to. Would you be interested in this handsome dragon’s tooth ring? Normally, I’d ask three gold sovereigns but I’m having a close-out and I’m willing to let it go for two-and-a-half.”

“I’ll take the trip to the mainland,” sighed Prince Dall. “Without lunch.” He handed the man two gold sovereigns.

In a flash of the oars they were across and with a “Pleasure to be of service,” a tip of the hat and a turn of the heel, the short, heavily bearded man hopped back in his boat and rowed away.

A well-traveled road led inland from the coast and Prince Dall set out upon it. In a short time he found himself at a crossroads at the crest of a hill. The road ahead led down into a low, pleasant valley. In the center of the valley was a village of neatly kept stone houses with thatched roofs. A stream ran through the village and into the fields beyond. The road to his left flung itself along a ridge and fetched up, some distance away, against a dark and somber castle.

Well, thought Prince Dall, we shall soon find out if the old woman was right. He turned to the left and started off toward the castle.

Part Three

Princes, despite a natural tendency toward impetuousness, when given problems to solve, frequently begin by making a plan, just as ordinary people do. Prince Dall did have a plan. He had worked on it carefully during his four years of wandering. It was this: since the Prince of Rage loved riddles, Prince Dall would engage him in a riddle contest, outwit him with a clever twist of wit, then claim the diamonds for his own and ride home in triumph.

An older and wiser prince might have realized that the plan had a few holes in it. Still, a plan is a plan as a wish is a wish, as anyone between pablum and pork pie can tell you. Before the plan could be tested, even so, it was necessary to get into the castle. That in itself was a problem that needed a plan. First of all, the castle was surrounded by a murky moat with something in it. Prince Dall was quite sure of that since the water now and again moved in strange, rippling patterns as though a very large body was passing by just beneath its surface.

Secondly, because the castle had no windows, there was no hope anyone inside would look out, see him and let him in. There were no nearby trees to swing from. No ropes with hooks to grapple with lying about. No cliffs to drop from. The castle was as hard to enter as a rock.

And basically as ugly, thought the prince sulkily. He threw himself down beside the murky moat to think. He had not been sitting long, however, when he noticed a stout, middle-aged woman approaching. Around her shoulders was wrapped a heavy, brown shawl and trailing behind her, linked together with rope, were three donkeys each piled high with wicker baskets.

Without a glance at Prince Dall, the woman trudged to the edge of the murky moat, unloaded her donkeys then shuffled off down the road toward the village. She had left thirty baskets, each one large enough for a small child to hide in but not one of them big enough to conceal a large prince.

Pity, thought the prince. And yet, he reasoned as he settled down beside the pile of baskets, sooner or later someone from the castle will have to come to collect these baskets.

That day, no one came. Nor that night. On the following morning, a tall thin man leading a wagon loaded with casks of wine and cages of live chickens approached the castle. Ignoring Prince Dall, the man maneuvered his wagon close to the edge of the murky moat and unloaded his cargo. When he had completed this task, he turned his wagon and shuffled off back down the road to the village.

Perhaps, thought Prince Dall, hopefully, I have become invisible. I have heard of such things happening so it could be true.

All the rest of that day no one came for the baskets or the wine or the chickens. Nor that night. On the following morning, two young peasants appeared driving before them a dozen head of cattle. Ignoring Prince Dall, the two tethered their cattle by the edge of the murky moat, then turned and trudged off back down the road to the village.

I am almost certain of it, thought Prince Dall. I have become invisible. If only I could get inside the castle, the rest would be easy.

All the rest of that day no one came for the baskets or the wine or the chickens or the cattle. Nor that night.

On the following morning, as Prince Dall was considering, invisible or not, his chances of making it across the murky moat before whatever was in it made a meal of him, the castle drawbridge let down with a creak, a clump, a cascading clatter of chains and a crash. From out of the castle gloom came a horse-drawn wagon driven by a servant in gray homespun. The wagon racketed across the wooden drawbridge and, ignoring Prince Dall, drew up beside the pile of goods. The servant alighted, loaded the merchandise onto his wagon, tied the cattle on behind and turned back toward the castle.

Prince Dall, now totally convinced of his invisibility, leaped onto the back of the wagon and together they clattered back over the drawbridge and entered the dark, cobbled passageways of the Prince of Rage’s castle. The drawbridge was raised. Taking advantage of the ensuing clatter, Prince Dall slipped from the back of the wagon and set out in search of the Diamond Tree.

He had not far to go. Within fifty paces the passage he followed made a turn to the right, passed through a low, arched tunnel and gave way onto a bright and pleasant courtyard. In the exact center of the courtyard stood a tree with a slender white trunk above which fluttered a dense glistening crown of emerald green leaves. It was quite beautiful, and for a moment Prince Dall stood staring at it in breathless admiration.

An old man, bent and gray, sat resting beside the tree on the surrounding close-cropped grass. Eagerly, Prince Dall ventured closer and, as he did, the old man looked up and turned toward him. How odd, thought Prince Dall. If I am invisible, how does he know I’m here?

At that precise moment six knights in black armor stepped out of the shadows behind the prince, seized and disarmed him and tumbled him rudely, headfirst into a sack.

So much,
bump, bump, bump
, thought Prince Dall as he was dragged along a stone passageway, bouncing over the paving stones, for, he thought,
bump, bump, bump,
invisibility.

Over passageways, up stairs, along corridors, across halls, down steps, under archways and around corners, Prince Dall was trundled along in his sack. Then, with one final bump he came to a halt. There was a quick shuffling of several feet, the sack fell open and he looked around.

Prince Dall found himself in a room twice as long as it was wide and half as high as it was from end to end. Along each wall were dozens of baskets overflowing with perfect diamonds, all glowing with such intensity that every detail of the room was clearly illuminated. A score of knights dressed all in black armor and as motionless as carvings lined each side
wall. At the far end of the room were double doors that reached higher than a man could jump and at the end nearest Prince Dall an empty throne sat alone on a low dais.

Even as Prince Dall was taking all this in, the double doors swung open and the Prince of Rage entered. He was quite unlike Prince Dall had imagined he would be. Instead of being tall and thin, he was short, with a squat, round torso balanced on pencil-thin legs clad in scarlet hose. Instead of being gaunt and shadowy, he was somewhat green, with a face swollen up like a blowfish centered upon an elegant, ruffled collar. Rather than proceeding at a stately gait, he stumped along in a noisy limp, the result of having stamped his right foot in anger once too often. In sum, he resembled nothing so much as a large, angry, well-appointed frog.

Brow furrowed in a fearsome scowl, lip curled in an arrogant sneer, he limped in a glowering circle around Prince Dall, then turned away in disgust and mounted his throne. “Feed him to Slither,” he roared.

“Before you even ask my name?” asked Prince Dall nervously.

“One,” grinned the Prince of Rage evilly, “small piece at a time.”

“Before you’ve heard my riddle?” asked Prince Dall.