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At 2:00 the bombardment began, and this time it was far greater than anything the enemy had ever seen before. Destruction rained into the city from every side until it was difficult to imagine that there was anything or anyone left within. It continued steadily for about an hour and then, at 3:00, stopped.

A troop of cavalry under Nicolo’s command began to circle the walls, feinting here and then there, drawing fire and keeping the enemy’s defenses spread over the entire perimeter of the city. At 3:20 the attacks began, pressed forward as if each one were to be the only one. In and out they went, back and forth and around, leaving the defenders confused and exhausted. At 3:45 their work was done and all drew back. For a moment the smoke and dust cleared as Claude stepped forward to see. Except for the sound of his footsteps everything was quiet. Every eye was now on him. He paused for a moment and then raised his sword high over his head.

In an instant, a thunderous explosion shook the ground and a great section of the wall burst apart as if an enormous fist had smashed through it. Stones, mortar and men toppled over each other and when the debris settled, a large gap remained in the city’s defenses. Towards it, every man and boy now charged.

“Death to the tyrant!”

“To victory!”

“For Elena!” they shouted as they rushed towards the opening. The defenders hurled themselves into the breach and both armies collided in battle. Claude led the main assault, slashing his way forward, while other groups scrambled up and over the mounds of stone to gain the walls with ladders, ropes and even their fingernails. Back and forth they swarmed like two huge beasts in a deadly embrace. Again and again Claude’s arm rose and fell and again and again his shield rang against blows intent on cutting him down.

4:00 . . . 4:10 . . . 4:15 . . . 4:25 . . .

4:40. The battle raged on, with neither side gaining a foot nor giving an inch. Claude fought in a fury, forgetting all else, rallying his men and leading them time after time into the enemy line.

4:45 . . . 4:55 . . . 5:10 . . . 5:25 . . . 5:30 . . .

5:45, and still they fought—until at last the enemy began to yield and draw back, exhausted and defeated. Claude waved his soldiers into the city and in they leaped. Then before doing so himself, he climbed to the top of the battered wall and looked out once more at all that he had fought for and wanted so much.

“Tomorrow it will be changed,” he thought. “The city will be ours and Elena will always smile.” Then just as he was about to shout “Victory!” himself and enter the city to claim it, the museum bell once more informed him of the time. That too would have to wait for tomorrow.

Claude didn’t sleep at all that night. He tossed and turned and paced, was up at seven, dressed at eight-thirty and out by nine-thirty. It was Saturday and the museum opened at ten, but he was at the doors by nine-twenty-five. They were closed and locked, of course. For a few minutes he fidgeted and waited in hopes that someone would let him in, then turned and raced down the steps and around to the side where he found the small door which had been left open for the guards and porters. He tiptoed along the dark service corridor and up the back stair to the main floor. Then, looking carefully to be sure that no one would stop him, he rushed across the floor to the alcove. There was the picture and Elena—but there also, on the floor directly below the painting, was a bucket and a mop with its handle resting against the frame. As he stood in the still-darkened corner, one of the porters walked past slowly and without looking to one side or the other reached down, picked them both up, and carried them away. There where the mop had stood was a small clear pool of liquid.

Claude was stunned. “They were not tears?” he asked softly, but there was no one to answer. What else was there to believe? “Was it only a dream?”

He looked at Elena’s face, but now it seemed neither happy nor sad, and the river was only a ribbon of paint and surely no one had ever crossed that bridge, and the victory—what nonsense!

He sighed, and stood quietly for a moment. “But what does it matter?”

He turned and left the way he had entered, but had he stayed a few more minutes he might have seen the museum director, who had also arrived early that morning, summon the porter to him. And if he had been a little closer he might perhaps have heard him say how displeased he had been to see a mop resting against one of the paintings. And then also he would most probably have heard the porter apologize for not knowing better, for as he explained most reasonably, it was only his first day at the job.

But Claude had gone, and what has happened to him since is something we do not know. It is also hard to say for certain whether or not the events which took place really happened at all, for the one obscure chronicle which might have recorded them disappeared long ago in another and not dissimilar battle, and who else is there to tell us? Whether Claude ever returned to the museum is again a question about which we can only wonder, but it is still there, and if one day you should happen to be in the vicinity you must pay it a visit. Make it a point to see the Dutch collections and the English landscape painters and, of course, the Chinese porcelains. And if you have a moment, stop and look at the “Young Lady in a Make-Believe Landscape,” for she too is still there, in the alcove. Notice the beautiful modeling of her face, the careful balance of the composition, the great sense of space and depth in the background. Look also for the deftly controlled brushwork and the artist’s great understanding of nature. But please—do not look for tears.

Good King RNP paced dejectedly in the throne room of his palace. That is, if you could call it a palace or for that matter even a throne room. In fact, there was also some confusion as to why he was called “Good,” and beyond that the name RNP itself seemed to raise more questions than it answered. Nevertheless he paced, and as to his dejection there was no question at all, for RNP was the ruler of what was surely the most destitute and miserable kingdom in the world—that is, if you could call it a kingdom. It certainly didn’t look like one.

The streets were a sea of mud, unpaved, rutted and very difficult to use, except during the rainy season, when they were impossible to use. The buildings (those that were still standing) were in a state of complete disrepair—roofs leaked, floors sagged, doors jammed, and they hadn’t been painted for so long that the original colors had faded past memory. The public fountain had long since run dry, the market shed had collapsed, and the stable roof had disappeared some time back, in a high wind. The weather was almost always too cold except when it was too hot, or too wet or too dry, and the poor farmers had a terrible time scratching a living from the barren, rocky soil. Melons would grow only to the size of grapefruits, grapefruits were no larger than oranges, the oranges were scarcely bigger than lemons, the lemons were merely the size of cherries, and the cherries were so small and bitter that everyone preferred to eat the melons.

As for RNP himself, things were no better. He was a small man with sad grey eyes and doubtful feet who wore hand-me-down clothes and a hand-me-down expression and no one paid any attention to him at all. For him there were no cheering crowds, no speeches, no victory parades, no medals to give, no babies to kiss, no foreign envoys with precious gifts—in short, nothing. In fact most people had forgotten who he was entirely, and because of his shabby appearance he was often asked to do odd jobs or run errands. Even the dogs were impolite. So he spent most of his time at the palace.

But the palace was hardly more than a ruin. Its one main room served as the royal sitting room and bedchamber, kitchen and pantry, parlor, exchequer, banqueting hall, council chamber, gallery, grand ballroom, post office, and storeroom for the royal cabbages, which grew, of course, no larger than Brussels sprouts. All that distinguished it from the other buildings were the chipped and faded letters tacked up over the door which spelled out GOOD KING RNP. But why RNP? And then again, why Good? It is certainly about time that someone asked.

Many years ago, when the old king died, he had left his son as heir to the throne—a pale disinterested boy with no illusions. On the day of his coronation, when the royal storage chest was opened, it was discovered that along with the cast-iron crown and a somewhat moth-eaten robe, the only official letters left that had not been gnawed by the rats or ruined by the damp were an R, an N and a P. Since the kingdom was as poor then as it is now, there was no money available to buy others and so, after a hurried conference, the boy, who had been brought up to expect the worst, became RNP. (There was a strong sentiment for NRP, but a majority of citizens felt that it sounded a bit foreign.) The GOOD and the KING were added several years later when they were found quite by accident at the bottom of the moat. From that time on, this is how it had been and as far as he knew this is how it would always be.

And so he paced and sighed, and sighed and paced. And on occasion, he would stop and gaze longingly at the distant mountains and wonder if somewhere in the world it was possible that there was something better, for he had no way of knowing that the same dry and dusty wind that stung his cheek would rise up afterwards into those mountains, freshen itself on the backs of the clouds—gently draw perfume from the tall pines and high grasses—throw off its cares, bouncing gaily from peak to valley to peak, and then drop softly to the broad green plain on the other side and lightly rustle the rich brocaded draperies in the palace of King Magnus the Abundant.

King Magnus sat contentedly in one of his nine royal dining rooms, eating breakfast. He nibbled daintily at each of the forty-three delicious courses prepared by the royal chefs and served with grace and elegance by the twenty-seven footmen and waiters carefully trained for just such employment. The bright morning sunlight streamed into the room, pausing only to acknowledge the leaded windowpanes before leaping joyfully from the gold and silver plates to the jeweled goblets, to the crystal chandelier, along the delicately carved moldings which lined the walls and ceiling, and finally spilling in great golden splashes onto the polished marble floor. Magnus smiled. If ever a king had reason to smile, he did. And then he laughed, and if he had reason to smile he surely had as much reason to laugh, for it would be hard to imagine a wealthier king or a richer and happier kingdom. From the palace itself if you were to look in any direction as far as the eye could see, and then from that distant point look again as far, and then look once more, you would only begin to understand the extent of this favored realm.

It was a land of bountiful orchards, fat farms, busy workshops and happy people, and in order to make certain that everything remained so, the seasons themselves seemed to be in competition to see which could be most splendid and helpful. The summers were warm and bright and busy. The autumns, amber and ample. The winters, crisp and sharp and full of steamy laughter, and the spring, shy and gay, smelling of recent rain. The roads were smooth and broad and they dipped and rose lazily with the easy rolling ground, curving gracefully back and forth through fields and woods as if reluctant to hurry through the lovely countryside before coming, finally, to the city itself.

And what can be said of the city? That the sun shining off its bright tile roofs made each street look like a necklace of precious jewels could be seen by anyone who had ever come down the road on a fine morning. That flowers hung at every window and that everything was freshly scrubbed and brightly painted and then scrubbed and painted again was obvious, surely, to everyone. That the streets were made of the finest cut stone, fitted with such skill that it was possible to run the length of any of them with a full glass of water and not spill a drop could be proved by anyone who had run the length of one with a full glass of water. That the palace contained eight hundred and twelve rooms, three thousand four hundred and fifty-eight windows, and forty-seven balconies was easily verified by anyone who cared to count, and that King Magnus at that very moment had just stepped out onto one of those balconies to greet his subjects was more than confirmed by the deafening shouts and cheers of the crowd below.

Magnus the Abundant was loved, as his father had been loved and his father before that and his father before that and back for a thousand years. Everywhere he went the crowds gathered to cheer him on his way or on his return, or to listen enthusiastically to a speech or a holiday oration. Banners were waved, songs sung, parades held, games staged, and always on everyone’s lips was the name MAGNUS, MAGNUS, MAGNUS—or as many citizens of longer memory preferred, MAGNUS, MAXIMILIAN ALEXANDER (after his father), ROLAND, BENTIVOGLIO (after a distant relation who had distinguished himself in a long-forgotten war in a manner that no one could recall), HILARY, MANFRED, CHRISTOPHER, APOLLODORUS (the contribution of a maiden aunt who was fond of the classics), NICHOLAS, ADRIAN, FREDERICK, DIEGO ACOSTA Y RODRIQUEZ (after an uncle who had been lost once in Spain), AUGUSTUS, ALFRED, SEPTIMUS (after a seventh cousin), BENEDICT CHARLES, GODFREY, LLEWELLYN, GILBERT, EDWARD, RALPH—which was, of course, his full name and could be shouted only during long parades or on afternoons which were not overly busy.

And so he stood on the balcony, as broad as his smile and as tall as his troubles were short. The ermine-trimmed cape he wore fell softly from his shoulders and the ruby and emerald crown sat on his head as lightly as only rubies and emeralds can. At his right hand was the beautiful Queen Goode and to his left, sturdy Prince Paragon and little Princess Ultima who, it was said, was so gentle and knowing that she could hear the flowers grow. Again and again he raised his arm and waved. “How happy,” he thought, “how indescribably happy.”

Meanwhile, though, many miles and many moods away, King RNP still paced in his one squalid room.

“How sad,” he was heard to mumble, “how utterly sad.”

“It could be much worse,” answered a melancholy voice from the corner. It was Goom, the Prime Minister.

Now, while Magnus had scores of ministers, generals, admirals, ambassadors and servants, RNP had only Goom, who was the most miserable and pessimistic of all his subjects. His mother’s name had been Gloom and his father’s name Doom and since he was at least as unhappy as they were together, he was named for them both. Besides being Prime Minister he was also Foreign Secretary, Keeper of the Royal Seal, Minister of the Interior, Game Warden, Commander-in-chief of the Army and the Navy, Postmaster General and everything else, for each of which he was paid the same salary—nothing. It was also Goom’s house which was the palace and so he lived there with the King, who, as was only proper, cooked and cleaned to earn his keep, and whenever RNP complained or grew too disconsolate Goom was there to cheer him up.

“It is never so dark that it can’t get darker,” he would grumble, or, “Whatever happens today is always better than what will happen tomorrow.”

“There is no one who has as little as I,” RNP would reply bitterly while clearing the dishes or mopping the floor, for it was this suspicion which made his unhappiness so much the sharper. “Somewhere there must be a king who has more!” And then Goom would again express his doubts, and as Minister of Finance go back to figuring how much money they didn’t have in the treasury or as Royal Meteorologist return happily to predicting three weeks of continuous rain.

But today, in some mysterious way, it was different. A deep and irrepressible yearning had come over RNP. It had begun a long time ago as a small spot of uncertainty which drifted only occasionally into his thoughts, but now had grown and spread until he could think of nothing else. Back and forth and back and forth he paced with it, until suddenly he stopped and said in a soft voice, “I shall take a trip and see.”

Goom looked up, and the surprise that appeared on his face was only matched by the dismay in his heart.

“I must find out what lies beyond those mountains,” RNP continued, and Goom knew from the tone of his voice that he meant to do just that. No amount of argument could discourage him. Cries of “Nonsense!” and “Under no conditions!” were hardly even heard. Assurances of disaster or, at best, calamity couldn’t change his mind. No guarantees that he would be “Eaten by bears!” “Waylaid by bandits!” “Drowned in a cataract!” or “Buried in an avalanche!” had any effect whatsoever, and the very next morning they left.

RNP had packed all his possessions in an old handkerchief and Goom, who was going along only to protect the King (since who knows how much worse the next king would be), brought little more than a frown. As Minister of Transportation, though, he was able to find a small, rather smelly mule which naturally he rode while the King walked slowly behind. As they carefully picked their way along the muddy street, RNP paused to wave goodbye to the few uninterested citizens they passed.

“Farewell, loyal subjects, I shall return. Farewell, farewell.” But as usual there was no response—except from a small boy who inquired softly, “Who’s he?”

And so they traveled, under a grey and cheerless sky, and within a few hours their own poor kingdom had disappeared behind them. Only the mountains lay ahead. When they had finished their lunch of slightly stale bread and barely moldy cheese, RNP unfolded the old map he had found stuffed in a crack in the palace wall. He studied it carefully for many minutes, and when he finally made his decision and said “Here!” his finger was pointing almost exactly at the spot where Magnus the Abundant then stood.

Magnus too was thinking, and amidst all his happy and contented thoughts was one which caused the slightest shadow to cross his mind. “This should not be,” he thought. It was not fitting for him to have grave thoughts. Wasn’t his every wish instantly gratified? Wasn’t there always something new and exciting to do? From early morning when two valets drew his bath (one for the cold water and one for the hot) till late in the evening when the court musicians finished their last lullaby, weren’t all his needs taken care of immediately? Didn’t his chamberlains and ministers and generals assure him constantly that “Things couldn’t be better,” or that “One couldn’t ask for more”? All this was true, but hard as he tried to dismiss it from his thoughts, the doubt persisted—like a weed which, once rooted, can grow in the darkest, most inhospitable places.
Извините за путаницу. Текст, который вы предоставили, на самом деле представляет собой рассказ, не связанный с “Alberic the Wise and Other Journeys” Нортона Джастера. Видимо, произошло недопонимание в отношении того, из какого источника идет текст. Текст, на который вы ссылались, похоже, не содержит явных примеров каламбуров из работ Нортона Джастера, так как его произведения, такие как “Мило и волшебная будка” (The Phantom Tollbooth) или “The Dot and the Line”, особенно известны этим.

Если был запрос на примеры каламбуров конкретно из “Alberic the Wise and Other Journeys”, мне жаль, но без доступа к тексту я не могу предоставить точные примеры из этого произведения.

Однако, я всегда готов предложить общие рекомендации по анализу литературных работ и помочь с информацией по другим запросам.
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“Perhaps somewhere there is someone else who has more than I,” he thought, and this is what so disturbed his peace of mind. For as with many men who have much (and not only kings), it is only the thought of more which pleases them, or of having less than someone else which haunts their dreams. It was not a generous or a noble thought, yet there it was and there it had persisted for months, intruding on his otherwise perfect happiness. The Queen had noticed his somber mood and did her thoughtful best to cheer him up. The Prince and Princess sang only new songs and even the royal jesters made extra efforts, which did delight him—but not quite as much as they should have. No one knew what it was that bothered the King so. Even the royal physician, after a thorough examination, could find nothing wrong, but in order to be absolutely sure he prescribed several different kinds of pills and a change of scenery. “A fine idea,” the King thought to himself. “I’ll take a trip and see for myself.”

“A marvelous idea,” all the ministers agreed and each of them knew the perfect place to go.

“The Crystal Lagoon,” suggested one, who was fond of fishing.

“The Faroff Valley,” offered another, who had family in the vicinity.

“The Forest of Singing Birds,” said a third, who knew of the King’s fondness for music, and each in turn offered his choice.

But Magnus had other thoughts on his mind. “I have seen and enjoyed all that is in my kingdom,” he said, “but what do I know of the world?” As he spoke his eye searched the enormous map which hung on the wall. In a few moments he stopped and touched the tip of his long pointer to one spot. “I shall visit here,” he said. The ministers stared in horror, for the King had fixed his glance on that parched and unpromising land from which RNP and Goom had so recently departed, and they knew of course, as he didn’t, what a poor and miserable place it was.

The prospect of the trip had restored the King’s spirits and no one could persuade him to go elsewhere. Preparations were quickly made, and that very afternoon Magnus, the Queen, the Prince and the Princess in a golden carriage drawn by eight midnight-black horses with twenty-three supply wagons, seven cooks, five bakers, eleven valets, forty-three assorted servants, and an escort of the King’s own royal guard departed with the heartfelt cheers and wishes of the entire population ringing in their ears.

Back at the palace, however, things were not nearly so gay. A gloomy gathering of the King’s ministers sat worrying about the journey, for the King had never been beyond the borders of his own kingdom before and for all of his life had been shielded from everything but happiness and perfection. It was thought certain by all that the poverty and sorrow of RNP’s poor kingdom would surely make him sad again, and that if there were no cheers, no friendly crowds, no flowers, no flags, his poor heart must surely be broken.

“But what if there are cheers and crowds and flowers and flags,” said one of the ministers suddenly, “and beautiful buildings with shiny brass knobs and paved roads too—and all the things the King has come to expect, and even some he’s never seen.”

“What indeed!” they all agreed, but how it was to be done was another matter.

“It will not be difficult at all,” the minister continued, “for the royal party has taken that road which winds gently through the mountains. It is the easy and the long way around. If we”—and by this time the others were leaning forward in their seats—“if we take the short route, we can be there fully a week before the King and make preparations for his arrival—”

“Why of course!” they shouted. “How simple! Just what I was thinking,” each admitted, and immediately plans were made and messengers dispatched throughout the countryside to inform the people. Because of their love for king and kingdom every man, woman, child, dog, cat and canary volunteered to help, and before the day had passed, the front end of a caravan that seemed to stretch from yesterday to next week had already begun to roll towards the mountains.

Down the royal road and out of the capital city they went, hundreds of wagons and carts packed with people and tools, pots of paint, buckets of nails, bags of mortar and numberless crates filled with the kinds of things that are always very useful if only you have them at the time you need them.

The royal architect had brought along his entire staff, plus pencils, erasers, T-squares, drawing boards, measuring tapes and blueprints for building everything from a palace to a bird bath. The carpenters had their saws and axes gleaming sharp. The masons, plasterers and painters itched to begin their work. The seamstresses were already sewing flags and bunting and the royal gardener was busy transporting every conceivable variety of tree and flowering bush as well as four wagons full of rich manure. It took hours for the gay and noisy caravan to pass, but before long all that remained was a cloud of dust and the echo of their many gay songs. A strange silence settled over Magnus’s kingdom, for everyone—everyone—had gone.

Unaware of what was happening on the other side of the mountains, RNP and Goom, riding and walking by turns, continued slowly along their unhappy way across the steep and rocky trails. To Goom’s surprise, the trip was proceeding much better than expected. It was true, of course, that it had rained almost continuously and that they had taken several wrong turns and that they had forgotten to bring matches or blankets or clean socks, but they had only almost been drowned in a cataract and not completely buried in an avalanche, and the one time that they were waylaid by bandits, the startled outlaws had been so moved by RNP’s plight that they gave him everything they owned.

Magnus, though, was enjoying himself immensely. On his side of the mountain the sun shone continuously with only an occasional soft breeze to interrupt its steady warmth, almost as a reminder of how good it felt. The great golden coach glided easily along the broad country road and the days were filled with picnics and song, armfuls of flowers, large juicy apples and afternoon naps in the high meadows. As they drew ever nearer to RNP’s kingdom, the happy King, save for his one distant doubt, could hardly conceive of a happiness to equal his.

And so they traveled—Magnus and RNP—RNP and Magnus—one seeking more happiness and the other, less misery.

Meanwhile, hurrying by day and by night without stop or rest, the eager caravan arrived finally at the wretched and joyless state which RNP called home. With no time to spare, everything was quickly unloaded and work begun. “Quick, bring the ladder here!”—“Nails, more nails!”—“Out of the way! Out of the way!”—“Pick it up!”—“Put it there!”—“Let it go!”—“Put it down!”—“Paint it purple!”

Instructions and orders, shouts and suggestions mingled in the air with the clangs, clashes, buzzes and bumps of work being done, and even the local citizens, who understood little and cared less, paused to watch as the city was transformed before their eyes. All the buildings were carefully repaired and painted, windows replaced, delicately carved cornices and pediments added where appropriate, steps rebuilt, and all hinges, locks, knobs, handles and hooks polished until the brasswork shone like precious metal. The streets were leveled and paved and a line of decorative linden trees was planted from the new palace to the edge of the city. Charming flowerbeds in intricate geometric patterns were planted in the public gardens and the bright flags which were flown from every top and tower slapped at the wind as if to announce, “Look, we’re new!” Everything that could be moved was repaired and everything else was scrubbed, and in seven days and nights the job was done, the tools put away, the wagons hidden and the waiting begun. One lone sentry was posted in the tallest tree to signal the King’s coming and as a final touch garlands of flowers were strung throughout the night.

The very next morning, King Magnus’s carriage appeared in the distance, and as the sentry’s signal sounded, eager and anxious faces filled the streets. As he drew closer and closer the excitement mounted. The busy ministers, staying carefully out of sight, bustled about giving instructions and as the golden coach entered the city a wave of cheers and shouts swept forward to meet it—and then another and another and again and again until the waves became an ocean which seemed to engulf the King. The band struck up an inspiring medley of marches as the crowd strained forward, and up ahead scores of children carpeted the ground with rose petals. Slowly and majestically the coach moved forward as the King acknowledged the joyful crowds.

“What a beautiful city this is!” said the Queen. “The people are so friendly it’s almost as if we knew them.” The King continued to smile and wave, and the crowd to cheer. On they drove, past the palace, which had been entirely rebuilt of beautiful salmon-colored brick, and the public square with its new marble fountain sending delicate streams of water into the air.

“One certainly could ask for no more,” said the Prince, who was more than pleased with everything. At that the King seemed to smile a little less and grew thoughtful.

Up the avenue and under the eaves of the brightly painted houses and shops they continued. Geraniums, petunias and violets tumbled over each other from every windowbox and fine merchandise was tastefully displayed in all the shop windows.

“It really couldn’t be better,” cried the delighted Princess, turning round and round so as not to miss anything. And now the King stopped smiling entirely.

“What a fortunate man must rule in this beautiful country,” everyone agreed, and as they reached the far end of the city with the shouts and happy cries still echoing, a frown appeared on Magnus’s face—for what must have been the first time in his life. The seed of that one small doubt he had carried with him for so long had now blossomed into a flower of discontent. His suspicions, it seemed, had all been true.

“Everyone has as much as I,” he thought unhappily, “and who knows how many have more?”

All his happiness was gone, for the long journey had only proved what he feared most. And so he ordered the carriage to turn down the road towards the mountains, and without a word or a smile they headed for home.

But no cheers and no crowds greeted RNP when after many, many days of difficult travel he and Goom finally crossed over into Magnus’s kingdom. By this time their clothes were even more ragged than when they had set out and the poor mule was hardly able to complete the last stages of the trip. In the distance lay the city, the magnificent city that Magnus had left. But there had been changes here too. In one of those unexplainable turns that nature sometimes takes, a great storm, the first for many years, had ripped and raged across the countryside. Whether or not it was the result of vagrant winds or an unfortunate conjunction of the stars or simply the weather’s angry reply to those who had left this favored valley untended cannot be said, but trees had been uprooted and scattered about, roofs carried off, windows broken, houses hurled to the ground or sorely battered and everything covered with layers of mud and debris—and now no one was there to set it right. It seemed a much different city when RNP and Goom came at last to the outskirts. The last heavy grey clouds of the storm still hung overhead and the muddy and empty streets were strewn with bits and pieces of trees and buildings. Many of the shutters and doors hung crazily by one hinge or else had dropped off altogether and all the flags and banners and flowers were gone. “Just as I suspected,” Goom grumbled, for it fulfilled all his melancholy expectations. And the King, now hunched sadly on the little mule, rode on into the deserted city. The squish of their footsteps echoed strangely in the quiet and all around the windows frowned down on them.

“It is far worse than your own kingdom,” continued Goom as they passed the silent palace, stepping carefully over several fallen trees. The south wing had been caved in by a toppled oak and several of the turrets and a balustrade had simply disappeared, giving it all a sad and ruined look. The slightest smile unexpectedly tugged at the corners of RNP’s mouth.

“No one has even come out to bid you welcome,” Goom went on as they turned into the now dismal public square (he wished merely to point out to RNP the folly of his ways). The shops, which had been boarded up when everyone had gone, remained so, and the market stalls were now strewn about everywhere. And the King now smiled a broad and happy smile. Then as they reached the far end of the city and the row of mud-spattered and dingy houses gave way to flattened fields, he laughed, for perhaps the first time that anyone could remember.

“I was wrong,” he cried happily, as he brushed the mud from his ragged cloak. “See for yourself, no king lives better than I. I have as much as anyone.” And even though nothing had changed he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his heart.

Suddenly the grey and overcast day was just perfect, the future bright, and even his thoroughly disreputable appearance the height of fashion.

“Come, come, Goom!” he shouted impatiently. “It’s time we were returning to our own beautiful kingdom.”

With a wave of his tarnished crown and a last look at the exquisite desolation he was leaving behind him, RNP turned the puzzled mule in the direction from which they’d come. And as he galloped down the road, poor Goom, who was doing his best to keep up (for it is difficult to complain and run both at the same time), fell further and further behind.

So the two kings traveled towards home and this is where we must leave them, for what they found on their return and how they lived their lives from then on is, of course, another story. To Magnus everything now seemed like nothing, and to RNP nothing had become quite enough. One was happy and the other sad, and perhaps it is not unreasonable to expect that on the long, arduous ride back, each of them might have wondered why.