Chapter the 19th
It gave Kevin a bit of a chill when he sketched in the shadowy figures of his father, Michael Bullinger’s father, and the king who had so badly mistreated his son, all riding on the back of Goldfire, but he felt some measure of relief for including them in his painting. It gave him the feeling that Goldfire was taking care of his memories and those of Michael and all the people in Carelin.
As the volume of human voices grew and infringed on his concentration, Kevin put down the knitting needle and looked about him. He saw many people who looked as if they dressed up for a medieval play. Attendants milled about, carrying trays piled high with food. In one corner, Kevin saw Sir Woodbrook, his legs sunk into the floor of the courtyard as if they were tree roots. The tree-man was so absorbed in the book he was reading that he seemed oblivious to everything happening around him. In one corner, the old black man he met on the boat leaned against a wall, snoring away while his beard seemed to flow right into the design of an illumination, the very illumination of a harp with a boar’s head that Kevin was copying when his adventures began. In another corner, the fat lady sat, knitting a sweater that trailed infinitely far in all directions. A thin man, his face covered with pimples, sat in a corner next to a cow. He had a large book and a manuscript propped up on the cow's back and he was furiously writing non-stop while throwing off sheets of paper as he finished them without losing a stroke of his pen. In the last corner, a creature who looked as much like an owl as a man sat in a large easy chair, as absorbed in reading his book as Sir Woodbrook was absorbed in his.
The singing turned Kevin’s head around where he saw a king wearing a gold crown, sitting on his throne while the harpist, incongruously dressed in a hospital gown, tuned his harp at the king’s feet. Gathered around the harpist was Scott Simpson with his harmonica and what appeared to be a family with three children all warming up on their instruments. A chorus of boys, including Edmund and Nigel, was vocalizing under the direction of a man wearing a tuxedo.
Then Kevin saw his mother in the middle of everything, still wearing her green coat and stethoscope and looking quite befuddled. Kevin ran over to her and landed in his mother’s arms at the same time Karen did. The relief that flooded Marion’s face showed her children how much she loved them more than any word or gesture before had ever done.
"I'm sorry I worried you so," Karen apologized, "but sometimes you get caught up in something—and it's important—and—“
“I didn’t mean to run away,” Kevin added. “I just got caught in what I was doing and I couldn’t get back.”
"Well, I was caught up in something, too," Marian confessed as she made a sidelong glance at Dornal.
"We'll try to explain everything to you," Karen went on, "but it won't be easy."
"I fell into a drawing I was copying," said Kevin. “I don't know how it happened—“
"Art needs life and life needs art," said the tree man without seeming to care if anybody heard him or not.
"Course all stories tie up together in the end," said a fat lady
“I’m so glad to see you again,” said Marion, “I just don’t care about anything else.”
“You took care of Dornal, didn’t you?” said Karen.
“How did you know?” asked her startled mother.
Karen and Kevin looked at each other.
“That’s going to take some explaining,” said Kevin.
Marvella Anderson, a man Kevin recognized as a daily patron of the library, Father Clement and his son Mark, all appeared to be desperately trying to take in their surroundings. Kevin waved at them and when he caught their attention, their faces were filled relief that they had found somebody they knew. As they came over to him, Edmund and Nigel brought over a boy who was wearing a medal-studded sailor suit.
“Here he is,” said Edmund.
“Are you Kevin the Painter Maker?” asked the boy.
“My name is Kevin. Other people are calling me a painter and a maker and a weaver and I don’t know what else.”
"Good,” said the boy, maintaining a officious manner. “Sir Kevin, on behalf of my royal father, who is too busy taking credit for what he has done to attend to your work, I, Moroch, the Crown Prince of Carelin, present to you, Sir Kevin Rosskill, just payment for your works of art, which works will live forever in this kingdom. I offer a royal apology for the fact that the payment does not jingle like gold and silver, but that is because the citizens of Milton, Pennsylvania use ugly paper instead."
The prince handed the bag over to Kevin. When he peeked into the bag, his eyes bulged.
"I—I'm grateful for the gift," Kevin stammered, "but—I don't think I did that. I—was just copying the painting from a book—and—“
"But it's your completed ticket!" exclaimed the train conductor.
"Miss Anderson," Kevin exclaimed, "you're going to have enough money for the addition!"
"But Kevin, you'll need to save something for your education," Marvella replied.
Kevin looked into the bag, ran his fingers through the bills, and smiled at the librarian.
"Don't worry, there's enough for both, no matter how much inflation we get.”
Elsewhere in the throne room, Michael wandered about, his head still in a daze, and feeling lost in the shuffle of reunions going on all around him. It seemed that everybody had somebody to talk to except him. Even Scott and Amarilla had latched on to each other and were having an earnest conversation about something. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Michael turned around and saw a strange old man wearing an oppressively black suit.
"You did your work very well," said the old man in a voice so solemn he could have been preaching a funeral sermon.
"Uh—thanks," Michael replied.
"They cooped you up in that harp, didn't they?" added an elderly woman, also dressed in black.
"Uh—yes—you can say that," said Michael, who was beginning to wish these people had ignored him too.
"And they didn’t even thank you for it, did they?" added a younger man, dressed in the same kind of black suit as the old man.
"No, they didn’t,” said Michael.
When the old man opened his mouth to say something more, Michael decided he couldn't stand to hear it and he shuffled off as quickly as he could. Next thing he knew, somebody else had linked an arm with his. It was Amarilla.
"It's hard for people to notice a hidden job like yours," Amarilla whispered in Michael's ear, "but please be assured that the few of us who know are deeply grateful for what you have done.”
“Amarilla was just telling me what you did,” added Scott. “We would never have found the song if it wasn’t for you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Michael murmured.
“But nothing’s the hardest thing to do that there is,” said Samantha.
“I don’t think I could do nothing in a million years if the whole Kingdom of Carelin depended on it,” added Roger.
“I hear you make a pretty good set of lost harp strings,” said Uncle Martin who then proceeded to pump Michael’s hand.
“I’m just glad you got back out of that harp and into the real world again,” said a fretful Aunt Edith.
“I thought that harp was pretty real,” said Michael.
“I’m sure it was,” said Uncle Martin, “and it sounds pretty real now, with Dornal playing it again and all.”
Michael was jostled by a tray filled with chocolate-covered donuts. He took a donut and then passed it over to Amarilla.
Looking over towards the throne, Michael noticed that the same three people dressed in black were having a brief conversation with the king. He was relieved when the three slunk away into the crowd where Michael could not see them any more.
A fanfare blown by a trio of trumpets interrupted all conversations.
“Hear ye! Hear ye!” yelled the herald. “His Majesty King Perezvon XXVI speaks!”
Everybody applauded softly and politely.
“In celebration of the anticipated royal victory over the Great Blizzard, I officially unbanish the banished song, The Song of the Boar, and command all of you to sing it to the best of your ability so that the storm and all concomitant disturbances will blow away and we can all enjoy this royal feast in honor of the king who has saved the kingdom from being buried in snow for a century or more. And now, the royal harpist will lead the song!”
Everybody cheered as Dornal played the energetic introduction to the song and then all of the royal subjects of Carelin betrayed their knowledge of the banished song by joining in with enough gusto to raise the roof of the royal castle:
There was a good kind lad
a good kind lad was he,
and when he saw a fierce wild boar,
He asked, 'what can it be?'
"I'll answer you kind lad,"
replied the fierce wild boar,
"The beast you see is you, you see,
and that is why you roar."
"Oh how can I a fierce boar be?"
asked kindly this good lad,
"When I a human heart do have
and never was so bad?"
"I'll answer you my dear kind lad,"
replied the fierce wild boar,
"The beast you see is you, you see,
and that is why you roar."
Then up and spake the good kind lad,
the lad so fierce and wild,
I wish no more a boar to be,
I'd rather be a child."
There was a good kind lad,
a good kind lad was he.
Whose boar's tusks fallen all were they,
so he a boy could be.
As soon as the song was ended, several of the boys in the choir ran over to the nearest windows.
“The snow is stopping!” cried Geoffrey.
“The sky is clearing!” cried Edmund.
The End