The Emperor of Sa’Laam’s airship was a
spacious, luxurious, ultra-comfortable affair.
Brownbeard reclined in a wonderful leather couch
that conformed to every nook and cranny of his
body with just the right amount of yielding here,
resisting there. Ahhhhh! Servants quietly and
unobtrusively darted to-and-fro, fulfilling drink
orders. Brownbeard ordered a fantastically
flavorful hot chocolate and lemonade concoction.
Hazel sipped on crystal clear, cold spring water
from the Googoolplex Mountains in the far north
of Sa’Laam. Wilbert ordered a vegetable and fruit
juice blend of celery, pineapple, eggplant,
pomegranate and prune. Kumquat’s poison was a
mix of juices from tuna, shark, and eel fishes.
Schmoor just had a glass of two-percent milk. The
Emperor drank hot chocolate and root beer, which
to Brownbeard sounded grand. He decided next
round that was what he would have.
There were lots of people and non-people on the
airship. Everyone wanted to talk about the
exciting events of the past few hours. Everyone
wanted to talk with The Captain and The
Emperor. Not wanting to be rude, Brownbeard
struggled to glimpse out the window and watch the
scene without offending the folks who wanted his
attention. Briefly looking out the window, he
observed the airship was in a large room
somewhere inside the coliseum. A voice came
drifting through the parlor. Brownbeard looked
around for someone talking from underneath the
couch.
“We’re ready for take off,” said the voice.
“Please hold on.”
Through the window, Brownbeard watched the
people outside shrink to specks as the ship shot
up into the air. It was a rush of speed almost as
sharp as when the For Sale lifted off from the
lagoon behind Hazel’s sandcastle. The airship
zipped through a hole in the top of the coliseum.
The huge circle that was the dome of the coliseum
spread out below and slowly shrunk as up, up, up
soared the airship. Onward they climbed through
the towers of the city which rose as high, and dove
as low, as the eye could see.
Brownbeard watched other airships shooting up,
streaking down, flying hither-and-zither in all
directions through the city. They appeared as the
fireflies swarming among the trees of the deep
forest on Hazel’s island. The bridges, highways,
canals, and walkways curved and curled through
the city towers like vines which grew more
sideways than vertically. Brownbeard had no good
sense of how far down they had been, nor how far
up they were going. If they were now higher than
they had been when parking the For Sale in
Parking Port Number 76, Brownbeard was unable
to tell.
Up, up, up they went until finally, just as
Brownbeard drained the last drop of hot chocolate
and lemonade, the airship slowed. The voice from
under the couch, or somewhere, again could be
heard announcing that they had arrived. The crew
of the For Sale and The Emperor and his
entourage of advisors, hangers-on, sycophants, and
whatnots, all laughed and joked as they
disembarked from the airship.
Stepping from the airship, Brownbeard found
himself outside in the cold, crisp night air. He
could see the stars shone bright in the sky above.
There were no familiar constellations. There were
no more buildings or bridges to be seen. The
Imperial Homestead was a mansion at the very tip
top of the capital city of Sa’Laam. Brownbeard
walked over to the edge of the large deck and
looked out. It was too dark to see anything.
“Don’t jump Captain!” said The Emperor. “It’s a
long way down!”
Everyone walked into the mansion. It was as
extravagant and wonderful a place as Brownbeard
had dared dream about when, before actually
becoming a pirate, he had imagined being a pirate,
robbing extravagant and wonderful places. The
crew of the For Sale were shown to their rooms.
“See you at breakfast, whenever you awake.
Sweet dreams,” said The Emperor.
Everyone went to private rooms. The lights of
the mansion dimmed. Kumquat pawed at her
owner just as Hazel went to open the door to her
room.
“Hazel,” whispered Kumquat, “What about my
pets? How long do you think we will be here?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got to locate the treasury
first,” Hazel responded.
“I’ve only given them enough food for a couple
of days! And what about their cages? I’ve got to
clean them!” complained Kumquat.
“Kumquat!” said Hazel through her teeth. “I can’t
worry about that now. Just hush! Why don’t you
just walk up to The Emperor and ask him where
the treasury is and if we can we rob it? Then we
can be out of here tonight. Do you like that idea?”
“Yes,” said Kumquat. “Do you really think I
should?”
Hazel bopped Kumquat upon the head.
“Go to sleep,” Hazel ordered. “We all need our
rest.”
* * *
Laying on Brownbeard’s bed were a pair of silk
pajamas. An attendant told Brownbeard to give
him his clothes and that they would be cleaned
and repaired by morning. There was a large glass
doorway leading out to a deck. Brownbeard went
outside to have a look. He shivered in the night
chill. He strained his eyes to see out into the night,
but there was nothing visible except the stars. He
sighed. He thought about all he had left behind in
the world he had come from. It was not that he
wasn’t having a grand time. He was, he was. It
was just, well, maybe he was a bit homesick.
Brownbeard shook his head. Had he been gone so
long? Long enough to be homesick. He tried to
count the days since he’d last been in New Ferry.
He could not do it. His mind was too fuzzy. It
seemed all so long ago.
Brownbeard went back inside to his bed and lay
his head down. The pillow was cool and
comfortable. He thought and thought. He thought
about Hazel. What was she doing right now? What
was she thinking about? He thought about the
exhilaration of the game in the coliseum. He
thought about how much work was still to be
done. He worried about the danger. Already so
many terrible circumstances had been faced down,
but Brownbeard sensed the hard part was just
beginning.
“Why am I planning to steal from The Emperor?”
he asked himself. “He seems like a nice enough
guy. He seems to like me. Why would I want to
steal from him and then have to run away for my
life? Is there any sense in that? And what about
the game?”
It seemed this funny game of smacking the
gigapoo out of a rock was the path to much
fortune, fame and power in this place. Why not
just continue this little scam he had going with
Hazel? With his schtick and her magic, they could
be a big deal in Sa’Laam. Considering the
grandeur of this place, that was saying a lot. Why
steal the riches when they could earn it—kind of?
“Tomorrow, I’ll talk with Hazel,” thought
Brownbeard. “I think we should re-evaluate our
plan—re-evaluate our plan—re-evaluate our
scam—re-cantabulate our spam—circumnavigate
our ham—consterbabbulate grape jam—”
Brownbeard drifted off into Dream Time.
Once in Dream Time, he got out of bed and
walked out onto the deck. It was still cold he
noted. Funny how even in dreams there was still
hot and cold. He looked up at the stars. Wow!
There were more than before. How did that
happen? Oh! Look! A shooting star. Then the stars
moved and shifted and danced all about. How
beautiful!
Brownbeard went to the edge of the deck and
looked over. He could see distant lights below—
far, far below. He heard footsteps behind him. He
turned to look. It was The Emperor. Behind him
was Hazel.
“Captain, don’t jump,” said The Emperor.
“Jump, Brownie!” said Hazel. “Jump quick!”
Brownbeard turned again to look. It was so far
down. But this was a dream! Yes, Brownbeard
knew he was dreaming. Things felt real, but
different at the same time. So strange. So funny.
Should he jump?
“No! Don’t!” shouted The Emperor.
“Do it! Jump!” screamed Hazel.
Seems like it would be fun to jump in a dream
thought Brownbeard. The Emperor ran over to
grab him. Brownbeard’s heart skipped as the large
man came for him. He pushed hard and from a
standing position, Brownbeard launched himself
over the edge of the deck’s rail. The Emperor’s
screams of ‘Noooooo!’ turned into the howl of the
wind as Brownbeard fell and fell and fell far into
the city.
Beyond the city’s ground level, beyond and
below the coliseum level, fell the pirate Short
Stubbly Brownbeard. Down—down—down—
below the lowest levels of Sa’Laam. The shiny
gold walls of the city turned to a more familiar red-
brown brick, like in places Brownbeard was used
too. New Ferry, Charleston, Boston. Brownbeard
watched and saw people watching him as he fell.
He waved. Some of them waved back. Some of
them looked familiar. Was that Pappy? Was that
Lloyd and Louise? Down—down—down fell the
pirate. The brick turned to wood frame. The wood
frame turned to stacks of—stuff? Trash! The city
was built on trash? Such a bizarre dream! Finally,
with a soft thud, Brownbeard landed in a muddy,
sticky, yucky mess. It did not smell pleasant. He
got up and looked around.
Not too far from where he was, sitting on a
rocking chair amidst all the trash and waste of the
city far above, was an old man. The man rocked
slowly, calmly. He smiled at Brownbeard.
“Hello,” said Brownbeard.
“How are you, Brownbeard?” asked the old man.
“Ha! Okay I guess. You know my name?”
“Sure I do. I’ve seen you in your dreams many
times before,” said the old man.
“You have? I don’t remember,” said Brownbeard.
“You never do,” said the old man. “That’s all
right. Most people don’t.”
“Huh. So, how come this place doesn’t fill up? I
mean, I’m surprised there’s so much room down
here,” said Brownbeard.
“Oh, they keep threatening to dig deeper,” said
the old man. “Always saying stuff. But there’s
more room down here than they suspect. Don’t
think they’ll need to make more room for some
time. Of course, they keep sending me all this
stuff. Never stops. Never stops.”
Brownbeard felt sad for the old man, sitting here
in his rocking chair all alone in such a forlorn, foul
place.
“Don’t be sad for me Brownbeard,” said the old
man. “I can go up any time I want to. Don’t often
want to though. I like it fine down here.”
“Can I leave if I want to?” asked Brownbeard.
“Not the way you came,” said the old man.
“So, how do I leave?” asked Brownbeard.
“That way,” said the old man, pointing with a
thumb behind him to a dark hole punched through
the garbage and filth.
A shiver trembled up Brownbeard’s spine. He
was ready for this dream to be over.
“Sorry, Brownbeard,” said the old man. “There is
no other way out. If there was, I’d tell you.”
Brownbeard swallowed hard. He knew the old
man was right. Now that he was here, there was
only one possible way out.
“Thanks,” said Brownbeard.
“Good luck, Brownie,” said the old man with a
kind smile.
Brownbeard felt along his belt. He felt the handle
of his sword and his rock wacking stick. He took
a deep breath and walked into the tunnel. It was
dark and creepy. He felt things brush over his
face. Then he felt things crawl on his face.
Brownbeard frantically swatted at leggy things he
could not see. Invisible fingers caressed his
cheek. Dark voices unseen called sweetly, telling
Brownbeard to stay. Brownbeard breathed hard.
He was scared. Scared he would not get out—that
he would not find the courage to take another
step—that he would collapse right here into a
quivering heap and never ever leave. But the
horror of that thought provided the jolt he needed
to press on. He finally emerged through the other
end of the tunnel, outside the city.
Here, beyond the walls of the city, Brownbeard
turned around and looked up. All he could see
was an immense wall disappearing into a drab
gray nothing far above. The wall was not the
golden color he expected to see. It was as
colorless as the dead sky.
Looking away from the city, a vast, lifeless plain
stretched into infinity. Brownbeard stood there for
a long while and watched a dull red fog grow over
the horizon. With tentacles searching, imploring,
the fog raced over the barren land and reached
Brownbeard, engulfing him. Now, rather than the
plain, Brownbeard could see only a few feet in
front of his nose. From out of the mist, he watched
two figures emerge. The two beings in black robes
walked towards Brownbeard. Under their hoods,
Brownbeard could see the faces of two grinning
skeletons. He reached for his sword. It was not
there! He reached for his stick. Nothing! It was not
there!
In a panic, Brownbeard turned to run back into
the tunnel. But he could not. He was paralyzed,
barely able to move his eyes. The skeletons came
right up to him, and with flaming orbs that bore
into his core, touched Brownbeard on each arm
and gently pulled him deeper into the dull red fog.
Brownbeard could do nothing except go with his
tormentors. His legs obeyed their guide, not the
instructions of his own brain! At last, he was their
captive.
Through the fog they walked until incrementally,
it dissipated just enough to reveal a room as big
as the coliseum. Bigger even. Yet smaller.
Smaller in that this room felt suffocating. The air
was so thick and hot. Brownbeard felt he was both
lost in a terribly large place, while at the same
time trapped in a closet. But worst of all, hardest
to bear, there was a terrible feeling of sadness that
dwelled herein.
Some things about this place were immediately
understood by Brownbeard, though no words were
spoken to him by the skeleton beings. Other things
were not sensible. Brownbeard saw that this place
was once beautiful. Where once a garden
flourished, now there were only dry, dead twigs
and gnarled, serpent-like vines. Where once
beautiful furniture had provided a place for
people to sit with, and talk with, and dine with one
another, now there were only broken fragments of
wood, glass, and rusted metal.
“I’m sorry,” said Brownbeard to the two skeleton
beings. “I don’t understand why this must be. Why
are you showing me this?”
The one skeleton turned Brownbeard and
stabbed at the air with a bony finger as if to say,
“Look! Look! Look harder! See with your own
eyes!”
Brownbeard looked harder. Sure enough, there
was more to see. Ghost-like, from the cobwebs of
mist coalesced the forms. Terrible. Terrible. Now,
Brownbeard understood the sadness of this place.
Children. Hundreds—thousands of children.
Children roamed to and fro, here and there, all
around the broken room. Not playing with one
another and laughing the way children should.
Rather, these children stole from one another.
These children were mean to one another. These
children were orphaned—abandoned—sold into
slavery—made to fight one another—imprisoned—
“This is horrible,” whispered Brownbeard.
“Why? Why is this?”
The skeletons looked at Brownbeard, but said
nothing.
“Why are you showing me this? Did I do this
somehow?” cried Brownbeard. “Tell me! Tell me!
What do you want me to do?”
Away went the shadows of the children,
vaporizing back into gossamer. One of the
skeletons drew a mirror from beneath its robes. It
was the mirror the skeletons had tried to purchase
at Ye Olde Gift Shoppe, the night Brownbeard
first ran into these two.
“Ah! You finally got it I see,” said Brownbeard.
The skeleton handed the mirror to Brownbeard.
“You want me to look into the mirror?” asked a
scared Brownbeard.
The skeletons nodded. This made Brownbeard
tremble. For all the wretchedness Brownbeard had
thus far seen, nothing made him quake more than
this task, to look at his own face in the mirror.
With trembling hand, Brownbeard took the mirror
and ever so cautiously, turned the shiny, silvered
glass towards his eyes. He was so afraid of what
he might see. And there it was. His face. The face
he had always known as his own—well, the paper
maché eyebrow was new.
“I don’t see anything,” said Brownbeard. “It’s
just me.”
He looked up to hand the mirror back to the
skeletons. But they were gone. Dream Time was
over. Brownbeard awoke from the nightmare in a
cold sweat. Exhausted, he drifted back into sleep.
Thankfully, this was dreamless, deep sleep. When
the light of day greeted the gilded city of Sa’
Laam, Brownbeard awoke feeling a bit uneasy.
But he did not remember the dark journey to the
depths of his dream city. Nor did he recall the lost
children.
spacious, luxurious, ultra-comfortable affair.
Brownbeard reclined in a wonderful leather couch
that conformed to every nook and cranny of his
body with just the right amount of yielding here,
resisting there. Ahhhhh! Servants quietly and
unobtrusively darted to-and-fro, fulfilling drink
orders. Brownbeard ordered a fantastically
flavorful hot chocolate and lemonade concoction.
Hazel sipped on crystal clear, cold spring water
from the Googoolplex Mountains in the far north
of Sa’Laam. Wilbert ordered a vegetable and fruit
juice blend of celery, pineapple, eggplant,
pomegranate and prune. Kumquat’s poison was a
mix of juices from tuna, shark, and eel fishes.
Schmoor just had a glass of two-percent milk. The
Emperor drank hot chocolate and root beer, which
to Brownbeard sounded grand. He decided next
round that was what he would have.
There were lots of people and non-people on the
airship. Everyone wanted to talk about the
exciting events of the past few hours. Everyone
wanted to talk with The Captain and The
Emperor. Not wanting to be rude, Brownbeard
struggled to glimpse out the window and watch the
scene without offending the folks who wanted his
attention. Briefly looking out the window, he
observed the airship was in a large room
somewhere inside the coliseum. A voice came
drifting through the parlor. Brownbeard looked
around for someone talking from underneath the
couch.
“We’re ready for take off,” said the voice.
“Please hold on.”
Through the window, Brownbeard watched the
people outside shrink to specks as the ship shot
up into the air. It was a rush of speed almost as
sharp as when the For Sale lifted off from the
lagoon behind Hazel’s sandcastle. The airship
zipped through a hole in the top of the coliseum.
The huge circle that was the dome of the coliseum
spread out below and slowly shrunk as up, up, up
soared the airship. Onward they climbed through
the towers of the city which rose as high, and dove
as low, as the eye could see.
Brownbeard watched other airships shooting up,
streaking down, flying hither-and-zither in all
directions through the city. They appeared as the
fireflies swarming among the trees of the deep
forest on Hazel’s island. The bridges, highways,
canals, and walkways curved and curled through
the city towers like vines which grew more
sideways than vertically. Brownbeard had no good
sense of how far down they had been, nor how far
up they were going. If they were now higher than
they had been when parking the For Sale in
Parking Port Number 76, Brownbeard was unable
to tell.
Up, up, up they went until finally, just as
Brownbeard drained the last drop of hot chocolate
and lemonade, the airship slowed. The voice from
under the couch, or somewhere, again could be
heard announcing that they had arrived. The crew
of the For Sale and The Emperor and his
entourage of advisors, hangers-on, sycophants, and
whatnots, all laughed and joked as they
disembarked from the airship.
Stepping from the airship, Brownbeard found
himself outside in the cold, crisp night air. He
could see the stars shone bright in the sky above.
There were no familiar constellations. There were
no more buildings or bridges to be seen. The
Imperial Homestead was a mansion at the very tip
top of the capital city of Sa’Laam. Brownbeard
walked over to the edge of the large deck and
looked out. It was too dark to see anything.
“Don’t jump Captain!” said The Emperor. “It’s a
long way down!”
Everyone walked into the mansion. It was as
extravagant and wonderful a place as Brownbeard
had dared dream about when, before actually
becoming a pirate, he had imagined being a pirate,
robbing extravagant and wonderful places. The
crew of the For Sale were shown to their rooms.
“See you at breakfast, whenever you awake.
Sweet dreams,” said The Emperor.
Everyone went to private rooms. The lights of
the mansion dimmed. Kumquat pawed at her
owner just as Hazel went to open the door to her
room.
“Hazel,” whispered Kumquat, “What about my
pets? How long do you think we will be here?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got to locate the treasury
first,” Hazel responded.
“I’ve only given them enough food for a couple
of days! And what about their cages? I’ve got to
clean them!” complained Kumquat.
“Kumquat!” said Hazel through her teeth. “I can’t
worry about that now. Just hush! Why don’t you
just walk up to The Emperor and ask him where
the treasury is and if we can we rob it? Then we
can be out of here tonight. Do you like that idea?”
“Yes,” said Kumquat. “Do you really think I
should?”
Hazel bopped Kumquat upon the head.
“Go to sleep,” Hazel ordered. “We all need our
rest.”
* * *
Laying on Brownbeard’s bed were a pair of silk
pajamas. An attendant told Brownbeard to give
him his clothes and that they would be cleaned
and repaired by morning. There was a large glass
doorway leading out to a deck. Brownbeard went
outside to have a look. He shivered in the night
chill. He strained his eyes to see out into the night,
but there was nothing visible except the stars. He
sighed. He thought about all he had left behind in
the world he had come from. It was not that he
wasn’t having a grand time. He was, he was. It
was just, well, maybe he was a bit homesick.
Brownbeard shook his head. Had he been gone so
long? Long enough to be homesick. He tried to
count the days since he’d last been in New Ferry.
He could not do it. His mind was too fuzzy. It
seemed all so long ago.
Brownbeard went back inside to his bed and lay
his head down. The pillow was cool and
comfortable. He thought and thought. He thought
about Hazel. What was she doing right now? What
was she thinking about? He thought about the
exhilaration of the game in the coliseum. He
thought about how much work was still to be
done. He worried about the danger. Already so
many terrible circumstances had been faced down,
but Brownbeard sensed the hard part was just
beginning.
“Why am I planning to steal from The Emperor?”
he asked himself. “He seems like a nice enough
guy. He seems to like me. Why would I want to
steal from him and then have to run away for my
life? Is there any sense in that? And what about
the game?”
It seemed this funny game of smacking the
gigapoo out of a rock was the path to much
fortune, fame and power in this place. Why not
just continue this little scam he had going with
Hazel? With his schtick and her magic, they could
be a big deal in Sa’Laam. Considering the
grandeur of this place, that was saying a lot. Why
steal the riches when they could earn it—kind of?
“Tomorrow, I’ll talk with Hazel,” thought
Brownbeard. “I think we should re-evaluate our
plan—re-evaluate our plan—re-evaluate our
scam—re-cantabulate our spam—circumnavigate
our ham—consterbabbulate grape jam—”
Brownbeard drifted off into Dream Time.
Once in Dream Time, he got out of bed and
walked out onto the deck. It was still cold he
noted. Funny how even in dreams there was still
hot and cold. He looked up at the stars. Wow!
There were more than before. How did that
happen? Oh! Look! A shooting star. Then the stars
moved and shifted and danced all about. How
beautiful!
Brownbeard went to the edge of the deck and
looked over. He could see distant lights below—
far, far below. He heard footsteps behind him. He
turned to look. It was The Emperor. Behind him
was Hazel.
“Captain, don’t jump,” said The Emperor.
“Jump, Brownie!” said Hazel. “Jump quick!”
Brownbeard turned again to look. It was so far
down. But this was a dream! Yes, Brownbeard
knew he was dreaming. Things felt real, but
different at the same time. So strange. So funny.
Should he jump?
“No! Don’t!” shouted The Emperor.
“Do it! Jump!” screamed Hazel.
Seems like it would be fun to jump in a dream
thought Brownbeard. The Emperor ran over to
grab him. Brownbeard’s heart skipped as the large
man came for him. He pushed hard and from a
standing position, Brownbeard launched himself
over the edge of the deck’s rail. The Emperor’s
screams of ‘Noooooo!’ turned into the howl of the
wind as Brownbeard fell and fell and fell far into
the city.
Beyond the city’s ground level, beyond and
below the coliseum level, fell the pirate Short
Stubbly Brownbeard. Down—down—down—
below the lowest levels of Sa’Laam. The shiny
gold walls of the city turned to a more familiar red-
brown brick, like in places Brownbeard was used
too. New Ferry, Charleston, Boston. Brownbeard
watched and saw people watching him as he fell.
He waved. Some of them waved back. Some of
them looked familiar. Was that Pappy? Was that
Lloyd and Louise? Down—down—down fell the
pirate. The brick turned to wood frame. The wood
frame turned to stacks of—stuff? Trash! The city
was built on trash? Such a bizarre dream! Finally,
with a soft thud, Brownbeard landed in a muddy,
sticky, yucky mess. It did not smell pleasant. He
got up and looked around.
Not too far from where he was, sitting on a
rocking chair amidst all the trash and waste of the
city far above, was an old man. The man rocked
slowly, calmly. He smiled at Brownbeard.
“Hello,” said Brownbeard.
“How are you, Brownbeard?” asked the old man.
“Ha! Okay I guess. You know my name?”
“Sure I do. I’ve seen you in your dreams many
times before,” said the old man.
“You have? I don’t remember,” said Brownbeard.
“You never do,” said the old man. “That’s all
right. Most people don’t.”
“Huh. So, how come this place doesn’t fill up? I
mean, I’m surprised there’s so much room down
here,” said Brownbeard.
“Oh, they keep threatening to dig deeper,” said
the old man. “Always saying stuff. But there’s
more room down here than they suspect. Don’t
think they’ll need to make more room for some
time. Of course, they keep sending me all this
stuff. Never stops. Never stops.”
Brownbeard felt sad for the old man, sitting here
in his rocking chair all alone in such a forlorn, foul
place.
“Don’t be sad for me Brownbeard,” said the old
man. “I can go up any time I want to. Don’t often
want to though. I like it fine down here.”
“Can I leave if I want to?” asked Brownbeard.
“Not the way you came,” said the old man.
“So, how do I leave?” asked Brownbeard.
“That way,” said the old man, pointing with a
thumb behind him to a dark hole punched through
the garbage and filth.
A shiver trembled up Brownbeard’s spine. He
was ready for this dream to be over.
“Sorry, Brownbeard,” said the old man. “There is
no other way out. If there was, I’d tell you.”
Brownbeard swallowed hard. He knew the old
man was right. Now that he was here, there was
only one possible way out.
“Thanks,” said Brownbeard.
“Good luck, Brownie,” said the old man with a
kind smile.
Brownbeard felt along his belt. He felt the handle
of his sword and his rock wacking stick. He took
a deep breath and walked into the tunnel. It was
dark and creepy. He felt things brush over his
face. Then he felt things crawl on his face.
Brownbeard frantically swatted at leggy things he
could not see. Invisible fingers caressed his
cheek. Dark voices unseen called sweetly, telling
Brownbeard to stay. Brownbeard breathed hard.
He was scared. Scared he would not get out—that
he would not find the courage to take another
step—that he would collapse right here into a
quivering heap and never ever leave. But the
horror of that thought provided the jolt he needed
to press on. He finally emerged through the other
end of the tunnel, outside the city.
Here, beyond the walls of the city, Brownbeard
turned around and looked up. All he could see
was an immense wall disappearing into a drab
gray nothing far above. The wall was not the
golden color he expected to see. It was as
colorless as the dead sky.
Looking away from the city, a vast, lifeless plain
stretched into infinity. Brownbeard stood there for
a long while and watched a dull red fog grow over
the horizon. With tentacles searching, imploring,
the fog raced over the barren land and reached
Brownbeard, engulfing him. Now, rather than the
plain, Brownbeard could see only a few feet in
front of his nose. From out of the mist, he watched
two figures emerge. The two beings in black robes
walked towards Brownbeard. Under their hoods,
Brownbeard could see the faces of two grinning
skeletons. He reached for his sword. It was not
there! He reached for his stick. Nothing! It was not
there!
In a panic, Brownbeard turned to run back into
the tunnel. But he could not. He was paralyzed,
barely able to move his eyes. The skeletons came
right up to him, and with flaming orbs that bore
into his core, touched Brownbeard on each arm
and gently pulled him deeper into the dull red fog.
Brownbeard could do nothing except go with his
tormentors. His legs obeyed their guide, not the
instructions of his own brain! At last, he was their
captive.
Through the fog they walked until incrementally,
it dissipated just enough to reveal a room as big
as the coliseum. Bigger even. Yet smaller.
Smaller in that this room felt suffocating. The air
was so thick and hot. Brownbeard felt he was both
lost in a terribly large place, while at the same
time trapped in a closet. But worst of all, hardest
to bear, there was a terrible feeling of sadness that
dwelled herein.
Some things about this place were immediately
understood by Brownbeard, though no words were
spoken to him by the skeleton beings. Other things
were not sensible. Brownbeard saw that this place
was once beautiful. Where once a garden
flourished, now there were only dry, dead twigs
and gnarled, serpent-like vines. Where once
beautiful furniture had provided a place for
people to sit with, and talk with, and dine with one
another, now there were only broken fragments of
wood, glass, and rusted metal.
“I’m sorry,” said Brownbeard to the two skeleton
beings. “I don’t understand why this must be. Why
are you showing me this?”
The one skeleton turned Brownbeard and
stabbed at the air with a bony finger as if to say,
“Look! Look! Look harder! See with your own
eyes!”
Brownbeard looked harder. Sure enough, there
was more to see. Ghost-like, from the cobwebs of
mist coalesced the forms. Terrible. Terrible. Now,
Brownbeard understood the sadness of this place.
Children. Hundreds—thousands of children.
Children roamed to and fro, here and there, all
around the broken room. Not playing with one
another and laughing the way children should.
Rather, these children stole from one another.
These children were mean to one another. These
children were orphaned—abandoned—sold into
slavery—made to fight one another—imprisoned—
“This is horrible,” whispered Brownbeard.
“Why? Why is this?”
The skeletons looked at Brownbeard, but said
nothing.
“Why are you showing me this? Did I do this
somehow?” cried Brownbeard. “Tell me! Tell me!
What do you want me to do?”
Away went the shadows of the children,
vaporizing back into gossamer. One of the
skeletons drew a mirror from beneath its robes. It
was the mirror the skeletons had tried to purchase
at Ye Olde Gift Shoppe, the night Brownbeard
first ran into these two.
“Ah! You finally got it I see,” said Brownbeard.
The skeleton handed the mirror to Brownbeard.
“You want me to look into the mirror?” asked a
scared Brownbeard.
The skeletons nodded. This made Brownbeard
tremble. For all the wretchedness Brownbeard had
thus far seen, nothing made him quake more than
this task, to look at his own face in the mirror.
With trembling hand, Brownbeard took the mirror
and ever so cautiously, turned the shiny, silvered
glass towards his eyes. He was so afraid of what
he might see. And there it was. His face. The face
he had always known as his own—well, the paper
maché eyebrow was new.
“I don’t see anything,” said Brownbeard. “It’s
just me.”
He looked up to hand the mirror back to the
skeletons. But they were gone. Dream Time was
over. Brownbeard awoke from the nightmare in a
cold sweat. Exhausted, he drifted back into sleep.
Thankfully, this was dreamless, deep sleep. When
the light of day greeted the gilded city of Sa’
Laam, Brownbeard awoke feeling a bit uneasy.
But he did not remember the dark journey to the
depths of his dream city. Nor did he recall the lost
children.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Thirty-One
Buy yer hard copy
at . . .
at . . .
Want to support
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
