Claus pulled the hood of his black cloak further over his face to shield himself from the unrelenting sun. He wiped the sweat from his brow for the umpteenth time and examined his compass again, but it still wasn’t working. The curious magnetic properties of the magical sandstone that naturally occurred in the Yatem desert kept disrupting the needle. He sighed and sat down on a rock to rest. Maybe his plan to travel alone to the capital city, Quedbel, without a functioning mode of navigation hadn’t been the best idea. “Well, it’s too late for regrets,” he murmured. “I can’t undo being lost.” He chugged some water from his waterskin, and his stomach, sick of eating only dried meat and crackers for the last three weeks, grumbled. Claus thought of the cranberry muffins for which Perbina’s, a bakery in Quedbel, was famed. What he wouldn’t give for one!
There was nothing to do but keep going. He stood up and pulled a cord hanging from his belt. The mechanical wings on his back unfurled abruptly, and he was jerked from the ground. He flapped until he was soaring high above the desert, among the Moki birds who squawked in surprise upon seeing Claus. He was mesmerized by their iridescent cyan feathers glimmering in the sunlight, and the awe-inspiring walls and canyons formed from lavender sandstone below. The desert was breathtakingly beautiful, but Claus had no doubt it would lose its appeal if he were lost in it for much longer.
Later, when the setting sun brushed the sky with tangerine strokes, Claus spotted a magical bolt of light approaching him from below. The Moki birds around him chirped worriedly and scattered in all directions. Claus frantically tugged his joystick every which way, to no avail. The bolt followed him wherever he flew.
“Fiddlesticks!” he cried as the luminous bolt swallowed him up in its paralyzing embrace and carried him slowly to the ground. Claus spotted a tall, ominous-looking person below, gazing up at him. Their face was obscured by a dark purple cloak with the insignia of Konstabbls, the spellcasting law-keepers of Toryen, emblazoned on the back.
When Claus reached the ground, the person strode toward him and spoke in a deep voice as ominous as their appearance. “Do you have a license for that flying contraption?”
“I’m afraid not, good Konstabbl,” Claus responded nervously, trying to keep his voice from quavering.
“Then it’s forbidden,” they replied, as blasé and bored-sounding as if they had encountered this situation a thousand times. “You can’t build and use whatever devices you like. According to Duchess Lavinia Rosellia Margaret Harmendrope, fair and lovely ruler of Toryen, Homemade Flying Contraptions are forbidden under any and all circumstances unless given explicit, official permission by a legal official in the form of an official license. If you don’t have one, I must send you to Quedbel immediately for your sentencing hearing.” Upon hearing that, an idea came to Claus, and he resisted the urge to smile. Here was a way to reach his destination.
“Oh, I had no idea.” He widened his eyes innocently. “By all means, send me to Quedbel right away.”
“Very good. I’ll just destroy your Homemade Flying Contraption first.”
“Okay — but — ” Before Claus could protest, the prison of light that still entrapped him ripped the wings from his back and threw them at the feet of the Konstabbl, who muttered an incantation. The wings were engulfed in flame. Claus could do nothing but watch as his proudest invention became ashes.
The Konstabbl continued muttering and a pit opened in the sand, containing various shades of purple swirling psychedelically, which hurt Claus’s eyes. With one flick of the Konstabbl’s finger, Claus was flung into the portal.
Claus had no sense of how long the journey took. Strange colors and images, too blurry to make out, flashed under his tightly closed eyelids. Wind rushed against him and he felt a spinning sensation that made him nauseous.
When he could open his eyes again, Claus found himself sitting in a lavish throne room. A woman in an excessively ruffled scarlet ball gown sat on a polished throne. A tiara perched on her mountain of auburn hair. The Konstabbl standing next to Claus bowed rigidly to the woman and said, “M’lady, this young ruffian was using an unauthorized Homemade Flying Contraption. What shall we do with him?”
“I honestly couldn’t care less. I suppose you may kill him.” A strand of hair came unattached from the column on her head. The duchess looked at it with apparent distress and tucked it back in. The Konstabbl bowed again and turned to Claus.
“I’m afraid you’ll face the death penalty for your crimes. What would you like for your last meal?”
Claus couldn’t believe this was happening. He put on a brave smile despite the growing sense of doom inside him. This wasn’t at all how he had imagined this would go. “A cranberry muffin from Perbina’s. Please.”
Later, Claus sat in the dungeons on the execution stump, unwrapping his muffin. He gazed down at it as the Konstabbl tapped their foot, impatient. “I understand the impulse to delay your death, but it’s inevitable, and it’s a bit selfish to keep me waiting.”
Claus nodded glumly. He took a bite and a smile broke out on his face, because he had heard right. It really was delightful.
There was nothing to do but keep going. He stood up and pulled a cord hanging from his belt. The mechanical wings on his back unfurled abruptly, and he was jerked from the ground. He flapped until he was soaring high above the desert, among the Moki birds who squawked in surprise upon seeing Claus. He was mesmerized by their iridescent cyan feathers glimmering in the sunlight, and the awe-inspiring walls and canyons formed from lavender sandstone below. The desert was breathtakingly beautiful, but Claus had no doubt it would lose its appeal if he were lost in it for much longer.
Later, when the setting sun brushed the sky with tangerine strokes, Claus spotted a magical bolt of light approaching him from below. The Moki birds around him chirped worriedly and scattered in all directions. Claus frantically tugged his joystick every which way, to no avail. The bolt followed him wherever he flew.
“Fiddlesticks!” he cried as the luminous bolt swallowed him up in its paralyzing embrace and carried him slowly to the ground. Claus spotted a tall, ominous-looking person below, gazing up at him. Their face was obscured by a dark purple cloak with the insignia of Konstabbls, the spellcasting law-keepers of Toryen, emblazoned on the back.
When Claus reached the ground, the person strode toward him and spoke in a deep voice as ominous as their appearance. “Do you have a license for that flying contraption?”
“I’m afraid not, good Konstabbl,” Claus responded nervously, trying to keep his voice from quavering.
“Then it’s forbidden,” they replied, as blasé and bored-sounding as if they had encountered this situation a thousand times. “You can’t build and use whatever devices you like. According to Duchess Lavinia Rosellia Margaret Harmendrope, fair and lovely ruler of Toryen, Homemade Flying Contraptions are forbidden under any and all circumstances unless given explicit, official permission by a legal official in the form of an official license. If you don’t have one, I must send you to Quedbel immediately for your sentencing hearing.” Upon hearing that, an idea came to Claus, and he resisted the urge to smile. Here was a way to reach his destination.
“Oh, I had no idea.” He widened his eyes innocently. “By all means, send me to Quedbel right away.”
“Very good. I’ll just destroy your Homemade Flying Contraption first.”
“Okay — but — ” Before Claus could protest, the prison of light that still entrapped him ripped the wings from his back and threw them at the feet of the Konstabbl, who muttered an incantation. The wings were engulfed in flame. Claus could do nothing but watch as his proudest invention became ashes.
The Konstabbl continued muttering and a pit opened in the sand, containing various shades of purple swirling psychedelically, which hurt Claus’s eyes. With one flick of the Konstabbl’s finger, Claus was flung into the portal.
Claus had no sense of how long the journey took. Strange colors and images, too blurry to make out, flashed under his tightly closed eyelids. Wind rushed against him and he felt a spinning sensation that made him nauseous.
When he could open his eyes again, Claus found himself sitting in a lavish throne room. A woman in an excessively ruffled scarlet ball gown sat on a polished throne. A tiara perched on her mountain of auburn hair. The Konstabbl standing next to Claus bowed rigidly to the woman and said, “M’lady, this young ruffian was using an unauthorized Homemade Flying Contraption. What shall we do with him?”
“I honestly couldn’t care less. I suppose you may kill him.” A strand of hair came unattached from the column on her head. The duchess looked at it with apparent distress and tucked it back in. The Konstabbl bowed again and turned to Claus.
“I’m afraid you’ll face the death penalty for your crimes. What would you like for your last meal?”
Claus couldn’t believe this was happening. He put on a brave smile despite the growing sense of doom inside him. This wasn’t at all how he had imagined this would go. “A cranberry muffin from Perbina’s. Please.”
Later, Claus sat in the dungeons on the execution stump, unwrapping his muffin. He gazed down at it as the Konstabbl tapped their foot, impatient. “I understand the impulse to delay your death, but it’s inevitable, and it’s a bit selfish to keep me waiting.”
Claus nodded glumly. He took a bite and a smile broke out on his face, because he had heard right. It really was delightful.