The Garden of Unearthly Delights (25 page)

Maxwell rode north. He met
a trader and purchased some bread and some fruit. Maxwell asked the trader if
he knew where the City of
Rameer
was. The trader told him and Maxwell punched the trader.

And
rode on.

The
landscape was more of the same: each valley like the one before and not unlike
the next. The golden sun moved up the sky, the grass was green, the horse was
white and Maxwell’s rage was red and raw and no nice man was he.

He rode
a bit and walked a bit, lay down at times, kicked stones at times and counted
little old ladies that clouted little boys.

Noon
found him sitting under an oak tree
munching an apple, effing and blinding between each bite. It was his
helplessness that really got to him; the fact that he could do
nothing.
If
the city had existed he just knew he could have found a way in. And if he’d met
the Sultan he just knew he’d have come up with some scheme to win Ewavett away
from him. And if he’d got back to MacGuffin, he’d have dealt with him as well.
He
would
have. Maxwell just knew that he would have. He was the
Imagineer, after all. The man with the plan. The sport with the thought. The
tactician with the vision. Maxwell could think of a hundred more such epithets
(which was more than any author could!).

He was
doomed. Doomed to ride across valleys until his nineteen days were up. Then
kaput.

Maxwell
bit a final chunk from his apple and flung the core into the air.

‘Ouch!’
said a small voice.

Maxwell
leapt up and made fists. Who is that? Come out.’

‘I’m
not doing anything, mister.’

Maxwell
looked up into the tree. A small ragged-looking boy clung to a branch. ‘Come
down,’ said Maxwell.

‘You
won’t hit me, will you?’

‘Possibly
not.’

The
small boy climbed down and stood looking worried. His face was unwashed and his
knees were good and dirty. He wore a grey jacket, short trousers and what had
once been a white shirt. He had that Just William look to him.

‘What
is your name?’ Maxwell asked.

‘It’s
William, Mister. Just William.’

‘And
what are you doing up the tree, William?’

‘Hiding
from my gran.’

‘Well,’
said Maxwell. ‘I think that puts you beyond the category of
stupid
boy.’

‘Oh,
I’m stupid enough in my way.’

‘Do you
want an apple?’ Maxwell asked.

‘Oh,
yes please.’

Maxwell
handed him an apple and the boy tucked into it.

‘Tell
me,’ said Maxwell. ‘Out of interest. All these old women who I keep meeting,
who clout small boys. Where do they all come from?’

The
small boy looked puzzled. ‘Don’t you know
that?’

‘If I
knew, I wouldn’t be asking.’

‘Well,’
the small boy tittered, ‘they come from the same place everybody comes from.’

‘And
where is that?’

‘Out of
their mummies’ tummies.’

Maxwell
clouted William in the head. William rubbed at his head. ‘I was sure I was
right that time,’ he said. ‘I must be even more stupid than I thought.’

‘No,
you’re not. I’m sorry I hit you.’

‘Oh,
don’t be. If I never got smacked round the head, I’d never learn anything,
would I?’

‘Well,
there are other methods of teaching.’

‘Oh
yes,’ said William. ‘But not round here. Round here the elders subscribe to the
principle of “beat some sense into them”. It works well enough.’

‘Well,
I’ve never actually witnessed the tuition side of it. I’ve only seen the
clouting on the head.’

William
looked puzzled once more. ‘But I thought that the clouting on the head
was
the
tuition side of it. There’s nothing more involved.’

‘You
mean they don’t actually teach you anything? They just keep clouting you on the
head?’

‘That’s
the way they do it,’ said William. ‘That’s how my father was taught and his
before him. You can learn a lot from a clout round the head.’

‘Have
you tried learning how to duck?’

‘I
tried that once, but I got a clout round the head for it.’

‘Well,’
said Maxwell, ‘I have learned, and partly through having most other parts of me
clouted, to keep my nose out of matters that do not concern me. If that’s the
way things are done around here, so be it.’

William
tucked into his apple.

‘Why
were you hiding from your gran, then?’ Maxwell asked.

‘I have
become sated with education,’ William said. ‘The old one beats my head with
such enthusiasm that I have learned more than it is good for a boy of my years to
learn.

Maxwell
smiled, something he hadn’t done for some time.

‘Only
yesterday’, William continued, ‘she knocked into my skull certain branches of
advanced mathematics. Do you know of the quantum theory?’

‘No,’
said Maxwell, scratching his head, something else he hadn’t done for a while.

‘It’s a
theory concerning the. behaviour of physical systems based on the idea that
they can only possess certain qualities, such as energy and angular movements,
in discrete amounts. It’s been developed into several mathematical forms, all
of which I am now conversant with.’

‘Good
grief,’ said Maxwell. ‘That’s incredible.’

‘Precisely,’
said William. ‘In fact, I don’t credit it at all. Any theory based on the
behaviour of physical systems would need to encompass an almost infinite number
of variables. How can you judge the qualities that a single system possesses,
without first being certain that it interacts with the next only within a
three-dimensional framework?’

‘I have
absolutely no idea,’ said Maxwell. And you learned all this simply by being
struck repeatedly on the head?’

‘I
suspect there is a knack to the striking,’ said William. ‘I learned absolutely
nothing when you hit me just now. It is still my firm conviction that everyone
comes out of their mummy’s tummy.’

‘But
this knowledge.’ Maxwell shook a head that he now felt might do well for a
skilful striking. ‘This knowledge you have. It’s awesome. What do you intend to
do with it? What do you want to be when you grow up?’

‘An
innkeeper,’ said William.

Maxwell
gave his head a shake. ‘I am frankly amazed by this educational system. Have
you had anything beaten into your head which might offer an inkling into how it
actually works?’

‘Percussive
perlocution,’ said William. ‘The theory is, as I understand it, that a man’s
thoughts are not wholly his personal property. A man draws his thoughts from a
common pool, a common consciousness, comprised of racial memory implanted
within his genetic code; experience, which is to say observation and the assimilation
of ideas through the vocal structure we call language; and intuitive reasoning,
which enables him to envisage the predictable outcome of a certain course of
action. But also, and here we step tentatively into the world of metaphysics,
by attunement to universal awareness. The head beating induces a morphic
resonance within the brain of the beatee which clears the synapses and allows a
through-put of knowledge drawn from the common pool. Of course you will ask,
what
is
this common pool—’

‘Of
course,’ said Maxwell, re-shaking his head.

‘And
there I must answer that nobody knows. Perhaps the universe itself is
sentient. Perhaps the planet speaks to us. Perhaps it is God or Goddess.’

‘Phew,’
Maxwell whistled. ‘I am now more amazed than ever I was.’

William
looked Maxwell up and down. ‘Can I assume that you were not educated in these
parts?’

‘You
can.’ Maxwell climbed to his feet. ‘Well, it’s been an, er, education, talking
to you. But I must be on my way. To somewhere.’

‘May I
ask where you’re riding to?’ William gave his nose a pick and examined the
yield.

‘You
may
ask,’ said Maxwell. ‘Let
me
ask you this: if I told you that the
answer was, “it lies over yonder hill”, what do you suppose the question might
be?’

William
flicked away his bogey. ‘An interesting conundrum,’ said he. ‘And one that
presents again an almost infinite number of variables. However, if we assume
that there actually exists one question more likely than all the rest, I would
have to answer that the question would be, “Where is the City of
Rameer
?”’

‘You
are correct, of course,’ said Maxwell. ‘Only in principle,’ said William. ‘For
here we enter the realms of sylogistics. I have identified the correct
question, but the answer is clearly at fault. Because the City of
Rameer
does
not
lie over yonder
hill.’

‘Something
I have learned to my cost,’ said Maxwell. ‘The City of
Rameer
lies
under
yonder hill,’ said William.

‘Do
what?’

‘Beneath
our very feet. It is a subterranean city.’

‘Good
grief,’ said Maxwell. ‘But have you actually seen it?’

‘I know
where the entrance is. But obviously I have not been inside.’

‘Why,
obviously?’

‘Because
I would not be discussing it with you now if I had.’

‘You
mean whoever enters does not return?’

‘On the
contrary. But it is a curious business and one which has played its part in my
decision to have done with education. Do you wish me to explain?’

‘Please
do.’

‘Then
it’s like this. I am nine years of age and on my tenth birthday I must enter
the City of
Rameer
to take my
examinations. The curiosity is this, children enter the city, their heads
crammed with knowledge, take their examinations, then emerge as men.’

‘Some
kind of rite of passage?’

‘Something
of the sort. Yet when they emerge, they no longer appear knowledgeable. In
fact, they seem to have completely forgotten the greater part of their
learning. And when asked about the city, they just stare blankly and say, “The
City of Rameer. lies over yonder hill.” I am at a loss to explain this. Can you
enlighten me at all?’

Maxwell
made a thoughtful face. ‘A sinister explanation springs immediately to mind.
The knowledge is somehow extracted from the children and then their memories
erased. How this is done, I dread to think. But listen, if adults have no
memory of the city, who takes you there on your tenth birthday?’

‘On the
night of my brother’s tenth birthday I pretended to be asleep. I watched as a
stranger came and took him. When my brother returned four days later, he had
become a man and spoke of the city as a fairy-tale.’

‘The
stranger who took your brother. How was he dressed?’

‘He
wore golden armour and he rode a horse such as yours.

‘Rock
‘n’ Roll,’ said Maxwell.

‘That
is the name of your horse?’

‘No
it’s not. Now listen, one other thing. If adults no longer know of the city,
how do
you
know of it? How do you know where the entrance is?’

‘The
knowledge was knocked into my head along with all the rest.’

‘As
likely an explanation as any other, I suppose. William, how would you feel
about showing me the entrance?’

‘I am
confused by your request. Surely, as an adult, you do not believe a single word
I’ve told you.’

‘I
believe everything you’ve told me. Although much of it I did not understand.
Will you take me to the entrance?’

‘I have
no wish to go inside. I want to hold on to my knowledge.’

‘You’re
a very bright boy. Perhaps if I succeed in my mission, this land will see its
children grow to adulthood with all their knowledge intact.’

A crowd
of thoughts now bustled into Maxwell’s head: the rise of a new age of science,
precipitated by the fall of the Sultan, and guided by William the philosopher
PM; do-it-yourself courses in head banging; the disbanding of a certain
regiment of knights; success for Maxwell. Many, many more.

‘How
far is it to the entrance, William? And please don’t tell me it lies over
yonder hill.’

‘Why
should
I
tell you that? My brother was gone four days. I don’t know how
long he spent within the city itself, but the entrance must surely be within
two days’ ride of here.’

‘But
you said you knew where the entrance was.’

‘I have
a very clear mental impression. I believe I could find it without difficulty.’

‘Praise
the Goddess.’ Maxwell clapped his hands together. ‘Then you will take me to
it?’

‘Take
you to it?’ William laughed uproariously. ‘Leave it out, mister, I’m not even
supposed to speak to strange men.’