Hello everyone,

I got off to a late start posting on this blog, but have been reading some of the stories.  🙂 My story is not very relevant to this week’s prompt, but it is something I have been working on lately. It’d be helpful to hear general comments (what you like/ dislike),  as well as areas of the story that you think could be filled out better or further explained.  It’s so much fun to be able to see and share ideas here.

Happy writing! 🙂

–Laetitia

“The Carp and the King”

There was once an old man who lived on a lake. He had tired eyes, whiskers that drooped like a catfish, and clothes that looked the same everyday: a dull brown shirt and trousers and a straw hat to keep away the yellow sun. His skin was old and wrinkly and he smelled like the water. He was, in fact, a fisherman by trade. The man had three sons. The first two were named Lance and Chip. The youngest was called Monty. The lake was surrounded by tall, craggy mountains and bordered by a small village. Every morning, the boys would take their boats to the middle of the lake to fish for trout and carp. The fish were unusually large, and were unique for their beauty, strength, and flavor. It was said that a giant carp, as old as the boys themselves, lived among the rushes and reeds in a deep drop-off from the bank on the far side of the lake. Lance thought he had seen giant ripples, cool and fluid, in the distance once when he was out very early. And the whole family knew of how Chip had not been able to sleep one night because of the loud splashes coming from underneath the house near its supporting stilts. Tales like these swept the village like wildfire, but grew less real the closer you go to them. It was hard to decide which was more convincing: that everyone knew someone who had almost seen it, or that no one actually had.

But the people of the village were proud of their lake. Some towns were known for their horses or cattle of metal-work. For them, it was the fish. The fishermen lived set apart from the people, like temple monks, on stilted houses on the lake. At the end of the day, the day’s catch was rowed to shore, where the townspeople picked out choice pieces and the fishwives muttered that at that price, they were being robbed. The rest of the fish was haggled over by the large-scale buyers, who packed it in ice and took it in wagons to neighboring towns. It was said that some had even ended up on the king’s table.

One afternoon, the boys looked up and saw the outline of a single horseman going towards town on the path along the lake. They were curious, but knew they would hear the news later that evening. Perhaps he was a lone adventurer on the way home, stopping for a night’s lodging. After the fishing was done, they went home to sort fish before going to the shore to sell it. When they told their father, he looked up in surprise at the news The old man knew how rare it was for strangers to come to these parts. For once, there was no shortage of volunteers for taking the fish to shore.

On land, the cackle of shop talk had a higher-pitched frequency than usual. It was more crowded than with just the ordinary buyers. People stood off in small bunches, talking amongst themselves in quiet tones that occasionally broke out into an excited or worried exclamation. It was not often that they had news interesting enough to distract them from the day’s catch. Chip wanted to find out what was going on. He looked around for someone who could fill him in and spotted a familiar face. William Hunter was wiping fish scales and water off his hands onto his apron as he examined fish. Their eyes met and Frunk turned away from the wares he had been eyeing (“too much”) and strode towards the boys. Like always, his hair clung slightly to his forehead with sweat, but his normally smiling eyes had  a more more serious tint than usual. “Chip,” he said greeting him with a friendly clasp on the arm. He nodded at each in turn. “And how’s your father”?

“Good,” said Chip. Lance broke in.

“But wondering about the rider, as are we. who is he? why is here?” Gumpsin nodded his head in agreement.

“It seems he’s from the king, lads.” This alone was enough to make Chip barely keep from gasping out loud. Everyone knew that King Norbert was the sovereign of the land. But none of them had any contact with royalty. Or for that matter, barely anyone outside of the village at all. “He’s a messenger. It’s all very strange to be sure. It’s posted outside of the inn.”

“But what was his message?” broke in Chip.

“It’s something about fish.”

“Fish?” This was more familiar ground.

“Yes, well, rather, a fish. One fish. That may not be a fish at all.”

———————-

“There’s said to be a giant carp in the lake. Well, there is a reward offered for it. 1,000 guldirons to be exact.” That was a lot of money. Far more than any of them would make, or see, in their lifetime. What would you do with that much? You could buy anything, live anywhere. You wouldn’t have to live the rest of your life as a fisherman, tied to the water and changing weather.

“Why does he want it?” put in Chip.

“He didn’t say. Perhaps for a feast. A special event.” He paused, as if those were words he had been saying automatically all day. He looked as if he were about thinking about something else, but continued on.

“You should ask your father about it. He knows more about than-.” He stopped again and smiled at the boy’s confusion. They were clearly thinking the same thing. The old man? How could he know about it when he hadn’t even set foot on land today? Just as he didn’t on most days.

“Well, I’m sure it will blow over, soon enough.” He was back to saying words that people wanted to hear, to quiet the pride and worry over why the king would take a special interest in their town.  With that, Hunter turned and had soon disappeared into the crowd. The boys could barely wait to get back. The sales went by slowly. Today, people were more interested in talking than shopping. But they finally sold enough for a good day’s work and were back in their boats, punting until they were past the shallows, and could catch the wind for the rest of the way home.

The old man was sitting calmly, smoking pungently- scented tobacco, when the boys rushed in with the news.

“Father, the horseman was a messenger from the king” Chip, as usual, was the first to get the words out.

“And he’s here because of the giant carp” broke in Lance, “He wants it! and he’s offering 1000 gurdons. Is it real? how will we catch it? Monty was quiet and let the others talk for him. They usually did, anyways. The old man paused to savor a last bit of his pipe, and then exhaled slowly. “Come on, Father” said Lance. “Oh, and Hunter said … he said that you knew about all of this. He said you could explain it, well, better than he could. But how did you know about it? Who told you?”

“There’s a lot about it that I don’t know.” Said the old man. “But as for fishing for the carp, we will not be seeking the reward. Any of us. And that is final.”

“What?” said Lance.

“The carp is a myth, stated the old man. “We are in the middle of summer, soon it will be autumn. Then the snow will come. We have other things to think about than looking for something made of fishwive’s stories. We need to be bringing in a steady catch everyday, just so we will do well over the winter. This is only a distraction.” Chip looked sad, Lance angry, Monty indifferent.

“But what about us? burst out Lance. This is our chance to get out of here! To go to school, to have a little money. I want to see the world. I don’t want to live in a reed hut for the rest of my life. I don’t,” he checked himself, but the words hung unspoken in the air. I don’t want to end up like you. The old man’s face tightened, but when he spoke, his words were measured and gentle, although unbending.

“I know this might be difficult for you. But my family has lived here for a long time. You have lived here your whole life. No one has seen the carp. No one has caught it. Why? Because it is  only a tale, a myth, a legend. Why would the king know this lake better than we do? I do care about this family. We must take care of ourselves by catching fish instead of running after fishewive’s stories. Lance said nothing. He did not look like he agreed, but he knew that further argument would not change either of their minds.

After dinner, the house was quiet. Monty wandered about, scuffing his toe on the mats on the floor and watching his brothers, for once both lost in their own thoughts. He glanced out the window at the long, running dock that slanted down until it was almost eye-level with the lake. He looked at their boats, waiting for the morning’s work. After Monty fell asleep, he had a strange dream. He looked in the water and saw a giant carp, with colorful, glistening scales. It was gliding straight towards him and then began circling the house. He opened his mouth to speak, whether to speak to it or to shout a warning to his family, he did not know. But no words came out. He did not remember the dream when he woke up.

The days that followed were unlike any the boys had ever known. The lake was busy, with townspeople and strangers from out of town, all hunting the carp. Angry fishermen said they scared away the schools and that the fish were too hard to find for this time of year. One thing was good: business was booming. What with all the visitors, and the village’s added notoriety, there was no lack of customers. But not all of the new type were savory characters. There were complaints in the village too. Windows smashed in a drunken fight. Chickens stolen. Tawny Kearen returned home early one day just in time to find someone coming out of his front door who did not live at his house. The man ended up with a free night in the constable’s den. Tawny got a good story and the wholehearted, albeit momentary, approval of the entire village. But the talk continued. How long would this go on? Would it get worse? And if the king was the cause of this, would he do anything to help his subjects?

But summer wore away, and things had not quieted down. Fall began. Red and gold leaves drifted on the lake like small pieces of fire. The seasons changed and the boys hurried on with their work, squeezing out the last drops of summer’s plenty and staying abreast of the chill winds which warned that the ice was on the way. Outwardly, the boys looked much the same. Neither more stressed or lean, nor more tall or thin or strong. But within, they carried secrets. Firstly, Lance. Lance had decided not to argue with the old man, who could be as stubborn as himself. But what he had said did not make much sense. There was plenty of time in the day to bring in a good load and still hunt for the carp. If he got up a little earlier, and came back a little later, well, there were more people in town, business was good, and there was no reason not to let an opportunity slip past you. At one time, he would have thought an increase of purchasers was all that they had need to do well. It would be nice to have a little coin in the hand, free to be spent how you wanted, instead of it always going towards necessities. There were always plenty of things that needed to be taken care of. A repair that could not be mended, food other than fish, herbs and ointments for when you had a headache or got your finger caught on a hook. And the old man insisted on saving the rest in case of a bad time. But it wasn’t just about the money. He was a fisherman. This was his lake. Why could he not be the one to find it? He had a good as chance as anybody. And, oh, the thrill of the hunt. The satisfaction of the deed. The old man would probably be angry. But he would also be proud. Proud that it was his son who had caught the fish. So Lance spent his extra minutes, and soon hours, searching for the carp. On the far side of the lake, there was a deep drop off not from from the shore. The water near the bank was full of reeds and cattails and the small fish that liked to frequent the coverage they offered. It was the perfect spot for a carp to hunt, and perhaps, a good spot to hunt a carp.  Chip knew what was going on, but Lance told him him to hold his tongue, and truth be told, he did not need much convincing. .