Murphy Ginger and the Magic Cupboard
Treats of Fairy Tale
Once, a cupboard was shut for a very long time…
"Hearts bold now, my knights. Close the Hellmouth, and the kingdom wins a hundre-"
A roar cut the speech short.
Murphy Ginger wiped sweat from his brow with a gnarled knuckle. He scanned the battlefield for his king's conspicuous plume. The night was silvery dark on the hills; he saw only the fallen.
"Murphy, spear!"
Murphy Ginger spun and raised his weapon horizontal.
Just in time. Two gleaming square teeth snapped at him. The spear shaft cracked. The bite's force threw Murphy across the soil. His tunic and skin peeled.
The demon hissed. Bright black eyes fixed on Murphy. It churned air with a pink tail, and shook earth with a clawed footstep.
Suddenly the demon squealed, twisted, its fur writhing. It scampered, a shadow vanishing into the hills.
Murphy Ginger grasped a proffered, ruddy hand, which pulled him to his feet. He said, "Many thanks, Sir Prune."
Portly Sir Prune waived gratitude. "Three demons," he remarked. "One gravely wounded."
"May its whiskers fall limp far from here."
Sir Prune pointed with his red tipped spear. "Peril surrounds the Crying King. What course, Sir Ginger?"
Murphy Ginger looked long to the east. "Follow the king's plan."
"Trade spears, Sir Ginger. You know the sealing rites. I'll draw the demons."
They swapped, shared a nod, and parted.
Murphy Ginger picked a quiet path among the rubbish heaps. Screams punctured the stillness. The coppery stink of demon ichor wafted off his speartip.
Reaching a starlit hill crest, Murphy looked down.
There lay the Hellmouth.
It was a hole in the kingdom - a tunnel, deep and unlit. Through it, The Wind from Far Away carried demons. Two towers flanked the Hellmouth, the constructs of the Giants. The left tower was rusted iron, covered with a sheet of tattered, painted paper. The right was glass aged green, and full of fuzzy whiteness - a plague, the Dewblight.
At each towers' foot, the ancestors had laid locking stones.
Murphy Ginger ran for the iron.
Reaching the base, the knight stuck his spear by the stone. Prying, he chanted, "Purity, trust, make me without scratch. I bear-"
Boom. The demon's paw struck Murphy across his chest. He flew - spear still in hand, stone still locked - across hell's maw. The glass tower gonged as he smacked it. A crack split its surface.
Murphy collapsed, vision spinning. Ten pink demon noses twitched. Ten teeths gleamed. Ten swaggered toward him.
"Back, demon!"
Ten Sir Prunes charged. The knight jabbed his cracked spear. The demon rose on its hind legs, shuddering air with a howl.
Murphy staggered upright. He looked for his spear. He found ten, on the ground, beside the glass tower.
Beside the locking stone.
Murphy stumbled. He grasped the true spear with knobby fingers. Without a prayer he plunged beside the stone. He heaved. The demon spit. He heaved. Sir Prune gasped sharp and suddenly.
Murphy Ginger heaved.
The locking stone popped from the earth. Murphy's spear flew, and he himself fell backward.
The reflective tower trembled. Murphy heard ancient grinding as the glass tower rolled. He glanced sideways. The demon stood in the mouth of hell, while Sir Prune lay sprawled, tossed far, unmoving. For a moment, Murphy Ginger met the demon's hateful eye.
Then the glass tower rolled between them. With one enormous bang it struck iron, closing over the tunnel.
Murphy stared at his own face - reflected in the cracked tower holding fuzzy, grinning Dewblight.
Murphy embraced oblivion.
***
A breeze blew, warm with a perfume of oranges and spice…
Murphy Ginger's lids parted.
Two golden eyes, shiny like sap, met his own. Broad cheeks unfurled a smile. "Someone's chipper today," said the smile with the voice of Mrs. Isabelle Ginger.
Murphy Ginger groaned beneath his wool blanket. "A war-wounded soldier needs rest."
"Fit for candlelight capers, fit to rise with sunshine," quipped Mrs. Ginger. Murphy heard the heavy flap of a curtain, and yellow light warmed his lids.
Murphy Ginger discarded the blankets, rose, stretched, yawned. Mrs. Ginger swooped behind and gathered the bedding like wild cotton. "Heather Penne says there'll be an election soon," she went on.
"Mrs. Penne should remember the Crying King's pyre just three moons ago." Murphy examined his frown in the small bronze mirror by the window shelf. He ran a knobby finger over a scar above his eye.
"Aww Mur, she's just talking."
"You're too forgiving of talkers."
Isabelle Ginger set the blankets on their paper mattress. She walked over beside Murphy. "Heather's lonely. It's quieter in Topshelf, since-"
"Hush, flower. I know."
Isabelle gently tilted Murphy's chin to face the window. They stared at the other blue and yellow and white cardstock houses.
"Folks don't see the scar," said Mrs. Ginger. "They see the man who earned it."
Murphy wrapped an arm around her waist. "A hundred generations of peace," he said.
"That long?"
"'Till the Sky Seal breaks. Or the shelves crumble."
Doubt clung to Mrs. Ginger's voice. "But no troubles till then?"
"No troubles? I wouldn't say that. Sir Honeyslick tells me kids are troublesome."
"Aww, Mur…" She set her head against his shoulder.
***
The air sang with humming wings…
"Don't let it escape!"
As he shouted Murphy Ginger lunged.
The ladybug swerved. Murphy landed on his chest. "Rotten sow," he cursed, spitting soil.
The ladybug caught and clung upside-down to the wide, low ceiling net. She wove along rows of lamp-like snowdrop cones.
Hearty Farmer Dodger lurched too, arms aloft, but the ladybug skittered out of reach.
Just as she found a straight shot to the pasture gate, Sir Prune sprang from the side. He caught the bright red shell and heaved. The ladybug hit the dirt.
Murphy Ginger came up just as the huge livestock rolled upright. They leaned atop her. Farmer Dodger called, "I'll fetch rope," and ran for his shed.
"I'm rightly worn," Sir Prune panted as they held the bucking, smooth shell. "Limbs soft as silk after digging that drainage for the Midshelf tunnel."
"Tough job," Murphy agreed.
"Sir Ginger, you're troubled."
"...Mr. Bayleaf has taken ill. Pale. Limbs too weak to lift his tongs."
"A summer sniffle," said Sir Prune.
"Sir Prune, the Hellmouth tower-"
"Still troubles you? The tower of Dewblight only cracked, yes?"
"But-"
The ladybug's six limbs shoved hard, tossing them on their backs. Murphy grasped for a leg, but missed. The bug shot right through a gap in the splintery country fence.
Through the squares in the mesh, Murphy Ginger, Sir Prune, and the returning Farmer Dodger watched the ladybug's flight. It sped up, up, up toward the jagged white peaks of the Teacup Mountains, towards the pane of sky glass glossy with crimson dawn, and the high Sky Seal.
Murphy Ginger sighed. "Sorry, Mr. Dodger. You'll need a longer rope…"
***
"Behold: Pretzels and Jammies, Bowties, Pennes, Rigatonis, The Shallots and the Roundchips, brave Topshelvers and Midshelvers with loves lost to demons; behold recompense. Behold, a gleaming town and green country. And, through triumph, through labor in rows of budding crops and the raising of homes, behold losses redressed and hopes restored."
A crowd arose, stamping, clapping - some coughed. Murphy Ginger spoke before them…
"Behold, souls for whose happiness I would give my life, handing me their faith. Behold Sir Honeyslick and Mrs. Slick, and their three girls. Behold the Grahams and the Oysters, scholars all, who teach our children the rites of Hunt and Sun Bird and Dreamland. Behold Lord Garlic, so venerable, ready for his long repose."
The faces cheered: "King Murph! King Murph! King Murph!" But some showed concern, and some, a white rash…
"Behold… our children and grandchildren, untroubled by The Wind from Far Away. Behold the giant towers… giant towers standing forever, the sky glass uncracked when I relinquish my crown. Behold in days to come, under every eave , 'round every table, in every bed, the promised healthy home. Behold… Behold…"
The crowd waited, breathless; and among their number, Mrs. Isabelle Ginger smiled…
"Behold those generations at work, handling the tools we once bore. Behold the spears, changed to spades and pitchforks. Behold the scars, healing, gone. Behold a child of the Ginger line, knobby and sappy, beside your lines. And Behold, they recall our names, and speak of the first good days.
"Today, the sun sets for the kings of misfortune; tomorrow, it rises for the majesty of peace."
***
Murphy Ginger watched, through his window, as a ladybug labored down the road. The ladybug did not fly. Among the bug's eleven black spots, powdery fungus bloomed.
"Murphy Ginger, are you listening?" Isabelle Ginger's voice came soft from behind.
"I'm listening," he answered without turning.
"Make sure to darn clothes with Royal Grange silk, not Queens. Royal Grange holds up better."
"Okay."
"Mur, I want- *cough* a promise."
Murphy Ginger kept his eyes on the bug. "What promise?"
"Promise you'll stop carrying this blame."
Murphy's voice hardened. "I promised my shelvers an end to misfortune."
"We believed, Mur."
"They trusted their king."
"A king can't change the wind."
Across the road, the ladybug stumbled. It trembled, plodded on. It passed another lump, motionless and fuzz covered, in the ditch.
"Mur, promise. You've done what's in your power. But no man commands ancient curses."
Murphy Ginger pressed his forehead into his palms. He said, "We finally sealed the demons out forever, only for the tower to unleash Dewblight across the kingdom. That can't be nature's justice."
Isabelle Ginger's voice was cracked and small behind him. "Promise- *cough* *cough* Murphy Ginger, please promise."
Across the road, the ladybug collapsed. Around it rose a puff of white spores.
Murphy turned. His eyes beheld Isabelle, bedbound. Her ruddy face was mold-pale.
Isabelle's heart went to Murphy in his grief. "Aww Mur…"
And later, King Murphy Ginger wept before Mrs. Isabelle Ginger's cairn…
***
Mrs. Prune flung herself from the ledge, screaming. Wind whipped her wrinkles. She swung - strangling her rope - across the spacious gulf. She slowed near the opposite ledge…
Murphy Ginger reached and caught her.
Mrs. Prune stumbled forward, kissing the white ground. Murphy shoved the rope back across the gap. "Everyone's here, Sir Prune," he shouted. "Swing over."
The portly knight caught the rope, but waffled. "This thread won't bear my tonnage, Liege."
"Now, sir! The enemy already has the lower ridges."
Sir Prune gulped, then swung.
The rope groaned.
But it held, and Murphy Ginger caught the purple-faced knight.
Murphy scanned his band of shelvers - Pennes, Pretzels, others - atop this narrow ridge of the Teacup Mountains. They stood back from the precipice, and the drop to the tumbled, jagged glass.
"We're nearly at the seal, folks," announced Murphy. He marched forward, his shelvers followed.
They reached a new crest, just as midday's gold beamed down through the sky panes, and sparkled all across the porcelain.
The long seam, the hooked latch, The Sky Seal - lay dead ahead across a smooth white plane.
"At the latch-"
A cry cut Murphy short. "Murphy, spear!"
Murphy turned and caught the wooden haft. Just in time. He spun round and, spear horizontal, blocked a fuzzy swing. Murphy staggered, just keeping his footing.
Before the knight swelled an infested ladybug. Dewblight coated it from tip to toe. In place of its face, the blight formed a fuzzy, gleaming grin.
"Keep going," Murphy ordered. "I'll distract it." He felt satisfied, hearing the townsfolk rushing on.
Another blighted limb whooshed in. Murphy ducked. He stabbed behind the blow. His spear rammed home beneath the shell, but produced no drop of bug juice.
Murphy's spear stuck. Murphy twisted the hold, managing to deflect another direct swing, but the blow knocked him flat. Air whisked from Murphy Ginger's lungs. He lay breathless on the porcelain. The Dewblighted ladybug closed in, grinning.
"I fear… neither death by demons… nor this death…" said Murphy between gasps. "My people… are saved."
The ladybug moved its blighted mass toward Murphy's knobby skin.
"Prune, no!" Murphy shouted. Too late. The other knight charged, jamming his own spear into the ladybug's foot. The insect churred. It whirled. Its sporified carapace and grinning face flew at Sir Prune. Murphy Ginger watched in helpless anguish.
Then, suddenly, the firmament wheezed. Murphy Ginger felt himself lifted. He saw Sir Prune rise. The blighted ladybug remained, fixed to the mountain by the spear.
Murphy Ginger and the shelvers floated into the sky…
***
Cool air brushed Murphy Ginger's cheek. He opened his eyes.
"Bless me, he lives! You scared us, Sir- I mean, my liege."
Murphy thanked Sir Prune as the knight hauled him upright. The king's vision swam. An arctic light made him squint. "Where are we Sir Prune?" he asked.
"I cannot say. It… it's a land for giants."
Murphy brought a gnarled hand to shield his eyes.
Far and away - high, high, high into a sky of unfettered blue - mountains rippled. Neither soft brown soil nor healthy verdure formed any part of these monoliths. Each cloud carving mountain, from its roots to its pinnacle, took shape from the works of the giants. Glass and iron towers - structures of magnificent scale - were mere atoms. There were broken shards of mighty porcelain, like those in the Teacup Mountains, and walls like the shelves of the kingdom itself; everything jumbled into one mass of grand scale.
There were fungi too. Mushrooms speckled the mountains in grey tracts. The air smelled of mildew and wind.
"The Wind from Far Away plucked us from the kingdom," Sir Prune went on. He swept a hand at the other shelvers. "It dropped us here, in giants' land."
"The Wind'll bring demons too," one of the little Pennes said with a squeak. "Once night arrives."
Hearty Farmer Dodger added, "We're exposed. What should we do, Liege?"
Murphy Ginger climbed his eyes down the mountains, scanning his shelvers. "Where's the kingdom?" he asked.
One of the Bowties - looking much bedraggled - pointed. Against the foot of one slope, a box lay at an angle. The frosty daylight gleamed over four glass panes and two brass knobs on its top.
From this distance, the box seemed little.
"Should we go back?" asked Farmer Dodger. All the shelvers looked scared.
Murphy Ginger scanned the ground. He spotted a spear - a toothpick, it seemed, in this hoary land of giants. He picked it up, looked around, then pointed at a distant pass between two mountains. "We cannot return," he said. "The Dewblight would destroy us. We'll find a better home. A safe home."
The shelvers marched, some optimistic, others doubtful. All followed in the footsteps of their king, Murphy Ginger. None could resist a last backward glance at the mountain's foot, where lay their tiny kingdom, in its tiny, moldy box.
Once, a cupboard was shut for a very long time…
Thank you for reading.