Peter, the Spider and the King
This story was told to a group of very young children.
Part one: In which there isn't a spider or a king - but there are goats, that's something at least!
Young Peter was known as the scourge of the territories, the worst thief and burglar to ride the four winds, sails the seven seas and walk the nine realms. Yes indeed, he was known as such and called as much - “Have you heard?” people would mutter, “Why that is young Peter, the worst thief and burglar to ride the four winds, sail the seven seas and walk the nine realms.” And a call would be passed along, “Quickly, quickly, lock all your doors and bar your windows! Keep your lanterns bright, for here is young Peter, the scourge of the territories, the worst thief and burglar to ride the four winds, sail the seven seas and walk the nine realms!”
And the boy himself would laugh and cry out, “Yes! I am he! Indeed I am that very rogue, Young Peter - scourge of the territories, the worst thief and burglar to ride the four winds, sail the seven seas and walk the nine realms!” And he would laugh again.
It wasn’t true of course, though it did sound marvellously grand and adventurous to the young lad’s ears. He was indeed known by that very long name that no doubt you could repeat now for yourself, but he was known by such a name for the very simple reason that that was what he called himself - and many a villager simply took him at his word. But, no - he was NOT the - well you know, what he was actually was the biggest fibber. Oh yes and without doubt the most successful teller of whoppers in the kingdom.
This also meant he was something of a fool because, as I am sure you have been taught, such things have a way of catching up with you, sooner or later some wise guy looking to take you down a peg or two, (Which, if you are like Peter, you will deserve and for shame!) some cocky personage no doubt looking to increase their own reputation will ask you to prove what you say. If you claim to be Tarzan, you better be able to swing on vines, if you call yourself an astronaut then it would be best to have your rocket parked nearby, if you claim to be the Invisible Man you better make sure you can vanish - and quick! And if you are young Peter…
Well and so it was that one chilly morning Peter found himself in the village of Lowbury nestled in at the base of the iron mountains, just below where the paths began their winding. The wind roared down these paths and so most everybody stayed indoors or hid in a caravan - and the only sound Peter heard as he stepped through the hamlet was the chattering teeth of goats tethered in the yards.
Peter himself was trying to curl up inside his furry jacket, but curling up while walking is really quite dreadfully hard. And so he decided to seek shelter at the nearest inn. He pushed open a heavy wooden door and stumbled into the candlelit warmth of the Pig and Whistle public house. He couldn’t actually see any pigs but there were some people sat rosy cheeked by the crackling fire and playing on long melodious flutes.
They stopped.
Peter puffed up his chest.
“Who are you then stranger?” asked the landlord from behind his bar.
“I am young Peter!” the boy cried slapping his hand to his thigh and giving a stamp of his boot. “The scourge of the territories, the -“
“Yes, we’ve heard of you,” interrupted the Landlord, and I’m sure we are all glad he did!
There was the nasty sound of chairs scraping and looking over his shoulder Peter could see that the way out was barred by two beefy bruisers. Peter swallowed.
The Landlord was peering down now - his eyes catching the gleam of the candles and his immense eyebrows twitching. “Well,” he said, and “Well,” again. “If you really are the very same Peter as you claim then I must say that you have a very simple choice just now. You can attend to me and do some business for the village - or you can try and run away, there’s a window over there,” he indicated with his hand, “if you think you’d care to try. And if we catch you we will put you in the stocks and paint your hair green so the goats think it's grass, eh?”
Peter swallowed again.
“Although I could escape easily,” he fibbed - that was what he did after all, “I am intrigued by such a strange greeting, I am all ears.”
“Well then,” said the landlord, “come into the back here and attend to me - we have business to discuss.”
And so saying he wiped his hands upon his crimson shirt, picked up a lamp and opened the door behind him. With a shrug of the shoulders, that he made sure all the patrons could see, young Peter went around the bar and followed the man into the office.
end of pt1.