Mossycoat

Once upon a time there was a knock at the door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

This was strange because the door was an eardrum. And eardrums are not in the habit of making knocking noises.

‘Who is it?’ called the Maiden from indoors.

She was a fair youth, as beautiful as a tear drop and about as sweet. The girl lived with her widowed mother; in a home they had carved out of a giant’s ear canal. It was not much to look at, and there always seemed to be a bit of a draft, but it did them well. They loved each other very much. But of late the Widow had been secretive and aloof. The Maiden had even seen her stalking out of doors, after lights out.

Even then, when the knock had come to the door, the Widow was secreted away in the back room. It was up to the Maiden to answer but she knew how, had seen her mother do it.

The girl took up the pointed metal rod from the porch and pierced it through the ear drum. Then she dragged it downwards to rend an opening in the soft tissue.

‘Hullo?’ she poked her petite face out.

‘Wow-wee-woo-wow! What a beautiful girl,’ scratched an old voice, ‘and lucky too. It just so happens I’m looking for a wife and now I’ve found her. How about it, pet?’

The Maiden recoiled inwards, away from the bug-like man who was stood at the door. But his greasy fingers and mandibles followed her through.

‘Come on, pet,’ he said, with his throat cloyed up.

The Maiden knew who this was, had not seen him before, but could not mistake that voice. It was the Hawker. He usually tried to peddle earwax and bile to her mother. He would cajole the Widow and say despicable things to her. In the end, she would always have to agree to some kind of deal before he would be on his way again.

The Maiden was terrified of the Hawker, so she ran to her mother.

‘Mother, the Hawker is at the door, and he wants to marry me!’

Her mother, who was busy tucking something away under the bed, levelled her gaze at the girl.

‘Well, do you want to marry him?’ she asked.

‘No!’ wailed the Maiden.

‘Then,’ said her mother with a serious look, ‘you must do as I say. You will go back and tell him that you will marry him, but you do not have any shoes. So he must bring you some. These must be a pair of clogs, and they have to be carved from the purest, white bone. They must also fit you exactly; not too big or too little.’

The Maiden did as she was told, and the Hawker looked her up and down.

‘Bone, you say?’

‘Yes,’ peeped the girl.

The Hawker scratched his greasy whiskers, then said:

‘It shall be done, and then we will marry,’ and then he clattered away with the big ugly shell on his back that was stuffed with his wares and charms and lanterns.

Later, the Maiden fretted terribly over what the Hawker had said.

She had presumed her mother had asked for the shoes to be of the purest bone because there had been a body-wide ban on the mining of bone. This was because while the bone would grow back like any other part of the giant’s body, chipping away at the skeletal structure caused collapse and cave-ins. Thus it was outlawed. And yet here the Hawker was saying: ‘It will be done.’

What if he did do it? And she had to marry him? Oh! She could not take it! The troubling thoughts harried her out of the room and chased her to her mother’s side.

‘Oh, mother,’ she lamented, ‘I do not want to marry the Hawker.’ The Maiden swooned onto her mother’s bed. It was made of springy lung tissue and covered with blankets that had been woven from plush, peach fuzz.

‘Hush, hush,’ her mother soothed, ‘you will not marry him. I have a plan for you, so trust your mother.’

And so the Maiden did.

One week later, (which to the Widow and Maiden was measured as seven giant heartbeats), there was another knock on the eardrum.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

This one came more hurried than the last.

‘Who is it?’ the Maiden called from indoors.

She hoped it was not the Hawker.

‘Dear wife, let me in!’ he said.

The Maiden opened the door as before and found the buggish Hawker down on one knee. In his hands he presented her a white, shiny pair of clogs. They were the most magnificent pair of clogs she had ever seen. The toes were rounded just so, and there were eyes carved into the small heel.

The Maiden took them at once.

‘I must see if they fit,’ she said.

‘Go ahead, pet,’ he said and grinned.

The Maiden took the beautiful shoes at once to her mother, who told her to try them on. The girl did so and found they did not chafe nor squeeze her toes. They fit her just right.

The Maiden fell into a swoon once more. She did not want to marry that man.

‘Do not fret, child,’ said her mother, ‘remember, I have a plan for you.’

‘Now,’ she said and wiped her daughter’s tears, ‘you go back and tell him that you can only be wed, if you have a tiara to match your shoes. And you must have a pair of gloves, to be woven from string guts that have been dried for 30 years. Tell him this.’

Once again, the Maiden did as she was told. The Hawker bowed to her.

‘It will be done,’ he said ‘and then,’ he paused and licked his lips, ‘we will be married, girl.’

The Maiden gulped and fell backwards while the Hawker grinned through the hole in the door. And she wished with all her might that the giant would heal faster and seal the door on that awful face.

Later on, after lights out had been called throughout the body, the Maiden sat up in the front room. She was not as troubled as she had been before. While she admired her new clogs, she understood they must have been very difficult to procure, but a tiara to match and the 30-year-dried gut string gloves? They would be impossible!

The most widely used crafting material in the body was brain pulp, because it was cheap and versatile. It could be moulded into any shape when wet and would stay that way when dried. Indeed, the main of the Widow’s pink furniture was made of the stuff, crafted by the fair hands of the Maiden. Her mother would buy bales of brain pulp which kept the Maiden’s hands busy, sculpting chairs and ottomans and the like. But of late her mother had not had the time to go out and buy more pulp. So, with idle hands, the Maiden’s mind began to wander. What was her mother doing in the secret hours in the back room? She picked at a crumbling corner of the dining table and considered the possibilities.

One week (or seven heartbeats) later, the knock at the eardrum came once again.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

It was a terrible sound.

‘Who is it?’ called the Maiden from indoors.

‘Dear wife, open up!’ cried the Hawker excitedly.

The Maiden opened the eardrum as before to find the Hawker down on his knee and presenting a tiara and a pair of gloves. The tiara was just as beautiful as the clogs and just as delicate. The white of the bone it was crafted from was almost too much to look at. And as for the gloves, they were woven so expertly that they did not look like gut string at all, rather they looked like they were made of a handsome, pink lace.

‘Now we will marry,’ said the bug-like Hawker. The Maiden winced.

‘I must try them on,’ she declared, and the Hawker consented.

She ran once more to her mother with the beautiful gifts. Together they put the tiara on the girl’s head and slid her small hands into the gloves. Both fit her exactly.

‘Oh, mother,’ she wailed. The beauty of her new garments paled in comparison to the ugly thought of having to marry the Hawker.

‘There,’ consoled her mother, ‘it is time I show you what I have been working on.’

The girl sniffed her tears back up, curious to see.

‘This,’ said the Widow, pulling a green garment out from under her bed, ‘is mossycoat.’

The girl looked at her, puzzled. The undercoat, for that’s what it looked to be, was made of a soft green material that the Maiden had never seen before.

‘What is it?’ she asked and stroked the wonderous material.

‘It is a magic coat I have sewn for you out of moss.’

‘Moss?’ the girl asked.

‘Yes, it is a plant that grows outside,’ her mother explained.

‘Plant?’ the girl was confused.

‘Listen, that does not matter. Put this on under your clothes and then pack up your things along with your clogs, tiara and gloves.’

The maiden did as she was told.

‘What now?’ the girl asked, ‘and what about the Hawker.’

‘Nevermind the Hawker, I will deal with him. Now, mossycoat is a magic coat and if you wish to be somewhere, it will take you there. You must wish to be in the chest cavity,’

‘Where the royal family are?’

‘Yes, and when you get there tell them that your name is Mossycoat and that you have come to find work.’

‘But what . . .’ Mossycoat’s words were hushed by her mother.

‘Do as I say,’ she said.

And so Mossycoat did.

When she arrived magically at the court in the chest cavity, which was regal and dominated by the ribcage, it caused quite a stir. She was apprehended immediately and taken before the King and Queen and their youthful son.

‘Who are you?’ asked the Queen. She was sat beside her husband, each in their own seat of splendour. Their thrones were made of ancient bone, mined when the giant was first conquered and settled. Set into these ancient marrow thrones were the topaz and yellow sapphire that occurred naturally in the giant’s stomach acid.

They also had a water vein, continually pricked open by a guard with a pikestaff, so that there was a beautiful water feature and fountain running around their feet.

Mossycoat was in awe at the magnificence, but she did not forget herself and told the Queen her name and asked for work.

The King looked Mossycoat up and down and recognised that she was a very beautiful girl. His son, the prince, also recognised this but was distracted by his retainers.

‘You may work here,’ said the Queen ‘what can you do?’

‘I can sculpt,’ Mossycoat supposed.

‘Very good,’ said the King who was wise and kind, ‘you may work in the royal studio as an assistant to the royal artist.’

So Mossycoat was escorted to the royal studio for a tour and then to the room she would be staying in. It was a small clavicle in the right shoulder that was furnished with a tiny stomach-lined bed and a brain pulp chair. She hid her mossycoat, her fine clogs and other pieces under the bed and then returned to the studio to introduce herself to the other servants.

Well, the other workers were not happy to meet Mossycoat. They had heard she was to be the new assistant to the royal artist and were enflamed that they had not been asked if they wanted the role, and that it instead had been given to some uppity newcomer. The fact that Mossycoat was very beautiful did not help matters. So, they all decided together that they would not stand for it and told Mossycoat as such.

‘Stupid girl,’ they jeered, ‘you’re not good enough to be an artist’s assistant.’ Then they hit her over the head with the fat skimmer and put her to work scraping the fat from the royal chamber walls. It was a very dirty and greasy job and Mossycoat could not always keep hold of the slippery skimmer. And whenever she dropped the skimmer, one of the workers would pick it up and hit her over the head with a WHACK.

‘Stupid girl’ they would laugh and tease.

This was Mossycoat’s life until one day the King and Queen announced there would be a royal ball, with games and feasting. It was to be a grand event and the royal family wanted all their best servants on show. And remembering the beauty of Mossycoat, they came to her and asked if she would like to attend.

Well, of course she would like to. It would give her reason to dig out the finery from under her bed! This must be the Widow’s plan at work, she thought. Her mother must have known about the ball-to-come and had sent her daughter to court at just the right time.

The King and Queen were pleased that she was to attend and left her to prepare.

Mossycoat’s happiness was so bright, that she could not hide it from her fellow servants.

‘Stupid girl,’ they said, ‘what are you so happy for? Are we not giving you enough work?’ and with that they pushed her into the open artery where they stored the discarded fat. They told her she was not allowed out again until she had cleaned the entire thing. And just so she would not think of disobeying them, they brought the fat skimmer down on her head. WHACK!

‘Oh, dear!’ she lamented. Would she have time to clean all the muck and get herself ready for the ball too? She sobbed and sobbed and thought about home. She missed her furniture, and she missed looking up at the cochlear after lights out. Its beauty reminded her of the royal throne room, in the heart of the chest. She remembered the shimmering water that swirled around the ancient bone seats. The source of water had been one of the giant’s water veins. . . This very thought struck her like a synapse firing overhead. She pulled herself out of the fat-filled artery and went about piercing the water vein that she had spied behind a painting. Water immediately filled the room, and she quickly pierced another hole in the clogged artery. This sent the water flushing away down the body, taking all the fat with it.

Mossycoat beamed. She knew the water vein and artery would heal before anyone came back to check on her. But for now, she used the gushing water to wash her face and rid herself of the grime that had been forced upon her. When she was clean, she ran to her room to put on her fine things.

The ball was in high spirits and good cheer when Mossycoat appeared as if out of thin tissue. Those who had been closest to her gasped. Then slowly, as if like an outbreak of spots, each head turned to look at her. She blushed and entreated herself to the well-dressed lords and ladies.

Well, she certainly did not have a lack of invitations to dance. But she turned them down, for fear of dirtying her polished white clogs. That was until the prince came and asked her to dance. He had pulled himself away from his retainers and was caught by the sparkle of her tiara. Then he made his advances.

Mossycoat was delighted by his attention, and she danced two turns around the ball with him. And by the end of it they were both rather smitten. The king, who was watching the ball sensibly from his throne, saw the love blossoming and smiled. He had his wife called over and showed her the scene. The Queen was bemused by what she saw but with well-meaning. They agreed then, that if the prince should ask to marry Mossycoat, that they would give their blessing.

Now, it so happens that is exactly what the prince did. Before they could start their third go around the ball, he got down on one knee and asked the beautiful Mossycoat to marry him.

‘I will!’ she cried overjoyed.

The two embraced and the entire ball assembly went up in a roar of applause. The sound of which rumbled throughout the chest and into the shoulders where the servants’ quarters were. The mean servants who had not been asked to the ball, were roused by the noise. They got up, in their nightgowns, and went to sniff out the cause of the cheer.

When they came to the throne room where the ball was held, they were shocked to see Mossycoat in a beautiful tiara and . . . clogs? And was she holding the prince’s hand too?

Oh what terrible fury this caused in those jealous hearts! They parted their way through the crowd and got up in front of the King.

‘Majesty!’ they grovelled, ‘we are here to disavow that girl Mossycoat! She was given a task to complete but she cannot have done it if she is here! She is a lazy worker, highness. Nothing good can come from her.’

The wise King listened to their counsel.

‘What have you to say of this?’ He asked Mossycoat.

‘You grace,’ she bowed, ‘I have completed my work. And this can be verified if only you would send an attendant to confirm it.’

The King nodded and one of his men was sent to investigate each claim. When he returned, he confirmed that the work had indeed been done and to a very high standard at that.

‘What have you to say for yourselves?’ asked the Queen who had joined at her husband’s side for the ruling. But before the jealous servants could utter a word in defence, two great chunks of bone fell from on high and landed on their heads with a WHACK. And they were crushed dead.

The room raised a cheer for the vanquishing of the servants and continued to revel on through the night. They celebrated the coming nuptials of the handsome couple and talked about their future-to-be.

Mossycoat had never felt so immensely happy and danced rings around the ball, holding hands with the encouraging nobles. They smiled and laughed and screamed!

Mossycoat thought she heard a scream. She looked around and saw that the King’s throne was broken in two, cleaved open by a giant piece of rib. She looked up. Above the gathered party the ribs that held the room up were cracking and falling down.

There was a mass scramble to get clear of the falling bones and Mossycoat was caught up in it. She got tripped over and a large boot threatened her beautiful face. But she had a secret, her mother’s secret. So she held on tight to her mossycoat and wished out loud:

‘I wish to be out of here!’ and then she vanished.

What Mossycoat had not considered, was that the coat would require more information than that. So she did not appear back in her small, servant’s room. Nor did she appear back in the ear canal that she called homed. Instead, she had been transported outside of the giant’s body.

It was snowing heavily. Mossycoat took in a shocked, cold breath. It was so cold. She shivered and fell down.

‘Oh,’ she chattered ‘where am I?’ She tried to make out her surroundings through the blowing snow, but it was no use. She got up and tried walking, but her bone clogs were no good in the snow drifts and she fell back to the cold ground and wept. How could her happiness have been crushed so quickly? What had happened to cause the ribs to cave in? Bone mining had been outlawed long ago. No one made items from bone anymore . . .

She wept and cried atop that lonely snowy waste until her tears became frozen in place and eventually Mossycoat froze with them.

Some say you can hear Mossycoat crying in the midst of a snowstorm, others say it is just the wind.

But one thing that folk tend to agree on is that, with the beautiful Mossycoat out of the way, the Widow and the Hawker lived happily ever after together.