The Ruler of Brokenhood
Part One
It was a nice afternoon in the Brokenhood. Caline was making final adjustments to a huge, yellow-red cake. She was humming as she stuck four blue candles onto the top. It had been four years since she married Ottoborg, the love of her life, and she was preparing a surprise celebration.Caline smiled broadly at the bombastic cake and glanced over her shoulder. There was a klay bust on the table, a bust of a hoophead. She had moulded it herself, out of earth and water, and coloured it with colours vibrant enough to lend the bust a living look. It depicted Willie Trombone. Caline knew that Ottoborg missed him immensely. This way Otto could look at Willie’s face anytime he wanted to. Caline was pleased with her work. The bust looked like it would start talking any moment.
Caline heard footsteps coming from the hallway and she couldn’t help clapping her hands in excitement. She hid behind the corner so that Ottoborg wouldn’t see her when he came in. All he could see from the door was Willie’s bust.
Otto’s footsteps became louder and louder… Then they stopped.
And then Ottoborg shrieked.
Caline heard tumbling and she shot out of her hiding place. Ottoborg was on the floor, flailing his arms and legs and screaming gibberish. Caline fell to her knees next to him and tried to calm him down. Ottoborg was so pale that he was virtually white instead of yellow.
“Darling, please, listen to me. Ottoborg,” she insisted, trying to get Otto’s attention. She grabbed his head and kissed him. After a moment Ottoborg went limp and melted into the kiss. Caline felt wetness on her face before she pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
Ottoborg didn’t answer. His eyes were glassy, open wide and watching something that Caline could not see.
“Ottoborg,” she said, taking his hand. As soon as she touched the eye on Ottoborg’s palm, the world blurred around her. She was pulled into an illusion that Ottoborg was creating, as he relived a part of his life.
Six hoopheads were standing in front of Ottoborg. Two of them presented him with a headless body. One of them shoved a head into his hands.
“Petri cut his head off. What should we do?”
Ottoborg waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, boys. I’ll fix him up. Bring him to the Rainbow Mountain and go to your houses, alright?”
“Okay…” the hoopheads agreed.
As the image faded, Caline heard the words: “Are you sure he will be okay?” And another scene came into view.
Ottoborg was standing atop a colourful mountain. With all his four eyes, he was watching the corpse of Petri Alfonzo intently. He was muttering under his breath. Suddenly he took a deep breath and shouted: “Come forth!”
There was a dull roar and cracking. The ground began to shake and Ottoborg fell on his butt. Deep rifts were opening up throughout the land. Ottoborg watched in awe, not understanding.
A strained sound, like opening of a rusty door echoed throughout the world. And it fell into pieces.
The last image was simple.
Ottoborg was sitting on the Rainbow Mountain. He was looking straight ahead into nothingness. His hands were on his knees, palms up. Slowly, tears began to gather in all four eyes. As they did, colour began fading away from the Rainbow Mountain.
The real world appeared around Caline once again. Her husband was slumped on the floor, sobbing quietly. Caline released his wet hand and hugged him.
“It’s alright,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Ottoborg shuddered and sighed. “It’s all past now. Naught I can do about it. I’m sorry for letting you see that.”
“No, it’s alright,” Caline assured him quickly. “I didn’t mind. I just didn’t know that… that losing Petri and the breaking of your world happened all at once.” She chuckled, attempting to make a little joke out of the situation. “Was that really you, sitting there all depressed?”
Ottoborg shrugged. “T’was the first time I was ever sad. It really got to me, y’know? It was like… like every sadness I should have felt before, it crashed into me now. I didn’t want to be. I wanted to cry my heart out and die.”
Caline was shocked. “Surely you didn’t.”
“I was very sad,” Ottoborg said. “I don’t even know how long I sat there. Years?”
“Um, speaking of years… Do you know what happened four years ago?” Caline asked in a desperate attempt to lift Ottoborg’s mood.
Otto looked thoughtful. “I cut my left hand off and you scolded me?”
Caline rolled her eyes. “You’re close. Why did I scold you?”
“Because it was the day before our wedding.” Ottoborg’s eyes widened. “Oh! Are we having an anniversary?”
“Yes, we are,” Caline beamed.
“Yay!” Ottoborg cried out happily and hugged her tight. “Wait, the last time, I remember… there was a cake!”
“There is a huge cake,” Caline confirmed. With some trouble, she fetched it from the kitchen and showed it to Ottoborg. Her husband grabbed it unceremoniously and buried his face in it.
“Mmm, it is very good!” he mumbled enthusiastically, his face covered with cream.
“That’s nice,” Caline growled, “but could you stop making a mess of yourself and come eat into the kitchen?”
Before Ottoborg did come in, Caline removed the bust of Petri Alfonzo from the table and hid it. They were enjoying the cake in a more civilised fashion when Caline gathered the courage to say:
“Maybe you should create more children.”
“No,” Ottoborg refused immediately, his mouth full.
“Why not? The house is empty and I’d love to have children. If you miss your sons so dearly…”
Otto didn’t look up from the cake when he said: “No. I mess up when I create. Am no good.”
“But surely…”
Ottoborg shot his wife a look that had her recoil in surprise. “I won’t ever create living beings again.”
Caline sighed and dropped the subject. She didn’t want to argue on their anniversary. When they were so full that they couldn’t eat any more even if they tried (and Otto tried), they had a nap together. As Ottoborg drifted into slumber, Caline was deep in thought.
Was this the first time that Ottoborg talked about his seven sons? Caline couldn’t recall any time but the one when she had found a photograph of Ottoborg’s children. And even then, with Ottoborg so ecstatic that a son of his was alive, he hadn’t talked about it. It was obvious that meeting Willie was very important to him, more important than anything in his life. But even then he hadn’t talked.
In fact, Ottoborg talked so little of the times with his seven sons that Caline scarcely knew a thing about them. She had studied the Hall of Records carefully, yes, but other than that her husband’s sons were a mystery to her. Who were they? What kind of people? Did they laugh a lot? It seemed only fair that she knew about them, now that she and Ottoborg were married. But for some reason, Ottoborg refused to recall the happy times.
Caline was going to get to the bottom of this.
Part Two
Caline had not seen Bobuslaw the Skullmonkey in months. This was the reason that she introduced to Ottoborg while she was talking him into taking her on a trip to Smark. Of course, her real motivation lay elsewhere. She wanted to discuss Ottoborg’s lost family with someone. Sadly, Ottoborg had no close friends that she could talk to, probably because he was a weirdo and difficult to live with. But some years ago, Bobuslaw had provided Otto with his house to live in for a few months, so there was a chance that he got to know something about his guest.Ottoborg used a wheeled robot he called “car” to drive them to Smark. Caline was sick by the time they arrived and she felt nothing but vengeful contempt when the car crashed down on the few last metres. She got out of the car, ignoring Ottoborg’s laments, and walked through the narrow streets of Smark. The village looked as shabby as always. Caline was happy to recognise a few familiar faces and greeted her old acquaintances with good humour.
Finally, she reached Bobuslaw’s house. It was a rather sophisticated, two-story brick building, the tallest in the village. Bobuslaw was akin to a mayor here and his house served as a shelter for any weary traveller. About five years ago, the house welcomed Caline as well.
The Neverhoodian knocked on the door, smiling.
“Coming!” A few seconds later, the door opened. Bobuslaw was wearing an orange apron dusted with flour. He gasped affectionately when he saw Caline. “My dear friend!” he exclaimed. “May I hug you?”
“Hi, Bobuslaw,” Caline grinned. “You may.”
“Oh, what a wonderful occasion,” Bobuslaw gushed, releasing her from his strong arms. “You should have written, my dear. I am ashamed to welcome you in such an informal attire.”
“It’s okay, I like that apron,” Caline replied. “Can I come in? Maybe for a cup of tea?”
“I would be delighted,” Bobuslaw said, ushering her inside. “Have you come on your own?”
“No, Ottoborg is with me,” Caline said as she followed Bobuslaw into the living room. “But his car broke down and he has to repair it. He’ll be here as soon as he’s finished.”
“Oh. When might that be?” Bobuslaw asked.
“No idea,” Caline shrugged.
“Oh, I see. Yes, he is rather busy when matters concern his robots…” Bobuslaw sighed. “Will you sit here, Caline? I will prepare tea and some biscuits.” And he was off.
Caline nestled on the couch, revelling in its softness after the bumpy ride. It would be dozens of minutes, perhaps hours until Ottoborg was finished with the repairs. She had all the time she needed to talk in privacy.
Bobuslaw came in (this time lacking the orange apron), carrying a plate with delicate china teacups, a steaming teapot, sugar, milk and chocolate biscuits. He set it on the small table in front of Caline and sat down next to her.
“Well then,” he began, pouring hot tea into the cups, “we haven’t seen each other in a long time. What has been happening?”
“Lots of things,” Caline said, taking the porcelain teacup into her hands. “We celebrated the fourth anniversary of our wedding yesterday.”
“Did you?” Bobuslaw asked, sounding pleased. “That is a marvellous occasion. I am happy for you. How did you celebrate?”
“Well, we had some cake, we had a nap, you know the stuff,” Caline said casually.
“That sounds like a relaxing celebration,” Bobuslaw noted. “Didn’t you come up with some adventure?”
“Adventure, you say,” Caline appeared thoughtful. “Yes, something adventurous did happen.” She fell silent deliberately.
Bobuslaw couldn’t wait any longer and asked: “Well? Will you tell me about it?”
“It’s not something I would want everyone to know…”
“You can trust me, Caline,” Bobuslaw smiled.
“I know,” Caline smiled back. “That is why I came to talk to you.”
Bobuslaw nodded. “I expected that you came for a reason other than to chat. Well, what is it?”
“It’s Ottoborg,” Caline said, looking at the cup in her hands. “He’s… secretive.”
Bobuslaw looked astonished. “Surely, you don’t mean… He is not that kind of man! You must be mistaken!”
“Huh? O-oh,” Caline understood what Bobuslaw referred to and laughed a little. “No, it’s nothing like that. Everything is fine between us. It’s just this one thing that bothers me.”
“I am listening,” Bobuslaw said.
“How should I start… Did you know Ottoborg before his original world broke down?”
“Do you mean the event described in the Halls of Records?” Bobuslaw asked. Caline knew that he was proud to have read a Hall of Records, back in the days of his youth. Most commons didn’t have that privilege, as there were only six Halls of Records in the universe, and those belonged to Quater’s sons.
“Exactly that,” Caline confirmed.
“My dear friend, I wasn’t even born yet when that event took place. When I fled Idznak as a young and reckless monkey, Ottoborg’s original world was already in shambles. When I settled down here in Smark (and that was some forty years ago), Ottoborg already ruled this land. There are stories of his arrival, but that is about it. Not the oldest of Smark’s inhabitants remember the times when Ottoborg’s chunk of land collided with this planet, and he was hailed as the king.”
“Tell me the story,” Caline asked.
“Well,” Bobuslaw said, sipping tea and settling more comfortably on the couch. “They say that there was a farmer called Grad Tim, whose wife was Helen Tim, and whose son was Grad Tim Junior. Grad Tim once saw an object in the sky and he said to his wife:
‘Behold, what a strange object in the sky!’
Helen tipped her head back and said: ‘Indeed it is a strange object. But my eyes are weary and cannot see. Let us call our son to tell us what the object is.’
And so they called Grad Tim Junior, who was watering the radishes at the moment, and they told him so: ‘Aye, behold, a strange object in the sky.’
And Grad Tim Junior lifted his gaze to the sky and said: ‘It is a chunk of grey land.’
They asked him: ‘Who lives on that chunk of grey land, son?’
And he told them: ‘I see a king who cries endless tears.’
And that was how Ottoborg came to this land.”
Caline was taken aback. “Wow,” she exclaimed softly. “‘A king who cries endless tears’? Not ‘a king of eternal joy’, as they call him nowadays?”
Bobuslaw shook his head sadly. “No, my dear. Few recognise Ottoborg in that old story now. They think it was Homen or Hoborg, or another king of this universe. They say, perhaps it wasn’t a king at all and Grad Tim Junior was mistaken. Yet I see that you do not disbelieve this story. May I ask why, if I myself had a hard time believing its credibility?”
Caline emptied her cup of tea and let Bobuslaw fill it again before she answered.
“Ottoborg had a flashback yesterday. When I tried to snap him out of it, he pulled me in as well. I saw… events of his past. His sons carried Petri Alfonzo’s body to him. And Ottoborg… he didn’t seem sad. He was cheerful. He said ‘I will fix him up,’ as if he could bring the dead back to life.” Caline shook her head. “He tried to perform some kind of magic, or summon some demon, I don’t know. I saw his world fall apart because it went wrong in some way.”
“Oh,” Bobuslaw sighed softly and paused for some time. “This is an event that the Halls of Records only mention. I believe that you Neverhoodians have a saying ‘the Hall of Records doesn’t write about that’, yes?”
“Yeah,” Caline nodded. “It means it’s a bad thing and we should stay away from it.”
“Because your Hall of Records doesn’t write about the time when Klogg ruled the Neverhood, am I correct?” Bobuslaw showed off his knowledge.
“Exactly,” Caline indulged him.
“Well then,” Bobuslaw said, sipping tea contently, “Ottoborg’s journey through the klay universe is also something that the Hall of Records doesn’t write about. I haven’t had the pleasure to read it in these past forty years, but I do believe that it is still not described.”
“Not in great detail,” Caline shrugged. “There is a mention about Ottoborg’s landing here and about…” she went a little red, “about his marriage to me, but nothing inbetween. It’s like… the things that happened then are too bizarre to write about.”
Bobuslaw looked at her pensively. Caline felt slightly uncomfortable under that gaze and squirmed. Bobuslaw realised it and looked away.
“Well,” he said, tinkering with his teacup, “it is all past now. There is no use talking about the dead, is there? Let us talk about something different.”
Caline sighed. “Yea…” But then she made up her mind. “No. Let’s stay with the subject a little longer.”
Bobuslaw looked at her in surprise.
“The thing is,” Caline continued, trying to force the words out before she became too scared to talk about them, “Ottoborg doesn’t talk to me about his sons at all. I want to know about them, but he just won’t talk. Yesterday, I reminded him of Petri Alfonzo and that triggered the flashback. It was the first time I saw him cry from sadness, and not from happiness. After that he said some really strange stuff and I didn’t have the heart to coax more out of him but… It’s… it’s just not fair!” Caline slammed the teacup against the table and Bobuslaw startled, frightened for the cup. “He’s my husband and he’s supposed to share everything with me. How can I love him if he keeps things from me? It’s like – it’s like there’s a hole in his heart that I can’t fill…”
Before Caline knew it, she was in tears and sobbing pathetically. Bobuslaw patted her shoulder and removed the china carefully out of her reach.
“You must try to understand him,” he said softly. “Even for the king of eternal joy, losing everything he had must have been harsh.”
“I know it was harsh,” Caline sobbed. “He told me… that he felt like every sadness he hadn’t felt before crashed into him then… That he sat on that mountain for years, just crying. But… that doesn’t mean he should scratch that period from his life entirely! I’ve had bad times that I hate to remember, but I told him about those and he can comfort me when they come back to me. I can’t do that for him. I… Ottoborg… he’s such a strange fellow!”
Caline wiped her eyes on a handkerchief that Bobuslaw offered her and continued.
“He’s like Bil – good or bad, on or off. Except that he’s always good. For Quater’s sake, I used to wonder myself if he never gets depressed. Do all the bad things in the world mean nothing to him? And now it seems like he just… doesn’t want to think about them. He’s always jolly and happy, but when he’s reminded of his seven sons, you can just see the clouds in his head.”
“Schizophrenia,” Bobuslaw mumbled.
“What?” Caline sniffed.
“A split personality. One moment he’s happy, the other moment completely depressed,” Bobuslaw explained.
Caline shrugged. “Something like that, except he’s happy all the time. Where does he put all that sadness? Into some corner where he doesn’t have to think about it?”
“Into some corner from which it spilled when his world fell apart,” Bobuslaw nodded gravely. “Hence the king who cries endless tears.”
“But what should I do about it?” Caline asked helplessly. “I don’t want him to gather all sadness inside so that he can overflow again. I want him to enjoy happiness and sadness just like I do.”
“Careful, young Caline,” Bobuslaw raised his finger. “Don’t try to change him. I have had so many lovers come complaining to me because their partner wanted to change them! If Ottoborg wants to do it that way, you can’t force him to give up his ways.”
“Why couldn’t I?” Caline stuck out her chest. “I’m his wife and the queen of his land. I have every right to get what I want. Especially if it’s for his own sake.”
Bobuslaw just shook his head. “You may be queen,” he said with amusement, “but to me you will always be just Caline. Do you think that Ottoborg will appreciate your effort? He will hate delving into the loathed past again.” He noticed Caline’s disagreeing expression, so he gave an example. “My dear, what if I told you that your decision to leave your homeland was wrong? You had a person who apparently loved you dearly, even though he didn’t understand you well and he had some dubious hobbies. You had friends, real friends who didn’t care about the rumours, and who supported you despite them. You had a father who wanted to make you happy…”
“Stop,” Caline told him. Bobuslaw shrugged.
“What if I told you that your decision was reckless? That you should have been more patient, more tough, more self-confident?”
“Then I would tell you that you are a bad friend because what you say hurts me,” Caline gritted her teeth.
Bobuslaw held up his palms. “I didn’t mean any of that seriously, Caline. I think that everyone has a line, and when that is crossed, things can’t help but happen. You cannot be blamed for wanting to get away. But do you see my point? I criticised you and I suggested that you should change your ways. You were hurt as a result. It looked like you weren’t good enough for me, correct?”
“Yeah,” Caline admitted reluctantly, sensing what Bobuslaw’s point was going to be.
“And do you think that Ottoborg will feel otherwise?” Bobuslaw concluded and finished his cup. “You should heed the proverb ‘don't do unto others what you don't want others do unto you’, you definitely should,” he mumbled, satisfied with his advice.
Caline, having received a warning not to ask instead of an answer to her questions, maintained a sullied silence until Ottoborg fixed the car and knocked on the door.
Part Three
A few days passed after the trip to Smark. In those few days, Caline tried repeatedly to wheedle information out of Ottoborg. She failed each and every time. Upon the first mention of his seven sons, Ottoborg tried to change the subject, pretended not to hear her, or used any pretext to leave the room. In time he became mistrustful and just the opening of Caline’s mouth was enough to make him escape. When Caline tried to hold him by force, he slithered out of her arms, cutting deep gashes in her forearms with his chest spikes. He didn’t even pause to say “I’m sorry” and he left his shocked wife alone.Caline was a stubborn woman and she didn’t intend to give up. It was, therefore, Ottoborg’s luck that she received a letter from Smark. It came from Bobuslaw, obviously, since he was its sole inhabitant capable of reading and writing.
Caline nested comfortably on a soft bowl-shaped sofa and began reading.
Dear Caline,
ever since you and Ottoborg left, I have been thinking. If I know you at least one bit, then you have been trying to extract Ottoborg’s secrets nonstop. I am also quite sure that your endeavours have been useless. But, because we are good friends, I will overlook Ottoborg’s discomfort and the fact that you could as well live without the precious information, and I will help you.
In this letter, I shall describe to you what seems to me like the most reasonable approach in coaxing Ottoborg’s secrets out of him. Of course, it is nothing as brutal as threatening to leave him, or to go look for his sons yourself. I believe that a gentle tactic will bear fruit this time.
Caline looked up from the letter and grinned. She knew what to do.
It took her mere ten minutes to pull an enormous suitcase from under her bed and fill it with clothes, mascara, chocolate and other things that a girl needs on travel. Of course she would take much longer were she seriously intending to leave. This way all she needed to do was drag that Quater-awfully heavy suitcase downstairs and into the garage.
Ottoborg peeked from under his car when he heard her grunting. “What’s that for?” he asked, gesturing to the suitcase.
Caline remained panting for a few seconds and tried to catch her breath. Then she said: “Will you let me borrow that car? I’m going on a journey.”
“What journey?”
“I’m going to find Aloh Al, Hondo and Ed,” Caline replied with determination.
“What?” Ottoborg paled considerably.
“I’m completely serious. Where can I put the suitcase?” Caline said, all business.
Ottoborg spluttered for a moment and got up. He took Caline’s wrist. “You can’t mean that. That sort of journey is dangerous!”
“I’ve had more dangerous journeys. After all, I’ll have your car!” Caline said, hefting the suitcase up on the passenger’s seat. “That ought to make the journey much safer.”
“But – but there are places where a car can’t get you,” Ottoborg objected weakly.
“Nonsense,” Caline snorted, getting behind the wheel. “Now, how do you drive this thing…”
“Don’t touch that red button-”
Rocket propulsion went off in the back of the car and the machine was thrust forward, out of the garage and…
“Yeeehaaww!” CRASH!
…and into the nearest tree. Ottoborg hurried to the crash side, bewailing his wife’s stupidity.
“I’m okay!” Caline announced, climbing out of the wreckage. She checked the suitcase. Its content was strewn all over the tree and around it. “Let me just gather my stuff and we can start again. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“NO!” Ottoborg screamed and stomped his foot. “You won’t! You crashed my car – my best car! And you want to crash it again! And you want to go on some stupid journey and – and – I don’t understand you! What in Quater’s universe has got into you?”
All of this was delivered right into Caline’s face, together with a lot of spit and some grease. Caline had to recover before she answered, equally hysteric: “I want to know about your family! Why don’t you talk about them? Why do you refuse to even think about them? I’m your wife – I should know!”
“You’re my wife, but those things happened before you were my wife, so they’re none of your business!”
“Uh-huh! And when you collapse on the floor because you’re having a damn flashback, that’s not my business? When you keep every bad thing bottled up inside, that’s not my business? When you’re married, you have some responsibilities! And right now, I want. To. Know!”
“And that’s why you’re behaving like a one day old? You will die out there just for that?!”
“Hell yeah I will, if that’s what it takes! I’ll gladly die if it means learning something about those kids you’re trying to forget!”
Suddenly Ottoborg looked frightened. “Don’t do that, please,” he said in a trembling voice. He took a shaky step forward and raised his hand in a feeble attempt to placate his wife.
“I won’t go anywhere if you tell me about your sons,” Caline bargained.
“Don’t go anywhere, please. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to lose another person out there,” Ottoborg babbled, oblivious to her offer.
Caline sighed and took Otto by the hand. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll make you some hot cocoa to help you talk, okay?”
Ottoborg clung to her arm, muttering: “Not another one, please no. I’ve been punished enough, right? I’ll do anything. Anything. Don’t go, please don’t go away.”
Caline made him sit in the bowl-shaped sofa. Ottoborg curled into a ball and hugged his knees. When she came back with a steaming mug of cocoa, he was holding a photograph and studying it sadly.
Caline recognised it. “Hey, it’s that photo I found when I searched – um, cleaned your stuff.”
“Yes. ‘Tis from the old days. ‘Tis the only picture that I have,” Ottoborg said quietly.
“Who made it?” Caline wondered.
“A robot, of course,” Ottoborg said, growing a little fond smile. “He was called Kodak. Too bad he broke down after the first photo. That’s why I haven’t got any more…”
“Oh,” Caline said. She studied the picture alongside Ottoborg. “That guy who looks like a girl – the one with flowers – that’s Hypen Nupen, right?”
“Yeah,” Ottoborg nodded. “Hypen was always the prettiest one. He got teased a lot. They said that he was a girl and they would marry him. But Hypen didn’t let it get to him. Heh. I have a hunch that his brothers mattered less to him than his flowers…”
“And this one,” Caline pointed at the photograph, “with the funny hat. Who’s that?”
“Oh, that’s Creeker,” Ottoborg said. “I named him Derradious Hapsicom, but he couldn’t pronounce it! He burred so much, it sounded like creeking of the door. That’s why we called him Creeker.”
“But why’s he wearing that stupid hat?” Caline inquired.
“Doesn’t the Hall of Records write about that?” Ottoborg asked her.
“Not about the hat. And I can see why it’s something the Hall of Records doesn’t write about.” Caline wrinkled her face in disgust.
Ottoborg looked confused. “Doesn’t it say he was an artist? A sculptor? I remember that the Hall of Records writes about that.”
Caline looked at her husband in surprise and asked: “You’ve read the Hall of Records?” There wasn’t a Hall of Records in Ottoborg’s kingdom. His version of it had been destroyed together with his original world.
Ottoborg nodded. “When I visited the Neverhood to meet Willie. Hoborg said I should read it.” Otto looked at his hands. He sipped his cocoa and muttered: “I shouldn’t have though. It was a nasty read.”
Caline sighed. “I imagine. So, um, what’s with the hat?”
“What hat… oh, Creeker’s hat? I told you, it was a mark that he was an artist. Hee, you should have seen him, wearing that hat and insisting that we call him ‘Mr Artist’. Only it sounded like rusty hinges.” Ottoborg giggled and mimicked Creeker’s pronunciation of his self-imposed title. Caline winced, for it was a highly unpleasant sound.
“And this hoophead, that’s…”
“That’s Hondo…”
They chatted until Ottoborg ran out of cocoa. Caline made a new mug and took some biscuits from the shelf, and they continued chatting. They were so caught up that they forgot about dinner, forgot to go to sleep. Night passed and daybreak arrived and Caline and Ottoborg were still chatting.
Ottoborg told her stories of his sons and, naturally, of his robots too. His eyes were sparkling when he spoke, as he relived the happy times in his mind. Caline listened carefully, inserting her own insights here and then, and she was glad that at last her husband was talking to her.
In the morning Caline remembered to prepare breakfast. As she worked, Ottoborg trailed behind her and narrated the few last stories that he was able to pull from his memory. At the breakfast table, he fell silent, shining with silent joy.
“I’d like to know one last thing,” Caline told him then.
“Yuh-huh?” Ottoborg flashed her a smile.
Caline knew that it was pointless to ask about his sons’ deaths. Ottoborg didn’t know any more about it than the Hall of Records did, and Caline had read the Hall more carefully that he had. But one thing remained unclear to her.
“When you tried to revive Petri Alfonzo, why did your world fall apart? Klaymen told us that the Neverhood was split in half during Klogg’s reign, but the two halves had to be held apart by a chain. When he pulled the pin out, they connected again. Why was it different in your world? Was it as the Hall of Records says, that you ‘forgot to add gravity’?”
Ottoborg was solemn and it didn’t seem like he would speak for a while. “I… don’t know what happened exactly. My powers turned against me. I think…” His voice became a strained whisper. “I committed a taboo. I wanted to bring the dead back. That my world was destroyed… that was my punishment. The Neverhood stayed in one piece even when it was broken, you say. That was because Hoborg added that stupid, stupid gravity.” He began sobbing.
Caline realised that Klogg must have committed some kind of taboo as well. Maybe it was to take the crown by force.
“I… I don’t know what else you want from me,” Ottoborg gasped between sobs. “I told you – all I know. I’m sorry – hic – that I tried to keep it - from you, but… it… it hurts to think about it!” Ottoborg doubled over and clutched at his chest. “Hurts!” he drawled out in agony.
Caline got up from the table and went around to hug him. “It’s all past now,” she repeated Otto’s own words to him. “It’s alright. It’s done.”
Ottoborg tried to say something else, but his crying became so violent that he could only hold onto his wife and bawl his heart out.
Caline held her husband close until he calmed down to a reasonable level. Some time after Ottoborg stopped sobbing and his breathing evened out, she heard him mumble:
“I’m tired…”
Caline realised how tired she was herself. “We’ll go to bed,” she assured him.
Ottoborg could barely move his legs, so Caline had to half carry, half drag him on the way. She threw the king on the bed, pulled the covers from under his body and lay down next to him.
She cuddled close to Ottoborg’s back. The bed was empty except for them.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have children fall asleep next to us?” she wondered in a whisper.
Ottoborg groaned. “If you want kids, they won’t come from me,” he slurred sleepily. He yawned. “Maybe we can adopt some…”
Several months later, it turned out that adoption wasn’t necessary. But that’s a story for another time.
