‘The Grog King’s Palace’ read the rotting wood sign, hanging to its post with a singular nail, held firm by multiple muscular thorny vines.
“Is this it?” Cassidy murmured under her breath, looking passed the signpost and down the short cobble path. The path, surrounded by twisted trees and bent bushes, ended at a rather creaky looking wooden door to a rather creaky looking wooden building. Cassidy looked at the building, then to the path, then back to the signpost.
“Can’t hurt to knock.” Said a thin, twitchity voice from behind her.
“Ahh!” Cassidy shrieked, turning around. Her eyes widened in horror, her hands tensed into fists for she was face to face, nose to nose, with an enormous rat.
“Where are our manners?” Said the rat-like beast. Cassidy did not speak. Did rats eat adolescent girls? Not usually, thought Cassidy, but the ones she had seen were nowhere near as close in size to the buck-toothed, furry fiend that stood in front of her. The rat sniffed.
“Have you not seen a Half-rat before?” He smiled.
“Can’t say I have, sir.” Cassidy replied stiffly.
“Sir! Ha-HA!” Cackled the rat. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a sir. I’m no knight madam, I’m a Half-rat. My name is Jilbys.”
“Hello, Jilbys.” Cassidy trembled. “May I just ask, mister Jilbys sir, where I might find The Grog King?”
“Ya lookin’ at him.” Jilbys replied bluntly.
“You’re the Grog King?” Cassidy said, completely perplexed.
“No, I’m pulling your leg. But, I am going to eat you now.” Jilbys gnashed his teeth.
“Let the girl be Jilbys.” uttered a faint, whispery voice that wafted its way from the wooden shack and into the ears of Cassidy and Jilbys. The tone was calm and peaceful, easily ignorable to a hungry rat. But Jilbys sighed and called back to the derelict shed the voice had appeared from. “Sorry your Grogginess.”
“Your Grogginess? Is The Grog King in there?” Cassidy asked Jilbys, pointing to the dilapidated dwelling.
“Uh, yeah. You’re standing outside his palace.” Jilbys looked at her and turned his head. “You’re not from the Westwaste, are you?”
Cassidy turned from Jilbys and stomped down the uneven cobble, tree lined path. Jilbys followed.
“Allow me.” He tittered, pulling out a ring of keys from the pocket of his hooded, sackcloth robe. Cassidy hadn’t really taken time to observe Jilbys’ features for she had been so fixed on his eyes, nose and mouth when they were but an inch from hers. He held the ring of keys in a hairy, human hand rather than a rat-like paw. Every inch of Jilbys that wasn’t hidden by his cloak looked relatively human aside from his rat head and a long, pink tail that swayed and slivered along the floor as he moved like a plump worm. He was also extremely hairy by human standards. His hands looked rather fluffy, and the exposed parts of his chest were completely obscured by hair.
“Do you live here?” Cassidy enquired.
“Now and then, yes.” Jilbys smiled. He fumbled the key in the lock and turned it.
There was a funny smell inside The Grog King’s Palace, like damp towels and rotting wood. Water reeds grew through gaps in the floorboards, Ivy on the walls. The ceiling had a gaping hole in it, through which you could see the branches of trees that hung over the hut; water dripped off the leaves into a pail on the floor. As Cassidy entered, the floor underneath her creaked and bent like rubber. Jilbys closed the door behind the both of them. Without the open door, there was little light in the one room abode. There was a single window, unless you count the unorthodox skylight, and even that had a screen of large leaves on the other side that guarded light from entering.
“Some girl here to see you, your Grogginess.”
But, just like the palace, The Grog King did not fit expectations. His green rubbery legs sat crossed on a bail of straw. Cassidy could see his hairy, flat feet; there were bits of moss between his toes and his toenails didn’t look like they’d been cut since the last decade. The Grog King reached one of his warty arms, covered in berry coloured spots, for an old clay teapot besides his haybed.
“Hello, young lady.” Smiled The Grog King with his graveyard teeth. “How can I help you?”.
Cassidy felt as though that if she spoke she might be sick. The Grog King had to stretch most of his body to reach his cup, for he was a lot shorter than Cassidy had imagined, and as he stretched the bird’s eggs in the nest on his head rolled around in the direction of his movement.
“Have you been exiled from your kingdom, my child?”
“No.” Cassidy said taken aback.
“Then why on earth are you in this god forsaken country?!” He laughed.
Jilbys joined in on The Grog King’s merriment. The two of them cackled. Cassidy began to wonder if it was only tea The Grog King had been drinking.
“Of all the places in Pangeon…” The Grog King sighed, calming his laughter.
Jilbys began to laugh more quietly, but continued for a rather long time as he washed a pair of mugs in the wooden bucket that had been collecting rainwater from the hole in the ceiling.
“I’m looking for my Dad.” Cassidy said rigidly.
Jilbys stopped laughing. His eyes met those tired, dropping eyes of The Grog King who then turned to Cassidy, looking at her directly for the first time.
“When did you last see him?” The Grog King said concernedly.
“I’ve never seen him, he left mum before I was born.”
“D’you know what he looks like?” The Grog King leaned forward.
Cassidy could see grass growing on the face of The Grog King in the places where facial hair should be. Little tufts of it, a few blades here and there, alive on his chin. This hadn’t been what she wanted. This was no king. He couldn’t help her.
“No.” She said. “I think I’ve come here by mistake.”
“You came looking for me by mistake?”
Cassidy couldn’t take her eyes from The Grog King. His shoulders had all these different miniature mushrooms in all varieties of shape and size, just growing on him. Why was everything growing on him? He uncrossed his legs and began to stand. His rubbery legs seemed to be bent differently to any human leg, that Cassidy had seen at least. It was almost as if -
“Do you have frog legs?” Cassidy blurted out.
“I uh-suppose I do, yeah.” He smiled meekly.
As he moved towards Cassidy the light from the leafy window caught his attire, if you could even call it that. He was wearing a patchwork, stained pillowcase with two holes on either side for the arms, a larger one at the top for a neck and two at the bottom for his legs. Standing fully, Cassidy could see that he was about half her height. It frightened her. She took a step towards the door.
“Please, my child, don’t be afraid of the way I look.” The Grog King sighed. “To you I may look unusual, I may look frail, I may even look horrifying. But I look this way ‘cos I wanna. Don’t try and make me feel the way you feel about the way I look. That’s your problem.”
“I’m sorry.” Cassidy's eyes began to water. “I’m really sorry.”
“Here.” Said Jilbys from behind her. Cassidy jumped and turned around to see that familiarly threatening ratty face. He was holding a cup of tea. He gestured with the cup.
“I’m fine thank you, I should be going.” She looked away from Jilbys, back to The Grog King. “Thanks for having me.”
“I didn’t spit in it!” Jilbys said, looking worried. He looked to Cassidy and then to The Grog King.
“Won’t you stay for a cup of tea, Cassidy?” The Grog King smiled. “Jilbys will be upset if you don’t. He’s been learning how to get along with the humans here, haven’t you?”
Jilbys nodded and smiled. His teeth were yellow and broken and sharp. But the smile was genuine.
“Okay, I’d like some tea.” Cassidy said. She thought it was at least worth a try. Jilbys went to pass her a cup, but as he did so The Grog King croaked “I better have that cup, though, I think.”
Jilbys passed Cassidy a second cup from the floor, and walked The Grog King’s tea over to him.
“Jilbys is a bit of a prankster.” The Grog King said, taking a sip. “I could count on my hand the number of cups of tea I’ve had without his spit in.”
Cassidy turned to Jilbys angrily.
“Sorry” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“He’s picked up humour a little too well. We’re all very proud of him.”
Jilbys blushed. “I better go off actually boss, I only came to drop this off.”
“Hm?” The Grog King looked to him “Where are you off to this evening?”
“A human gathering! They invited me to sit and eat at their table, some of the exiled. I’m so excited.” Jilbys said gladly as he rummaged in his robe pockets. “Here.” He pulled out a small maroon vile with a cork stopper. He threw it to The Grog King.
“Excellent.” he smiled. “You’re a good friend, Jilbys.”
“Thank you.” Jilbys began to scuttle to the door “It’s been nice to finally meet you Cassidy.”
“You too, Jilbys.” Cassidy waved confusedly. What did he mean finally? She looked back to The Grog King. He smiled and lifted the tea to his mouth.
“Personally, I think it makes it taste better. Half-rat saliva has such a lovely, floral sweetness. Bye now, Jilbys.”
“Bye!” Called Jilbys, shutting the door behind himself.
What was she going to talk about now? What was she going to do? Cassidy didn’t really want to stay but she felt compelled to, despite how smelly The Grog King’s Palace was and despite The Grog King looking - well- like he did.
“So, you’ve come here because you’ve lost your Dad?” The Grog King croaked
“I’ve come here to find him.” Cassidy said.
“Is that so different?” The Grog King replied.
Cassidy didn’t know.
“Well he’s not lost, if I never had him in the first place, is he?” She said, looking away from The Grog King properly for the first time. She seemed to stare off into a world of her own.
The Grog King gave Cassidy a look, turning his head to one side, furrowing his brow and smiling.
“Perhaps he lost his way, from you?” He smiled “He’s lost in his part of the world’s story, but he’s never found your pages.”
“Point is, I’m looking for him.” Cassidy said rather bluntly “And I don’t think for a second that any of this wisdom isn’t going to help me find him.”
“Let me show you-” The Grog King said humbly “Just how wrong you are, if you don’t mind.”
“You can help me find my Dad?” Cassidy said much more calmly, any previous emotion dropping through the floor and soon replaced with longing and hope with a bittersweet pang.
“I can help you find much, much more than that.” The Grog King laughed. “Ha-Ha-HA! Oh Cassidy, isn’t it, follow me.”
“How do you know my name, and Jilbys too? What did he mean ‘finally meet me’? What’s going on?”
But The Grog King had moved away from Cassidy, and had crawled up the wall onto the window ledge, pulling himself up and through the window.
“Where are you going?” She called.
But The Grog King stood upon the window ledge and turned back to her.
“I said, follow me.” and he jumped out of the window, landing softly in the bushes outside the hovel.
Following the little man out of the window and down an overgrown path, Cassidy could see a rickety wooden fishing pier that overlooked a large, wide, murky river. The Grog King had quite a spring in his step although, Cassidy contemplated, that might be aided by his froggy legs. Perhaps his legs gave him that same natural bounce that a frog has and, for some reason, he likes that.
He bounced all the way to the end of the pier, and sprung upwards, turning mid-air back to Cassidy. He looked funny. She smiled. The Grog King landed, ever so lightly, back on the very last plank of the pier. He jumped again, turned around, and fell straight onto his backside. Cassidy giggled. She felt twisted in her stomach, her face felt a little warm but she couldn’t help but laugh. The Grog King’s feet landed in the water and he began to wave them gently, pushing the river with his feet. As Cassidy approached, The Grog King patted the pier next to him and said
“Come over, the water is just as it will always be.”
Cassidy willingly took off her shoes, muddy and worn from her journey, and her knitted socks. When she got the water’s edge however, she noticed how dirty the water was.
“I’m not so sure.”
“Suit yourself.” The Grog King turned back to her. He turned back to observe the world around him and whistled a sweet little tune. Cassidy sat down beside him and dipped her toes into the murky water. The water wasn’t cold, but you couldn’t remark the water was hot either, or even warm. It was tepid at best.
“That’s the stuff.” The Grog King smiled.
The two sat there for a while. Cassidy wondered when something was supposed to happen. After a few minutes she said
“What are we doing here?”
“Nothing.” The Grog King replied
“How is that going to help?”
“It’s not. You’re asking the wrong questions.”
Cassidy pondered for a moment. What are the right questions?
“What are you doing here, in Westwaste?”
“Good question, but the answer is the same.”
“Yes, I make sure of it.”
Cassidy felt confused, she felt like her brain had been taken out and used as a football.
“I don’t understand.” She said. “I don’t understand what you are, what you’re doing here, why anyone would want to live in Westwaste.”
“Why would anyone want to live here?” said The Grog King with a smile “The Westwaste is filled with dangerous creatures, poisonous plants, dirty water. It’s inhospitable. Why would anyone try and make a life for themselves here?”
“I’m not sure, I’m asking you.”
“You don’t see it yet, do you?”
“It’s exactly as it’s meant to be, and it’ll stay that way for all its time.” The Grog King croaked. “Of all four of the kingdoms, the Westwaste is the worst. Always has been and always will be. The other three kingdoms shine and prosper, the Westwaste is dull and unprosperous. Do you see it?”
“I love the Westwaste. I love for what it stands for. I love that it’s awful and stinky and things look wrong and worse and wonky. The Westwaste celebrates being fragile, peacefulness, weakness. I think that’s beautiful.”
“I’m sorry, but -” Cassidy began “Why would you want to celebrate weakness?”
“There cannot be strength without weakness.” The Grog King smiled “That’s my motto. There’s no strength without weakness. They’re not opposites like the people of Sandsouth would have you believe; Sandsouth knows nothing of strength. I’m stronger than every person in Sandsouth combined, because I allow myself to be weak. I allow my weaknesses, my shortcomings. I know that by accepting those things about myself, I become stronger. We all become stronger. The people of Sandsouth confuse strength with power. Power isn’t welcome here.”
“But you’re the king!” Cassidy interjected “You rule this land.”
“I’ve claimed Westwaste, it’s true. But that’s because no one else wanted it. Who wants the burden of living in and looking after Westwaste? I’m no more powerful than the smallest flower here. Perhaps, I am more appreciated than the bluebell or the scorpion grass -wrongly I’ll add- but no more powerful. The only power here is the force of the wilderness. The ecosystem here is fragile, so we adapt to the land. I like that. You can’t order nature to do your bidding, you do your bidding around nature here. Eastreach can live in their world of ideals, I need no part in any utopia. I don’t think I fit their ideals anyway and I don’t want to. There are no ideals in nature, nor in life. Things don’t work out right all the time, things frequently are not ideal, in fact. You know the people of Eastreach have a massive council meeting every time they need to decide something new? It can take weeks for a decision to be made, but a week here is too long to wait. Westwaste changes and fluctuates, you have to follow instinct here, not rules or commands or council meetings. It’s nice.”
“But surely that’s chaos?” Cassidy sighed.
“Of course it is. But we manage, for the most part. Those who have always lived in the Westwaste are completely nomadic. They’ll travel around the country, around all of Pangeon sometimes, living here and there. They’ve got it fine, in fact. I sometimes feel sorry for the others. Westwaste is now home to more than just the aboriginals that have always been here, we’re all now living with the ragabonds and rejects and ruffians that have been sent here from around the three other kingdoms. They get exiled to Westwaste, to live out their days here. Most of them grow to like it eventually. Jilbys was exiled from his hometown, just for looking the way he did. Now he’s grown to love who he is, he’s getting on with people of the same cruel race that put him down. Sure he’s scary, but that’s who he is. There’s no room for pride here. No one person here is better than any other, we don’t need to feel bigger and better than each other. Northswade can look down at us all it wants, we don’t need to put on a show to feel pleased with ourselves. I feel pleased with myself all the time and I don’t even have to do anything! I don’t need pride in my appearance or my achievements or even myself, I’m just a part of Westwaste and her people.”
“And the people here, they look up to you?” Cassidy said, waving her feet as The Grog King did. He looked up to the sky briefly to think about Cassidy's question.
“I guess so. Some of them do. But that’s their deal, I’ve never asked anyone to treat me like a leader. People follow me as an example, I suppose, they like to think they can eventually fit in with Westwaste like I do. I think as well, I do my bit to protect this land and its inhabitants, perhaps that causes people to look up to me.”
The two sat silently for a moment, twirling the water of the river between their toes. Cassidy noticed The Grog King’s feet next to hers, then looked up to those green, rubbery, frog-like legs.
“Can I ask, why you look the way you do? Why are your legs and arms so different to mine, why are things growing out of your face and shoulders and toes?”
“I can remove the ailments of others and give them to myself.” The Grog King said plainly. “I can take out a curse from someone and give it to myself. I saved a young girl’s life, she was cursed to turn into a frog, but I stopped that. Now I have a spring in my step wherever I go. Luckily the curse stopped at my legs, although it wouldn’t be so bad to be a frog.”
“Is that how you got your name?”
“Hm? I was called The Grog King well before I got these.” he said slapping his green thigh. “That’s just my name.”
“What about the mushrooms on your shoulders? Or the grass on your chin?”
“Well, the mushrooms started growing on me after I purged a beautiful oak tree of a deadly fungus that was causing it to waste away. The grass on my chin, however, that’s always been there. Perhaps, I myself am cursed.”
Cassidy pondered to herself.
“I’ve got two more questions.” Said Cassidy.
“What’s the first?”
“What do you protect the Westwaste from?”
“Itself and outsiders. I make sure the Westwaste doesn’t collapse in on itself and I protect Westwaste from those that would force it to change in their image. The Westwaste must stay as it wants to, I won’t have any exiled fool coming here to burn the place down, or some invader who would chop down a thousand trees and hunt the animals to extinction. And I won’t have none of the other kingdoms taking our land. They’d swallow Westwaste up, build on it, change it. Make it prosperous. I can’t have that.”
Cassidy nodded. Her eyes welled up.
“What’s your last question?” The Grog King asked.
Cassidy choked on her words.
“I can’t.”
“I’m not what you wanted.” He said. “I understand that. I wasn’t supposed to be a Dad, I don’t think. I’ve been much better at looking after this place than I would have been at looking after you.”
“How did you know?” Cassidy asked. “I didn’t even know if you knew that I existed.”
“Your mother sent a few letters throughout the years” The Grog King replied “and I’d recognise your mother’s face any day. A young girl comes looking for her dad, into my home, with that beautiful face. I knew it must have been you.”
Cassidy began to sob, then she began to wail. The Grog King looked down at his feet.
“I’m sorry I’ve not been around in your life Cass. For all my shortcomings, this one is the biggest. I’m not a father and I’ll admit it. I could have visited you, but I didn’t. I live a different life to you and your mother. My home isn’t in society, my home and life are here in Westwaste. I’m a part of you, you’re a part of me - and that can be scary. Who wants to be related to filth, to weakness and fragility? Who wants to live in peace and chaos at the same time? I look frightening, I smell, I’m useless to the world you’re used to. I have a bird’s nest for a crown.”
She looked up at him. He indeed did have a bird’s nest for a crown, only now did she understand that. She dried her eyes.
“But that’s just who you are.” She sniffed
“But that’s just who I am, and who I’ll be until the end of my days.”
Cassidy gestured to their surroundings.
“This! Westwaste, the way you look, how you smell. It’s perfect, because it’s not what it’s supposed to be.”
“You’ve got it!” The Grog King cheered.
“What you do here, Dad, it’s kind of cool. And you’re not a bad father, you’re a great father. You're the best Dad Westwaste could ever ask for.”
The Grog King smiled, and looked up to the sky again. But he wasn’t thinking this time. He was just being.
“Thank you.” He said. “Maybe I should start being a father to you. You’re welcome to come see me as much as you’d like. Perhaps I could visit you, it would be nice to see what society is like these days. I’d love to learn more about you, I’d love for you to learn more about Westwaste.”
“I’d love to learn more from you.” Cassidy said. “I want to protect the Westwaste with you.”
The Grog King shed a tear, sighed, and looked Cassidy in the eyes. His stare was peaceful and safe.
“See this grass on my chin?” He said.
“I can’t.”
“You can. You’re my girl.”
“How?”
“Don’t question, just do.”
Cassidy placed her hand on a tuft of grass on The Grog King’s chin. She breathed. She looked into her father’s eyes. When she removed her hand, the grass was gone. Several braids of flowers suddenly grew from her scalp, flowing down with her hair.
“That’s it.” The Grog King said “You’ll make a great Grog Queen, one day.”
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This story is a part of 365 Stories for Sprogs, a big book filled with little stories for youngsters and parents alike! Each of these stories are written in a single day by author Harold Benjamin-Lewis. With a book like that, it could be the only storybook you’ll ever need. Well, for a year at least!
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