This is a classic old yarn, the way that Battle Axe* likes to tell it. Frankly, it’s hard to verify the accuracy of every detail because access to the Inner Court is somewhat limited. But I do know there is a hermit named Twisted Tree – I first met him at a used sandal bazaar. He is still living in the same grotto. (And wearing the same pair of sandals.)

//Oriole Burdee

*Not her birth name, obviously! Who would name a girl Battle Axe??

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Grottoes, a Lake, and Disappearing Tools – An Introduction

To the north of Pearl City loom God’s Teeth. This is just a fancy name for the jutting range of limestone hills that protect Pearl City from all manner of evil, and Northerners.

If want to take a hike up in God’s Teeth, then please exit out of Pearl City’s north gate. But before you get to the foothills you will come across a modest crystalline lake. The name is very difficult to explain, it could either be translated as “Green Lake” or “Black Lake” or Blue Lake” or “Transparent Lake.”  So we will just acknowledge its existence without naming it.

When you reach the foothills you will immediately perceive that they are pocked by quaint little grottoes. Some are empty. Some are occupied by furry animals. Some are occupied by hermits.

On the morning you take your walk, and this story begins, the sky is still the reluctant color of dawn. Here you see Twisted Tree sitting all-serene in the mouth of his cave, cross-legged, contemplating nothing and nothingness. A bearded stalagmite.

And you also see the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations arriving at the coal mine dug deep into the roots of God’s Teeth, not far from our difficult-name-to-translate lake. He is over-worked, anxious, and very grumpy. The Number 8 Municipal Coal Works is running behind schedule. Tools keep going missing. And the slag heaps are becoming unmanageable.

Spotting the hermit in his lofty perch the Vice-Minister stops sorting through his paperwork. He thinks negative thoughts. These so-called sages, what a drag on society! That one there – thinks he’s soooo transcendent and all. Meanwhile the rest of us are breaking our backs down here doing real work. He scowls pointedly in the direction of the grotto.

But Twisted Tree just looks down with his far-away eyes and smiles beatifically.

Catastrophe in the Cellars- the Story Proper Begins

The sun rose over Pearl City. Iridescent spires gleamed, the silver karst peaks of God’s Teeth glinted. Somebody screamed.

“Not the dried abalone! Anything but the dried abalone!” Little Lizard bounded up the stairs clutching a fine-weave linen sack in his hands. One corner was ragged and gaping, letting the occasional coppery disc make its escape, bouncing with a hard “ping” back down the steps to the cool dryness of the Imperial Cellars.

As he bounded, he briefly consider defection to a different empire. What would Head Steward say? Worse, what would Head Steward do?

To answer Little Lizard’s first question, what Head Steward said (very coolly) was, “That was our last catty of dried abalone.”

“Have mercy, Master, it wasn’t me! It’s the pesky rats again! They sure do have a feeling for our best stores.”

Head Steward’s boxed Little Lizard sharply on the ears. Then he said (very coolly), “This puts me in a rather delicate position, boy. The Emperor is expecting a good broth for dinner.”

To answer Little Lizard’s second question, I am afraid Dear Listener that we have no idea what happened to him. But if Head Steward was involved, I guarantee it was ugly. (There is speculation he was forced to become a cobbler in the Lower City.)

When the Assembly met with the Emperor that evening for a very disappointing meal, they left aside the usual business of taxes, trade and courtesans. It was rats at the top of the Imperial agenda.

“Where is the Municipal Minister of Sanitation?” The Emperor cast his august eyes around the Hall of Eternal Food.

“I’m here behind the soup tureen, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Ah, yes. Please brief us on what measures you have taken on the issue of…extermination.”

“I am happy to report that most entrances and exits to the Underground City have been discretely secured, Your Imperial Majesty, with metal grates. These are the finest quality Your Imperial Majesty – a very narrow grating. We have a crew down by the river now finishing things up.”

“Ah, well. Please double-check your ‘fine grating’ in the Imperial Cellars, Minister. We had another break-in last night.” His august eyes lingered, with much gloom, on the porcelain tureen. “And I certainly hope you didn’t give them a chance to escape before…”

“Rest assured, Your Imperial Majesty, that they are still down there. We have vigilantly manned the entrances and exits, and I am happy to report we saw no escapees.”

“Hmm, good. And the mine shaft?”

“Eck! Eck!” the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations choked on his Four Seasons Beans. “That’s me, Your Imperialness.”

“Indeed.” The scarlet beads on the Emperor’s headdress rustled softly. “Indeed. I don’t remember appointing you Municipal Minister of Excavations. But if your tunnels are dug then you should be ready to go at sunrise, two days from now.”

“My boss has appendicitis, Your Imperialness,” the Vice-Minister said into his beans. But nobody took any notice.

Comparing Two Different Kinds of Tunnels

The Underground City is ancient, treacherous, strange. Imagine a labyrinth sliding like a serpent under the city, twisting back on itself, ending suddenly at times, at times seemingly never ending.

If you want to visit I could arrange it, there are dozens of secret openings. I know a pickle-maker, for example, who found a hidden entrance under the flagstones of his workshop courtyard. He stores his vinegar vats down there now.

Centuries ago when the Northern Invasions were at their worst the emperors ordered it gouged out of the very foundations of the city. They lined these tunnels with stones from the Old City. And when I say the Old City I mean the Old City – the one the Gods themselves built. That is why it is treacherous. That is why it is strange.

The Number 8 Municipal Coal Works, on the other hand, is a pathetic excuse for a tunnel. It has only a single horizontal shaft – heavily reinforced with wood and iron braces. There are no coal seams in the area. Anybody could tell you that.

Wet Rats

On the appointed day and at the appointed hour the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations stood at the foot of God’s Teeth, holding a mallet.

At his side two gargantuan iron winches sat, creaking under their own weight.  Hands on the cranks, four shirtless workers looked for his signal. At his back one crystalline lake lapped blithely at its banks, unprepared for what was about to happen.

The sun rose. The Vice Minister sighed, balanced the mallet in his hand, and then…banged the work gong.

“Heave! Heave!” The winches groaned. Deep, deep underground a colossal sluice gate lifted. The ground rumbled mightily like a thunderbolt as water surged through the single horizontal shaft of the Number 8 Municipal Coal Works. It smashed easily through the last arm-span of earth separating the mine from the northernmost bend of the Underground City.

Every bit of life was swept down and out to where the labyrinth empties into the southern river, straining violently against the fine metal grates. Tunnel after treacherous tunnel washed clean. The Municipal Minister of Sanitation was right. Nothing living escaped.

Results of the Rat Extermination Campaign

“We drowned them out, Your Imperial Highness, every last one of them.” The Municipal Minister of Sanitation made his report after the cold dishes were served in the Hall of Eternal Food that very evening.

“Must have, the water was full up to the top before we dropped the sluice gate,” the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations piped up.

“And we checked all the gratings for detritus. Found all kinds of things the water brought out,” said a random minister, hoping for some credit.

“Ah. What did you find, then? Let’s hear it,” the Emperor put down his soup spoon and looked up at the gathered Assembly.

There was a silence that lasted just long enough to be telling. Then the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations decided he had nothing to lose.

“Well, there was somebody’s knitting.”

“And a cat,” someone added.

The Emperor looked appalled. “He loves cats,” the Municipal Minister of Sanitation whispered to his neighbor.

“And what was the knitting?”

“Pardon?” the Vice-Minister was caught unawares.

“I’m not going to repeat such a simple question.”

“Oh, right. Well it looked like a…a tea cozy, I believe.”

“And what color was this tea cozy?”

“Th-the color??”

The Emperor narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Won’t repeat” he mouthed.

“Begging your Eternal Pardon, Your Imperial Highness. Let me see now, it was…a nice lime green, I believe. But perhaps Your Imperial Highness can explain -“

“Do desperate people knit nice lime-green tea cozies? No, imbecile, they knit thick woolen socks, and possibly…ropes, or…bear traps. This is not just a temporary infestation, as you – all of you – have been reporting for the last I-don’t-know-how-many years. They drink hot tea! They are entrenched!”

Silence fell over the Hall of Eternal Food as the Emperor pressed his fingertips together and gathered his thoughts. Then…

“Does anybody know how many subversives we are talking about, here?

“Well, there was just the one tea cozy…”

His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the Great Purple Dynasty, Son of Heaven, Lord of Ten Thousand Years closed his eyes. “Everybody in this room, with the exception of my Imperial Self, is fired.”

What Was Left After the Flood

Well of course they weren’t fired. But many of them were demoted and bore very miserable punishment, like dishwashing duty and tax collection in the remote provinces. And then he got in a whole lot of truly fierce minions to replace them. But that is another story, Dear Listener!

Anyway, the Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations kept his job because the job was punishment enough.

The very next day he was sent back to the mine to take stock of the situation and write up a report “What Went Wrong With the Extermination Exercise, and Why” and another one called “What Is Left of the Underground City – Eyewitness Account.”

“I guess that means I got to find an eyewitness,” he grumbled.

Everything was still as death at the Number 8 Municipal Coal Works. The lake looked a little flat, even for a lake. And there was not a worker in sight. Workers are very clever, and after the whole sluice-gate opening thing they had decided there wasn’t much use sniffing around for coal any more.

The Vice-Minister sighed, kicked a stone, and did it himself. For that whole morning and that whole afternoon he trudged alone through tunnels, struggling to keep his lantern lit and his robes clean of the damp. Impossible to check every twist and turn, the place was a death trap even without the water. He walked right past a neatly excavated hole in the northernmost bend of the Underground City, very near where the water blasted through from the Number 8 Coal Works. He didn’t notice it. After a rather unproductive look around he clambered out. The Dusk Drum was sounding over the city. In the twilight he found a convenient rock for sitting, pulled a brush and inkstick out of his pocket, and started writing.

Report Number One:

“No signs of human habitation apart from large number of pickles, and one dried abalone (not so dry now). They must have caught wind of plan and left with bulk of belongings before extermination. Suggest a thorough sweep for spies/ sympathizers amongst ministers. (I’m innocent.)”

Report Number Two:

“The Underground City is intact except for hole in northernmost wall (caused by flood). Suggest labyrinth filled with rocks/dirt to avoid future infestations.”

The Vice-Minister of Excavations sighed. What a nasty business, glad it was over and done with.  Taking a final look around he saw the piles of rusty tools, tossed carelessly on the ground for anyone to pick up. He saw the enormous slag heaps, much larger than what came out of the guts of the cursed Number 8. He scratched his head.

Clever rascals, those subverters of imperial power. They had escaped and right under the Emperor’s nose. Good on them. But how,  how? The gratings, the extra guards… they must have busted out from the inside.  The Municipal Vice-Minister of Excavations looked up…at the forbidding limestone peaks of God’s Teeth. With all its little caves. And tunnels. He sighed.

Twisted Tree looked down from his grotto carved deep into the limestone hillside, and smiled beatifically.

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Editor’s Note: of course my first question to Battle Axe was “why bother with all the tunneling? Why not just up and relocate somewhere above ground?” She just looked at me in sorrow (at my stupidity) and said, “Don’t you know anything about a rebellion? First rule of thumb: never give up access to the palace…or fresh baked bread.”

Editor’s Note: visit again next week for another story! You will learn more about Pearl City, and meet some more characters.

Editor’s Note: the Editor is me, Oriole Burdee.