Carrot Season by Alex Maciockay

It was, by all means, a wonderful and perfectly lovely Tuesday. The sun was shining, the flowers were in bloom, and Edmund was running out of time.

This last part was less wonderful and lovely, but it was nonetheless very true. Edmund, being a royal knight of the castle, had been busy doing what all good knights do by praying for peace and prosperity over the land. On that Sunday evening, the court healer had burst into his chambers and asked him to go on an important fetch quest, beard swinging anxiously with his frantic movements.

“The king has fallen gravely ill!” he’d said, “But I know of a root that’s said to hold powers unimaginable – something strong enough to heal any ailment!” He’d explained it was found only in the town of Mensonge, but he’d never actually gotten hold of it himself. The situation was dire, and he needed a knight who would leave right away. Edmund thought about it for only a moment, wondering what the risks might be, when the healer made a note that the action was surely fit for a promotion to head knight on the court. Without another word, Edmund had strung his sword and promised to be back within two days’ time. He’d set off into the darkening horizon, the root of legend and the fated promotion soon to be in his grasp.

Now, on this very Tuesday, Edmund had come to the conclusion that the legends were verily false, and no such root existed.

“I’m sorry, mate. That rumor died out ages ago,” said the shopkeeper at the local potion shop. “Brings in good tourism, though, dontcha think?”

“I don’t quite understand,” Edmund said, “It’s not true?”

“Nope!” This was very distressing news.

“But how am I to heal the king!” he pondered aloud. The shopkeeper shrugged his shoulders, the old suspender strap falling further from his scrawny shoulder. Edmund tapped the hilt of his sword, panicking only in silence as a knight ought to do.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” The sun was beginning to set and the promise he’d made to the healer weighed heavy on his mind. Should he not return soon the king would die, and there’d be no promotion in sight. He needed that root, or something very close to it. He could not come back empty handed.

“Is there anything else here that might cure someone of any ailments?”

The shopkeeper tapped a calloused finger to his chin. “I don’t think anything like that exists,” he said, “but we do have some golden carrots in the back. They’re the tastiest in a stew, if you ask me. Hand painted them myself!” Edmund shook his head, the helmet he wore clanking against his temples.

“I am not asking for a stew, I am asking for a cure,” he said with as much confidence as he could. Maybe he could scare the shopkeeper into submission, and he’d reveal that there was something stronger and more powerful that he wasn’t supposed to share. Something worthy of a knightly promotion and everything that came with it. That is how the stories usually went, were they not?

“I recommend the carrots,” the shopkeeper said, “take ‘em or leave ‘em.” Edmund steeled his resolve and thought about what he should do. He’d always been prepared for the worst, but it wasn’t often he ran into the worst in his travels. He wanted to bring prosperity to his people, and he wanted to uphold the honor of being a truly good knight.

A good knight would have turned down the offer and ridden back home. They would hang their head in shame upon arriving at the castle and apologize for the inconvenience. They would go back to their room and pray for good health, polish their armor from the adventure, and go to sleep knowing that they had tried their best and did what they could for the king.

But a good knight had never been given the promotion to head knight, either.

With this, Edmund rode back with golden carrots in hand, the dust staining his silver armor a shiny gilded yellow. He thought about what would happen when he returned, playing images through his mind of banners and big horses and shiny medals on his chest. He imagined that maybe the carrots would hold some magic after all, and the king would be healed, and he’d never have to think about the mess again. The court healer would find out the root of legend was indeed just a legend, and they’d share a laugh and a drink, and they’d both move on with their lives.

It was a grand future for Edmund, one that would be envied by all. He returned just before nightfall with the carrots in hand, and he saw the healer jumping anxiously from foot to foot by the gates. With a cry of triumph, the healer grabbed the sack of golden carrots from Edmund and rushed into the castle to complete his duty. By the time the first stars graced the sky, it had been spread across the court that the king would be in good health very soon.

That night, Edmund went to bed with a smile in place and dreamed about the coming ceremony for his promotion. While he’d never been recognized so blatantly before, he figured he’d get used to it easily, and there’d be a happily ever after in the making for him at sunrise.

Upon hearing the chirping of the Wednesday morning birds, Edmund was startled awake by the same crash of his door against stone that had signaled his adventure a few days prior.

“The king!” the voice cried, “He is dead!”

“Pardon?” Edmund said, jumping up from his bed and stumbling to the door. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes to better see the messenger boy wringing his hands in front of him.

“The king has died, sir!” he said, “And not only that, but the court healer has been thrown to the streets!” The world spun around Edmund as he took in the news.

“How could this happen?” he asked, trying very hard to focus on the conversation without passing out immediately.

“The root of legend he used to heal the king only made it worse, I’m afraid,” the boy said, “and the court suspects foul play at hand.”

“This is horrible news!” Edmund cried. It was certainly not something that would have happened to a good knight.

“It gets worse, good sir!” the messenger continued, “I have been sent to inform you that you are no longer needed as a royal knight and should be removed from the court as promptly as possible!”

The news struck him like a bell, his mind vibrating and bouncing around in his skull. The king had died, the court healer fired, and he was to be removed from his knightly duties. The carrots had not been magical after all, and he had brought ruin upon the castle quicker than he could process. Edmund was now out of a job, his life’s work down the drain in mere moments, and the kingdom would surely be following close behind.

“What am I to do now?” he whined, hands coming up to cover his face in shame. He felt a comforting hand grip his shoulder, pulling his attention back to the boy. A tiny shred of hope rose in his chest, waiting for his response with bated breath.

“Well, I hear the farming business is in great need right now,” the messenger said, “They say it’s about time for carrot season to start!”

Alex Maciockay

Image by Matthias Böckel from Pixabay – A pile of golden(ish) carrots.