Chapter Six: Seeking Sanctuary
"I think y'must be from th'same place as the kings an' queens," the fox concluded when Franck had told him the little he knew of how he came to be here. "Have y'ever heard of th'city of War Drobe in the land of Spare Oom?"
Franck shook his head; his English wasn't good enough for him to blend the words and realize what the fox was actually saying, nor would it have been likely to occur to him even if it were. "Nein…England, I know — these kings and queens speak English?"
"Narnian," Rawlstow corrected.
"The same as you?" Franck persisted.
"An' what would I be speakin' b'sides Narnian?" the fox protested.
Franck shrugged, thinking it over as best he could. The fox's "Narnian" seemed to him a heavily accented English; if the kings and queens he mentioned spoke the same language, they had likely come from England — or at least Great Britain. And if that was the case, would they welcome his presence here, or regard him as an enemy, bringing to this beautiful land the same poison his countrymen were spreading across Europe?
Of course, he could stay here living in these woods, and perhaps there was no need for these kings and queens to ever even know of his existence.
"If y'can't get back th'way y'came through, mebbe the kings an' queens would know how t'get y'home," Rawlstow mused.
"Nein!" Franck said sharply. "I mean…I vould rather not leave."
The fox cocked his head curiously. "It's up t'you — an' Aslan, o' course; I don't think any of th'gateways between worlds work except at his bidding."
"Aslan?" Franck questioned, feeling slightly more at ease now that the conversation had turned away from possibly British kings and queens.
"Aye, th'great Lion, King over all high kings in Narnian."
Franck swallowed, wondering if perhaps after all the British royalty might not be safer. But then, there was no need for him to meet either, surely…?
Yet his mind couldn't let it rest. Whatever the kings and queens might do to him, it seemed more open and honest for him to go to them and request asylum. Were they to somehow discover him here, hiding in the woods, mightn't they think he was a spy of some kind? And if the Lion Aslan was on their side… He shuddered at the thought and made his decision.
"How far is it to these…kings and queens of yours?" he asked hesitantly.
"Depends on how y'travel; several days journey for a human on foot, I sh'd think. But y'could try goin' back where y'came through first."
Franck shook his head. "I don't vant to go back. But if I don't go to these authorities here, I vill always be afraid of being discovered.
"Are y'on the run in yer world, then?" the fox questioned.
"I suppose I am now — as a deserter. But it's not my countrymen I'm afraid of…"
Rawlstow gave the Vulpine equivalent of a shrug. "Well, yer arm should be whole in another two or three weeks, an' then we c'n see about findin' someone t'show y'th'way, if yer determined t'go."
As it happened, Aravel the Stag was planning to go to the capital city of Cair Paravel, and was willing to delay his departure until Rawlstow pronounced Franck fit to travel.
Franck felt a sense of awed fear when he first saw the magnificent creature, larger than any stag in the world he knew, with a rack of antlers that looked like it could be dangerous if he decided to attack. But though he lowered the horns when the dog Otto became too annoying running between his hooves, there was no true threat to it. Soon Franck lost his fear, though not his awe and respect.*
As they travelled, Aravel told him some of the history of Narnia, of the White Witch and how the four kinds and queens had come to Narnia and been established by the great Lion Aslan.
His Speech was more precise than the fox's had been, and Franck felt his own English improving as he listened.
He had assumed all the animals in Narnia lived, like the fox, much the same as their wild cousins, so his first sight of a town came as a surprise.
There were a few humans on the streets, but they were far outnumbered by the Talking Animals. A horse, the apples he had come to buy carried in baskets hanging from his withers, stopped to exchange pleasantries with a beaver on his way to repair a dam for the miller.
Two young dogs came running out to greet Otto and entice him into rough-and-tumble play; still puppies, judging by their paws, though they were nearly the size of Otto himself. Moments later their mother appeared, barking a scolding at the pups before turning to apologize to Franck in human Speech.
"That's all right," he assured her with a grin, scratching the ears of one of the pups that lingered close. It yapped excitedly and touched noses with Otto once more before racing ahead after its mother.
Distracted by the sights around him, Franck moved on slowly, then paused in front of a clothing shop that obviously catered to the few human citizens.
Would it be dishonest, he wondered, to appear in court in something other than his German pilot's uniform? Or perhaps it would even lend credence to his expressed desire to leave Germany and everything the uniform stood for.
He sighed; either way, it made no difference. He had no Narnian money, or even any German, for that matter, and the monkey tailor coming forward to help him surely would not give him the clothes for free.
Some distance away, Aravel stopped and turned to see what was keeping him. "Come."
Offering the monkey an apologetic smile and wave, Franck trotted to catch up with the stag.
oOo
The palace gates were guarded by a pair of tall, imposing centaurs whose regal stance made Franck grateful his traveling companion also possessed an austere sternness. Gripping Otto firmly by the hair of his neck, he hung back slightly and allowed Aravel to speak for both of them.
"I am Aravel the Stag, and this is Franck, Son of Adam."
Franck frowned slightly, wondering if that was how the stag had interpreted his last name of Adams. But it wasn't worth trying to correct, and he focused his attention on Aravel as the stag continued.
"Franck wishes an audience with their majesties, and I need to seek information from the royal archives."
"Very well," the centaur agreed without change in his stern expression.
He stamped his great hoof, and a creature came running that Franck had no name for either in English or in German; it was a satyr, had he known. "Sebastian, this son of Adam wishes an audience with their majesties, and the stag needs to visit the archives; see to it."
Sebastian nodded to the centaur and turned to the two guests with a slightly deeper bow. "This way, Son of Adam; my lord Stag."
The two followed him up the great paved walkway to the castle, Otto staying close at Franck's heels as if the awesome grandeur of the place had affected him as well.
Inside the huge wooden doors, Sebastian conversed quietly with another servant, who was soon leading Aravel away in one direction while Franck followed Sebastian in another.
He swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly dry, wishing the stag had accompanied him. As uneasy as he had sometimes been in its presence, at least it would have been familiar. Resting a hand on Otto's rough head for reassurance, he allowed Sebastian to lead him through the great halls.
"Their majesties King Peter the Magnificent and King Edmund the Just," Sebastian announced as the attendants swung open the doors to the throne room. "Majesties, Franck son of Adam," he continued, bowing to his sovereigns and gesturing Franck forward in the same motion.
The king inclined his head in regal greeting, and Franck's arm automatically snapped into the salute years of service had engrained in him. "Heil, Majesties!"
An instant later he realized his mistake as King Peter jumped to his feet, a hand on the dagger Franck knew with crystal certainty was not ceremonial. "Sebastian! You would dare to bring a Nazi into our royal presence?"
"S-sire?" the poor satyr stammered, taking a stumbling step backward.
"Peter," his brother murmured, laying a hand on his arm.
The high king's scowl softened slightly. "You may leave us, Sebastian."
"Y-yes, sire."
The centaur guards on each side of the throne stood at the alert, not seeing the danger, but ready at their king's word. Peter resumed his seat, but did not relax or remove his hand from the hilt of his dagger.
"So, Hitler cannot be satisfied with all of Europe?" King Peter asked in a voice that was deadly cold and flat. "He must invade Narnia now, too?"
"Nein!" Franck exclaimed. "I mean, no, sire," he added more quietly, forcing his tongue into the still unfamiliar English. "Hitler knows nothing of Narnia; I stumbled through a-a gateway after my plane went down over England."
"A bombing run?" Peter asked with the same dread quiet in his voice.
"Yes," Franck admitted. "And — I hated it, your majesty! That's why I've come to you; to seek shelter here rather than going back to a war I have no wish to fight."
"And why do you imagine I would allow even one Nazi to pollute this fine land of Narnia?"
"I-I don't, sire," Franck whispered.
Edmund had remained quiet, but now laid a hand on his brother's arm. "Peter. A word in private, if you will."
Peter frowned, but nodded to one of the centaur guards. "Take him into the antechamber."
The centaur stepped forward and gestured to Franck, who followed him without a word, knowing his fate hung in the balance.
Next chapter coming next week!
* Illustration for this scene can be found in my "Narnia" folder at DeviantArt . com [slash] Female Chauvinist (sorry; I'm still posting from my phone, so I can't give you the exact link for the picture)
I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that this story is formatted using British spellings.)
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