Arthur Vs Ch 05

Chapter Five: Arthur vs. Tourism

[Two days earlier]

Arthur crested the last ridge where the trail turned northward and thankfully started to go downhill again. The straps from an overloaded backpack rubbed his shoulders raw and the canvas bags he held in each hand made his arms go numb after a while. The miserable five-day camping trip was almost over and Arthur was ready to get back to camp.

Thirty five-kids and one ranger marched in front of him, one mounted ranger rode behind. It was late in the day, still half an hour's walk from the campground; Arthur turned and asked the ranger for permission to go relieve himself in the woods. The ranger stopped his horse. "Alright, but make it quick."

Arthur set down the heavy pile of supplies and stepped into the wooded thicket. As soon as the ranger was out of sight, Arthur sped up and doubled back to the edge of a horse pasture north of the trail. Breaking a stick into a sharp point, he went to his knees in front of a tough waist-high weed with pale blue flowers.

Arthur dug to either side then he yanked the plant out of the ground. He snapped off the dull white root, set it aside, and then filled in the hole around the plant, and scattered dry leaves over the disturbed soil.

Arthur scratched the root's surface, sniffing its acrid harsh odor. It was one wild plant that he recognized immediately, at first he was surprised to see it in Eastern Europe, but he guessed it was an invasive species that had spread worldwide. The weed was common in fields back home... Arthur remembered his uncle telling about the peculiar effects it had on a cow of his that ate some of the leaves.

Locoweed, devil's trumpet, jimson weed: many names for the same toxic plant. To most it was just a tough weed common along fields and roadsides, to the rancher it was a poisoning threat to livestock, and some reckless people even used it to get high. Criminal #88588 had something else in mind.

--------- [Seven days earlier]

Khoras showed up early for his Friday afternoon shift. He hummed a tune as he walked toward the maintenance shop, but then he paused by the amphitheater to watch the ranger's class of about thirty kids.

They had all their scout gear spread out on the concrete benches, along with books and samples of rocks, plants, and insect collections. The only adult present was the criminal, standing by the stage, looking frustrated.

Khoras waded through the raucous group to see what was going on. "So Criminal number 88588, are you teaching these students?"

"Hardly... Ranger Kerkyra found out that I have a college degree in science back in the US and she made me into her assistant for the course." Arthur sighed. "It doesn't help at all; I mean all their coursework is written in Danubian... It's so embarrassing; I have to get twelve-year-old kids to read to me. They probably think I was arrested for being too stupid to live unsupervised."

"No," Khoras smirked. "I'm pretty sure they know what you did. Maybe it's not America, but we still have TV here, you know. You're probably the only spy we've ever caught."

"I wish they'd catch another one and get the spotlight off me for a while." Arthur sighed. "I know they made a big deal out of it, but all this worry about me is way overblown. Why should anyone be afraid of me? I've got to be the worst spy ever. I get caught on my first mission; worse, I didn't even know I was on a mission."

Khoras tilted his head curiously. "How could you not know?"

"I didn't want to ask too many questions and mess up the deal; I was thinking more about the money."

"You had a good job; what did you need all that the money for?"

"I didn't need it exactly... but I wanted it. I didn't have any definite plans except..." Arthur couldn't help but snicker. "I wanted to do some traveling, thought I might take off and spend some time overseas!" Arthur tapped the collar. "This wasn't what I had in mind at all."

Khoras looked concerned. "What about your family? You would leave them to go overseas? You'd be alone, unmarried?"

"I've been on my own for years." Arthur explained. "I liked it. I was free to go where I wanted, do what I wanted. I had some friends, and a girlfriend but nothing to hold me down."

"Has your lady friend visited you since your arrest?"

"Her?" Arthur chuckled. "That girl stayed too drunk to find her way to the airport, let alone here. I figure she just liked me because I bought her stuff;" Arthur shrugged. "I liked her anyway,"

Arthur put his hands up as if griping two spheres. "Her butt was perfectly symmetrical- as a man of science I can appreciate that sort of thing; it belonged on a statue or billboard or something. The other thing I liked about her was that she laughed at my jokes. Her name was Charlotte."

Khoras shook his head disapprovingly. "At your age, you didn't plan on marriage?"

Arthur shrugged. "Charlotte was what Americans call a party girl; fun to date but not the sort you marry. See, in America it's not like here at all; you don't have to get married, a lot of young people, men and women, live alone or stay together for a while then go their separate ways. You don't have to spend much time with your family either... I mean, I haven't been to my mother's house in over three years... aside from my sister, I'm not very close to any of my family anymore... strangers almost."

"American freedom sounds lonely."

Arthur started to argue but just glanced over at the scouts instead.

Khoras picked up one of the scout's workbooks and thumbed through it. "You've been here what a year?"

"Thirteen months."

"You said you couldn't read this?"

"Uh a little, my spokesman says that I'm at the reading level of his five-year old girl."

Khoras shrugged, still grinning at Arthur and the pack of rowdy kids. "I guess you're nearly ready to go on the big hike."

"I am?" Arthur asked.

Ranger Kerkyra arrived to start her class and the handyman excused himself. Arthur waited for the ranger to tell her criminal assistant about the big hike, the five-day excursion into the wilderness.

Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to go or not; but one thing that criminals didn't have to worry about was making decisions. The rangers would no more ask his opinion than the cook would ask a chicken whether it wanted its head chopped off or not. Kerkyra said: 'You're coming with us.' and it was settled.

That night Arthur thought about the scouts. He resented the little devils; they showed him no respect at all. The kids knew he was the lowest social class: a collared criminal; worse a foreign criminal, worse still that he was the enemy spy, disliked by almost everyone. The kids picked up on that quickly and became pests in the way that came natural.

Arthur sometimes considered revenge but gave up on it, though annoying, they were just a bunch of bratty kids and not worth his time. Still, he somehow never got around to warning them about the wasps that nested in the canoe racks or the thickets of stinging nettles that naked swimmers discover along sandy stream banks.

But as August ninth got closer Arthur found himself getting more and more civic minded. He badly wanted to do something in service to the Duchy, something heroic that his spokesman could use to get a switching canceled. He hoped this camping trip would provide the opportunity; maybe some kid would fall and need rescuing. Maybe he could protect them from something.

Were there any dangerous wild animals in the forest that might want to eat children? He could only hope.

Another possibility: it was well established that kids will stick about anything in their mouths; maybe they might eat the wrong plant or mushroom... Arthur imagined himself stepping in heroically to prevent such a tragedy.

"Fat chance of that happening," Arthur scoffed. "Hmm... but there might be a way of nudging the odds... say... if some hypothetical villain secretly put something toxic in their collection of edible wild plants and then waited for a dramatic moment, right before the meal was to be prepared... a noble and virtuous hero might swoop in to save the day."

"Ooh!" Arthur felt a chill run across his skin or perhaps the beginnings of a rash. "That's a classic hero move: saving children. A hypothetical criminal would have to get rewarded for that!"

--------- [Three days earlier]

The campers were so damned needy... so willing to flag down the criminal and make some stupid demand. They asked him for help like he a choice. It didn't matter to them if he had to work extra hours after supper to finish up jobs because of their constant interruptions.

"Would you carry my luggage?" Asks some lazy woman who's been sitting on her butt all day.

"Criminal, could you fetch us some water?" Asks a smirking young man with four gigantic plastic containers beside him.

"Could you help us with our tent?" Asks a married couple who were baffled by the complexities of an A-frame tent.

Then the kids arrived, a busload of them; most looked to be in their early teens. They were enrolled in a class taught by one of the rangers. They did coursework having to do with plant ID, natural history, wilderness survival, and ordinary scout type stuff.

One day after work, Ranger Kerkyra called out to Arthur. "Criminal number 88588," she said. "Stop a moment, I wish to speak with you." Arthur cringed; nothing good ever came from an official calling you out.

He was tired, hot, and really dirty. Arthur turned to face the ranger. Her eyebrows arched and mouth smirked as she looked him over, disapproving of his appearance.

Arthur watched her expression. Although rangers were public officials and all, he usually didn't kneel unless they insisted. She didn't give the order or nod at the ground expectantly; instead Ranger Kerkyra got right down to business.

"Criminal number 88588, I heard something." She looked skeptically at the dirty creature in front of her. "I don't know if it's accurate... but I heard it mentioned that you had a university education back in America, a focus in science. Is that true?"

Standing there, naked and covered in all sorts of grime, Arthur had to admit that he didn't look all that scholarly. His day had been spent with the maintenance crew, replacing old cast iron sewer pipe underneath the dining hall. The worst parts of the job were, of course, given to the criminal. Black mud, rust, grease, and other unidentified stuff streaked his skin; it was going to take a lot of horse shampoo to get that scrubbed off.

Reluctantly, Arthur told the ranger that the rumor was correct; though dirty and smelly, he was, at least educated.

She looked conflicted for a moment, maybe deciding if such a filthy animal could be capable of rational thought. Then she made up her mind, nodded quickly, and gave Arthur the good news. He would be her assistant in the scout's wilderness course.

She seemed eager then, speaking rapidly, telling how she had it all figured out. It was, she said, a simple matter of rescheduling his workday to allow another ten hours per week to help with her class. Arthur noticed that during this talk she never said she would replace the other work, just add to it- but nobody ever said that being a collared criminal was easy.

--------- [10 Days earlier]

Arthur grumbled but still walked toward the mouth of Corpse Creek. Two hundred meters ahead the stream ran swift, narrow and deep under an arched stone bridge then spilled into the Black River Reservoir; beyond the bridge was a popular hiking trail that climbed atop the rugged cliffs north of the campground, where the trail wound amongst vertical spires of white quartz sandstone that Danubians called The Finger bones. Whoever named these features must have been awfully depressed, Arthur thought, or scared.

Arthur had watched this particular bridge every day for the past week. He was so tired that he was tempted to skip it; nothing had happened so far but he would nearly die if he missed it. Ahead through gaps in the trees Arthur saw movement, he picked up his pace but not enough to draw attention.

There was a figure on the bridge. "Wait a second," he said to himself, "a young man wearing a yellow shirt and a red beret... Oh Hell! Not yet!"

Arthur saw the scene unfold, unable to stop it. The French tourist backed up against the knee-high rail, fumbled with a disposable camera, flailed dramatically, fell off the bridge, splashed into the water and screamed for help. The swift current pushed him out into the lake.

Arthur sprinted toward the commotion swearing under his breath. "Damn it, I'm not even ready..." Then just as he got to the bridge Arthur's heart sank; a swimmer was in the water halfway out to the flailing Frenchman already. The rescuer was nude and wore a temple collar.

Arthur wanted to stop and throw rocks at the drowning Frenchman but he forced himself to act normal and concerned, running down to the shore and helping the swimmer drag the Frenchman onto the bank.

A crowd soon formed around the rescuer and rescuee. Arthur watched with disgust as the Frenchman loudly gave his thanks to the brave and selfless swimmer who had saved his life, the guy was really laying it on thick, playing up to the crowd. He acted drunk.

Arthur left the scene; he just couldn't take it anymore. It was time to go back to the stables anyway, yet more work to do, but no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't force it out of his head.

"I can't believe it!" Arthur fumed. "That stupid drunken Frenchman... I'm the only fucking criminal in this park and he can't pick me out of the crowd? Mistakes a penitent for me! Just find the naked guy wearing orange work boots and the big metal collar with numbers on it! What's so damn hard about that?"

"And that penitent," Arthur clenched his fists. "That guy stole my drowning victim! Now he's probably going to get public recognition, a reward, they'll probably give that bastard a parade." Arthur kicked at the dirt. "He's using my five-hundred dollar French drowning victim and I'm not getting jack!"

The more Arthur thought it over the worse he felt. Two smuggled letters, his sister's hard work finding a willing tourist, and the Frenchman's five hundred dollar fee: all wasted. It was nearly July and getting uncomfortably close to August ninth and a trip back to the Police Headquarters.

Arthur had figured that if he could publicly save the life of another human being (even a Frenchman) the criminal court judges would have had no choice but to reward him for that act of heroism. But his plan failed miserably and time was running out; he knew he'd better think of something quick. Since being a hero didn't work out Arthur decided to take off the kid gloves and slip on the gloves of villainy! (Insert villain laughter here)