“What is it?” he said again. “What’s the matter?”
“The King is dead,” one of the Elves said. “He died a few moments ago.”
Shadrach stared up, wide-eyed. “He did? But—”
“He was very cold and very tired.” The Elves turned away, going back into the room, slowly and quietly shutting the door.
Shadrach stood, his fingers on the banister, hard, lean fingers, strong and thin.
He nodded his head blankly.
“I see,” he said to the closed door. “He’s dead.”
The Elf soldiers stood around him in a solemn circle. The living room was bright with sunlight, the cold white glare of early morning.
“But wait,” Shadrach said. He plucked at his necktie. “I have to get to the filling station. Can’t you talk to me when I come home?”
The faces of the Elf soldiers were serious and concerned.
“Listen,” one of them said. “Please hear us out. It is very important to us.”
Shadrach looked past them. Through the window he saw the highway, steaming in the heat of day, and down a little way was the gas station, glittering brightly. And even as he watched, a car came up to it and honked thinly, impatiently. When nobody came out of the station, the car drove off again down the road.
“We beg you,” a soldier said.
Shadrach looked down at the ring around him, the anxious faces, scored with concern and trouble. Strangely, he had always thought of Elves as carefree beings, flitting without worry or sense—
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’m listening.” He went over to the big chair and sat down. The Elves came up around him. They conversed among themselves for a moment, whispering, murmuring distantly. Then they turned toward Shadrach.
The old man waited, his arms folded.
“We cannot be without a king,” one of the soldiers said. “We could not survive. Not these days.”
“The Trolls,” another added. “They multiply very fast. They are terrible beasts. They’re heavy and ponderous, crude, bad-smelling—”
“The odor of them is awful. They come up from the dark wet places, under the earth, where the blind, groping plants feed in silence, far below the surface, far from the sun.”
“Well, you ought to elect a king, then,” Shadrach suggested. “I don’t see any problem there.”
“We do not elect the King of the Elves,” a soldier said. “The old king must name his successor.”
“Oh,” Shadrach replied. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that method.”
“As our old king lay dying, a few distant words came forth from his lips,” a soldier said. “We bent closer, frightened and unhappy, listening.”
“Important, all right,” agreed Shadrach. “Not something you’d want to miss.”
“He spoke the name of him who will lead us.”
“Good. You caught it, then. Well, where’s the difficulty?”
“The name he spoke was—was your name.”
Shadrach stared. “Mine?”
“The dying king said: ‘Make him, the towering mortal, your king. Many things will come if he leads the Elves into battle against the Trolls. I see the rising once again of the Elf Empire, as it was in the old days, as it was fore—”
“Me!” Shadrach leaped up. “Me? King of the Elves?”
Shadrach walked about the room, his hands in his pockets. “Me, Shadrach Jones, King of the Elves.” He grinned a little. “I sure never thought of it before.”
He went to the mirror over the fireplace and studied himself. He saw his thin, graying hair, his bright eyes, dark skin, his big Adam’s apple.
“King of the Elves,” he said. “King of the Elves. Wait till Phineas Judd hears about this. Wait till I tell him!”
Phineas Judd would certainly be surprised!
Above the filling station, the sun shown, high in the clear blue sky.
Phineas Judd sat playing with the accelerator of his old Ford truck. The motor raced and slowed. Phineas reached over and turned the ignition key off, then rolled the window all the way down.
“What did you say?” he asked. He took off his glasses and began to polish them, steel rims between slender, deft fingers that were patient from years of practice. He restored his glasses to his nose and smoothed what remained of his hair into place.
“What was it, Shadrach?” he said. “Let’s hear that again.”
“I’m King of the Elves,” Shadrach repeated. He changed position, bringing his other foot up on the running board. “Who would have thought it? Me, Shadrach Jones, King of the Elves.”
Phineas gazed at him. “How long have you been—King of the Elves, Shadrach?”
“Since the night before last.”
“I see. The night before last.” Phineas nodded. “I see. And what, may I ask, occurred the night before last?”
“The Elves came to my house. When the old king died, he told them that—”
A truck came rumbling up and the driver leaped out. “Water!” he said. “Where the hell is the hose?”
Shadrach turned reluctantly. “I’ll get it.” He turned back to Phineas. “Maybe I can talk to you tonight when you come back from town. I want to tell you the rest. It’s very interesting.”
“Sure,” Phineas said, starting up his little truck. “Sure, Shadrach. I’m very interested to hear.”
He drove off down the road.
Later in the day, Dan Green ran his flivver up to the filling station.
“Hey, Shadrach,” he called. “Come over here! I want to ask you something.”
Shadrach came out of the little house, holding a waste-rag in his hand.
“What is it?”
“Come here.” Dan leaned out the window, a wide grin on his face, splitting his face from ear to ear. “Let me ask you something, will you?”
“Sure.”
“Is it true? Are you really the King of the Elves?”
Shadrach flushed a little. “I guess I am,” he admitted, looking away. “That’s what I am, all right.”
Dan’s grin faded. “Hey, you trying to kid me? What’s the gag?”
Shadrach became angry. “What do you mean? Sure, I’m the King of the Elves. And anyone who says I’m not—”
“All right, Shadrach,” Dan said, starting up the flivver quickly. “Don’t get mad. I was just wondering.”
Shadrach looked very strange.
“All right,” Dan said. “You don’t hear me arguing, do you?”
By the end of the day, everyone around knew about Shadrach and how he had suddenly become the King of the Elves. Pop Richey, who ran the Lucky Store in Derryville, claimed Shadrach was doing it to drum up trade for the filling station.
“He’s a smart old fellow,” Pop said. “Not very many cars go along there any more. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I don’t know,” Dan Green disagreed. “You should hear him, I think he really believes it.”
“King of the Elves?” They all began to laugh. “Wonder what he’ll say next.”
Phineas Judd pondered. “I’ve known Shadrach for years. I can’t figure it out.” He frowned, his face wrinkled and disapproving. “I don’t like it.”
Dan looked at him. “Then you think he believes it?”
“Sure,” Phineas said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I really think he does.”
“But how could he believe it?” Pop asked. “Shadrach is no fool. He’s been in business for a long time. He must be getting something out of it, the way I see it. But what, if it isn’t to build up the filling station?”
“Why, don’t you know what he’s getting?” Dan said, grinning. His gold tooth shone.
“What?” Pop demanded.
“He’s got a whole kingdom to himself, that’s what—to do with like he wants. How would you like that, Pop? Wouldn’t you like to be King of the Elves and not have to run this old store any more?”
“There isn’t anything wrong with my store,” Pop said. “I ain’t ashamed to run it. Better than being a clothing salesman.”
Dan flushed. “Nothing wrong with that, either.” He looked at Phineas. “Isn’t that right? Nothing wrong with selling clothes, is there, Phineas?”