The Ogre of Oglefort

CHAPTER 9 What Ogres Eat

The troll bent over the ogre, lying limply on the sofa. His breath was shallow, and when the troll levered up the giant’s huge wrist and felt his pulse, he found that it was far too fast.

“If you hurry, you can free those poor wretches down in the dungeon,” said Ulf quietly to the others, “and then we can think what to do about the princess. I’ll stay here and if it looks as though he’s coming around I’ll warn you.”

So the others hurried downstairs and across the courtyard to the grating. There were no groping hands this time, but they could hear voices and the same wails as before.

“Hullo there,” called Ivo. “We’ve come to help you! We’re going to set you free. Do you know where the key is for the dungeon?”

A head appeared — it had thinning black hair combed over a bald patch and a drooping black moustache. A second head bobbed up beside it — that of a woman with a sharp nose and tight, blue-rinsed curls.

“What key?” said the man.

“There isn’t a key,” said the woman. “You can get in if you go down the steps over there to the oak door. Just open it; it’s not locked.”

“You mean you’re not locked in?” The Hag was completely bewildered. “But then why don’t you escape?”

But the heads had disappeared. The rescuers made their way to the steps and down to an oaken door. It was opened from the inside — and two people dashed toward them.

“Where is the ogre?” asked the woman with blue-rinsed hair.

“Do you bring news?” inquired the man with the sad moustache.

The dungeon was furnished in a rather unusual way. There was a sofa in one corner and a table with chairs in another. On the table was a large teapot, a plate of biscuits, and a pack of playing cards.

“Yes, we do,” said the Hag. “We bring you wonderful news. The ogre is ill and he won’t harm you — so you can go home. You’re free. Only you must hurry, there’s no time to waste.”

There was a moment of total silence, and then it began.

“Go home?” said the man. “You must be mad. I can’t go home — I’ve sold my house and my car to come here and I’m staying.”

“You mean our house and our car,” said the woman, glaring at him. “And I’ve given up my job,” she went on, “so we can’t possibly go back.”

“I’ve never heard of anything so silly,” said the man, tugging at his moustache. “Why would we want to go home after taking all the trouble to get here? If the ogre isn’t feeling well enough today, we’ll just wait till he feels better.”

“Tell him we’re not going home and no one has any right to make us,” said the woman. “And tell the people in the kitchen that we’ve run out of tea bags.”

The rescuers looked at one another. None of them could make head or tail of all this.

“We’d better go back upstairs and try to find out what is going on,” said the wizard.

They found the ogre propped up on cushions, sipping something the troll had mixed for him.

“They won’t go away,” said the Hag wearily. “And they’re not imprisoned, either.”

The ogre put down his cup. “Did you say they won’t go away?” he rumbled in his hoarse voice.

“That’s right,” said the Hag. “They said they couldn’t go back to where they’d come from.”

“Did you tell them that I was finished? Through?” asked the ogre.

“Yes. Well, we told them you were ill.”

“Oh God — what have I done to deserve this,” said the ogre, clutching his forehead.

But the rescuers had had enough. “However ill you feel,” said the Hag firmly, “you really must tell us what all this is about.”

There was a groan from the sofa.

“No, it’s no good groaning,” the Hag went on. “We’ve come a long way and nothing is what it seems. If you explain we may be able to help but not otherwise.”

The ogre looked at the troll, hoping perhaps that he would be forbidden to excite himself, but Ulf, too, was looking at him and waiting. So the ogre gave one more deep groan — and then he began.

“You know what ogres do?” he said.

“They eat people?” suggested Ivo.

“Exactly so. But I never liked the taste of human flesh,” he said. “The first time I ate a person it turned the corners of my mouth blue and gave me a pain here.” He put his hand on his side. “It’s my liver, I think. The livers of ogres are very sensitive. I thought maybe he was too fresh — the bloke I ate — so after that they brought me an idiot who’d shot himself instead of the deer he was after, but it wasn’t any better.” The ogre shuddered. “Ugh, I can taste him still.

“My wife was alive then — a wonderful ogress — she didn’t care what she ate. Her grave is behind the castle. She reminded me of my duty. Which was to be terrifying, to be ferocious. So I began to do what ogres have been doing for thousands of years. Next best thing to eating people was to change them into beasts. Turning human beings into animals. A dreadful punishment it was considered to be and quite right, too. Anyone who came near I changed, and when I ran low I sent my servants out to find more. I turned the postman into a wolverine and the plumber into an okapi and the man who came to mend the roof into a worm. I was the best shape changer in Ostland, and humans were terrified to come near me.

“Then my wife died. She was a wonderful woman,” said the ogre again. “I wish you could have met her — the tops of her legs measured twelve feet around and every square inch covered in long black hair.” He sighed and went on with his story. “I rather let the castle go after that, but I went on changing people — it was what she’d wanted.

“Then one day a truly awful thing happened. I’ll never forget it. It was a Thursday. The last day on which a thing like that should have happened.”

“Because Thursday’s Thor’s day, isn’t it?” put in Ivo. “The God of Thunder. I saw it in the encyclopedia.”

“That’s right,” said the ogre. “I found a man trespassing near my wife’s grave. Weedy little fellow. Well, I picked him up and brought him in and I told him I was going to turn him into a fish and throw him into the moat. A fish, mind you — wet and dumb and slimy to hold. So I waited for him to scream and plead and beg me not to, and do you know what he did?”

The ogre paused and searched them with his bloodshot eyes.

“He smiled,” said the ogre. “I can see it now, that smile — and he said, ‘Oh yes, thank you, thank you. A fish would be so restful. I wonder… I suppose it couldn’t be a gudgeon; they have such pretty fins.’” The ogre paused. “That’s what he said. Those were his very words. I was so shocked, I did what he said — he’s out there now in the moat, you can tell him, he’s got a look.

“And that was the beginning of the end. People came — more and more of them — and asked me to turn them into animals. Said they were tired of being human, nothing worked — their jobs, their marriages. They’d thought of killing themselves and then they’d thought no, they’d rather go on living but as an animal.

“Since then I’ve been besieged. People come all the time and they won’t take no for an answer. The place they’re in used to be a perfectly good dungeon with torture instruments and hooks for hanging, and they’ve turned it into a sort of club room and sit there drinking tea. What’s more, they come with lists of animals they want to be — not just a dog but a Mexican hairless dog… not just a rabbit but an Angora rabbit with lop ears and spots.” The ogre’s voice was getting higher and higher, and the troll poured a spoonful of medicine and gave it to him.

“Well, I can’t eat them so I changed them — after all, I am an ogre. And then along comes this girl — the Princess Mirella — and suddenly I couldn’t take any more. A young, beautiful girl — a princess — and she wants to be a bird. Can’t face being a princess, can’t face being married to the prince her parents picked out for her. And not any bird — a white bird. I could tell her a thing or two about birds — if you want to see something really nasty, watch two turtledoves having a fight. And I’m sick of it,” said the ogre. “I’m turning into someone who’s taking on the sins of the world — making life better for people who have mucked up the planet. Do you hear me? I’m making life better — me, an ogre.”

He tried to sit up, dreadfully agitated, and began to cough.

“I’m not being true to myself,” he spluttered. “Ogres are fierce and wicked; they’re here to do harm. So I told her I wouldn’t do it and then… well you saw her — tears, pleading, fuss. I tell you, I’m through. No more changing, not ever.” He let his head roll back onto the cushion once more and closed his eyes. “I need a rest,” he said. “A long, long rest. I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

The troll now took charge. The sofa had casters, and with all of them pushing, they managed to wheel it into the ogre’s bedroom, and in a few minutes the ogre was lying back against the pillows of his enormous four-poster bed.

As they tiptoed out, his voice followed them. “You’ll have to stay and look after me,” he said. “They’re nasty things, these breakdowns. Very nasty indeed.”