The fool Who fished for a King
nephew, was a fool. At least his uncle always said so when he could not untangle a whelk shell from the nets, or when he left the drying squid out overnight and the neighborhood cats had a feast. Certainly his uncle and the other fishermen on the docks jeered when Alaric set off for Lake Heavensdrop as the last leaves swirled down from the branches. “Foolish boy!” said his uncle. “If you leave now, you will reach the lake in the dead of winter. To fish you’ll have to chop through a layer of ice.” “But we’re not so busy in the winter,” Alaric explained. “You can spare me for a few weeks now. Besides, when spring comes, all the greatest fishermen will try to catch those fish. Even a fool like me stands a chance if I am the only one fishing there.” With a curl of his lip his uncle returned to his whittling. “Help like yours, boy, I can spare anytime. You are a dreamer like your father was and as stubborn as your mother, God rest their souls. So go if your mind is made up.” “Save some fish for me!” said Flint, the best fisherman in the village, with a laugh. “I’ll be there after the thaw!” Alaric tied his hatchet, hooks, and fishing line into a scarf that had belonged to his mother. Picking up his father’s old walking stick, he strode out of the village. He made his way across the bare fields, whistling bravely as the wind knifed through his
