One Great Story
As they walked through the cobblestone streets of the City of Great Powers, Promi, Morey, and Shangri grilled young Lorno. Eager to know more about the boy’s shipmates and home country, especially since they’d never met anyone from another land, they peppered him with questions. Lorno would barely finish answering one when his companions asked him another.
Except for Kermi. While the others tossed a stream of questions at Lorno, the kermuncle sat in silence on Promi’s shoulder, his long blue tail draped down Promi’s back. He barely moved, except occasionally to blow a few bubbles or stroke his whiskers. Despite the continuous chatter around him, Kermi just sat there, too glum even to make his usual snide remarks.
“Are ye sure,” the baker asked, “ye don’t want to stay with the monks at the temple, like the rest o’ yer shipmates?”
“No,” Lorno replied. “I want to find something more . . . well, independent. Where I can come and go as I please.”
Promi grinned. “That I understand.”
Chewing on his last slice of apple crisp, Morey offered, “Well then, lad. Why don’t ye stay with us? We have a nice little room above the bakery, which ye can have at least till ye find somethin’ better.”
The boy’s whole face brightened. “Really?”
Shangri nodded so energetically that her braids flapped like wings.
“Yes, lad. We’d much enjoy yer company.”
“Thank you. To think that I fell out of the sky onto such a generous family!”
Shangri giggled, hopping over a dog who was fast asleep on the cobblestones.
“Always choose with care who you fall on,” said Promi jauntily. “That’s my motto in life.”
Kermi rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
“I thought yer motto,” said the baker as he elbowed Promi, “was to find whatever pastry’s jest come pipin’ hot out o’ the oven—and eat it.”
“That’s my other motto.” Promi took another bite of the clump of cinnamon buns in his hand. “Especially if the pastry is covered with cinnamon.”
“That’s another spice we don’t have in Greece,” said Lorno through his own mouthful of pastry. “But I’m sure glad to discover it now.”
“You really came all that way to find cinnamon?” asked Shangri.
“Well, it was supposed to be a voyage of discovery,” Lorno explained. “That’s why the ship was loaded with so many of our best scientists, architects, engineers, and inventors. Why, even our captain, Reocoles, is a master machine builder. He told us many times that our goal was simply ‘to find nature’s bounty and make the best use of it all.’”
“Includin’ good pastries,” joked Morey.
“Especially that,” the boy replied. Then, midway through a bite, his brow furrowed. “We just didn’t expect to get lost at sea, run out of supplies, and then almost drown in a huge whirlpool.”
Morey patted him on the shoulder. “Yer here now, lad.”
He nodded. “And I’m glad of that! But I sure do wish I knew how we happened to get saved.”
Shangri shot a knowing glance at Promi.
“Just one of those fluke waves,” said Promi casually, thinking of the watery whale’s tail of the sea goddess. He smirked at the pun, doubting anyone else would get it. But on his shoulder, Kermi groaned painfully.
“Amazin’ things happen sometimes,” added Shangri, giving Promi a wink. “Ye jest never know what’ll happen next.”
“Story of my life,” said Lorno as the group turned down another street, this one lined with windows with colorful flower boxes.
“What was your reason to be on that ship?” asked Promi. “You’re not old enough to be one of your country’s great scientists or inventors, are you?”
“Not at all. My job on the ship was, well . . . not so highly skilled. I was the apprentice to the assistant deck mopper.”
Promi grinned. “You were very good at it, I’m sure.”
“Terrible, actually.”
“So tell us . . . what do you want to be?”
Lorno hesitated. “Well, someday, if I’m lucky, I’d love to . . .”
“What?” pressed Shangri. “What do ye really want to be?”
He took a deep breath. “Well . . . a bard. A storyteller of great fame.”
Frowning, he shook his head. “Trouble is . . . I haven’t found the story I really want to tell. Somewhere out there,” he said wistfully, “it exists, I keep hoping. My one great story. But I don’t have any idea where.”
Shangri sidled up to him and took his hand. “Ye’ll find it, Lorno. I jest know ye will.”
He managed a small smile. “Thanks. And by the way, my name isn’t Lorno.”
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
The baker chimed in, “I heard ye meself say that’s yer name, jest after ye landed on top o’ me.”
“That was then,” answered the boy, “and this is now.” Seeing the bewildered looks all around him, he explained, “Every great writer needs a pen name, you see. And I haven’t found the right one yet. So I keep changing my name, trying new ones on for size.”
Promi laughed out loud. “So what’s your name right now? Quick, tell us—before it changes again.”
The boy, not seeing the humor, said crustily, “It’s Vasto.”
Shangri scrunched her freckled nose at him. “I liked Lorno better.”
“Really? Well, I guess then I could try something else. How about . . . Tello?”
She just shrugged. “Whatever ye like, I s’pose.”
Trying to keep a straight face, Promi asked, “How can you have a name that’s famous and celebrated as a bard if you keep changing it?”
“Someday, I’ll find a name that everyone will remember!” the boy answered. Suddenly, looking confused, he turned to Shangri. “What was that last name I told you? I, um . . . forgot it.”
Kermi, unable to resist a barb, finally spoke up. “Before you find a name everyone will remember, you’ll need to remember it yourself.”
Tello, formerly Vasto and Lorno, blushed almost as red as the awning of the shop they were just passing, a provider of herbs and spices. He ran his hand through his blond curls. “I guess,” he admitted, “you have a point.”
“Kermi always has a point,” Promi observed. “And believe me, it’s never dull.”
The kermuncle’s tail reached up and batted Promi’s ear. “You’re the only one around here who’s dull, manfool.”
“Now that’s another amazing thing about this island,” said the boy. “Animals who talk! We don’t have anything like that in Greece.”
“My sympathies,” grumbled Kermi. “So you have no choice but to listen to people like this manfool all the time.”
Tello winced as he glanced at Promi. “I see what you mean.”
“Oh, he’s just getting started,” Promi said, rubbing his earlobe. “You should see him when he’s not in such a happy mood.”
Though Kermi’s eyes narrowed, he said nothing. He merely blew a stream of bubbles.
Shangri pointed at the bubbles and exclaimed, “I jest love it when ye do that.”
Instantly, Kermi stopped. He turned away and pretended to be sound asleep.
“Here we be,” announced Morey as they strode up to his bakery. “This is where I make all the food ye’ve been eatin’.” He pointed at the floor above the awning. “And that’s yer new home, lad.”
“Thank you again.”
“No trouble,” the hefty fellow replied. “Come settle yerself inside, Lorno—er, no, Totto.”
“Tello. For now, anyway.”
Shangri faced Promi. “Will ye be comin’ in, also? Ye must be hungry for another pastry er two.” Her eyes glowed with their shared secret—and also a look of mischief. “I mean . . . after all the hard work ye’ve done today.”
“You’re referring to that heavy sack I carried up the hill, right?” he replied with an equally mischievous look.
“Right, Promi. What else?”
He grinned. “But, no, as much as I love your pastries, I’m totally full.”
“At least,” added Morey, “fer an hour or two.”
Shangri tapped Promi’s tunic pocket, which she knew held the journal she’d given him. “Guess ye’ll have a few new things to write ’bout after today.”
“Just a few.” He tousled her red hair. “You really do know how to make an amazing picnic.”
Looking up at him, she grinned. “Anytime.”