FORGETFUL FRED

The richest man in the land, even richer than the king, was Bumberdumble Pott. He lived in an enormous house with forty-four rooms, and he had nine cooks, twelve housemaids, four butlers, sixteen helpers, and a young man named Fred who did everything that was left over.

Fred was good-looking and bright, but he was very absentminded. This was because his head was full of music. When he should have been thinking about his job, he was thinking of songs instead, and when he should have been working, he was playing on his flute. If Bumberdumble Pott said to him, “Fred, throw out the rubbish and hang up my coat,” Fred was just as apt to throw away the coat and hang up the rubbish.

In spite of this, Bumberdumble liked him and so did everyone else, because he was merry, kind, friendly, and always polite.

One day, Bumberdumble called together all the servants in the great hall of his house. Standing on the staircase where everyone could see and hear him, he said, “As you all know, I am the richest man in the land.”

Everyone nodded. They knew.

“You might think I’d be very happy,”

Bumberdumble continued, “but I’m not. There is one thing I’ve wanted all my life, and that is the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction. When I was young, I could have gone to find it but I was too busy making money.

Now I am too old to make the journey. But if one of you will go and get it for me, I will give him half my wealth so that he will be as rich as I am.”

Everyone thought that over. At last, the youngest of the butlers said, “Where is the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction?”

Bumberdumble looked worried. “I’m afraid it is a long way off,” he admitted. “It is beyond six mountains and six sandy deserts, beyond the Boiling River and the Grimly Wood. And it is guarded by a Fire Drake.”

“A Fire Drake? What’s that? Something like a dragon?”

“Worse than a dragon,” said Bumberdumble gloomily. “Much worse.”

“Well,” said the youngest of the butlers, “I can’t go.

I have to finish my job polishing the silver.”

“I can’t go,” said the chief cook. “I have a wife and four children.”

“I certainly can’t go,” said the oldest housemaid. “I have a sore knee.”

And the more the others thought about the distance and the difficulties and the Fire Drake at the end of it, the more they thought of reasons why they couldn’t go.

But finally, Fred said, “I’ll go.”

“You?” everyone cried.

“Why not?” said Fred, cheerfully. “I haven’t any wives or children, I’m healthy, and you can always hire someone else to take over my jobs.”

“But you’ll forget where you’re going before you’ve gone a mile,” said the chief butler, with a chuckle.

“I will give him a map,” said Bumberdumble. He came down the stairs and clapped Fred on the shoulder. “Bring me back the Bitter Fruit, my boy, and you will be richer than a king.”

The next morning Fred set out. He had a knapsack of food on his back, his flute in his pocket, a staff to lean on, and twenty gold pieces in his purse. He also had a map showing where the Bitter Fruit was, and Bumberdumble had hung around his neck so he wouldn’t forget to look at it.

Fred traveled for a whole, long year. He climbed six high and rocky mountains, almost freezing at the tops of them. He tramped across six sandy deserts, almost dying of thirst. He crossed the Boiling River by going to its narrowest place and jumping from one slippery stone to another.

And one evening, he came to an old dark house that stood on the edge of a vast dark wood. He was very weary, hungry and tattered. His money had long ago been spent. He felt as if he could go no farther.

He knocked at the door, and it was opened by a pretty girl with blue eyes, black hair, and a smudge of dirt on her nose.

“Good evening,” said Fred, politely, and then he dropped his staff and would have fallen, but the girl caught his arm and helped him into the house.

There was a bright fire burning and a good smell of cooking in the air.

The girl sat Fred down at the long table and put a bowl of soup in front of him. While he ate, she sat down opposite and watched him.

“You’ve come a long,” she said.

Fred told her who he was and where he was going.

“And I have no idea how to take the Bitter Fruit when I find it,” he said sadly, “or how I shall escape the Fire Drake. But if you will let me stay here until I’m rested, maybe I will think of something.”

“This isn’t my house,” said the girl. “It belongs to the Witch of Grimly Wood. She’s at a witchery meeting now, and while she’s away you may certainly rest here and get your strength back. But when she returns, I don’t know whether she’ll let you stay, for she is the stingiest person in the world.

Perhaps you can pay her in some way?”

“All I have is some music,” said Fred. “What’s your name?”

“Melissa,” said the girl.

“Then I’ll play you some special Melissa music, by way of thanks,” said Fred.

He put the flute to his lips. His music was like the clear calling of summer birds at evening. Melissa listened and sighed. That night, Fred slept on the floor in front of the fire. The next day he rested and played his flute and told stories about his travels and made Melissa laugh. Working for a witch, she didn’t get the chance to laugh very often. She was a good cook and fed him well, and she thought she had never liked anyone half so much.

The following morning, she said, “I am going to help you. I have three gifts my father gave me before he died, and I’ll lend them to you. Maybe they will help you get the Bitter Fruit.

She brought out a pair of red slippers, a hat with a feather in it, and a sword.

“These,” she said, “are the Shoes of Swiftness, the Cap of Darkness, and the Sword of Sharpness. The shoes will make you run swifter than an arrow, the cap will make you invisible, and the sword will cut through anything.”

“Fine!” said Fred. “If I’m invisible, maybe I can steal the Bitter Fruit. If not, maybe I can kill the Fire Drake with the sword. And if that fails, I can run like anything.”

At that moment they heard a noise outside.

“It’s the witch,” said Melissa. “Don’t say a word to her about where you’re going or how much Bumberdumble is going to pay you. She loves gold more than anything.”

The door swung open. In came a puff of cold gray air, and with it the witch.

“Aha!” she croaked. “A stranger! Who are you, and what do you mean by sitting in my kitchen and eating my food!”

“My name is Fred,” said Fred. And then, being absent-minded, he promptly forgot about Melissa’s warning. “I’m on my way to get the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction,” he said. “When I take it back to Bumberdumble Pott, he will give me half his gold and I’ll be richer than a king.”

“Is that so?” said the witch. “I know where the Bitter Fruit is-it’s just the other side of the Grimly Wood. I’ll get it and give it to Bumberdumble Pott and collect the gold myself!” She spun round on her toe, jumped on here broomstick, and shot out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Quick!” cried Melissa. “The shoes!”

Fred pulled on the red slippers. He leaped up and off he ran. But not very far.

He had forgotten to open the door. Thump! He ran head-first into it and knocked himself flat.

He struggled up, rubbing his head. “I told you I was absent-minded, didn’t I?” he said.

“Never mind,” said Melissa. “I’ll show you a short cut. With the magic shoes, you can still get there first.”

She led him outside and showed him a secret path among the trees. “This will take you straight through Grimly Wood,” said she, “to a high hedge of thorns.

On the other side of the hedge is the Bitter Fruit.”

The Shoes of Swiftness carried Fred along the path like a flash of light from the eye of a lighthouse. At the high thorny hedge he drew the Sword of Sharpness. One-two, he slashed, and made a hole large enough to get through.

On the other side, there was a glass table.

On the table stood a silver tree with one small, dry, brown fruit hanging from it. And behind the table was the Fire Drake. It was scaly and slithery, bigger than a dragon and twice as fierce.

Fred snatched out the Cap of Darkness and put it on his head. But he was so busy looking at the Fire Drake that he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, and he put it on backwards. At once, everything disappeared. Everything but Fred. He couldn’t see the Fire Drake or the glass table or the tree. He couldn’t even see the ground. It looked as if he were standing on nothing in the middle of nothing.

But he could still feel the earth under his feet. In a panic, he dropped to his hands and knees.

It was the best thing he could have done, for at the same instant the Fire Drake blew out a sheet of flame.

It would have crisped Fred up like a piece of burnt toast if it had touched him, but it went right over him.

“Oh,” he groaned. “If only I weren’t so absentminded.”

He reached up and turned the Cap of Darkness around on his head. Now he could see everything again, but he was invisible. He got shakily to his feet.

He could see the Fire Drake looking this way and that in puzzlement. He tiptoed over to the silver tree.

The fruit was gone.

He understood what had happened. While the Fire Drake had been shooting its flames at him, the witch had sneaked up and stolen the fruit.

Fred ran back through the Grimly Wood to the witch’s house. There was the witch, just packing her suitcase for the long broomstick flight to Bumberdumble’s house.

“Stop!” yelled Fred.

With one chop of the Word of Sharpness he cut her broomstick in two.

The witch snatched a handful of ashes from the fire and threw them into the air. They settled over Fred and then she could see him, like a faint gray shadow.

“So it’s you, miserable wretch!” she screamed. “I’ll turn you into a piece of waste paper and throw you away.”

She began to mumble a wicked spell.

“Stop her!” cried Melissa. “Use your sword!”

Fred lifted the sword. Then he lowered it again. “I can’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t be polite.”

The witch raised her hands. The spell was ready.

“Then cut the ground out from under her,” snapped Melissa.

Fred whirled the sword. He sliced away the floor under the witch’s feet. Down she fell.

Under the floor there was a bottomless well. The witch fell into it and that was the end of her.

Fred removed the Cap of Darkness and dusted himself off.

He handed the cap, the shoes, and the sword to Melissa.

“Thank you,” he said. “But you know, I forgot something.”

“What?”

“The Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction. I forgot that the witch was holding it. She is still holding it, wherever she is.”

“What a shame,” said Melissa.

Fred scratched his head.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “If you will marry me, I would really rather have you than be richer than a king.”

So they settled down in the witch’s house-after fixing the hole in the floor-and they were happy together. And since Fred could play as much music as he liked whenever he liked, he was never absentminded again except once in a while.

As for Bumberdumble Pott, if he never got the Bitter Fruit, at any rate he remained the richest man in the land, and that was better than nothing.