After dinner that evening, with the sign on the door of the shop turned to ‘closed’, and the lights put out, the three made their way up the creaky stairs to the flat. It was a small apartment: a stuffy living room, kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom which Mr. Lumley had given up for the boys (he now stayed on the lumpy couch with did not help his tender hip). As they entered the flat, the boys requested a story before bed. “Oh please, Mr. Lumley! Tell us a story. You tell the best stories,” said James.
“Yes, Lumley. No one can tell a story like you can! Please tell us one,” joined Alastair.
Now, it was already very late, but Mr. Lumley was somewhat of a pushover, so he agreed. He fixed a lovely roaring fire in the fireplace, while Alastair made a pot of tea and James put on his pyjamas. Congregating together in front of the fire, tea in hand, wrapped in layers of blankets, Mr. Lumley began his story. He did not read it, for he knew it well enough to recite it – even with an ever-fading memory.
The boys listened with wide eyes to the tale the man wove with his words. He told of an ancient battle that took place right outside the very town in which they now lived. He told of a good King who ruled justly over every person in his kingdom. He spoke of the King’s knights – valiant men who protected the people – and of the one who strayed from the King’s orders to seek power and glory for himself. He was called Ogden; he had formerly been the King’s most trusted and courageous knight. Yet there was evil in his heart which gave way to pride and maliciousness that consumed him. His acts of treason and revenge against both the King and his son, the Prince resulted in his exile, along with his small band of followers. In exile, he continued to plot and scheme against the King and Prince, and his group of followers became a powerful force.
And there the old man finished. “But Mr. Lumley,” inquired James, “What happened to Ogden? Did he come back and take over the kingdom?”
“That, m’boy,” answered Lumley with a smile, “I dunna know, for it hasna’ happened yet.”
With that, he scooted the puzzled boys off to bed. As they lay side by side in the rickety bed each was consumed with his own thoughts. What had Mr. Lumley meant by saying that it hadn’t happened yet? Couldn’t he just make up the ending? Both boys drifted off to sleep, creating their own endings in their imaginations.
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