The Drabblecast

The Tower

Two thousand years ago, in ancient China, there was an emperor who became obsessed with the idea of reaching the moon. The dream had haunted him since he was a child, although he was not sure why. Night after night he would lie awake, staring up at that silver sphere. The more he thought about it the more he wanted it and, because emperors are uncomplicated people, the more he wanted it the more he thought about it.

“Is it not a marvelous idea?” he asked the old First Minister, who had advised him for twenty years.

“Oh yes, Majesty,” said the old First Minister, because First Ministers are good at agreeing with Emperors.

And so the Emperor gave an order that every skilled craftsman and builder in the whole of China be summoned to the Palace, to begin a work of great secrecy. Hundreds of riders were dispatched to the far corners of the kingdom, some travelling for months and months, over mountains and across the Lost Desert. One rider had to sell his horse and journey by boat to the mystical island of Huân across the sea, just to see the message delivered.

Many riders died in the wilds, of heat and cold and animals and worse things. But eventually, they came. They came from every corner of the empire: one thousand builders and carpenters and craftsman of all ages. And they filled the Place of Lamentation from edge to edge, all waiting for the Emperor to explain the mysterious summons.

“The craftsmen and builders are assembled as you wished, Majesty,” said the old First Minister, because First Ministers are good at being the ones to deliver happy news.

And the emperor smiled and began to explain his plan.

At first, the people outside the Palace wondered what was going on. They had seen thousands of workers go in through the big ornamental doors and then never come out again; in that very final sort of a way that discourages curiosity. But after two weeks, they began to see the Tower.

For that is what it must have been. And indeed it was. If they could have peered over the thick Palace walls they would have seen the base being constructed. It was huge: as wide as the Great Temple itself, it filled the Place of Lamentation from edge to edge. Workers scurried over it like ants, hammering, sawing, sanding and doing those thousand and one other little jobs that only builders know to do.

The Emperor watched them from his balcony. Day and night he watched.

And the Tower grew. It grew so high that the craftsmen began wearing thick coats to ward off the chill alpine air. It grew so tall that many died from lack of oxygen. It pierced the clouds so that its progress could no longer be measured from the ground and only the sound of hammering and the falling mist of sawdust gave any hint of the construction going on above. Its shadow swallowed up the nearby town, causing crops to die and people to flee for their lives, until all the lands surrounding the palace lay empty. Up and up and up it went. Then up some more.

And still the builders kept building. And still the emperor watched.

On cloudless nights, he would squint up and see the tiny lights of the workmen’s lanterns right at the top, twinkling like the stars in the sky. Soon even they faded from view, until only his most keen eyed Ministers could spot them.

Then, one day, the workers who had gone up the tower that morning did not come down again.

The Second Minister explained this to the Emperor (the First Minister had come down with a sudden headache that day and taken to his bed) and was impaled on a golden spike for delivering such bad news. The Emperor was furious. He ranted and raved and gnashed his teeth and made all sorts of horrible threats. A battalion of his finest guards marched up the tower with orders to bring back the lazy builders, in pieces.

And up they went. But after a day and a night, nothing was heard from them.

At this the Emperor became very nervous.

“They have reached it,” he told his old First Minister that night. “They have reached the Moon and are learning its secrets! My secrets! They have betrayed me!”

“You must climb it too,” said the old First Minister, because First Ministers are good at spotting opportunities. “You must not wait another minute, Majesty. You must climb it! You must reach the Moon! Imagine the glory that will then be yours!”

“Yes, yes you are right,” said the Emperor. “It is time…”

Only the old First Minister noticed the skinny robed figure climb the tower, noticed it getting smaller and smaller and smaller until the clouds swallowed it whole, in a very final sort of way. The old First Minister nodded to himself, and went back to his study to write some urgent letters.

No-one could find the Emperor after that night, although they searched everywhere. He was never seen again. His son, who was only two at the time, became the new Emperor, as was the custom. His first decree, or so the old First Minister told everyone, was to burn the great Tower. And burn it did; a huge writhing pillar of flame reaching all the way to the stars. The heat was so great that the gold leaf melted off the surrounding temples, oozing down the walls to puddle and congeal on the stones below. Some said it would be seen from heaven. Some said they saw it touch the moon.

That night, as the new Emperor lay sleeping in his crib, doorways to dreams opening behind those tiny eyes, the old First Minister entered the royal bedroom, carrying a strange object. He hung it above the baby’s cot and, with a smile of twenty years remembrance, gave it a push.

The mobile spun. It was a simple thing really: just a sphere that shone like silver.

Shackell, that is a very well written piece. It has all the hooks and nuances of storybooks and fables.

Just my 2c:

I'm left wondering what happened to all the people. So much time is spent building (sorry, pun) up to the point of the disappearances, You finish the end back at the beginning, which is clever and well done, but it almost feels like there is a paragraph missing just before the ending, closing the plot of the missing people.

Thanks for posting!

Another new poster appearing on the scene with a strong piece.

Story had an eerie feeling for me, like I'm thumbing through a Tarot deck, (I find Tarot decks eerie...)

I liked this, but tbaker is right the ending is too abrupt. You had paced it really well until that point.

I like this story! I agree that the ending needs some work. I was left wondering about the "urgent letters" and the First Minister's motivation, but maybe that was done on purpose. It might be more cohesive if the Emperor's son is mentioned earlier in the story; as of now the ending feels tacked on. The final scene, of the mobile, is well done imo.

A few nitpicky things. Feel free to disregard:

-The part when the workers don't come down, and the Emperor is furious, is a little awkward. I think it would be smoother if the Emperor reveals his thoughts ("They're stealing my secrets!") sooner, before we read about exactly how furious he is. I wondered why workers would be considered "lazy" for staying at work.

-I smiled when I read that the tower was a work "of great secrecy", because a ginormous tower sure won't stay secret for long. Maybe "of secret purpose" would be more accurate.

-Any reason why "no-one" looking for the Emperor thought to look in the most obvious place?

I agree with the others. Good story, needs some work on the end.