A Matter of Marrows

By the time King Skarl and his entourage arrived large crowd had gathered around the plot of farmland where a giant marrow would typically rest. As their King approached, the peasants whispered to each other in hushed tones. King Skarl’s arrival had replaced their confused anticipation with a subdued excitement. With such a large crowd in the way, there was no way for most people get to the resident farmer’s home, let alone ask him why there was no marrow.

“Quit gawking!” called out King Skarl. “There’s not even anything there!”

The crowd of peasants snapped to attention, and the murmuring was replaced with a breathless silence.

“There’s no marrow today, so what are you all here for?” said King Skarl. “If you need to crowd around something that isn’t there, you can do it anywhere else!”

At their king’s word, the crowd quickly dispersed. King Skarl made his way to the farmer’s home and knocked on the thin, wooden door. The farmer tentatively poked his head out the window. After confirming that the crowd was gone, he opened the door to greet his king.

“Ah! Your Highness! A pleasure as always!” said the Wocky farmer. “What brings ye here today?”

“The same thing as the crowd was here for, I imagine,” said King Skarl.

“Ah. Aye. That.” The Wocky began fidgeting with the feather in his hat. “Well, like yesterday, I couldn’t grow a marrow for today’s game. And I don’t think I’ll have one tomorrow, too.”

“Well, why not?”

“Marrows don’t normally grow as quickly as mine on their own, but I have a little trick up my sleeve.” The farmer rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small, purple-tinted glass bottle decorated with faerie wings.

King Skarl squinted at the bottle and tilted his head. “What is this?” he said. “Some faerie thing?”

“This here’s called Glittery Faerie Dust. I sprinkle a pinch of it on one of me marrows every morn, and it grow in no time flat,” said the farmer. “I can run me game every day, come rain, shine, or storm, whether marrows are in season or not! Or, well, I used to.”

The farmer shook the bottle. The few specks of dust left inside lacked the typical sparkle of faerie magic.

The Wocky continued talking. “Without me marrows, the children of the kingdom will be forced to play inferior games with root vegetables!” The mere thought left the Wocky shuddering helplessly. “Please, Your Highness, I beg of thee, could ye get me some more?”

“Fine. I can pull from the treasury for you, just this once,” said King Skarl. “How much is this faerie dust?”

“Oh, thank you, Your Highness!” said the Wocky. “I think I paid ‘round 12 or 13 million Neopoints for the first bottle.”

King Skarl was left sputtering. “What?! Where?! Why?! HOW?!” The King’s face turned a deep red that was a perfect match for the region’s prized beets. He had braced himself for, at most, a five-figure sum. He had not been prepared for an ordinary peasant to casually admit to having spent more money on one bottle of dust than most peasants would see in their entire lives.

“Old Bessie sold for quite a handful, I’ll tell ye!” said the Wocky, seemingly oblivious to how perturbed his king was. “When I saw the money I got for her, I figured it’d be nice to take a trip to Faerieland’s Hidden Tower and get my paws on the things rich folks like.”

“And what about all the marrows you grew for the game?!” said King Skarl. “Didn’t you sell them?”

“Nay, my liege. I share me harvest with me fellow farmers. The slices I sell from them go back to the prizes,” said the Wocky. “It’s what Old Bessie would have wanted, were only she not a marrow.”

King Skarl grumbled. “Give me a week. I’ll think of something.” He wouldn’t admit it, but the pleas of his countrymen never failed to move him.

“Thank you!” said the farmer. “I’ll go put up a sign, tell everyone I need a vacation for a week.”

Without another word, the farmer rushed to his garden shed. King Skarl returned to his retinue to prepare for the journey back to the castle. A plan had already formed in the grumpy king’s head. It wouldn’t be popular, especially among the nobility, but that did little to bother King Skarl. He would do what his kingdom needed.

And so, from that day forth, a new wealth tax was implemented in the Kingdom of Meridell: the infamous Marrow Tax. Whenever the Wocky’s bottle of Glittery Faerie Dust started running low again, King Skarl would personally collect the funds needed for the next bottle, collecting from the nobility, any visitors from Brightvale, or, in a pinch, whoever happened to be nearby. The tax was kept percentage-based, both to keep it fair for everyone and to avoid further burdening the peasant. The kingdom would never know of the marrow crisis, and Neopians everywhere would complain about the seemingly-erratic tax, but King Skarl didn’t mind. Being a good king didn’t always mean being seen as a hero.