The Locksmith of PlentyGood
Copyright ã Spoonful of Dirt Stories 2005. All rights reserved.

Between the majestic mountain peaks of Radovon  was a peaceful valley of green
And in that calm valley sat the town of PlentyGood on the edge of the Frideswide stream
The people of PlentyGood were nice as you would suppose they would be
Working hard on their farms, tending to their goats and their sheep

And once a day, as many that could
Would stroll up the hill of the Yavor tree woods
And there they would listen, as the Yavor trees would sing
The most wonderful songs about the nicest of things

The trees sang at dusk and into the evening
And would still be there singing as the people were leaving
And so it was, as long as anyone could remember
Until one unusually warm day at the end of November

When a stranger appeared at the edge of the town
With a cart full of locks, all rusty and brown
The people gathered around him as his slow voice rattled and sputtered
“Come closer good people” were the words that he uttered

Lifting his hands as he continued to speak
“I am Chernaboke” said the dark figure without even a blink
Then he looked down through his red swollen eyes
At the cart he’d been pushing for so many miles

His bony, pale hands held up a chain with some locks
That rattled and jangled with some horrible knocks
And as a half-crooked smile formed on his face
He said “I sell you two-for-one if you buy these today”

Then the mayor of PlentyGood cleared his throat rather loudly
Choosing his words very carefully but proudly
“We have no need of your chains or your locks
For we trust one another and why should that stop?

Now good sir, you’re welcome to stay and even dine on our food
But the rest of us are headed to the Yavor tree woods”
Then a fury rose up in Chernaboke’s clenched fist
And he crushed the lock he was holding tight in his grip

The people were startled for they had never seen such a thing
Chernaboke mumbled as he started to leave
They all watched as he traveled away down the path
And secretly hoped he would never come back

Then after a bit the crowd settled down
And went up the hill to the edge of the town
Later that night with the town all in bed
Chernaboke snuck back in with evil thoughts in his head

He chained up the people while they slept in their houses
Then he locked up their dogs, their cats, and their mouses
And since he had plenty of chain he could spare
Each member of town was fastened from way over here to way over there

Yes, he used more chain than was needed that dark evil night
A rusty spider’s web crisscrossing from the left and the right
And as he finished, he made his treachery complete
By building a big lock in the middle of the street

The uneven wheels of his cart squeaked as they rolled on the ground
Towards his next victims in the next little town

As the sun arose the next morning and peaked through the clouds
The people awoke to see chains all around
Try as they might, they could not break free
From the chains ‘round their necks, their wrists, and their feet

But the thing that was odd and remarkably strange
Was the length of the links in each person’s chain
For they could walk a good distance before their chains became tight
But they were bound to another way out of sight

For this was the evil that Chernaboke had done
Though they could move around, their freedom was gone
As one moved to the right someone else was pulled left
Each struggled and pulled ‘till they were all out of breath

Some tried to pick locks but the keyholes closed tight
And whatever was used broke off in one bite
As the morning passed in to late in the day
The people soon realized there was no way to escape

Then a girl was heard crying when the clanging died down
“We can not go to the woods if we’re chained to the town”
A hush fell upon everyone as they all became still
Turning to look towards the Yavor tree hill

As the sun slowly set on the town of PlentyGood
The saddest of songs was sung by the woods
The most terrible thing, yes, the worst part of all
Was that nobody heard the trees sing that nightfall

The next morning came, and the next after that
And soon a week had gone by since the horrible act
And with each passing month, it became easier than you’d think
For some to forget about chains and all of those links

They still had shackles tight on their arms
But some people went back to work on their farms
And the goat herders herded, while the sheep herders sheeped
Most people hardly noticed that they were not free

In fact, some began to take such pride in their chains
They polished them over again and again
Their rusty old locks they made shiny with jewels
And taught lockology in the school

Soon they had changed the name of the place
From PlentyGood to ‘Locksville’ for all of the chains
They painted links and locks on all of the doors
And even sold locks in their second-hand stores

They hung chains on their chains; anything that would rattle
And made a lock symbol brand for branding their cattle
But a small group of townsfolk, at night, listened still
To the songs that the Yavor trees sang on the hill.

They would keep their chains quiet while their ears would strain
Each evening to hear of a world without chains
For these were the few that could remember the days
Before all the locks and ridiculous ways

Then one day from out of the East woods came
A man with a beard, a man with no name
He was strong and yet gentle, with a voice like the trees
He said he had come there to set people free

He reminded the village of how they’d lived life before
Spending time in the woods with the trees called Yavor
He spoke of the time before any chains
And how he could help them get back there again

Many scoffed at him saying, “We are already free”
And “what could Locksvillians ever learn from a tree?”
“As far as we know, Yavor trees have nothing to say
We can’t see them or hear them –Now please go away!”

But the stranger insisted, “If you want to be free,
Meet at the big lock in not two days but three”
Then he turned and he made his way through the crowd
Back to the forest at the edge of the town

There was banging and clanging for three days and nights
Such noise from a forest that was normally quiet
Every now and again a moan or a howl
With flashes of light coming down from the clouds

And when it was over, there was a calm in the air
Something was different, what had gone on up there?
Had it been the stranger making all of that noise?
Why did he leave? Where did he go?

After three days he returned on a strong, fierce, white steed,
And clip-clopped to the big lock on the street
His white horse pulled a cart that carried a crate
A box made of fifty-six boards, maybe fifty-eight

From the center of town, where the big lock still stood
The stranger called over the people like he said that he would
But there were still people who didn’t hold his belief
That they were locked up in chains and needed relief

Those people left and went back to their homes
Locking their windows and slamming their doors
The stranger wasn’t angry, he just turned away
And faced the people who had chosen to stay

In the palm of his hand was a small velvet bag
“What could it be? What did he have?”
He reached in ever so slowly, taking his time
Then pulled out a key and held it up high

Now the people that stayed had seen a key before
But that one was different, it was something much more
For it was made from pure moonbeams that had lit up the night
And even in the daytime it still shone bright

Those that were close heard a soft melody
Of the songs from the woods coming out of the key
As the key became brighter, and louder the song
The chains started shaking and so did the ground

The locks started to glow as the music grew louder
Then the chains and locks all turned into powder
The music had stopped as chains fell to the ground
But there wasn’t a noise, only dust settling down

Then the stranger closed his eyes and breathed in a deep breath
And blew like a cold wind out of the west
All of those chains that had just become dust
Blew away on the wind from the stranger’s puff

Then a moan was heard from the box on the cart
And it started to rattle like it was coming apart
“What’s in the crate?” someone yelled from the crowd
But the stranger didn’t answer, he just turned back around

His hand moved steady as he opened the box
And the crowd backed away at the sight, at the shock
Of seeing Chernaboke chained up in there
Just like the chains he had made them all wear

And for those who were near enough to see,
They noticed the lock had no hole for a key
With no keyhole on his shinny new locks
He could never be freed from that rickety old box

And forever he’d be chained, never to leave
The opposite of those who chose to be free
When it was done, yes when it was complete
The stranger fastened Chernaboke to the Big Lock on the street

Then with a wink of his eye, he leaned forward on his horse
And motioned for everyone to follow of course
The people walked behind the stranger up over the hill
And never returned, and you know, never will

But when the wind blows just right you can hear them all sing
The most wonderful songs about the nicest of things