The king consented, and issued an order at once to the navy to prepare for a voyage an old rotten ship, to provision it for six years, and man it with fifty sailors, the most dissolute and bitter drunkards. Messengers ran to all the dram-shops and drinking-houses, collected such sailors that it was dear and precious to look at them. One had a black eye, another had his nose driven to one side.
As soon as it was reported to the king that the ship was ready, he sent for the sharpshooter and said: “Now, Fedot, thou art a hero of mine,—the first shot in the company. Do me a service. Go beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom. In that place is an island, on that island lives the deer with golden horns. Take it alive, and bring it to me.”
Fedot became thoughtful, knew not what to answer.
“Think, think not,” said the king; “but if thou do not the work, I have a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders!”
Fedot wheeled round to the left and went forth from the palace, came home in the evening powerfully sad, not wishing to utter one word.
“Why dost thou grieve, my dearest?” asked his wife. “Is there some mishap?”
He told her all.
“This is why thou art grieved. There is reason, indeed; for it is an exploit, not a service. Pray to God and lie down to sleep; the morning is wiser than the evening: everything will be done.”
The sharpshooter lay down and slept. But his wife opened her magic-book, at once two unknown youths appeared before her and asked: “What dost thou wish? What dost thou need?”
“Go beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom, to an island; seize there the deer with golden horns, and bring it here.”