Chapter Nine: Wherein I have a not so secret meeting.
A few hours later, I sat at a table in The Tumbling Stone. I had been returned by the Royal Guard to the spot in which they found me. I decided to take a nice long visit to the baths, both to clear my head, and because I had not been able to enjoy the whole experience the previous day. Afterwards I arrived at the little pub for some breakfast.
“What will you have this morning,” said the cute serving wench, bending down so that I could look down her blouse. She still had the top two buttons undone.
“I’ll have two eggs. Overcook them until they are like rubber. Give me two sausages, but leave them undercooked, so that they are greasy and nasty and I have a chance of getting trichinosis. Finally, I’ll have two slices of toast. Be sure to burn them until they are almost unrecognizable and then coat them with the most rancid butter you can find.”
“So you want breakfast the way we usually serve it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Right away,” said she, and then turned toward the kitchen.
“Oh,” I called her back. “Perchance have you seen Ellwood Cyrene today?”
“He left early this morning and hasn’t been back yet,” she said.
“Looking for me,” said Ellwood Cyrene, sliding into the seat across from me.
Ellwood wore a simple leather jerkin over a new shirt, along with new breaches and a belt. I leaned over and saw that he was wearing new boots too.
“Where is your short sword?” I asked.
“Still being sharpened,” said he.
“Where is your great sword?”
“Left it in my room.”
“Where are the two daggers you normally keep in your belt?”
“Forgot them.”
“What about the dagger that you keep in your right boot?” I asked.
“I lost it somewhere.”
“You have those throwing stars in your left boot though, right?”
“Got new boots,” said he. “Forgot to move them over.”
“Do you still have the razor in your shirt pocket?”
“New shirt. No pockets.”
“I can’t believe you came out unarmed in this city,” said I. “It’s not safe.”
“I know. If someone wanted to kill me, all he would have to do would be to lean across the table and stab.”
“What an odd thing to say,” said I, pulling out my sword.
Ellwood twitched a little but didn’t say anything, as I leaned across the table and handed the weapon, which is to say the sword, to him.
“You should take this,” said I.
“What are you going to do for a weapon?” he asked.
“Oh, I have plenty of weapons,” said I. “I have my dagger, my slingshot, and my fork. Besides, if someone were to attack us it would be better for you to have the sword.”
“Because I am the better swordsman?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“But that’s what you think.”
“I would not say it thus.”
“But I am the better swordsman.”
“That’s one opinion,” said I.
“Well, at least you didn’t stab me,” said he.
“I would never attack you in such a fashion,” said I. “Even unarmed, you are a fearsome opponent.”
“Better than you, you mean?”
“While I am a great warrior,” said I. “I would never underestimate you.”
“I see.”
“No,” quoth I. “If I were going to attempt to kill you, I would slit your throat in your sleep.”
“Good to know,” said he.
The serving wench arrived with my food and it was exactly like I ordered it. She gave me a wink and then leaned over my friend.
“Anything for you?”
“Some porridge,” said Ellwood.
“Or poison your food,” said I.
“What?” asked both Ellwood and the wench.
“If I was to kill you, I might poison your food.”
“Why would you want to kill me?” asked the girl.
“I would never want to kill you, dearie,” said I. “Run along and get his porridge.”
After she left, Ellwood leaned closer. “Why would you want to kill me?”
“I would never want to kill you either,” said I.
“But you might try to kill me, even though you didn’t want to?”
“I can think of seven instances when I might have to kill you, even though I didn’t want to,” said I.
Chapter Ten: Wherein I contemplate killing.
Interestingly enough, or perhaps whatever the opposite of interestingly is, which is to say uninterestingly, Ellwood Cyrene did not ask me about the seven instances when I might have to kill him even though I wouldn’t want to. We sat silently and ate our breakfast and then drank seven or eight beers. I of course, could think of little else. One of those instances in which I might have to kill Ellwood Cyrene even though I might not want to, would be if he was trying to kill me and I was forced to kill him first in order to save myself. Ellwood is quite relentless when he decides to do something like kill someone. Another instance would be if he were infected with brain worms, which are creatures that go into one’s ear and eat one’s brain, leaving a completely working body but no mind, except for the mind of worms, and worms aren’t all that intellectual as invertebrates go. Another similar case might be if Ellwood became a fungus zombie, which is to say someone who is infected with the zombie mushroom spore, which leaves someone acting very much like a zombie. I would also have to kill him if he were a regular zombie, but as in that case he would already be dead, I do not count it as one of the seven instances. I do so hate zombies, what with all their brain-eating. And speaking of brains, if Ellwood’s brain was ensorcelled, enchanted, or otherwise befuddled, I might have to kill him. Of course I would attempt to lift the curse by using a counter-curse or by killing the mage responsible, but failing that, I might have to kill him, which is to say Ellwood. If his mind was switched by magic into another body and the other body’s mind was switched into his body, I could conceivably have to kill him, and while that would technically leave his mind alive in the other body, I would still have to count that. But then, maybe it wouldn’t still be alive. Maybe if I killed one, they both would die. Who knows? Either way, he would be one hundred percent or fifty percent dead. I wouldn’t want to of course, but if Ellwood were determined to stop me from completing a vitally important task, I might have to kill him. I’m trying to think what vitally important task I might be called upon to make that Ellwood Cyrene might want to discourage me from completing, and I can’t think of anything, but nevertheless it is conceivable. If we were both captured and thrown into an arena or a cage match of some kind, say by the cloud giants or the monkey people, and though two of us had entered, only one of us would be allowed to leave, I might have to kill Ellwood. Oh to be sure, I would wreak such vengeance on the monkey people afterwards that they would cry out to their monkey god to save them from such great carnage and furious anger, and the monkey women would weep and the monkey men would bleed and the monkey children, well, they would be all right, because who could hurt a little monkey child. And finally, even though I did not want to kill Ellwood Cyrene, I might under one other condition—if the Queen of Aerithraine told me to.
“What are you thinking about,” asked Ellwood, pushing himself away from his empty beer mug.
“Monkeys,” said I.
“Monkeys or monkey people?” he asked.
“Monkey people,” I admitted.
“I keep telling you that there are no such things as monkey people.”
“Yes, but you have to admit, it would be such a great title: Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Vengeance of the Monkey People.”
“That sounds more like a sequel title,” said he.
“True,” I agreed. “It could well be a series. “Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Monkey People. Eaglethorpe Buxton and the
Fury of the Monkey People. Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Vengeance of the Monkey People. Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Wrath of the Monkey People.”
“Monkey people seem to harbor a great many anger issues,” said he.
“Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Monkey People Beneath the Planet of the Monkey People?” I offered.
Chapter Eleven: Wherein I eat two slices of pie.
“I have a plan,” said Ellwood. “I don’t want to go over it now, though. I am going up to sleep off this beer. Meet me back here at sundown and I shall go over it with you then.”
“What am I going to do until then?” I asked.
“I am not your mother, Eaglethorpe.”
“What a wonderful idea,” said I. “I shall go visit Tuki.”
“That’s good,” said he. “But just so I get an inkling of how your brain works, how did you come up with that idea?”
“You said ‘mother’. Tuki is my mother’s sister’s daughter.”
“All right,” said he. “The only thing is Tuki is your father’s brother’s daughter.”
“Yes, but she has pie.”
“Good thinking,” said he. Getting up, he walked to the stairway and stomped up the steps.
It was a short walk to the bakery, but as I was less walking and more staggering, it was longer than it might have seemed. The last fifty feet or so was shorter than the first fifty feet or so, as walking the part in between had warmed up my leg muscles enough that my journey became a bit straighter.
“Celia!” I gasped, as I literally ran into my sister inside the bakery, which is to say that I smacked my chin into her forehead and she smacked her forehead into my chin.
“Eaglethorpe,” said she. “How wonderful to see you. Tuki told me you were back in Aerithraine.”
“Tuki never told me you were back in Aerithraine,” said I.
“I never left Aerithraine.”
“You know what I mean,” said I. “She never told me that you were here.”
“Well I just got here. I just came into town to buy a new dress. I brought Tuki some new recipes that mother wanted her to have while I was here too.”
“Which recipes?” I wondered.
“Treacle Treat Pie, Caramel Sorrow Pie, and Buttermilk Bountiful Pie,” said she.
My mother was always wont to give her pies colorful names by adding an adjective or phrase. This did not lessen the flavorful nature of the pies one iota. My favorite pies were her BobAndy Sleepy Pie, her Apple You-Need-a-Shave Pie, and her Boysenberry Get-Your-Head-Out-of-your-Ass Pie.
“I’m staying at The Dodging Serpent,” said Celia. “Can you come by later tonight and see me?”
“I’m afraid I’m busy tonight,” said I.
“Too busy to come and see your little sister?” She stuck out her lip in an expression that only little sisters can muster.
“Yes, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow.”
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow about eight,” said she. “I warn you that I have to get off to an early start though. It’s a full day’s ride to Dewberry Hills.”
“I will be here,” I promised. “Perhaps when this is all over I can ride out to Dewberry Hills.”
“When all of what is over?” she asked.
“Nothing. Business. My business. Business that has nothing whatsoever to do with Queen Elleena of Aerithraine.”
“With whom you once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight,” completed Celia.
“Right. Nothing to do with her.”
“All right Eaglethorpe,” she said. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
My sister left and I stepped into the bakery to figuratively run into my cousin. She was balancing two pies on each arm, ready for Accordia to take them from her and place them on the cooling counter.
“What ho!” I called. “And more importantly, what pies?”
“I have a ginger pie, a transparent pie, a blueberry pie, and a boysenberry pie,” Tuki informed me.
“You know that’s not what it’s called,” said I.
“A Boysenberry Get-Your-Head-Out-of-your-Ass Pie,” she mumbled. “I use your mother’s recipes, but I don’t use her names.”
“I would wager that you would sell more pies if you did,” said I.
“I would take that wager and give you odds,” she replied.
So, I ate a piece of boysenberry pie, after which I ate a piece of transparent pie. This might not seem like a great deal of pie to the average person, but as I had just consumed a large breakfast, I was very full. I was so full that I became sleepy, and having nowhere else to sleep, I made my way back to the stables.
I stopped to say hello to my faithful steed, which is to say my horse Hysteria, before I climbed up into the hay loft for a nap. She was decidedly unpleasant to me, which is to say that she tried to take a bite out of my shoulder. I surmised that this was because I had promised her a carrot and here I was, having failed to bring her one. As I have mentioned, Hysteria is a horse who can hold a grudge if one breaks his promise with her. But I had not promised her a carrot today, but rather a carrot on the morrow, which is to say tomorrow or the day after today.”
“Stupid horse,” said I. “I said a carrot on the morrow, not a carrot today.”
“Would it kill you to bring a carrot two days in a row?” Hysteria asked.
This shocked me somewhat, because in all the time I’d had her, Hysteria had never evidenced the slightest inclination or ability to talk. I took a step back, and as I did so, I discovered that someone was on the other side, which is to say the other side of Hysteria. It was the stable girl and it had been her voice that I had heard, although I suspect that if Hysteria was to suddenly start talking, her voice would not be all that different from the pitch-fork wielding waif.
“I thought you were my horse speaking,” said I. “I suppose it is because your voice has a certain equine quality.”
“Or it could be because you are a drunken fool,” said she.
“Obnoxious child,” said I, turning and climbing up the ladder to the loft. “I am almost completely sober.”
Chapter Twelve: In which I discover strange doings behind The Tumbling Stone.
When I woke it was dark. It wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see at all, because there was some light from the nearby taverns and houses that flooded out of their windows and filtered into the open hay door of the stable, which is to say the door on the second floor of the stable where the hay is loaded into the hay loft. It was however, dark enough that I missed the edge of the hay loft which was filled with nice soft hay and fell to the ground below, which fortunately was also covered in nice soft hay, but alas less fortunately also some rocks.
“Ouch,” said I, in a very manly and heroic way.
As I lay, which is to say not the lay that is the present tense and needs a direct object, but rather the past tense of lie which doesn’t… As I lay there mentally checking myself for injury, I began to recall that there was something I was supposed to do at sundown, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was that I was supposed to do. I remembered telling Celia that I could not visit with her on this evening and I supposed that I might have intended to eat a piece of ginger or blueberry pie. Climbing to my feet however made both my head and stomach begin to swirl around and I decided that I didn’t want to eat a pie just then. Between the beer and my breakfast and my fall and the heady aroma of the nearby outhouse, I had quite lost my appetite. Don’t get me wrong, as I fully intended to eat a pie at a later time. Certainly a ginger pie. You may not know this but a ginger pie is not only good for settling an upset stomach, but it can be a potent aphrodisiac, especially when wielded by a medium plump piesmith with the top two buttons of her blouse undone.
Once on my feet I began checking myself for injury. I had already mentally checked myself for injury, but one should always follow up such an activity by manually checking one’s self for injury, which is to say checking one’s self with one’s hands, which is to say both hands of one person, namely your
self. I was apparently intact, but when I ran my hand over my belt, I realized that I no longer carried my sword. Then it all came back to me—the mysterious woman from the palace, the dangerous man, the meeting at The Tumbling Stone.
I started off at a jog for the nearby tavern, mentally kicking myself for having missed the meeting with Ellwood Cyrene in which he would have explained his plan. I often find myself mentally kicking myself, and sometimes even physically kicking myself, though that is much harder, especially when moving at a jog. I am sure that Ellwood would have had an excellent plan, because in those times in the past when he was the party responsible for planning, such as when we had to rescue the princess of the sky people from the cloud giants, or when we had to stave off an invasion of the Lythian coast by hordes of Vakon-Doon, or the time we had to retake the city of Oordport which had been captured by the monkey people, in all those cases Ellwood had come up with an excellent plan; almost as good as anything I could think up.
The Tumbling Stone was filled to the brim with raucous patrons who were drinking and singing and probably would have been dancing too if there was room, but there wasn’t. The stairway to the upper levels was accessible, but seemed hardly conducive to a secret meeting, as one would have been seen by scores of lookie-looes while trying to ascend.
I grabbed the first serving wench that I saw. She wasn’t the one I had seen on my previous visits and I have to say that this one was not nearly as much to my liking, as she was way too skinny. I asked her if there was another stairway to the upper floors and she told me that there was indeed another one outside in back. Ducking outside, I raced around the building.
Just as I rounded the corner of the building, I saw the stairway leading down from above. It had two landings and reached doors on the second, third, and fourth floors, which is to say the landings were on the second and third floors and the top of the stairs was on the fourth floor. Descending the steps together, arm in arm, were none other than Ellwood Cyrene and Queen Elleena. Though the Queen wore different clothing, most notably a black cloak over an ankle-length traveling dress, there was no mistaking her even in the scant light. Ellwood had apparently returned to his earlier state in regards to carrying weapons, which is to say that his great sword was slung over his back, his two daggers were back in his belt, the other dagger was back in his right sleeve, the fourth dagger was inside his back collar, the knife was in his right boot, and the throwing stars were back in his left. For all I knew, he probably had a razor somewhere on him, though his new shirt had no pockets. In place of his short sword, he had my own blade tucked in his belt.
Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton Page 14
