Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton

by Allison, Wesley

  Just inside the door, a heretofore unnoticed juggler had dropped the small, round, wooden objects that he had been quietly juggling and all three were rolling across the room.

  “A pox upon inept jugglers,” said I, climbing back to my feet.

  “We need two rooms,” said Percival to the barkeep.

  “You shall have the best rooms in the house,” the barkeep replied. “I am innkeeper, as well as the barkeep. I’ll see that your things get taken up.”

  “Perhaps the second best rooms in the house would be adequate,” said I.

  “Do not worry, my friend,” said Percival, dropping a pair of large gold coins on the counter. “I have more money that I shall ever need.”

  “Perhaps it’s best not to shout that,” said I. “There are many who would gladly slit your throat in the night, or for that matter in broad daylight, for only a few coins.”

  “Really?” he answered. “How extraordinary! Come! Let us see if we can find some of these fellows.”

  He turned and strode out the door. I hurried to catch up to him. I stepped out into the bright daylight, shading my eyes from the sunny onslaught.

  “My balls!” a shrill voice shouted right beside me.

  Startled, I jumped and tripped over the wooden step. Since I was protectively cupping my crotch with both hands at the time, I was unable to stop my fall right into the horse trough. I spat out a mouth full of tepid, green water and looked around. A boy was running across the street, chasing after a pair of kickballs. I could only imagine that in Ennedi, wretched place that it is, they played some variant of the sport with which I was unfamiliar, because when my cousin Tuki and I played kickball, we used only one ball.

  “A pox upon shrill children,” said I. “A pox upon errant kickballs and a pox upon this horse trough and a pox upon the horrible land of Ennedi.”

  Chapter Four: Wherein I change clothes and eat eggs and other things happen but not to me.

  “You seem stressed, Eaglethorpe,” said Percival Thorndyke, helping me climb out of the horse trough.

  “I don’t know how that could be,” said I.

  I stood in the street, dripping wet, which is to say that I was dripping wet and not that the street was dripping wet, although that portion of the street on which I was standing was becoming more and more wet as I dripped upon it.

  “Stand in the sun and dry off,” suggested Percival.

  “That will never work,” said I. “In this humid air, I will be wet all day.”

  “Why don’t you go to your room and change your clothes?”

  “I don’t want to leave you to wander around by yourself,” I explained. “You seem anxious to get into some kind of mischief or other.”

  “Nonsense,” said he. “It is unlikely I’ll manage to get myself killed in such a small and uninteresting outpost of civilization.”

  “Will you wait right here for me, while I go up and change?” I asked.

  “Certainly.”

  I took him at his word and stepped back into the inn, where I was directed to the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. Here I found a very nice room with a large bed covered by a straw mattress, and upon that, my duffle bag and saddlebags. I had brought two changes of clothing including a very nice shirt given to me by my cousin Gervil’s friend Rupert. Rupert’s real name is Sally, but he has preferred the name Rupert as long as I can remember. This shirt was a sort of peace offering which I am sure Rupert hoped would make me forget that he bit me on the back of the neck last time I was visiting. I was not mollified at all, because though Rupert possesses relatively few teeth, they are very sharp and ought not to be employed during kickball games anyway.

  I dressed in this new shirt, a dry pair of pantaloons, and a pair of clean wool stockings. I dried my boots off to the best of my ability with my spare nightshirt, but when I put them back on, the wetness still seeped through my new socks. Reattaching my belt and checking that my weapons were secure, I skipped back down the stairs and out the door, only to find that Percival Thorndyke was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh bother,” said I.

  “Can I help you there, love?” asked a sultry nearby voice.

  I turned to find one of the local street doxies leaning against the front of the inn. She was not unhandsome, despite being heavily painted. The dark circles under her eyes said that she had been up all night and it was already well past mid-day. Her mussed hair said that she had been busy at her profession for a good while too.

  “Greetings, my crumpled flower,” said I. “Did you happen to see a young fellow standing in this vicinity? He is about yeah high and about yeah wide and has light brown hair and a wispy little mustache and goes by the name of Percival Thorndyke.”

  “I don’t deal in names myself,” said she. “Don’t see much profit in them. But I did see a handsome young lad here a few minutes ago…”

  I stared at her for a moment before remembering myself, and then I fished a sixpence from my purse and tossed it to her. She leaned forward and the coin flew right into her cleavage.

  “He was heading behind the blacksmith shop,” she said.

  “Thank you, my soiled dove,” said I.

  I found young Percival in the alleyway behind the smithy, standing over three bloody corpses, which is to say the bloody corpses of three men, or former men if you will, for they were now dead.

  “I found the ruffians of whom you spoke, Friend Eaglethorpe,” said he.

  “What happened?”

  “They tried to rob and murder me,” he replied, shaking his head sadly. “Alas, they were not very good at it.”

  “Some men are just not determined enough to achieve success,” quoth I.

  “Oh, they were determined enough, I guess. They just weren’t skillful enough.”

  “Well come along back to the inn with me,” said I. “I shall buy you a stiff drink to calm your nerves.”

  “My nerves are fine,” he replied. “Killing a man hardly elicits any response at all in me, and even killing three isn’t enough to excite my nerves appreciatively. I’ve killed one thousand one hundred fifty two… fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five… 1,155 men.”

  “Hmm,” said I. “I am sure that I have killed three times that number, but I have not kept track of it. In any case, come along back to the inn with me and you can buy me a drink to calm my nerves.”

  Five minutes later we were once again in the taproom on the lower level of the inn, this time seated at a table near the window. My young friend, which is to say Percival, threw the barkeep a few more coins and he provided us with a pair of copper cups and a bucket of beer.

  “What is the possibility of getting something to eat?” he asked the proprietor. “I could do with three eggs, scrambled on porridge.”

  “I didn’t know you were from Brest,” said I, for this is just how the people of Brest eat their eggs.

  “I’m not really,” he said. “But they do have good taste in breakfast.”

  “It’s hardly time for breakfast,” said I. “It’s nearly time to supp.”

  “I enjoy breakfast for supper,” he explained.

  “I can fetch you a scrambled egg,” said the barkeep, “but a single egg here in Ennedi will be enough to feed three hungry men.”

  “The chickens here must be very unhappy,” said I.

  “They are,” said a voice from the door. I turned to see the doxy with whom I had previously spoken. “They are also nine feet tall.”

  “Here’s our third,” said Percival. “Come and breakfast with us. Barkeep, another cup!”

  I jumped up and pulled out a chair for the woman, for never let it be said that Eaglethorpe Buxton doesn’t know his manners where a lady is present, even if she is a lady of the evening, as it were.

  “Thanks,” she said, as she took the seat. “With a ship coming in this morning, I’ve had to be on my feet for almost 36 hours, figuratively speaking. Literally speaking, I was either lying down or leaning over most of that time.” She tur
ned to Percival. “I suppose breakfast is the least you can do for me. One of the men you killed was my husband.”

  “I suppose you will want retribution,” he said eagerly, leaning across the table toward her. “Perhaps you have a poisoned dagger, or a poison hairpin, or you could slip poison into my beer. In any case I’m sure poison would be appropriate.”

  “He wasn’t worth the trouble,” she said.

  “No wonder so many marriages are in trouble nowadays,” said Percival, leaning back with a disgusted sigh. “Nobody takes the time anymore.”

  “And what is your name, my trampled meadow?” I asked our new companion.

  “Ugra,” she answered. “Ugra Trenchwater.”

  “Beautiful,” I said. “Truly a beautiful appellation.”

  “Of course Trenchwater is my married name. Now that I’m a widow, perhaps I will go back to my maiden name.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Flimsdottir.”

  “Not an easy choice,” said I.

  “Your egg is on the way,” called the barkeep.

  I felt my shirt pocket and found it empty.

  “What is the matter, Friend Eaglethorpe?” asked Percival.

  “It is nothing. I just remembered I haven’t a fork with me.”

  “One day on our voyage from Illustria,” he said, “I did spy you on deck and thought that I saw you throw an object very like a fork into the sea.”

  “You must be mistaken,” said I. “I am not wont to throw away silver.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Ugra. “A silver-throwing man is my favorite kind of man.”

  I was of course lying, for I had done just as Percival described. I had thrown the fork given to me years ago by the Queen of Aerithraine into the sea. The Queen of Aerithraine, to whom I had freely given so many years of devotion had turned out to be a liar and a sneak and sometimes a man. She had played me, Eaglethorpe Buxton, for a fool, and I had vowed to have no more of her, or her manly alter ego Ellwood Cyrene. I would eat my eggs without a fork, if I had to.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” asked Percival.

  “Eggs.”

  “Here are your eggs,” said the barkeep, setting a pile of golden scrambled eggs the size of a child of four before us, along with all the necessary utensils.

  I picked up the copper fork and sighed, remembering the fork now rested in the briny deep, which is to say the sea. That fork was a most excellent fork, with very sharp tines and detailed scrollwork on the handle around a stylish E. But no more.

  “Eat up,” said Percival, taking a bite of eggs. Then he turned toward the retreating barkeep. “How about some salt and some hot sauce, perhaps made with unknown and untested jungle plants or maybe jellyfish?”

  “Friend Percival,” said I. “Being the world’s greatest storyteller, I sense a great story in you. I mean to hear it, in between large forkfuls of eggs, of course.”

  “Very well,” said my young friend. “Perhaps it is time that I got this off my chest.”

  Chapter Five: Wherein I hear the story of Percival Thorndyke.

  Percival took a long drink from his beer and began his tale.

  “My grandfather was the famous knight, Sir Reginald of Thorndyke. I am sure you have heard of him.”

  “Indeed,” said I. “He plays a small part in my play The Ideal Magic.”

  “I would like to see that play,” said he.

  “Alas, it is unlikely that the play will ever again be performed. The primary antagonist proved very antagonistic, using magic to turn all the actors into pigs.”

  “How were they?”

  “Delicious,” said I.

  “I meant, how were they in the play.”

  “Passably good.”

  “Anyway,” he continued. “My father being an only child, inherited my grandfather’s land and titles. He became the Earl of Thorndyke and married my mother, who was a princess from Goth. I was my father’s seventh issue, or at least, so my mother told him. Having four older brothers and two older sisters, there was little chance of me inheriting much of anything, but it didn’t bother me. My eldest brother Erol became Lord Ray, and would eventually be Lord Thorndyke. My other brothers trained for the clergy, the navy, and the army respectively. My eldest sister was married off to a nobleman from Lyrria. My younger sister became a nun. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. They sent me off to serve in the city guard at the capital. I think they rather hoped I would be killed and save them the trouble of finding a place for me, but they did promise me a match with a noblewoman. I wanted nothing to do with it however. I knew who I wanted to marry—my sweet Daphne.”

  “Daphne is a lovely name,” said I.

  “Yes,” agreed Ugra.

  “Daphne was a milkmaid who lived on a farm near our castle. I first saw her when I was four years old. I was out playing soldier and found her picking flowers. She was a year older than I was and I was immediately smitten. From that day onward, we were never far apart from one another. I hurried to her farm after my studies to help her with her chores and then we wandered off into the country—playing games, picking fruit, swimming in the creek. As she grew older, she grew more and more beautiful. I couldn’t have been more devoted, and she loved me too. When I went off to Illustria, I promised I would return and marry her and she promised me that she would wait for me.”

  “What happened to her?” asked Ugra.

  “Perhaps she died of smallpox,” I suggested.

  “No,” said Percival.

  “Plague,” said Ugra. “Was it the plague?”

  “Scarlet fever,” I suggested.

  “Whooping cough,” offered Ugra.

  “Typhoid,” said I.

  “No,” said Percival. “The truth is far worse than any of those things.”

  “Then how did she die?”

  “She didn’t die. When I returned to Thorndyke, I was told that she had moved away. I was sure that she was sent away. It took me days to find any information about where she had gone and with whom. I had to torture… um, question more than a dozen people, but at last I found out she had been sent to live with a farmer near the border of Brest. I traveled east and eventually found the farm. During the night, I snuck in and woke her. I told her I was there to take her away. She screamed and told me to stay away from her. She was in love with her farmer and was carrying his child. She told me that she had never loved me and was glad to finally be rid of me when I had been sent away.”

  “What a cold, miserable bitch” said Ugra. “And trust me, I know cold, miserable bitches.”

  “What did you do?” I asked. “You didn’t kill her in a fit of rage, did you? I would understand if you did, though I will probably have to change that when I write the story.”

  “No, I didn’t kill her.”

  “What about him? Did you kill him? That would be understandable and could work well in a story. People would probably even like that part.”

  “I did think about it,” said Percival. “But no, I didn’t kill him either. I just left. And since then, life just doesn’t seem worth living. So far though, neither man nor god has gone out of his way to help me end this.”

  “My husband tried to help,” said Ugra.

  “His heart was in the right place,” said Percival. “Alas, his sword was not.”

  “Cheer up, Friend Percival,” said I. “Someday you will find a new woman—someone worthy of your love and devotion.”

  “I will never love anyone like I loved my Daphne.”

  “I’ll tell you what lad,” said Ugra. “I’m going up to your room and wait for you. When you’re done eating, you can show me how you loved her, on the house.”

  She left the taproom and started up the stairs. Percival and I sat eating eggs in silence. After ten minutes he spoke up.

  “Why don’t you tell me the story of The Queen of Aerithraine?”

  “No, I don’t tell that story anymore,” said I. “To be sure, you would enjoy it if I did tell it. Y
ou would be filled with wonder and excitement, for a truer story, a better story, a more profound story, and a more profitable story simply does not exist. But I don’t tell it anymore. It just depresses me.”

  “I understand,” he stood up, his shoulders slumped in disconsolation. “Well, I’m going to my room. I don’t suppose Ugra is planning to kill me in my sleep, do you?”

  “I don’t think so,” said I. “But maybe she has syphilis.”

  “Yes,” he said, his face immediately brightening. “Thank you Eaglethorpe.”

  Chapter Six: Wherein I buy supplies.

  I don’t know if Percival spent a pleasant night that night or not. If he did, I’m sure he was not too happy about it. I know how I spent the night. I spent it sweating and being bitten continually by mosquitoes. It is no fun at all to be bitten continually by mosquitoes. Believe me I know. In fact, I am something of an expert on being bitten. I’ve been bitten by spiders, horses, goblins, friends of cousins amidst kickball games, sharks, monkey people, and once by a young queen… never mind.

  The next morning I found that my wet clothes from the previous day were still not dry. I dressed once again in the clothing I had changed into, which is to say the new shirt given to me by Rupert, a dry but now worn pair of pantaloons, and a pair of slightly less than clean wool stockings. Slipping on my boots, I trundled down the stairs, which is to say hopped down the stairs in a sort of rolling motion, like a trundle, which is to say a wheel. Two doors down from smithy, I found a dry goods and equipments store, which I entered.

  “Good day, Sirrah,” said a gnome, sitting on a barstool puffing away at a pipe.

  “Are you proprietor?” I asked.

  “Indeed,” he said, taking off his pointed red hat and scratching his bald head.

  “Well, I have many things that I need to purchase.”

  “Read them off,” he said. “I’ll have my assistant, Theodorius, began gathering them together.

  “I need a shovel, a pick, a gold pan, a backpack…”