Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton

by Allison, Wesley

  While I was thus engaged, fighting the golden wyvern, I notice that Bella, the young female centaur had joined my side, and having no weapons of her own, she reached down and grabbed a handful of diamonds from the ground, throwing them at the wyvern. Even though they hit it on its golden armor, it flinched and then backed up for just a moment. Making good use of the moment of respite, I whipped off my belt to use as a sling.

  “I don’t believe a belt will be flexible enough to use as a sling,” said Percival.

  “Why do you keep interrupting when you are dead?” I asked. “Besides, slings are often made of leather.”

  “Yes, but it is supple leather and not the thick, firm leather frequently used by belt-makers.”

  I whipped off my scarf to use as a sling.

  “Seriously?” he asked. “You had a scarf in the muggy, hot, insect-infested, horrible land of Ennedi?”

  “Do you think I could have torn a piece of my shirt sleeve to use as a sling?”

  “That at least sounds as though it is within the bounds of possibility.”

  I tore a piece of my shirt sleeve and quickly fashioned it into a sling, and picking up a handful of diamonds, I began to use the sling to launch them at the wyvern’s face. It took me several tries but eventually I hit the beast in its left eye, blinding it. This emboldened me and I took to launching more and more of the hardest objects on earth at the monster’s face. Eventually I hit its other eye, and while I don’t think that this time I actually put the eye out, it was enough that the wyvern wanted no more of me, and turning, it flapped away in escape.

  “I don’t know if I consider myself to be truly avenged,” said Percival.

  “What do you mean avenged?” I wondered. “You are not even truly dead.”

  “According to your story I am. Here I am dead, with my head bitten off no less, and have you killed the beast responsible? No. You let it get away.”

  “I did put out its eye,” I pointed out.

  “Well, that hardly makes up for an entire head, does it?”

  “Being blinded in the left eye is quite a hardship. Imagine going through the rest of your life, not being able to see anything coming at you from your left. Not to mention the fact that it will be made fun of by the other wyverns, who like school children, are very cruel to one another.”

  “Still it doesn’t seem quite enough, does it? I’m just saying…”

  Leaving Hysteria and Susan in the care of Bella, I took off after the wyvern, which as it was flying, was no small feat. Fortunately I was able to follow its trail of blood all the way back to its lair, a cave in the side of the hill. I found the half-blinded creature hunkered down in absolute terror of me, and I quickly finished it off, by chopping through its serpentine neck, decapitating, which is to say cutting off its head, just as it had done to my poor friend Percival.

  “Are we happy now?” I asked.

  “That’s much better,” said Percival.

  Chapter Nineteen: Wherein I make my return to Something.

  After chasing away the wyvern, or hunting it down and killing it, depending on which version of the story draft I am now on, I returned to bury my friend. Using my sword, I was able to dig a surprisingly deep grave in the soft, moist soil of the little valley. After placing Percival’s body in the ground, minus his head of course, I piled up a covering of small stones upon it. The stones were of course, all solid gold. Thus poor Percival found himself in possession of a tomb to rival the kings of old.

  Bella was of course, beside herself with grief, which is to say that the was not standing beside a duplicate of her own body but that she was so stricken with grief that she was inconsolable. I tried to point out to her that she was now undoubtedly the richest centaur in the world, but she didn’t care.

  “I know you are inconsolable about poor Percival,” said I. “But at least now you are undoubtedly the richest centaur in the world.”

  “I don’t care,” she replied.

  “You don’t mind if I…”

  “No, go ahead,” she replied, puckering up her lips.

  “Um no, not kiss you. I was going to start picking up gold and diamonds.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  I emptied out my saddlebags, which had contained mostly my dirty laundry, and began to refill them with gold and diamonds, which is to say one pocket on one side with small gold nuggets and the other pocket on the other side with diamonds of any size I could find. I had them only partially filled when I looked up and noticed that Bella had produced her own sack and was filling it with as many riches as it would hold.

  “I thought you didn’t care,” I pointed out.

  “I don’t. But since I have to live my life without my Percival, I might as well live it rich rather than poor.”

  “That is good thinking,” I agreed. “Will you go back to the herd?”

  “No, I have no wish to see them ever again. I am going to go live among the humans. Perhaps I will find my brother. They say humans are more accepting than centaurs. If you have enough money, I hear, anyone can be accepted into their civilization.”

  “I have always found that to be the case.”

  By the time we had finished becoming the richest man and the richest centaur, if not in the world then certainly in the awful land of Ennedi, it was growing dark. I had collected not only enough gold and diamonds to fill my saddlebags, but my duffle, my backpack, four burlap sacks, and every pocket that I had, and I happily used one of the burlap sacks as an expensive but somewhat less than comfortable pillow that evening. Where there are trees, even miniature ones, there is bound to be dead wood, and sure enough I found some lying about. Within a few minutes I had a splendid little campfire going, which was only spoiled by the fact that we had nothing cooking above it. We passed the night lost in our own thoughts, which is to say not talking but no doubt thinking.

  We were quite hungry the next morning, and had in fact, scarcely any food at all on our way north to the port town of Something. We traveled for six days, but eventually returned to what passed for a bastion of civilization in Ennedi. It was exactly as it had been upon my departure—like it was about to fall over, except for the stable, which was still in quite good repair.

  It was here we stopped first.

  “Ahoy! I need to stable my horses!” I called when we stepped inside.

  “Of course you do,” said the voice from in back.

  Seconds later, Hercule the centaur stable master stepped out into the light. “Why else would you come to a stable if not to stable your…?”

  His voice trailed off when he saw my companion, which is to say the female centaur who accompanied me.

  “Who are you?” he asked her.

  “My name is Bella,” she replied. “And you are Hercule. You are my great uncle.”

  “Notwithstanding the fact that this is a touching family reunion, I would like to stable Hysteria and Susan here for a few nights. At least until the next ship on its way to Aerithraine arrives at the dock.”

  Hysteria snorted as if to say “don’t forget about a good rub-down and some fine oats.”

  “And they need a good rub-down and some fine oats.”

  Susan rolled her eyes as if to say, “I could certainly use some fresh water.”

  “And they need some fresh water,” said I.

  “Don’t worry, Eaglethorpe,” said Bella. “I will see that Uncle Hercule takes good care of them.”

  I took my saddlebags and walked two doors down to the inn, where I secured a room for the night. I was quite hungry, and had been dreaming of a nice fish and chips—and not mud fish or muck fish or slime fish. So taking a walk down to the dock, I found the local fishmonger’s stand.

  “I want a nice fish to take back to the inn,” I told the fishmonger. “I will have the cook there fix up some fish and chips.”

  “I have plenty of mud fish,” he said.

  “Speak not to me of mud fish,” quoth I. “And if you mention muck fish or slime fish, so help me, I sha
ll run you through!”

  He stood silently, no doubt unsure whether he should promote some other type of fish or run away. I pointed to a large fish on the back of his cart.

  “Is that not a sea bass?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied. “It is a tuna.”

  “Are they good to eat?”

  “Indeed.”

  I reached into my pocket and withdrew two large gold nuggets, which I handed to him.

  “Filet that tuba for me…”

  “It is a tuna,” he said, but then looked at the gold in his hand. “Or tuba. It’s just as good a name. I will have it filleted and sent to the inn right for supper.”

  “Oh no,” said I. “You will filet it now. I won’t have you switching it out for some other less desirable amphibian.”

  “As you wish,” he said, taking a large knife to the creature.

  He cut off the head and then slit it down its belly. Then he reached in and pulled out the guts, and when he did so, something bright and shiny came out with them. He held it up for me.

  “It’s your fish, so this rightly belongs to you,” he said.

  I took it and looked at it in wonder. It was my own fork, given to me so many years ago by the Queen of Aerithraine herself. As I ran my fingers over the very sharp tines and detailed scrollwork on the handle around a stylish letter E, I couldn’t help but fondly remember two beautiful, nicely oiled, if somewhat on the small side, breasts.

  Chapter Twenty: Wherein I explain what I did with all those riches and note the other details which might be of interest to the reader.

  You can buy a lot of things with gold. Everyone knows that. If you have a little gold, you can buy a hat with a feather in it. If you have a little more, you can buy a carriage pulled by a beautiful white horse. If you have a little more, you can buy a farm with a pen for your pigs and a field for your onions. Everyone knows that. What you probably didn’t know was that if you have an obscene amount of gold, which is to say the amount of gold that you would get if you sold one entire pouch of a saddlebag filled with diamonds, you can buy your very own title and be Lord Dewberry, with your own castle and lands, your own army of four courageous knights or five average knights or seven cowardly knights, and twenty-three servants, most of whom don’t pee in your food. And that’s what I did.

  I was forced to wait at the inn in Something, Ennedi for a ship from Aerithraine, or a ship from somewhere else that was going to Aerithraine rather than wherever it had originally come from, or a ship that was from anywhere that might be going anywhere that was not Aerithraine but where there might be other ships that were going to Aerithraine upon which I could make a connection, which is to say getting off of one ship and onto the other ship. As it turned out, I had to wait four days for a ship that both had come from and was going back to Aerithraine. Once there I enjoyed myself in the capital for some months before becoming Lord Dewberry and moving into my castle in Dewberry Hills.

  “Perhaps you could replace the large fancy D on the door, with a large fancy EB,” I told the carpenter, as we looked at my new front door.

  “This is the worst story you’ve ever written,” said a voice from behind me.

  I turned to find a cloaked and hooded figure. After sending the carpenter on about his business I turned my attention back to the newcomer.

  “This is even worse than that one with the monkey people,” said the person beneath the hood.

  “And who are you to be intruding upon Castle Dewberry?” I wondered.

  “It is me—Ellwood.”

  “Who?”

  “Ellwood.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t think I know you,” quoth I.

  “It’s me, Elleena.”

  “Elleena who?”

  “Queen Elleena.”

  “If you are truly who you say you are, then say it right.”

  “Sigh. It is I, Elleena Posthuma, Queen of Aerithraine, Guardian of the Faithful, Protector of the Realm.”

  “Say it all,” I said.

  “With whom you once had the pleasure of spending a night of passion.”

  “That’s better,” I relented. “So what were you saying?”

  “This story is ridiculous. It’s even more ridiculous than that one about the elven princess or the one you made up to cover up the fact that you burned down most of Illustria.”

  “What is it you find so ridiculous?” I wondered.

  “Just how am I supposed to have become Queen of the Amazons?”

  “I imagine you killed the previous queen in some sort of mortal combat, probably with knives—both of you oiled up nicely and facing off in an arena, surrounded by screaming and mostly naked Amazons. She was a fierce and wily foe, but she was no match for you, who are both a dreaded and feared warrior-queen and a dreaded and feared adventurer and mercenary warrior. You cut her throat and painted your face with her blood and screamed out triumphantly in victory as you stood over her fallen corpse.”

  “Well, that part sounds okay,” admitted Ellwood/Elleena. “I do love killing and blood and if the occasion seems to warrant it, screaming. But why would I be in the muggy, hot, insect-infested, horrible land of Ennedi in the first place.”

  “Like me, you were looking for gold. It is said there are riches just lying around on the ground to be picked up.”

  “But I am the Queen of Aerithraine. I have more gold than anyone else in the world. I have so much gold I don’t even know what to do with it all. I have three toilets that are made of solid gold, and the brush that the servants use to clean those toilets—it’s made of gold too. Why would I leave the continent of Duaron to hunt for more gold in Ennedi, when I have plenty right here?”

  “You probably forgot,” I suggested.

  “I forgot I was rich?”

  “Why not? You frequently forget that you are Queen Elleena of Aerithraine. How else can you explain the thousands of times when you told me your name was Ellwood Cyrene.”

  “Oh for the love of all that is good and wholesome, are you on that again?”

  “You told me that your name was Ellwood Cyrene and that you were a man and that you didn’t love me.”

  “Eaglethorpe, I never…”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Eaglethorpe…”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Dewberry.”

  “Yes?”

  “Lord Dewberry, I never said that I didn’t love you.”

  “You love me like you love a brother?” I offered.

  “No.”

  “You love me like you love apple pie?”

  “No Lord Dewberry, I love you like you love Boysenberry Get-Your-Head-Out-of-your-Ass Pie.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have it! You went to Ennedi to gather gold, because if you let someone else gather bagfuls of gold and you didn’t, the resulting drop in world-wide gold prices would have lessened the value of your fortune and perhaps you would have had to sell one of your gold toilets. There, everything makes sense.”

  “It may make sense, Lord Dewberry,” said Ellwood/Elleena. “But it is still one great lie.”

  “Did we not share a night of passion?”

  “Um, yes we did.”

  “And do I not have oodles of gold?”

  “Yes you do seem to have a great deal of gold of late.”

  “And did I not become Lord Dewberry.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it is all true.”

  “Except that Percival Thorndyke is alive. I saw him just the other day. He has a farm just north of the capital, where he and Bella live. They have three children—two cute little centaur daughters and a human baby boy. And before you say it, he isn’t a zombie or a vampire or any other kind of undead. So how do you explain that?”

  “Um… he was switched with a doppelganger… an evil doppelganger took his place that time while I was asleep and it was he who was captured by the Amazons and then killed by the wyvern. Poor Percival Thorndyke wandered in the humid, h
orrible land of Ennedi, until he was rescued by a kindly … um giraffe, who guided him to the edge of the port town of Something, where he was reunited with Bella. They sailed north to Aerithraine, bought a farm just north of the capital and lived happily ever after.”

  “Oh good grief,” said the cloaked and hooded figure, turning and walking away.

  And I, Eaglethorpe Buxton, Lord Dewberry, sat at the end of my great table, filled with roast pork, fresh vegetables, and all manner of fine food, which is to say the table was filled with roast pork, fresh vegetables, and all manner of fine food, and that later I was filled with roast pork, fresh vegetables, and all manner of fine food. I propped my feet up on my very expensive tuffet and leaned back enjoying a slice of fresh apple pie, right from my own kitchen, baked by my own servants. It was so good; you could hardly taste the pee.

  To be continued…

  Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Day of the Night of the Werewolf

  Chapter One: Wherein I travel the roads of Brest.

  The days in Brest were growing very short. It was already getting dark, though it was not yet five of an evening. The long shadows cast all afternoon by the trees on either side of the road were melding into a single impenetrable blanket. It hadn’t snowed yet and indeed was not yet cold enough, but one could already feel the biting chill on the wind as it swept down across the rolling hills and wooded meadows on its way from the Skagarack.

  I tugged my hood around my face and pulled my cloak up tight over my shining steel armor. In the gathering gloom, the cloak’s brilliant crimson, for the last six months the official color of the House of Dewberry, looked almost black. It was emblazoned with my new coat of arms—white on red, with a reclining wyvern, a bar sinister, and a pie rampant. In case you did not know, a bar sinister is a bar coming from the left, which is why it is called a bar sinister, because left is the most evil direction.

  My noble steed Hysteria was decked out just as I was. She wore bright steel barding, which is armor for horses, over which she wore a skrim sheet, which is a sort of cloak for horses, which was the same crimson as my cloak and featured the Dewberry coat of arms on either side of her flank. She didn’t care much for the barding, as it added a good hundred pounds to the weight she carried, but she quite liked the skrim sheet, as Hysteria was a rather vain horse.