Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton

by Allison, Wesley

  “Come on girl,” I urged. “We are going east and we are not stopping until we reach the end of the world.”

  Chapter Twenty: Wherein I recount the last details of my story.

  I traveled the East Road through the Fallen Lands. The Fallen Lands, once home to a number of thriving kingdoms, are now made up of small regions ruled by local warlords, with an occasional city-state. Despite this description, the road was far from lonely, as it was filled with merchants and trade caravans making their way to Aerithraine and Catolan in the west and Goth and Theen in the East.

  Only a week after I left Shoopshire, I stumbled into a little roadside inn, halfway between the towns of North Shinbone and Goblin’s Bluff. I was tired and well into my third tankard of ale, when the local innkeeper introduced the great story-teller Eaglethorpe Buxton. Before I could stand up and accept my just accolades, which is to say the appreciation of the soon-to-be audience, another fellow launched into The Story of the Queen of Aerithraine.

  This fellow, while a decent story-teller was no match for the genuine Eaglethorpe Buxton. He also looked a bit like me, I confess, though not nearly so handsome. He was tall and well-built, with brown hair, but with only a half an ear on the right side. I am not one to cast aspersions on those suffering partial ear disfigurement, as I once had half of my own right ear bitten off by a goblin. Fortunately I had mine sewn back on. This fellow was not so lucky. That night, when the story-telling was done, and the false, half-eared Eaglethorpe Buxton left the inn, I was waiting in the shadows, dagger drawn.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, grabbing him from behind and placing my blade against his throat.

  “I am Eaglethorpe Buxton,” he replied.

  “All the country knows the name of Eaglethorpe Buxton and it knows that he is not one to suffer imposters and fools, and it knows that you are not he. You are an imposter.”

  “You may rest assured that I am not,” said he.

  “You cannot be Eaglethorpe Buxton.”

  “Why can’t I be? If anyone can be, why not me?”

  “Just look at me!” I exclaimed, spinning him around and sticking the point of my dagger in his nostril.

  “Eaglethorpe Buxton?”

  “Exactly!” I cried. “Hey, wait a minute. Don’t I know you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I am Cleveland Normandy of Oordport. You once cut off half my ear.”

  “That doesn’t help me,” said I. “I have cut off lots of parts of lots of people.”

  “I was engaged to the lovely actress Megara Fennec, whose real name was Megara Capillarie.”

  “Oh yes. I remember. So what have you to say for yourself? Why are you stealing my name and notoriety?” I pulled my dagger from his nose, wiping the blade on his shirt.

  “Well, Megara didn’t want me. So I set out to make a name for myself. It just never worked out.” His shoulders slumped and he sort of deflated. “Then one night I told a story—one of yours, and everyone loved it. So the next time I told it, I said I was you, and the people loved me, and they gave me money and free beer.”

  “Yes, story-telling is a lucrative career choice,” I said. “But it is immoral to steal a man’s name.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” he squeaked.

  “No, I am not going to kill you. I am going to let you go. Which way are you going by chance?”

  “I was going to Aerithraine, eventually,” he replied.

  “Good,” I said. “I am not only going to let you go, but I am going to let you go on being me. Go on to Aerithraine and I will guarantee you that you will make a great deal of money telling the Story of the Queen of Aerithraine, especially at a tavern called The Winking Wench.”

  And so one Eaglethorpe Buxton headed west and a better Eaglethorpe Buxton continued east. It was only three weeks after encountering the false Eaglethorpe, that I was camping beneath a small hill, when a young woman ran into the light of my fire. Despite her tear-streaked face and her hysterical condition, I immediately recognized her as the serving wench Eventually.

  “What is the matter?” I asked.

  “It’s Rex! He’s right behind me!”

  And sure enough, no sooner had she stepped behind me than a raging werewolf ran from the darkness into the firelight, hissing and snarling like a Virian leopard. There was no way that I could reach my sword, as it was sitting on my saddle, which was at Hysteria’s feet, which was on the other side of the fire from me, which is to say out of reach. Fortunately, I had just finished a crabapple pie, and while the pie was not wholly satisfactory especially in regards to the crust, I did have my fork in my hand.

  As the creature leapt at me, I stabbed it right in the throat. It gasped and wailed and wheezed most hideously, but finally crumpled to the ground and died. A moment later, it transformed back into the farmer that I had once seen through the gap in the wall with Eventually, which is to say that the farmer had been with her and not that the gap had.

  “Poor Rex,” moaned Eventually, stepping up from behind me. “Without his potion, he had no control over the beast within him.”

  “Few of us do,” I said prophetically, stooping down to recover my fork. “This does make eight times that I have killed a werewolf with this very fork.”

  It took me two more months to cross the continent and reach my ultimate destination. I had many adventures and saw many sites along the way, but nothing prepared me for Goth. A huge city, fully the rival of Illustria, Goth is a port to ships from every far away land you can imagine. The temples, the forums, and the theaters are all wonderful to see of course, but none of them can match the Goth Raree.

  The Goth Raree could be described as a tavern, the way the great Skagarack glacier could be called an ice cube. On a huge stage, hundreds of topless dancing girls paraded back in forth, while below, hundreds of tables hosted games of chance. All the time, just above their heads, a completely naked elven girl twirled on a trapeze. Around the edge of it all are balconies on each floor; the higher one goes, the smokier, the warmer, and the more exotic the activities.

  I sat on the fourth floor balcony, my feet propped up on the table, a pipe of fine tobacco in one hand and a stein of frothy ale in the other. Across the table from me sat three serving wenches, who listened in rapt attention to my story. They all had dark chocolate hair, plump plum lips, and smoky eyes—and rings in their noses, as is the custom in the east. They were all pleasantly plump. While their blouses had no buttons, it made no difference because the material was completely sheer—it was so sheer that as I stared at their bosoms, it sometimes seemed they were staring right back at me.

  “So you left two women standing at the altar?” asked the left-most wench, whose name I remembered was Voluptua.

  “No,” I replied. “I left three women standing at the altar—one in Shoopshire, one in East Knucklewick and one in West Knucklewick.”

  “So what happened to Eventually?” asked the center-most wench, whose name I recalled was Curvatea.

  “I left Eventually at the town of Hapmanny. As far as I know, she is still there, working the tavern as a serving wench.”

  “So where did you pick up this fellow?” asked the right-most wench, the prettiest of the three, who went by the name of Gorgea. She pointed a slender, well-manicured hand at my companion.

  “We ran into each other in Theen,” said I. “We have been good friends for many years, but had not seen each other in a while.”

  My companion nodded and picked up a recently filled stein of ale.

  I handed the girls a fist full of sovereigns.

  “It’s getting late. Bring us some brandy, some chocolate pie, and some oil so that you may rub our feet.”

  The three of them scurried off, giggling.

  “Women may come and women may go,” said I.

  “But brothers in battle are forever,” completed my companion, once again raising the frothy stein. “Here’s to us.”

  “Indeed,” said I. “Friends and brothers forever—Eaglethorpe Buxton an
d Ellwood Cyrene.”

  The End

  Appendix I: Wherein I present the complete play The Ideal Magic for your appreciation and enjoyment.

  The Ideal Magic

  A Play in One Act

  By Eaglethorpe Buxton

  Presented here in its entirety:

  Characters:

  Myolaena Maetar, Court Magician of Aerithraine

  King Justin, King of Aerithraine

  Queen Beatrix, Queen of Aerithraine

  Sir Thomas, Knight of Aerithraine

  Sir David, Knight of Aerithraine

  Sir Reginald, Knight of Aerithraine

  Britomart, Lady Knight

  Prissus Draco Noventus, Possibly a dragon

  Phoebe, Queen’s Lady in Waiting

  Krabbi, Apple Seller

  Luna, Serving Wench

  Bud, Flower Seller

  Mack, Fishmonger

  Penny, Cutpurse

  Waiting Women, Chorus

  Knights’ Girls, Chorus

  Citizens

  (In front of Aerithraine Castle. Present are Krabbi, Luna, Bud, Mack, and citizens.)

  Krabbi:

  Apples! Apples! Get your apples here!

  Mack:

  Fish! Fish for Sale! Fresh Fish!

  Bud:

  Petunias! Carnations! Red, red roses!

  Krabbi:

  We are the vendors who sell in the marketplace,

  Mack:

  Here in the city, the jewel of the world,

  Bud:

  We do our best to put on the best place,

  Krabbi:

  Here in the city known as Illustria,

  Mack:

  Where fortunes are made and banners unfurled.

  Bud:

  I peddle my flowers to all with a spare coin,

  Krabbi:

  I sell my apples to young and to old,

  Mack:

  I sell my fish for a silver or gold coin,

  Bud:

  He’ll gladly take a brass penny,

  Krabbi:

  His fish are a week old.

  Mack:

  We’re growing rich in the market, rich and quite fat,

  Bud:

  The people are thronging along the city streets,

  Krabbi:

  No one goes hungry, can you imagine that?

  Mack:

  I love Illustria, the capital of Aerithraine,

  Bud:

  It’s a marvelous city where everyone eats.

  (Enter Penny)

  Penny:

  (Aside) Not everyone eats, Merchant. For every fat street vender there are four hungry brats with no silver or gold, or no brass penny neither. There are those of us who beg in the streets and there are those of us who skim the sewers. Then there are those of us who take what we can…. (picks pocket) Pardon me. I am off to reap what the merchants have sown. (Exit)

  Krabbi:

  Apples for Sale! Nice Apples! Not a worm in sight!

  Mack:

  I could use some worms. Fish are gettin’ so they don’t bite on corncobs no more.

  Krabbi:

  Here, help yourself. I’ve worms a plenty. The whole crop this year is wormy.

  Mack.

  That’s a good lad. Are you ready to sup, Krabbi. They’ve a mutton stew at the Angry Rooster for three pence.

  Krabbi:

  I’m for it, Mack. (Exit Krabbi and Mack. Enter Myolaena.)

  Enter Myolaena.

  Myolaena:

  (Aside) It’s a lovely day in Illustria, the jewel of Aerithtraine, nay the very jewel of all Celestria. The people are happy. The kingdom is prosperous. The king sits well upon his throne…

  Luna:

  I’m just a serving wench out for some fresh air,

  I’ve spent all the night in the tavern down yon’,

  It’s such a delight to sit here in the fresh air,

  No fighting with pipe fumes from dusk until dawn,

  I’m just a serving wench out in the morning air,

  My world is the tavern, the rogues, and the ale,

  I somehow can’t see why the world is so bright,

  It makes my life seem somehow oh so pale,

  I’m just a serving wench, but I am so much more,

  I sing and I dance and I play a mean lyre,

  If a kind man could find my heart’s door,

  I would gather his hearthstones and light his fire.

  Myolaena:

  (Aside) They young maid is lonely. She needs someone. (Wiggles her finger at Bud).

  Bud:

  (To Luna) A flour for you, Luna. No charge.

  Luna:

  Thank you. It is a pretty thing, isn’t it?

  Myolaena:

  Ah,yes. Love is the ideal magic. But the lass isn’t saying what she truly feels. (Wiggles her finger at Luna)

  Luna:

  Oh you sweet thing! (Jumps on Bud and kisses him) I love you Bud! Take me away and let’s be wed.

  Myolaena:

  There you see magic. But it is a small thing for me. I am Myolaena Maetar, the court magician— sorceress thaumatageur, prestidigitator, diviner, seer, mystic— I am spellcaster, mage, conjurer, and necromancer. I am all that.

  I am she who keeps the kingdom running well. I am she who keeps King Justin on his throne. I bring prosperity and fair weather. I am all that.

  I can read minds! I can shape creations of matter and energy. I can brew potions of love or hate or death. I can let you fly through the air, or stew in your own juices. I can summon up the wise men of all the ages, or the most horrifying monsters. I am all that… and a bag of chips.

  I should be openly acknowledged as the mighty ruler I am. I should be Queen. But though I am not, I have cast my spells and laid my plots. I am like the spider in the center of a vast web. And I will devour my prey, after my own fashion.

  (Exit Luna and Bud. Enter the Waiting Women. They step forward to deliver their lines as a chorus)

  Wait’ Women:

  We are three maids who wait on the Queen,

  She’s the sweetest sovereign the world has yet seen,

  Though she has one pain that many speak of,

  The King and the Queen have never known love.

  We wait and we pray for we know our duty,

  We must take care of our majestic beauty,

  This duty is clear and our faith is too true,

  But until true love comes there is nothing to do.

  The Queen hails from Goth, a land far away,

  But we lover her so, and wish her to stay,

  The people adore her, as do her sons,

  Of riches and wealth, you know she has tons,

  If only the king would wake up and take notice,

  He’d see that beside him sits a true Venus,

  Though none can say where angels have been,

  Angels are nothing when they’re next to our Queen.

  (Exit Waiting Women. Enter Phoebe)

  Phoebe:

  Queen Beatrix calls for you, Sorceress.

  Myolaena:

  Am I the Queen’s serving woman, that she calls for me thus? Am I the Queen’s lacky?

  Phoebe:

  You are the Queen’s subject and are at her command.

  Myolaena:

  I am the Sorceress Supreme! I could change that woman into a newt.

  Phoebe:

  The Queen is protected by powerful magics and cannot be so affected.

  Myolaena:

  True. But you are not. (Phoebe looks scared and exits quickly.)

  The wench is correct. I cannot simply eliminate the Queen. But what if the King’s eye should wander in my direction? Can one refuse a King? Nay! I have laid plots and spells. Now I go to answer the wretched Queen. (Exits)

  (Enter Knights’ Girls)

  Knights’ Girl 1:

  (Dreamily) Did you see Sir Reginald? He is to die for!

  Knights’ Girl 2:

  (Dreamily) He touched my arm when he shoved me out
of the way.

  Knights’ Girl 3:

  How about Sir David?

  Knights’ Girl 1:

  Just leave me alone with him and a can opener!

  Knights’ Girl 2:

  Keep dreaming girl. He likes me better.

  Knights’ Girl 1:

  He likes me more!

  Knights’ Girl 3:

  Well, he likes me almost as much as he likes himself.

  Girls 1&2:

  Really?