How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Two

by V. Moody

  “We don’t have to be heroes,” insisted Claire, “we can fight them your way. If they were coming after you, you’d think of something. Just pretend it’s you out there and save yourself. That’s what you’re good at.”

  You had to hand it to Claire, she may not have have been able do magic, but she could cast shame on you like a master-level sorcerer.

  I had actually thought of a possible way to deal with the lizardmen, even before Evil Edna had tried to bewitch me with her Legendary Glare of Guilt. The Book of Beasts had quite a large section on lizardmen. They were pack animals, always travelling in groups of at least five or six, and only attacking if they outnumbered their opponent. They were basically cowards. Or sensible, if you asked me.

  If they felt the situation wasn’t in their favour they would run away. I could relate.

  “Fine. We’ll get involved, even though it’s a terrible idea, but just so you know, if things go tits up, I’m going to run. And trust me, I won’t be the one they capture, I’ve been working out.”

  “Wait,” said Flossie, “you been working out? Why d’you look exactly the same, then?”

  “Maybe he’s not doing the right exercises,” suggested Maurice.

  “Probably the diet,” said Dudley. “Are you eating enough protein?”

  “I’ve seen him eat,” said Claire, “he should have put on at least a little muscle. If he really has been working out, I mean.”

  Everyone’s a critic. “Alright, alright, enough with the in-depth analysis. I thought you wanted to save the frogs.”

  I told them what I wanted them to do. They all nodded and gave me fierce looks of determination, which is what they always did, usually followed by royally fucking everything up. We put down our gear and spread out a little, each holding a bow, arrows lined up on the ground for easy reach.

  I readied an arrow and then yelled as loud as I could, “First archers, ready! Fire!”

  We all fired arrows, one after the other, sending them high into the air. The intention wasn’t to hit anyone, it was just to make it look like there were a lot of us.

  The lizardmen froze when they heard my voice, then panicked as arrows filled the sky. They dived into the water and swam for it.

  I stood up. “Beta team!” I shouted at no one. “Go around and intercept. Leave none alive. Delta squad! Take the other side in case they doubleback. Underwater unit… stay submerged! Alpha team, you’re with me. Charge!”

  I dropped my bow, took out my sword and ran towards the platform. Maurice, Claire and Flossie did likewise, while Dudley continued to shoot arrows into the air. His bow had the longest range so would keep the fleeing lizardmen under fire.

  As we ran out of the grass, screaming and yelling to try and make it sound like there were more than four of us, the frogmen huddled together on the platform. Their expressions changed as we closed in on them, from fear to confusion, to recognition, and then back to confusion.

  As I reached the platform I lowered my voice. “Act scared and play along.” Then I went back to shouting. “These frog bastards don’t deserve to die by steel. Kill them with your bare hands!”

  I dropped my sword and grabbed Nabbo, pinning him to his chair. “You must die!” I had him around the throat and fake-strangled him. His eyes were already popping out of his head, so hopefully that added to the illusion.

  Maurice had the other frogman by the arm while he slapped the air in front of his face. “Take that! And that!” The frogman looked baffled as he watched Maurice fan him. “Pretend I’m hitting you,” Maurice whispered at him.

  The penny finally dropped and the frogman started to move his head from side to side in time with the slaps while making unconvincing noises. “Ooh. Ah. No. It stings.”

  Claire had grabbed the female and was shaking her, while Flossie had the kid. The best way to kill a kid? Smother him in your breasts, obviously.

  “It’s okay, it’s just a game, don’t be afraid,” she whispered as she squeezed his little face into her boobs. Judging by the way he squeezed her back, I’d say fear wasn’t the emotion he was experiencing.

  I took out my dagger and stabbed the chair by the side of Nabbo’s head. “Die! Die! Die!”

  “Easy on the chair, man,” said Nabbo, more concerned about his furniture than his method acting. “They’ve gone.”

  We all stopped and listened. Other than the buzz of instincts and the breeze through the grass, there were no sounds. The arrows had stopped flying overhead and dozens lay on the water’s surface, aimlessly floating about. Nothing else moved.

  “Are you sure?” I asked Nabbo. He nodded at his son who turned and leapt off the platform. He had a stubby body with gangly limbs, but he arced through the air with surprising grace and plopped into the water without making a splash. We waited quietly.

  A few moments later, he returned, leaping out of the water like a salmon and landing on the platform. “No sign of them.”

  We all let out sighs of relief.

  “Thank you,” said the female, all teary with gratitude. “You saved us.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Couldn’t leave you like that. Wouldn’t be right.” I purposefully avoided looking at Claire (didn’t have to, I could feel the death stare just fine) and turned towards the far shore. “Dudley! You can come out, now.”

  Dudley’s head popped up. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of arrows.”

  “That’s fine.” I waved for him to come over. “Hey kid,” I said to the child still attached to Flossie’s chest. “Help us collect all the arrows, will you?”

  The arrows were spread out over the water and slowly drifting away, but they looked undamaged. The kid didn’t seem too keen to be parted from his two new best friends.

  “Aw,” said Flossie, “ain’t he cute?”

  That’s not how I saw it. I think Dad agreed with me. He grabbed the kid and yanked him off, tossing him away over his shoulder. The kid rotated through the air, straightened into a dive, and plopped into the water. He quickly gathered our arrows, probably so he could get back to nestling in Flossie’s cleavage.

  “What did those guys want with you?” I asked Nabbo.

  “Recruiters,” said Nabbo. “They’re gathering soldiers for the war. They’re supposed to find volunteers, but they can be quite persuasive if you refuse. Scum-suckers.” He bent down and picked up his pipe. It was broken in two. “Damn it. This one was my favourite.” He threw it into the water and then snapped off part of his chair, which somehow looked exactly like the old pipe. Within a few seconds, he had stuffed something that looked like moss into it (no idea where it came from, it just appeared in his hand) and lit it with his finger. “Ahh,” he sighed after the first puff, “niiice.” He melted into his chair.

  “You don’t think they’ll come back, do you?” I asked, scanning the shore for signs of movement. It pays to be paranoid, after all.

  “Pfft,” said Nabbo. “Not without reinforcements, and with all the fighting at the border, there’s no one they can call. We’ll be safe for the time being. Man, I think you messed up my chair.” He rocked back and forth trying to get comfortable.”

  Dudley came over, staggering and stumbling as he carried all the bags we had left behind. “Did we win?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We won.” It only really registered once I said it out loud. We’d beaten the enemy and done it without injuries, to them or us. It was hard not to feel a little pleased with myself.

  But overconfidence, as they say, is a slow and insidious killer. And sometimes it isn’t that slow.

  25. Trade Agreement With Nabbo

  The success of our rescue mission put everyone at ease and introductions were made in an air of friendship and mutual respect. Beautiful, right? Two different species, once enemies, now allies, helping each other survive in a perilous world. I can hear violins swelling just thinking about it.

  The truth was our little union made us targets for both sides. If our arrangement was discovered the shit storm that would
rain down on us would be fierce and final. Every silver lining has a cloud.

  Still, we were in the middle of nowhere and everyone else was busy fighting a war, so we at least had time to enjoy a meal. The frogwoman was keen to try out the pots we had brought for her and set to fixing dinner for us.

  Like Nabbo, their names were impossible to pronounce. The magic that let us understand what they said in English didn’t translate their names for some reason, so I decided to give them names. This could be seen as condescending—it’s not very politically correct to try and overwrite someone’s culture with your own—but we needed to be able to call them something.

  “You’re Pitt, you’re Jolie, and the kid can be Suri. That okay with you?”

  The frogmen (yes, I know one of them is female, stop being pedantic) were fine with it, but Claire took issue with my naming scheme.

  “Suri is Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’ kid. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s daughter is called Shiloh. And why are you giving him a girl’s name?”

  “So what?” I said. “It’s just a name. And why do you even know this stuff. You should be ashamed of yourself, you stalker.”

  Of course, trying to shame the Guilt Tripper Supreme got me nowhere, she brushed it off without taking damage.

  The food was amazing. If we could get Jolie to teach us to cook half as good, we could open a restaurant and give up the whole hack ‘n’ slash business for good.

  “She’s an excellent cook,” said Pitt. “It’s why I married her. And of course for her great body.”

  Jolie tittered and slapped Pitt in a flirty way.

  I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but frogmen didn’t wear clothes. So his wife was nude. If you asked me what kind of body she had, I’d probably tell you she had a very nice personality.

  “Do you ever eat humans?” asked Maurice.

  Why? Why would he ask? Nothing good could come of a question like that.

  “No,” sad Pitt. “You people taste disgusting.”

  I really didn’t want to know how he knew we tasted bad. I looked for something to throw at Maurice, but he seemed content with the answer and there was no follow up.

  We stuffed our faces and then set up camp nearby.

  I didn’t want to be too close to the water in case the lizardmen came back, so we found a small clearing about five minutes away and put up our tents. The general mood was upbeat and optimistic. For everyone else, that is. I knew the universe too well to consider this anything else other than a temporary lull in proceedings.

  The next day, Pitt showed us how to fish. While Jolie had been delighted with her pots and pans (the girls had exceeded their remit and bought far more kitchen stuff than I had told them to), Pitt was a bit more wary of the spear I’d had made.

  He inspected it closely, tried biting it, and threw it around to get a feel for it. But once he actually used it to spear some fish, his attitude changed for the better. He landed a giant tuna-looking fish on his first attempt and yanked it out of the water with a big smile on his face. And when a frogman has a big smile, it’s really big.

  “My old spear would have broken on something this big,” he said as he gutted and cleaned the fish with the knife we had given him. His normal tool for the job was a flat stone with a sharpened edge.

  Spear-fishing lessons took the form of him showing me, Maurice and Dudley the correct form and action, followed by us doing a horrible imitation. Pitt wasn’t very patient and used the ‘shouting and screaming’ technique of teaching. Eventually, we managed to throw the spear in a straight line, but the really hard part was being able to hit something other than water.

  It turned out the frogmen had another kind of magic they used to help with fishing. Pitt crouched down and placed his fingers in the water. He made a series of movements similar to those Nabbo used to create fire magic, and the water around his hand began to glow.

  Within a few seconds, fish from around the lake came towards the platform, and then swam in a tight group just to make hitting them easier. Maurice watched this with eyes like saucers, and muttered, “Aquaman!” under his breath.

  We all tried to copy the finger moves, but like with the fire magic, none of us was able to get it to work. We carried on practicing with the spear and slowly improved with Pitt’s guidance. And by guidance, I mean relentless shouting.

  Meanwhile, the girls just sat around chatting with Jolie. Sure, they were learning how to cook, which herbs and vegetables to use, how long to leave it to simmer and all that stuff, but really they were having a good chin-wag. The kid was pretty much permanently attached to Flossie, which Dudley seemed to be keeping a close eye on.

  As evening rolled around, we had caught a number of fish—well, Pitt had, we’d managed to fire a couple of warning shots—and enjoyed another superb meal. As we sat around feeling full and lazy, Nabbo lit his pipe and took a big puff.

  “What’s in the pipe?” I asked him.

  “Pondweed,” said Nabbo. “It grows everywhere. You just have to dry it out and stick it in your pipe.”

  “It rots the brain,” said Pitt.

  “It’s medicine,” said Nabbo.

  “What kind of medicine?” I asked.

  “The kind that makes you feel better,” said Nabbo. “What other kind of medicine is there?”

  “Can I try some?”

  He looked at me through a cloud of smoke, then passed me the pipe. I took a puff.

  I’m not a stoner, but I have smoked weed a number of times. I’ve experienced the crappy stuff where you wonder if it’s really just oregano, and also the alien-looking mutant spores that leave you paralysed with a rictus grin on your face. One hit from Nabbo’s pipe was enough to make me realise I’d never really been stoned before.

  The world got up and left, and a new world sat down next to me. This new world was my friend.

  “The problem with this,” I said while giggling, “is that it makes normal life a lot less interesting.”

  “Easily solved,” said Nabbo. “Smoke weed every day.”

  I passed the pipe to the others who had been watching my transformation from grouch to giddy schoolboy. They each took a nervous toke, and started grinning.

  I sat on the edge of the platform with my feet in the water, watching the fish and thinking about becoming a drug dealer. If the pondweed was easy to collect and prepare, we could make a lot of money. People always want to get out of their heads, and I was sure the people here were no different.

  Imagine being the first person to discover heroin. Sure, there’s some drawbacks and problems with being a drug trafficker, but think of the profit!

  I turned to discuss this amazing business opportunity with Maurice to find I was alone on the platform, which was now bumped up against the bank. When had that happened?

  I looked around. Pitt and his wife were in the water, playing with the kid. Nabbo had probably gone for his bathroom break. I was too relaxed to feel panic, but I was a bit miffed at the sudden disappearance of my party. I stood up to get a better look and saw them in the distance.

  Maurice and Claire were walking away, hand in hand. Dudley and Flossie, also hand in hand, were near them, but heading in a slightly different direction. Two things became immediately clear to me. One, they were going to have sex. And two, it wasn’t their first time.

  As I’ve said before, I’m not the most observant of people. My interest in what other people get up to is limited to whether or not it will inconvenience me. But I really should have spotted the signs.

  Now that I thought about it, whenever we split up to do jobs, they always partnered up the same way. Even when we were staying at the inn back in Fengarad, I only assumed Maurice and Dudley shared one room and the girls the other. They could have been shacked up and banging away for weeks for all I knew, the dirty little sluts. And I mean all four of them.

  Did I feel jealous? I guess so, as much as anyone would. I didn’t fancy either Claire or Flossie, and had never thought about them as a
nything other than mildly annoying, but it’s hard to see people around you happy if you aren’t. It’s just a reminder you don’t need.

  Not that I would want them to stop just to make it easier on me. I’m not the sort of person who thinks my life would be better if other people’s was worse. It’s not like them not having sex meant women would suddenly start throwing pussy my way. It doesn’t work like that. They’d just be less happy and I would be the same miserable me.

  Truthfully, I didn’t have any problem with them shagging. Good for them. Of course, I felt a little sorry for myself, but nothing had changed, really. My life would continue the same, and at least I had weed.

  I sat down in Nabbo’s chair and took another puff on the pipe. Nothing happened. It had gone out. There was always the cooking fire, I could light it off that. I half rose out of the seat before noticing had also gone out. The whole time we’d been here, the fire was always burning, except now. It was just so typical of my life, I couldn’t help but smile.