by Robert Evert
Edmund dabbed his lips with a white linen napkin. “That reminds me.” He laid the napkin across his lap and turned to Fatty, who sat on the sofa, an entire cooked chicken clutched in his huge hand.
“Hey, Big Guy?”
With the chicken still wedged in his mouth, Fatty lifted his eyebrows in question.
“Hey, Big Guy,” Edmund said again. “We have to talk about something.”
Fatty pulled the chicken away. His chewing slowed.
“How would you like to learn how to read and write?” Edmund asked him.
Fatty’s expression lightened, and he turned toward them more fully. But then, appearing to have realized something, his eyes dulled. A piece of chicken skin fell from his mouth. Becky snatched it before it hit the ground.
“I think you can learn,” Edmund said. “Just like you did with checkers and everything else. If you really applied yourself and had a good teacher, you’d be reading in no time!”
Fatty’s eyebrows rose a little.
“That’s why I want to bring you somewhere,” Edmund continued. “It’s a couple days’ ride from here, b-b-but, but I think you’ll like it. There’s this monastery with very kind monks who’ll teach you your letters.”
Fatty looked again at Pond and then at Abby, who nodded eagerly.
“And games!” she said. “They’ll teach you how to play lots of games!”
Fatty smiled, showing yellow teeth laced with chicken meat and brown gravy. He grunted in agreement.
“Now … now the thing is,” Edmund said, wondering how to broach the subject. “We …” He motioned to Pond, Abby, and himself. “We won’t be st-staying with you for long. Do you understand? We’re going to be leaving you in, in the good hands of these wonderful monks.”
“But we’ll visit often!” Abby said, smiling broadly.
Fatty looked at Abby and then at Pond, who were both nodding enthusiastically. Fatty’s face slackened.
“They have wonderful food there,” Pond said. “All you can eat!”
The others agreed, praising the food and telling Fatty about how much he could have. But it was clear Fatty wasn’t happy. Getting to his feet, he towered above them. He grunted, face pinched.
“What?” Edmund asked. “I’m sorry, but I—”
Pointing the chicken at Edmund, Fatty grunted again. Partially chewed food fell from his mouth. Becky dashed around him, gobbling up everything before it could be taken away.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” Edmund said. “I don’t understand.”
Fatty’s grunting became shrill. Jabbing the partially eaten chicken at Edmund, he shook his head. Then he stomped his sizable foot and beat the chicken against his own chest, gravy and pieces of meat flying in all directions.
“I don’t think he wants to go,” Abby said to Edmund. “Is that right, Fatty?”
Fatty spit out his food and thrust the remains of the chicken at Edmund. Again he beat it against his own chest, more meat flying through the air. He stomped his foot a second time, grunting louder.
Edmund shrugged. “I’m sorry, Big Guy. I don’t … I don’t understand.” He turned to Pond and Abby. “Do either of you?”
Fatty screeched.
He threw the cooked chicken against the wall, spraying meat and gravy throughout much of the room. Nails clicking on the wooden floor, Becky seized what she could and ran off underneath Abby’s bed, wolfing down the morsels as fast as possible.
Fatty pointed at Edmund then pounded his fist against his own food-covered chest, eyes pleading. But Edmund sat puzzled and helpless.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I don’t know what—”
Fatty drove his finger at Edmund. Eyes filling with tears, he looked desperately around the room, searching for something—anything—to convey his thoughts, until he let loose a hollering sob and put his hands together. Then he opened his hands like he was reading a book.
“You want Edmund to teach you to read?” Abby asked.
Nodding, Fatty fell to his knees, the floor shaking under his tremendous weight. He put his hands together again, begging.
I couldn’t. He’s a moron!
He’s not as stupid as everybody thinks he is.
“Fat … Big Guy,” Edmund said, correcting himself.
Fatty crawled toward him on rotund knees, tears rolling down his rutty cheeks and mixing with the food amassed there. Pond and Abby frowned at Edmund; neither of them envied his position.
“Big Guy!” Edmund said to the wailing giant. “Please! Please! You’re going to, you’re going to draw attention to us!”
Fatty kept screaming.
“Fatty, please! People are going to—”
His shrieks hit even higher notes.
“Okay!” Edmund shouted. “Okay, Big Guy! I’ll, I’ll teach you how to read!”
Fatty stopped crying.
“But … but look,” Edmund said, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this mess. “There are some other things we need you to do first, okay?”
Fatty nodded his head fervently.
“All right, look, Big Guy, it’s just that … well …” Edmund hoped Pond and Abby would jump in and help, but they didn’t. They simply studied their hands and the meat-covered floor.
Then an idea came to him.
“You see, Big Guy, we”—Edmund pointed to himself, then to Pond, then to Abby—“we’re in danger. People, people like that evil woman you saw in the other room … well, they’re, they’re trying to hurt us. They’re trying to kill us. Me, most of all.”
Edmund waited for this to sink in.
“If you keep traveling with us,” he went on, “well, I’m afraid they might try to hurt you, too.”
Fatty recoiled, drawing his hands to his flabby chins.
“That’s right, Big Guy. They’ll try to kill you.” Edmund softened his tone. “You see, we … we really care for you and don’t want to see you get hurt. Do you understand?”
Gravy-covered hands still tucked under his cascading chins, Fatty bobbed his head repeatedly.
“So that’s why I think it might be best if you stayed with these wonderful monks for a while. Just until we finish what we need to do. After that we’ll all stay together like a big, happy family!”
“They can teach you to read, and how to play more games, and give you all the food you want,” Abby added with an encouraging grin. “You’ll be safe!”
Fatty swallowed. He tapped a finger at Abby, made a scary face, and pretended to slash at her with an imaginary sword. His eyebrows rose in question.
“Yes,” Abby said to him. “I’m in danger, too.”
Edmund stared at her, shocked.
She really understands this isn’t a game, and she’s still willing to come.
She only understands as much as she can. She’s a sheltered girl from a wealthy family. She’s practically nobility. She doesn’t know what evil is out there.
Still, she has at least one eye open. That’s more than you had when all of this began.
Fatty pulled his legs beneath his sizable bulk and, using the sofa for support, heaved himself to standing, a strange expression growing across his filthy face. At first, Edmund thought Fatty was going to vomit, but then, standing in front of Abby, the big man pretended to brandish a weapon. He struck an oddly noble pose.
“That’s very sweet, Fatty.” Abby wiped away the chicken and gravy Fatty’s flailing had splattered across her clothing. “But we don’t want you to get hurt. This is our adventure. Yours is with the monks. Learn to read and you can go on all the adventures history has brought us.”
Fatty shook his head and pretended to block Abby from an unseen foe, shielding her with his massive arms.
He might actually be useful if he weren’t so fat.
You were fat.
I was never that fat! He can barely walk a mile without collapsing.
You couldn’t run down the street without doubling over.
Spirits sinking, Edmund eval
uated their options.
You can’t just leave him behind. He’ll end up in the stockades again or worse. He needs help.
I know. But …
While Fatty fended off some imaginary danger, Edmund groaned, hardly able to believe what he was about to suggest.
“Tell you what,” he said, “you can come with us, and I’ll teach you how to read when we have time …”
Grinning, Fatty gurgled.
“But,” Edmund added sternly, “you have to get in better shape, and you need to learn how to use the mace I gave you without hurting yourself or those standing around you.”
Fatty stepped forward and shook Edmund’s hand like he was trying to pump water from a well.
“Glad that’s resolved,” Pond said with some relief. “Now what? What’s your plan? Do you still want to head out at midday?”
“Yes,” Edmund replied, massaging his shoulder; it felt like Fatty had loosened it. “We’ll split up and then meet just outside the city. But we need to do a few things first. What do we have left from the troll’s horde?”
Pond took a bite of steak and mulled over the question while he chewed.
“We still have a good deal,” he said. “I’d say a handful or two of small gems that are cracked or flawed, and maybe three-quarters of a sack of high-quality jewelry and various priceless valuables that nobody around here has the money to pay what they’re worth. Well, except maybe the prince himself. But we couldn’t get an appointment to see him.”
Pond swallowed.
“Plus, we have about ten extra weapons that should go for good prices. And your book. I have no idea how much that’s worth should you want to sell it, too. All told, I’d say we could easily get another forty or fifty thousand gold pieces.”
Abby whistled. “Wow! I didn’t realize adventuring was so lucrative!”
“It isn’t,” Edmund said, deciding what he wanted to do with the tome and the remaining treasure.
He finished his soup.
“Okay. This is what I want you to do tomorrow morning: Find a moneylender who has a safe to rent. We need a place to store the book, and I also want to deposit most of the money. We’ll take a few hundred gold pieces with us, I think, but leave the rest here.”
Becky crawled out from underneath Abby’s bed, waddled over next to Edmund’s chair, and flopped to the floor. Stomach distended, she licked the gravy from around her muzzle and sighed.
“Okay,” Pond said, “but you’ll need to come out with us and sign the papers.”
“No.” Edmund pushed his empty soup bowl away. “Put the money in your and Abby’s names. Pretend you’re married.”
He regretted these words as soon as they left his mouth. He regretted them even more when Abby wrapped her arm playfully around Pond’s elbow. They giggled. Edmund forced himself to look away.
“Anyhow,” he went on, “see if you can trade in one of the swords for something Abby could use. Something short and light: a long knife or a dirk. Anything.”
Still clinging to Pond’s arm, Abby sighed theatrically.
They’re just pretending. Don’t get angry.
But Edmund was getting angry.
“We’ll also need the things we left behind in our original room,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm.
“I can go get them,” Pond said, clearly enjoying having the beautiful young woman resting her head on his shoulder.
Abby fluttered her eyelashes and peered up at him adoringly.
“Good,” Edmund replied, more forcefully than he’d intended. “Why don’t you go get them now.”
Still laughing, Pond stood and squeezed Abby’s hand. Through mock sobs, she begged him not to leave.
They’re just playing. Pond would never—
You would have said the same thing about Norb.
Norb is an ass. Shame on you for comparing the two!
Guilt poured into Edmund, cooling his anger like icy water.
Pond opened the door and blew Abby a kiss. She caught it and held it to her heart.
“Hey, Pond,” Edmund called as Pond stepped out into the hallway. “I’m … I’m sorry about before, about abandoning you and everything. It won’t happen again. We’re family.”
Pond winked. “Until the very end.”
He closed the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After Pond left, Edmund turned his attention to Abby and tried to have the same carefree conversations that she and Pond often had, chatting about everything under the sun. Yet he found it difficult to say things that didn’t sound stupid or contrived. He also couldn’t make her smile or laugh like Pond could. In the end, Edmund resigned himself to merely answering her endless stream of questions about goblins and ogres and the places he’d been while Fatty slunk off with the uneaten portion of Pond’s dinner.
“So they aren’t just stupid, boorish animals?” Abby asked, enthralled.
Edmund had just finished the story about killing the troll by the River Celerin, leaving out the part about the enlargement spell.
“What?” he asked, trying to estimate how long Pond had been gone. At least twenty minutes, he thought. But he couldn’t tell. He kept getting lost in Abby’s dark eyes.
Their original room was maybe fifteen doors down at the far end of the hall; it shouldn’t have taken Pond more than a few minutes to walk there, gather up their clothes and remaining supplies, and walk back.
“So trolls aren’t stupid?” Abby asked again, leaning forward. Her flawless apple-shaped face almost glowed with excitement.
Sitting on the now-soiled sofa, Fatty belched. Edmund could smell the acrid odor from across the room.
“No … no,” he said, compelling himself to concentrate on Abby’s words. “Actually, trolls can be very clever in their own way. And immensely persistent. Single-minded to a fault. Have you ever heard the tale of Sir Henry and the troll?”
Abby leaned in even closer. “No, I haven’t! Please tell me it. I love those old tales with knights and swords and …”
Edmund glanced at the door again. He thought he’d heard noise out in the hallway but decided it was only someone entering a neighboring room. Abby prattled on about how she absolutely adored everything to do with adventuring while the tightening sensation in Edmund’s stomach worsened. He stood, even as Abby talked. Becky, lying next to his chair and gorged from eating nearly an entire roasted chicken, begrudgingly got to her feet.
“What’s wrong?” Abby asked.
Fatty stopped gnawing on Pond’s steak. Shoulders hunched, he peered nervously over at them.
“I’m not sure,” Edmund said, eyeing the door. “Pond should have been back by now.”
“He probably just went downstairs to get another bottle of wine. We drank the last one last night. He was so funny!”
“You wanted me to teach you about being an adventurer.” He buckled on his sword belt. “First lesson is always trust your instincts.”
Edmund drew out an ivory-handled dagger from his boot.
Fatty dropped Pond’s steak to the floor and hefted himself to his feet, the sofa’s frame creaking in relief. He raised his hands to show Edmund he didn’t have anything in them.
“Keep this.” Edmund offered Abby the dagger. “Just in case.”
Abby took it as if receiving a glorious family heirloom. She appeared ready to stab someone right then and there.
“And d-don’t, don’t open the door unless you’re sure it’s either Pond or me on the other side. You’ll know it’s me because I’ll call myself Mr. Cooper.”
Abby’s fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt. “Let me go with you! I can help!”
With Becky by his side, Edmund listened at the door and then opened it.
The hallway was deserted.
He glanced back at Abby.
She held the dagger with grim determination. The weapon seemed to suit her, like it was just another piece of jewelry the youngest daughter of the chief judicial officer for
the Havenar providence would wear to a ball.
“Stay here with Fatty. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, both of you go to the common room and tell somebody you heard a commotion in our old room. Tell them to investigate. Do you understand?”
Finally comprehending what was going on, Fatty stepped in front of Abby, a gigantic mass between her and the open door. A dramatic scowl appeared on his pig-like face.
Abby stepped out from behind Fatty. “But I could—”
“Just do it, okay?” Edmund drew his sword. “Just do what I tell you.”
Fatty repositioned himself before Abby, arms out wide so nothing could get past him.
“And lock the door behind me.”
“Is that really necessary?” Abby said from under one of Fatty’s arms.
“Do it, or you’re not coming with us.”
“Fine!”
Edmund closed the door. A few seconds later, the lock clattered behind him.
He took a deep breath.
“All right, Becky,” he whispered. “Let’s go find Pond.”
Becky scurried about, sniffing, the sounds echoing through the empty hallway. For a moment she seemed preoccupied with some smell outside of Abby’s door. Then, lifting her head, she glared toward their old room. She snarled.
“Shhh.” Edmund stroked her neck. “Stick close.”
Together they stalked down the hallway, through patches of flickering lantern light and past the grand stairwell leading to the common room on the first level. Edmund briefly thought about running for help, but the thought of Pond sprawled on the floor, possibly bleeding to death only a few rooms away, drove him onward.
Their former room’s door came into view. It was closed.
“Okay, girl,” Edmund whispered, short sword at the ready. “Stay quiet, all right?”
They crept up beside the door.
Edmund listened.
Other than the distant rumble of the River Neven thundering its way along the bottom of the gorge, all was silent.
Sounds like the window’s open.
Why would Pond open the window?
He wouldn’t. Whoever’s in there is probably trying to cover any noise they make.
They …
He wondered how many people were in Edith’s “we” and whether they’d have crossbows. Again he considered racing down to the first floor for help but pushed the thought out of his mind.
