Before I could get to the fifth item on the list, a young centaur came clopping out of the back room carrying a shovel and a pick. From the waist up, he appeared to be a man of about twenty-five with red hair and the beginnings of a red beard. From the waist down he was a chestnut horse with a dark tail. He glared at me as he threw the tools on the counter and then went and pulled a backpack from a peg on the wall.
“Continue,” said the gnome.
“Um,… fifty foot of rope, two waterskins, a lantern and two bottles of oil…”
I tried not to look at the centaur as he gathered the items I listed off. I didn’t want to see. But it was like a wagon wreck—one of those big wagon wrecks when one wagon runs into another and both are full with heavy loads. It was like one of those wrecks when the teamster is tossed from his seat and the wagon wheel runs over his head, popping it and spraying out its contents like a boil, which is to say a pimple. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help yourself.
“… a bedroll, a hammer, four burlap sacks, a flint and steel…”
Oh! There! The centaur turned to grab a hammer from a bin. I didn’t want to look, but I did. And I saw it! He was like the stable master. He was a eunuch, which is to say a gelding. My stomach roiled within me and my gorge rose. It frightened me. It made me fearful for…
“My nuts!” shouted someone behind me.
My feet slipped out from under me, and as I was protectively cupping my crotch with both hands at the time, I smacked my head into a barrel full of coffee beans as I fell. Scrambling to my feet, I looked out the open doorway to see a man with a vending cart right outside.
“My nuts!” he shouted. “My nuts are the freshest! Get your almonds, your cashews, your hazelnuts, and your pistachio nuts! They are full of anti-oxidants and high in fiber.”
“Everything all right?” asked the gnome.
“Yes,” I replied. “Everything is fine and right where it’s supposed to be. I just remembered I need coffee and beans.”
“You really should get some of Vernon’s nuts too,” said he. “They really are fresh.”
“Um, yes. And some Amazon repellent and some centaur repellent.” I looked at the chestnut gelding. “No offense.”
He snorted and clopped out the same door he had previously clopped in, which is to say entered.
“I wish I had some Amazon repellent,” said the gnomish proprietor. “I could sell it by the bucketful. I couldn’t stock centaur repellent for obvious reasons.”
“Too expensive?” I wondered.
“No. My assistant is a centaur.”
“Oh, yes. Even so.”
“Is there anything else you needed?”
“I don’t think so,” said I.
“That will be an even forty quid.”
“OMG,” said I. “I only needed ten pounds of coffee, not an entire plantation.”
“I was only figuring five pounds.”
“Don’t worry, Eaglethorpe.” Percival Thorndyke stepped in through the open doorway. He was carrying a small bag from which he pulled a hazelnut and popped it into his mouth. “Give me one of everything Eaglethorpe has selected and I will pay both our bills.”
“Very good sir,” said the gnome, finally getting to his feet.
“I will pay you back after we pick up all the gold lying about,” said I. “For all the country knows the name of Eaglethorpe Buxton and it knows that he is not one to leave his debts unpaid, unless of course there is some compelling reason for not paying them or he doesn’t want to.”
“Let’s get out of here, Friend Eaglethorpe,” said Percival. “I want to have some fun on my last day in town.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“At the other end of town is a pub with a poker game.”
“Can you have your man… um, horse-man deliver our things to the inn?” I asked the proprietor.
He nodded and Percival and I started off for the pub and a chance at easy riches.
Chapter Seven: Wherein I begin the story of The Mercenary Warrior Who Ought Not to be a Woman but Secretly Was, but am interrupted by goblins.
That evening, Percival and I had another giant Ennedi egg for supper. We shoveled in great mouthfuls of it and it was quite filling. The taproom was almost full of adventurers from Duaron, as another ship had arrived during the day. A few others were having eggs, but most were enjoying roast pig.
“That pork smells wonderful,” said I.
“Yes indeed.”
“It’s a shame that we lost all your money playing poker,” said I.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“Do you have enough to purchase pie for dessert?” I queried.
“No. I haven’t a single farthing left on me.”
“It’s good that we purchased our supplies before we played poker,” said I.
“Yes it is.”
“One cannot always be lucky,” said I.
“I thought you knew how to play poker,” Percival said. “Didn’t you tell me you were the greatest poker player in Aerithraine?”
“Um, no. I said I was the greatest poker player in Dewberry Hills, Aerithraine.”
“How many poker players do you suppose there are in Dewberry Hills?” he wondered.
“Four, now that I am no longer there.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry, Friend Percival,” I assured him. “When we return from the interior of Ennedi, we will be loaded down with sacks of gold.”
“Let us hope.”
“And of course there’s a good possibility we will be horribly killed in the quest for riches.”
He smiled. “You always know just the right thing to say to make me feel better.”
“If I may ask,” said I. “If you don’t really care about living, what difference does it make if you are poor or rich?”
“Well, I don’t want to work,” said he. “I’ve never worked my entire life and I certainly don’t plan to start now.
I nodded and ate the rest of my eggs. As the taproom grew darker and the evening and the beer began to mellow the patrons, someone called for a story.
“Eaglethorpe here is the greatest story-teller in the world!” shouted Percival.
I stood up and took a bow.
“Tell us the story of the Queen of Aerithraine!” called one patron.
“I’m taking a break from that story.”
“I have a gold crown for that story!” called someone else.
“I shall tell you an even better story,” said I. “This is the story of The Mercenary Warrior Who Ought Not to be a Woman but Secretly Was.”
“All right, but it had better be good,” grumbled the man who had offered a crown.
“Once upon a time there were two mercenary warriors. Both were heroically proportioned, handsome, and very skilled with a blade. One of the warriors—his name was um, Eldridge—was slightly more deadly with a blade, and slightly more attractive to the ladies, and was perhaps slightly less heroically proportioned than the other mercenary warrior.”
“What was the other warrior’s name?” called a listener.
“It was um, Hawkthorpe. The two warriors, Eldridge and Hawkthorpe traveled the land fighting monster, rescuing damsels in distress, and generally doing good, notwithstanding the fact that they usually took payment for their heroics as mercenaries are wont to do. One day, one of them even killed a werewolf with a um… fork…”
“You’re losing them,” said Percival, leaning toward me.
“But their greatest adventure was when they were attacked by a huge horde of…”
“Goblins!” shouted someone.
“That’s right,” said I.
“No!” someone else shouted. “This is not right at all. The town is being invaded by goblins.”
I looked out the window and sure enough, hundreds of goblins were sweeping through the town, lighting things on fire with their little torches and cutting things with their not-so-little knives.
“Pygmy attack!” screamed
the innkeeper.
“Pygmy attack?” said I. “Those are not pygmies. They are goblins.”
“Same diff,” said he.
Unsheathing my sword, I went out to meet the miniature horde, which is to say the horde that was miniature because each individual member of the horde was miniature and not to say that the horde was miniature because there weren’t very many of them—because there were… lots of them. Goblins are nasty little sods about two feet tall, with big round heads shaped like kickballs. They have mouths that are way too big for their ugly little faces and those mouths are filled with shark-like teeth. I can tell you, having been bitten both by a shark and by a goblin, I prefer the shark. Of course sharks don’t smile, and if you’ve ever seen a goblin smile, you would wish they didn’t either.
A pair of the little blighters ran right toward me. With a kick that would have made my cousin Tuki proud, I sent the first flying clear across the street. The second goblin stopped to watch the first fly away. While he was thus engaged, which is to say still watching, I stabbed him. With a squeak, he fell down dead beside the horse trough.
“It is a pity that Ellwood is not here,” said I. “He does so love killing goblins.”
“Who?” asked Percival, as he lopped off a goblin’s head.
“No one,” said I.
My friend picked up the severed goblin’s head and, placing his fingers in its nose and eyes, used it like a bowling ball to knock down several other little monsters. I waded into the fight with great gusto, which is to say the natural enjoyment of killing goblins. I stabbed and slashed until they began to thin out around me. Others were having just as much fun as I was, except for those that lay dead. It was I suppose, bad luck that the goblins had attacked the town right when there was a taproom full of adventurers listening to a story, as adventurers by and large are skilled goblin killers. Of course these, like most goblins, gave as good as they got.
Nearby, the innkeeper was using his broom as a weapon against one of the beasts when I spied a second sneaking up on him from behind. This one carried a straight razor and was planning to slice the portly man’s tendons. This is a pretty standard goblin trick—to hobble an enemy, allowing others to swarm upon him. With three quick steps I kicked this one high up into the air. It landed near the hooves of Hercule, the centaur stable master, who stomped down, squashing its head like a pumpkin.
I was still congratulating myself when I felt one of the dirty little blighters climb up my pant leg and then my shirt. Latching onto my neck it bit down and got a mouthful of my ear.
Chapter Eight: Wherein I lose, but regain an ear.
I screamed out in pain, reaching up, and grabbing the goblin by its own ear. However I was unable, because of the angle from which he was attacking, to pull him away. Percival came to my rescue, stabbing the goblin through the head. The goblin fell dead near my feet.
“A pox upon goblins everywhere!” I shouted, feeling a bloody half ear on the side of my head where previously had been an entire, and unbloodied, ear.
“Don’t worry, Eaglethorpe,” said Percival, reaching down into the goblins mouth, and triumphantly holding up the missing piece of my ear. “I’ve got it. It was stuck on his tooth. It looks like a pretty clean bite. I think I can sew it back on.”
“You don’t look much like a seamstress, and I’m not sure I want something back that was in a goblin’s mouth.”
“Come, come Eaglethorpe. It is better to have two ears than one and a half. And I am a great seamstress. Remember, I have two sisters, one of whom is a nun, so that counts as three, because she’s my sister and she’s also a sister. Come along. The townsfolk can handle the rest of these pygmies.”
I looked around to see that, the townsfolk aided by the visiting adventurers had sure enough, sent the diminutive foes of good people everywhere, whether one calls them goblins or pygmies, into full retreat.
My friend led me back into the inn and up to his room. Here he produced a needle and thread and with great care, sewed my ear together. I bore it as stoically as possible, though I am not ashamed to say that a tear came to my eye—a very manly tear. When he was done, he held up a copper mirror so that I could take a look at his handy work. It wasn’t the beautiful ear that I had before, but at least it looked like an ear. However, the entire side of my head throbbed painfully. It felt like I had been hit with a shovel, and believe me, I know what that feels like. I have been hit on the head with a shovel six times—once by a ditch digger, once by a ditch digger’s wife, once by a ditch digger’s girlfriend, once by my sister Celia, once accidently by my father when he was shoveling snow, and once by a ditch digger’s brother. Four of those happened on the same day.
“You just need a stiff drink,” said Percival.
“We can’t afford a drink,” I replied. “We lost all our money.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I am sure we can get it on account as that man promised you a crown for your story.”
We went back downstairs and Percival ordered a bucket of beer for us to share and a bottle of whiskey for me. The many patrons who had previously peopled the bar were now gone—either burying dead goblins, or burying dead friends, or being dead themselves; and being buried by friends. I drank and drank until the throbbing went away, to be replaced by blissful nothingness.
When I woke, I was lying in my bed, completely unaware of how I had come to be there. The side of my head was throbbing once again, and this time it was joined by throbbing on the inside of my head and throbbing in my stomach. I rolled over just enough to vomit off the edge of the bed onto the floor.
“When did I eat that?” I wondered, looking at the mess on the floor. “I can’t even tell what that was.’
“You must have eaten it at the party,” said a voice right by my ear.
I looked back over my shoulder to see Ugra Trenchwater lying beside me.
“What party would that be, Mrs. Trenchwater?”
“Call me Ugra. The party was the goblin-killing party. It started just after midnight and ended about five in the morning. There was drinking and dancing.” She rolled over me to look at the floor, giving me an excellent view of her naked back. “And it looks like maybe bangers… and pudding?”
“And you were at this party too?”
“Well, I came along a bit later,” she replied. “Percival sent me up here with you. He was worried since you were crying so inconsolably.”
“And did we…?”
“I did my best,” she said. “It was a matter of professional pride. But all you did was weep, call me “Your Majesty,” and pass out.”
“Well don’t think I don’t appreciate the effort anyway,” said I. “It’s good to see someone take pride in their work.
At that moment Percival burst through the door, which is to say that he came through the door very quickly and not that he in any way broke the door.
“It’s about time you were up, Eaglethorpe. I’ve been up for hours. Our horses are all packed with our gear and it’s time to set off for the interior in search of riches.”
I got up and changed into the last set of clean clothes that I owned, which Percival had been most considerate in laying out for me. It still hurt to touch my ear, or anywhere near my ear, which is to say my head. It also hurt to stand up, to look at things, to smell things, to talk, and to breathe. But I was able to make my way downstairs and out the door where my valiant steed Hysteria was waiting patiently.
“We are off for the wilds of Ennedi,” I told my faithful horse.
She rolled her eyes as if to say “it’s your funeral.”
Chapter Nine: Wherein I finish the story of The Mercenary Warrior Who Ought Not to be a Woman but Secretly Was.
The wilds of Ennedi began about fifty feet beyond the edge of Something, though sadly the riches did not. By the time we had gone a hundred feet from the edge of town, the land was so rough and wild that no one would have believed that human inhabitation lay within a hundred miles. Three hundred feet beyond the ed
ge of town, I saw a snake hanging from a tree, that had it a mind to, could have eaten Hysteria, myself still in the saddle. Half a mile from Something, I saw my first elephant. Just like the stories say, it had five legs, counting the one on his face. And I was less than three miles from the bastion of civilization when I saw not one but a whole flock of hippoleptimus.
“The jungles continue on to the southeast,” said Percival. “I must confess I don’t much like the thought of searching among these giant leaves for any wealth that may be lying on the ground.”
“And I don’t much like the thought of being eaten by a snake or an elephant,” said I. “I am also anxious lest we run into the dreaded frog-bear.”
“If we continue directly south, we’ll run into the swamplands of the Amazons,” he continued. “I don’t much like the idea of wading through mud and tar, even though we have gold pans.”
“And I don’t care much for either of the alternatives facing captives of the Amazons,” said I.
“But if we go to the southwest, we can skirt along the edge of the savannahs.”
“We will have to avoid the centaurs.”
“And we will,” he said. “All we have to do is keep our eyes open for horse-men and great pieces of gold just lying around on the ground.”
“Don’t forget about diamonds and rubies,” said I.
“Indeed, we shall pick up diamonds and rubies when we see them,” he assured me.
And so that is what we did. By the next day, we were balancing the line between the lands of the centaurs and the lands of the Amazons. To our right lay endless miles of green grasslands, dotted here and there with small copses of trees, which grew around little ponds or along rivers. To our left were endless miles of grey swamps—great stretches of fetid, steaming, brown water broken only by large bubbling pools of black tar.
“Why don’t you tell me the rest of your story?” said Percival, as we rode along at a leisurely pace; leisurely so that we would not miss any riches with happened to be lying around.
“What story would that be?” I asked.
Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton Page 20