Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton

by Allison, Wesley

  “The one you started in the inn—your story. You know all of mine, after all.”

  “Oh, that story is not really about me,” said I. “I should tell you the story of Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Irascible Monkey People. That story is about me.”

  “I would rather hear the story that you started at the inn.”

  “How about the story of Eaglethorpe Buxton and Hamlet, a Prince of Denmark?”

  “No, the one from the inn.”

  “Very well,” said I. “Though it is not my best story. Eaglethorpe Buxton and the… I mean The Mercenary Warrior Who Ought Not to be a Woman but Secretly Was and Eaglethorpe Buxton wasn’t even there.”

  “Excellent,” said Percival.

  “As I recall, I had just left off where they killed a great horde of goblins…”

  “You left off where the goblins were just attacking.”

  “Well, they killed them. Then Hawkthorpe and Eldridge went to relax in a nearby inn…”

  “And this Hawkthorpe isn’t you?”

  “Of course not. His name is Hawkthorpe and my name is Eaglethorpe—two entirely different names—Eaglethorpe being the better of the two, because an eagle is a better bird than a hawk, and a thorpe is just a thorpe.”

  “It means town,” he offered.

  “Yes, of course it does. So Hawkthorpe and Eldridge went to relax in a nearby inn…”

  “And Eldridge isn’t this Ellwood you’re always going on about?”

  “Of course not! I mean, they do look alike, but Ellwood’s birthday is in October and Eldridge’s birthday is in… I don’t know, sometime in spring.”

  “Okay. Just checking. Don’t get upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” said I. “Only do you want to hear the story or not?”

  “Go on.”

  “At the inn…” I stopped to see if I was going to be interrupted again. “So Ellwood and I were relaxing at the inn.”

  “You mean Hawkthorpe and Eldridge.”

  “That’s what I said. Hawkthorpe and Eldridge. At the inn, Hawthorpe looked into the window to see Eldridge undressing…”

  “Why was he looking in the window? Was this Hawkthorpe a pervert?”

  “Of course not! It was an accident, which is to say that it was an accident that Hawkthorpe saw Eldridge undressing and not an accident that Eldridge undressed himself. Hawkthorpe happened to look into the window by accident. There could be no other reason for Hawkthorpe to look into the window of another man except by accident, unless he was looking for said man to kill him. Kill him in a very manly way, with blood and other manly effects. When Hawkthopre looked into the window, he saw Eldridge undress. And no, he didn’t wait and watch him undress. Eldridge was already in the process of undressing and he undressed very quickly. The result was that for the first time, I saw Ellwood without clothing, which is to say naked. I mean Hawkthorpe saw Ellwood naked. I mean I saw Eldridge naked. And he was a girl.”

  “Wait a second,” said Percival. “Was it you or Eldridge or Ellwood or Hawkthorpe who was naked and was it Hawkthorpe or Ellwood or Eldridge or you who was a girl?”

  “Wait a while,” said I. “I am so cunning that I have confused myself.” I thought for a moment and then began again. “It was Hawkthorpe who looked in the window and he saw that Eldridge was naked and was also a girl.”

  “Well that was lucky,” said Percival.

  “Lucky? How is that lucky?” I demanded. “She lied to him for years.”

  “It was a deception that harmed no one. Hawkthorpe and Eldridge are already good friends. Now they can be together as more than friends.”

  “No they can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “Doesn’t Eldridge love Hawkthorpe?”

  “Yes.”

  “And doesn’t Hawkthorpe love Eldridge?”

  “No, he loves another woman entirely who is also Eldridge.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” said I.

  “So, this Eldridge is a woman pretending to be a man and also a woman pretending to be another woman?”

  “No. Eldridge is a woman pretending to be another woman pretending to be a man.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me this was a fictional story,” said Percival. “If you had told me it was true life, I would have called you a liar.”

  That evening, we set our camp about a mile into the grassland, amid a copse of trees by a small pond. Here, we reasoned, the woods would protect us from the prying eyes of centaurs and we would be far enough away from the swamp to avoid crocodiles, giant leeches, and the dreaded and feared frog-bear. We ate a bit of cheese and dried mutton and fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Ten: Wherein I astound the reader by telling a story from an entirely different point of view.

  I am Percival of Thorndyke. I am not Eaglethorpe Buxton and these are not his words, but are my own. I give him sole ownership, which is to say copyright, of these words, but they originated by me out of my own mouth. If I am not as well spoken as normal, it is because I am not now Eaglethorpe Buxton and never have been, even though I might wish to be, for he is the greatest storyteller in the world and I, Percival Thorndyke do so swear upon the lives of my two… no three sisters.

  I woke up early the next morning and looking down, saw Eaglethorpe still asleep. Because remember, I’m not Eaglethorpe. I decided that I would walk down to the small pond and take a morning bath, because unlike Eaglethorpe I have led a sheltered and easy life—one might well say an unmanly life.

  I peeled off my clothes and spent a good half hour washing and having a good old time, and I seemed not to have a single care that something might happen to my friend, whom I had left defenseless and sleeping among the trees. Fortunately nothing happened to him. If it had, I would have torn my skin and plucked out my eyes, that the world, but for a little care on my part, had been deprived of such a man as Eaglethorpe Buxton, whom I repeat is not me.

  I was just climbing out of the water when I heard a noise. At first I thought that perhaps my horse Susan had followed me to the pond, because it did sound like hooves on fallen leaves. Then I heard a giggle and I thought that Eaglethorpe’s horse Hysteria had followed me, because though I have not heard her do so, she seems like the kind of horse to giggle. Then from behind a tree, stepped a young female centaur.

  From the waist down, this centaur was like a palomino horse, chestnut leaning toward yellow—just a few shades off a newly minted golden coin. She had a full, beautiful, flaxen tail. From the waist up, she was the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. Long waves of cascading blond hair. Deep blue eyes. Flawless skin. Breasts the size of my head. In a word, she was gorgeous. In two words, she was really gorgeous. In three words, she was really, really gorgeous. And in eight words, I felt like I had never felt before. She giggled again and stepped toward me. I stepped toward her.

  “I’ve never seen a human man unclothed before,” she said. “You’re so cute and… diminutive.”

  “Well, the water was very cold. Hold on and let me warm myself up.”

  “Would this help?” she asked, hopping up and down with her front legs, making those large breasts bounce.

  “Indeed it might,” said I. “There. How’s that?”

  “Serviceable,” she said. “Would you like to go for a ride?”

  “What kind of ride are we talking about? Are we talking about a ride or a “ride?” I had to make air quotes with my fingers because otherwise one cannot see quotes in spoken language.

  “Either one,” said she.

  “Eaglethorpe!” shouted Percival Thorndyke. “Stop. You’re making it all sound so sordid and cheap.”

  “Who is speaking?” I asked.

  “It’s me—Percival Thorndyke.”

  “You cannot be Percival Thorndyke,” I replied, “for I am Percival Thorndyke. And who is this great and wonderful Eaglethorpe of whom you speak?

  “We both know who Eaglethorpe is, as you are he and I know you, so even if you were me, you would know you,
wouldn’t you? And I never said you were great or wonderful.”

  “I’m pretty sure that you did. And in any case, I am Percival Thorndyke and I am standing here talking to a pretty female centaur, and Eaglethorpe Buxton is over there asleep beneath a tree.”

  “You and I are both right here and nobody will believe you are me. You sound nothing like me.”

  “Oh, woe is me. I want to die.”

  “Well, that does sound a little like me. But please, tell the story right, or don’t tell it at all.”

  Continuing. And I cannot stress this enough, I am Percival Thorndyke and not Eaglethorpe Buxton, though I hear he is a great story-teller and a friend to those who are in need of a friend and a protector to those who are in need of a protector…

  “Get on with it.”

  Yes. So after I had dressed, I sat down beneath a tree and the lovely young centaur lay down her horse half beside me and propped up her human half in a semblance of sitting.

  “What is your name, my dear?” I asked.

  “Bella.”

  “What a lovely name for a centaur, though it would be more than stupid for a vampire.”

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “My name is not Eaglethorpe Buxton. It is Percival Thorndyke.”

  “That too is a lovely name,” said Bella. “It’s not as lovely as Eaglethorpe Buxton, mind you, but it is lovely. I don’t know why, but I find you deeply compelling. It is probably good that I didn’t see this Eaglethorpe fellow first, because I might have fallen in love with him instead.

  “I find you compelling too,” said I. “I think I’m falling in love with your breasts, I mean with you. And though I love Eaglethorpe, it is strictly in a manly way. Why are you here alone in the wilds?”

  “I ran away from the herd. The herd stallion wanted me, but I hate him. He is big and brutish and besides, he sent my brother away after he cut off his…”

  “Yes, I am aware of what they do to those they send away. Don’t worry. I will protect you. Now let’s go wake up Eaglethorpe. You will like him as he is a good and forthright friend, a great warrior, and one heck of a story-teller.”

  Chapter Eleven: Wherein I very skillfully and circuitously bring back the story to where it first began.

  I woke up to find Percival Thorndyke gently nudging me with his foot. As I climbed to my feet, I was astounded to find that my young friend had found companionship in a lovely young female centaur.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “This is Bella,” said Percival. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  “Indeed,” said I, and the young filly blushed.

  “We’re in love,” said Percival.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Let’s pack up our gear and be on our way,” said he. “We’re still looking for riches remember?”

  “If you are looking for gold,” said Bella, “I know where the gold is scattered across the land. You can simply pick it up.”

  “Excellent,” said I.

  “Of course it is guarded by a monster,” she continued.

  “Of course,” said I. “What kind of monster?”

  “I don’t know, but it is fierce enough that the herd and the forest women both fear to go there.”

  “We are not afraid, are we Eaglethorpe?” said Percival.

  “Not as afraid as we should be,” I replied.

  Leaving the shelter of the little wood, we started south once again. As we did before, we skirted the land between the swamps of the Amazons and the grasslands of the centaurs. This seemed like a strategy sure to defeat the designs of one or both of the groups, but it was not to be. We had gone no more than ten miles when we spied a group of twenty or so centaurs riding toward us, which is to say they were running, because they didn’t actually ride anything, not needing to because they had horse feet.

  “They’ve come after me,” said Bella. “You must both run and leave me.”

  “Never,” said Percival. “We must duck into the swamps.”

  “I can’t go into the swamps,” she said. “I’m too afraid. Unlike a human, I can’t maneuver around the tar pits and over the quicksand. And centaurs are the natural prey of the frog-bear.”

  “Fine,” said Percival. “Eaglethorpe, we must split up. I’ll take Bella and make a run for the south. We probably won’t make it, but I refuse to leave her. You cut into the swamps. They won’t follow you there.”

  “I hate to part with you,” said I.

  “I hate to leave you,” said he, and then smiled. “but on the other hand, attacked by twenty centaurs, I will almost surely be killed.”

  “Good luck,” said I, and turning, rode into the swamps. Just before Hysteria and I plunged into the high grass, I looked back to see Percival and Bella, and of course Susan, running away, just ahead of the centaur horde.

  It is an incredibly easy trick to get oneself lost in the nasty, filthy, leech-infested, horrible swamps of Ennedi, and so we did. I blame Hysteria. I gave her, her head, and she took us right into getting lost. And so we slogged our way through the fetid, which is to say stinking, swamps of Ennedi for more than a week. I ate all the food I had packed in my backpack and had to resort to eating mud fish, muck fish, and yes, even slime fish.

  I have always been a gifted fish guddler. When fish swim into a shallow part of a stream or river, I am able to find them beneath a rock or ledge and tickle the fish into entering my grasp. This is actually a quite enjoyable pastime in some parts of the world, where trout or perch or catfish are the norm. But it is no fun at all to guddle mud fish or muck fish, and it is downright unpleasant to guddle slime fish.

  During this entire period, Hysteria had nothing but swamp grass. And then, there was a pie. A pie on a rock in the middle of the swamp which turned out not to be real, which is to say the pie was not real, because the rock was real and the swamp was all too real.

  So, here I have very skillfully brought us circuitously, which is to say in a circle, back to where we started. I was hauled down from the net and tied up by the Amazons, all my weapons were taken from me, and then I was dragged back to their Amazon city. They dragged me over rocks and through mud and kicked me every so often. I tried to avoid being kicked in the face or having the rocks I was dragged over hit me there either. I wanted to look as handsome as possible, for of the two possible fates of Amazonian prisoners, being made love to and then killed seemed the better choice.

  Chapter Twelve: Wherein I enjoy the hospitality of the Amazons.

  The city of the Amazons was quite beautiful. It was every bit as large as Illustria, though much of the outer portions lay in ruins and a good part of the rest sat unused by the warrior women. The buildings were large and multi-columned, which is to say they have columns across the front and they are large, both the columns and the buildings. Large jungle vines grew up and over the white marble, sometimes separating stones with thick ropy creepers, and sometimes pulling an entire building down. It was obviously a city that sometime in the distant past, had been a center of a vast empire—strong and powerful, artistic and cultured, learned, and for all I knew pious and well-mannered. The citizens that remained were none of the above.

  The warrior women were rude and not at all well-mannered. As I was dragged through ancient stone streets, women gathered around to kick me, spit on me, and call me such names as I would never repeat—names like scoundrel and varlet and in at least one case, would-be pie thief. The Amazons were dressed much as were the three that captured me—in g-strings or loin cloths, and only occasionally covering their breasts with tiny garments made of coconut shells or animal skins. Unlike the three though, the women in the city had, for the most part, not painted their skins. About half the women hid their faces behind large masks carved of wood or woven from bamboo. Though these masks mimicked the facial features of human beings, they were quite horrible and hideous.

  I was dragged to a gate in a large bamboo fence, pulled to my feet and then untied. The gate was opened and I was sho
ved inside and then the gate was closed once more. I found myself in an enclosed area some one hundred feet square. Here were perhaps forty men, obviously captured from nearby lands and waiting to be sorted. Looking around I began to feel pretty good. These men were for the most part a sorry lot. They were bruised and beaten. Many looked half starved. While I sported a few days growth of whiskers, since I had only shaved twice since Hysteria got us lost in the swamps, many of these fellows had long and unkempt beards. None of them looked particularly happy.

  I rubbed my wrists to get the feeling back into them and stretched my legs. I leaned over toward the nearest other man in the compound. He was a rather thin and pale individual with a grey flecked beard and hair.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “Shut up,” he barked, and moved away.

  I casually strolled toward another inmate. This one was quite young, well under twenty summers, I would guess.

  “When do they feed us?” I asked.

  He just burst into tears and curled up into a little ball on the ground.

  “Bother,” said I.

  “We will be sorted after nightfall,” said a third man, this one a skinny, bald fellow. “I suggest you get what rest you can until then.”

  Clearly that would be no rest at all. I defy anyone to “rest until then,” knowing that when the then comes you are either going to be killed or something much worse. On the other hand, I knew that I needed some rest. I would have loved to have some fresh water and some food, but as neither was available, there was at least one thing that I could do to improve my chances in the upcoming sorting. If I have heard one woman say it, I’ve heard it from a thousand—they need their beauty sleep. As I was bound and determined to be as beautiful as possible, at least I was determined, being no longer bound, as they had removed my bonds. I was determined to get some rest if not actual sleep, even though experience had told me that it was difficult to obtain in such situations. I spied a shady patch beneath a tree in the center of the compound. It was occupied by one of the few relatively healthy specimens in that awful place. I walked over to him and kicked him with the toe of my boot.