by T K Foster
Humps 1, 2 and 3 sat in a semi-lit guards’ corner on small round stools which awkwardly supported the circumference of their bare bottoms; indeed it simply appeared as though they were each squatting over three and a half sticks.
On the table between them was three steins filled with beetroot cider, a bag of flat pebbles used to play a game called Lump Yo Hump, and a single chalk stone ready for keeping score on the closest wall to their right.
They hadn’t started their game yet; in fact they had only just sat down, having recently procured their ration if cider allowed for guards on guard, and brought it along to their post.
The game, Lump Yo Hump, began with its roots squarely planted in the local tavern of a small woods town called Monopotomia, or better and more commonly referred to as Ralph in the Wood.
Invented by one Old Merry-Jock, the resident drunk, it was thought to be a simple skills experiment developed for the common folk all eager to place a level of competency upon their reflexes after having imbibed copious amounts of intoxicating cider. Originally known then as, Hey let’s play that drunken game to see how bad our reflexes really are (hiccup), and still played to this day by many of the inebriated common folk all over the plain; but was now, according to Hump law, a game given to the title of Lump Yo Hump. So all of a sudden, what had begun as a pleasant, though raucous competition between the staggering patrons of a single tavern tucked quietly away within the buttresses of the Woods of Bethsemane, had now, through its adaptation by the Hump militia (for want of a nasty description), turned into a game of offensive connotations. The idea was that at the end of a round the winner would cry a resounding cry of lump yo Hump, and then stick his thumb up at his opponent. This in turn gave rise to the catch phrase, don’t call me a Hump you topey turd, which was then generally followed by a punch to the shoulder or a more aggressive head-butt. All well for a Hump that has no problem being called a Hump, but not so well for the drunk common folk who were consistently and forcibly removed for brawling in their local taverns.
So why play the game at all?
Indeed, why stagger and fall, why slur your words, why see things that aren’t, and why try to push a flat stone to the edge of a table just to see if you can flip it into the air and catch it? Because when one is drunk one will usually resort to doing all manner of stupid things.
On the contrary, what proved to be mildly difficult for the drunken common folk seemed an extremely challenging exercise for the thick fingered and clumsy handed Humps that held dominion over the plain of Bradley.
Moving on.... let the games begin.
As Hump1 was the biggest and ranked first in their troop, his singular motion was to start the ball rolling, or stone sliding in this instance. Not surprisingly, he met with no opposition to his ruling, nor was it generally important who started the game anyway because in most cases results were embarrassingly bad to say the least, which meant that going first was not necessarily considered an advantage.
He sought a stone from the bag, fingered them for a time to find a good fit, and then emerged with one that was likely no different from the rest.
Humps 2 and 3 grunted, because that’s what Humps do.
The stone was slapped onto the table and stared at for several clicks, not a sound was made. Hump1 readied his arched fingers, preparing them for impact, flexing them once for practice, working to perfect his flick.
He flicked.
The stone slid smoothly and effortlessly across the table’s surface – fluid – and came to rest just short of its wooden edge.
A good play indeed.
Hump1 grinned.... or grimaced.... who knew?
Again he poised ready his fingers, his upper bulk leaning across the table to reach the delicate push he needed to set the stone up for the catch.
He flicked a second time.
Once more the stone travelled, but only a short distance, before coming to rest precariously on the edge of the table, half on and half off, just as the rules implied.
It was a wonderful play, very un-Hump-like.
Hump1’s response was cool; he blew on his fingertips and rubbed them along his breast. He was so good.
He leant forward over the table again and hooked a finger beneath the overhanging stone. His eyes remained fixed and unblinking.
Humps 2 and 3 held their breath.
Hump1 played the shot.
The pebble flew into the air, spinning as it went, travelling in a high arc back toward the centre of the table. Hump1 bounced his bulk away, but with the same fluid motion as the stone, moving at the same pace, retracting toward his stool with the same arc and bringing his pudgy hands in line with the descent of the flying rock. When the stone miraculously plopped into the middle of his cupped hands, Hump1 was sitting comfortably upon his stool again.
“Grunt.”
From beyond their corner and past their hall, they heard a sound of scuffling on the cobble floor.
Hump1 got to his feet and walked to the edge of the corridor where he would be able to see what had caused the noise. From his vantage, though obscured by the lack of light available, he was able to discern the backs of three skinny figures and two shorter, round ones, all shuffling their way toward the exit ahead of them.
Just for a moment Hump1 contemplated the chase, but quickly realised he had already tired of his captives. They had served their purpose as entertainment for the day, now it was time to get back to his game. First score from the first round, it had never been done by a Hump before.
He turned around with another grunt and went back to his corner.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT