The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes)

by Raley, Richard

“Stunned then. Good thing you’ve given me so much practice at viewing them over the last year.”

  “I’m just a public servant . . . eventually?”

  “Yelling and then tears . . . strangely enough. I think she was emotional from the Winter War.”

  “I saw that part.”

  “Heinrich made it all right in the end, I suppose.”

  “He did,” I agreed. Welf asked Hope out in front of the class as a shocked Pocket watched on, then led a tearing Hope off to her bed to calm her down in private, talked with her all night. Talking, what a rookie mistake. Got to go for bases when you have a girl that worked up.

  “Think up another plan,” Pocket pleaded.

  “It will work better this time.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  Raj frowned over it. “Given that last time was so horrible it has to work better this time.”

  “We’ll find a Pent who will turn you down without any fuss, one with a boyfriend maybe.”

  “And no witnesses,” Pocket added.

  “Need witnesses to spread the word . . .”

  “Just a couple then, not a whole class.”

  “We can do that.” I frowned and then smiled. “Hey, I just remembered how I know Miranda’s bra size.”

  “Please stop saying that so loudly,” Miranda hissed.

  I ignored her. “When I got refitted for my colors at the beginning of the year I stole a chart on our class from the tailor.”

  “And you complain about Athir getting into people’s business,” Raj scolded me.

  Val was quick to seize the initiative. “You have a chart that has the bra size of every girl in our class on it?”

  “I know that look; you want me to do the right thing and destroy it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m using it wisely, you didn’t even find out about it until now . . .”

  “I want it and then I’m burning it.”

  “But . . .”

  “What’s my bra size?”

  I didn’t answer. “I’ll put it on your bed when I get a spare second,” I grumbled.

  Val smiled at me like I’d been a puppy that had piddled inside the house but at least I had piddled on the newspaper: progress. “Thank you.”

  [CLICK]

  If Winter War was just the matches on the Mound, then it would be plenty awesome, but what put it on the top, that fucking cherry on the top, was all the stalls and vendors that ringed the Field. Imagine a fairground where the food’s free . . . yeah, it’s fucking awesome. New levels of the awesome sauce.

  Miranda and Val were girls, so . . . weight watching or some shit. I don’t know. I think that’s how it happens. I’ve never quite figured out if teenage girls hold back to keep the weight down or if they live on the souls of devoured teenage boys. Never had the nerve to ask my sisters, sure as hell ain’t asking Miranda or Val. Not after the bra jokes. Miranda kept her chest covered like she expected one of them to pop out with a ruby red nipple blasting 34D in Morse Code.

  The girls sated themselves with the sandwiches and the picnic stuff. Us teenage boys needed more junk food and went in search of it at the stalls. Lots of eating in this . . . tale, ain’t there? Not much else to enjoy at the Asylum. The food, the Mancy, the occasional Winter War . . . it is an asylum, it does push you towards the breaking point—sometimes over the breaking point—but I do miss it.

  I never had time to think at the Asylum. Always homework or a club putting on an event or a new girl to chase or even some game with Welf to keep me occupied. Now . . . I have time on my hands, running through my hands. Have to think about the world, about my place in it. About how to fix what’s broken. Things were so simple at the Asylum. Next meal, next paper, next make-out session. Should I have a corndog or chili fries or nachos or a hundred other snacks?

  Chili fries.

  Not a fair fucking competition on that one, is it?

  Chili fries. Fries . . . covered in chili. And cheese. And onions. Geomancer in me loves onions and potatoes. Then all that spice in the chili . . . no chance. Had to be the chili fries. Raj went off to get a bowl of ice cream; forty degrees out or not he’s still a cryomancer. Pocket . . . something made of meat. Floromancers won’t eat straight veggies for nothing, even bread and the like ain’t their favorite. If it’s not dipped in broth or part of a hamburger or a taco or something, it’s no go.

  I always got his fries at lunch . . . it’s the true secret of our friendship.

  Fucking deep.

  The line took awhile. Only problem with free food is that everyone wants some. Means waiting your turn. Not my strong suit. Before the Asylum, I either got what I wanted by stealing it or I went without. Wasn’t a whole lot of waiting either way. I learned the habit. Being polite—not my thing. Took some effort.

  I was already worked up by that waiting when, halfway to the stall, I got bumped from behind. Not an accidental bump either. Aggressive. A bully’s bump. I turned around and each eye saw nothing but Erikson twin.

  Quads, these guys were eighteen or close enough. That almost-a-man stage of human development that leaves most their normal height but not filled out with maturity. The moose DNA filled these two out. Six-foot-plus covered in geomancer browns, topped with a mass of dirty blond hair. Guess either their mom was Viking or the moose was albino.

  For once in my life I tried to be polite, turning back around to the line. Wasn’t me being a good boy. I just really wanted some chili fries.

  One of them flicked my ear.

  “You fuckers serious?” I asked, still not turning around.

  “One more win, Foul Mouth,” one of them said.

  “And?”

  “And you’ll get to play us,” said the other.

  Like having an out of sync stereo system at each ear. “Go mess with Welf then, he likes a good flicking.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Foul Mouth, we’ll get Mr. Seventeen Generations too.”

  “Go past the vest beeps for him.”

  “Break a few bones.”

  “Teeth too.”

  The line was moving really slow. Chili fries, chili fries, chili fries. “Got some real Ultra resentment, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Just smelling opportunity.”

  “Thanks to you, Foul Mouth.”

  “Took out Leo.”

  “Took out Sabine.”

  “Opened it up for us.”

  “First Intra team in a Winter War Final in two decades.”

  “Going to be ours.”

  “Going through you.”

  “Want to play the Three Queens that badly do ya?” I asked.

  A pause. “They don’t scare us.”

  Three Queens I haven’t mentioned yet. They’re part of Ultra Class ’07,the Quads. They’re evil fucking bitches. Everyone was scared of them. Even me. “Bullshit. You see how many Singles they put into the Infirmary? Fucking bloodbath.”

  “Don’t scare us, Foul Mouth.”

  “Not like it scares you, pussy.”

  Slow line is slow. Should have gone with Pocket. Got a meat pie or whatever the fuck he likes. Chili fries . . . why hath thou forsaken me? Still not turning around I asked another question, “Your granddad sits on the Learning Council, right?”

  “But we’re only Intras.”

  “Think we’ve never heard that one?”

  Another shove, so hard it dominoed down the line. Four or five kids turned around to yell at whoever but shut on up went they saw grinning Eriksons. Grinning Eriksons or the pure murder in my eyes.

  Those eyes glanced left then right, at the other stalls. No backup from ’09 around anywhere. Few Singles from Ultra ’10 scared enough to run off further into the Field, maybe hoping to find a teacher. Speaking of the Three Queens, there they were, smirking over the fight about to break out, few of the Blackjacks crowding around them as bodyguards.

  Whole lot of Intras enjoying themselves.

  Intra-Ultra rivalry is always there. Most the time it’s cold w
ar, but Winter War gets hot. An outlet to the tensions. I think that’s some of what it’s all about. Keep the shoving and fist fights to a single week. Let the rest of the year be recalling that week. The Asylum’s watching you . . . the Asylum’s running your life . . .

  I finally gave a taunt. “Nah, coming at it from the other side. What right you got to complain about Welf when you’re Old Mancy? Pair of you should suck it up, join the snobs.”

  “Heard that one too, Foul Mouth.”

  Another shove. No one turned around. Well . . . no one else did.

  Just me.

  “How ‘bout a third try? Anyone ever ask you if your mom fucked a moose about nine months before your birth?”

  Oh damn, did it get quiet. All around us, not a peep but the making of food in the stalls. Erikson grins disappeared. King Henry grin popped up. I kept on, “I think she probably did. Some Pasiphae wooden-cow stuff—Minnesota-style. Grinding that moose cock . . . more considerate lovemaking than the men up there.”

  So they beat the living shit out of me.

  Worse than Leo’s group.

  No vests to stop these two.

  The Three Queens laughed through the whole thing. Don’t know if I hate them or the Eriksons more.

  But I got a few good shots in . . . makes it worth it.

  I guess.

  Never had any chili fries though.

  [CLICK]

  I woke up to someone tapping my forehead. Guess it speaks to how bad I looked that Miss Strange hadn’t begun with her usual slap. “Don’t move, Price, don’t even open your eyes,” she whispered, “You’ll knock off the Slush.”

  “We’ve got to keep from seeing each other like this or people will talk,” I grunted out around my clenched teeth. Don’t think it sounded as intelligible back then as it does in the replay.

  “I always wondered if you actually enjoyed getting punched—now, I know.”

  It took me a second to place the voice. Considerate, worried, kind. “Raj?”

  “Yes.”

  Strange kept slopping on the hydro-slush. Already on everything above my shoulders but it was also being spread to my chest. Being that the Eriksons were so huge they mostly punched down at the obvious target—my face—but a few had strayed lower. Me . . . I punched straight across into their stomachs and kidneys. I’d be bruised for a day or two even with hydro-slush, but they’d be pissing pink tonight.

  Fair trade.

  “I’m not the only one here,” Raj said.

  “Pocket?” I guessed.

  “Yup, dude.”

  “How many people in the room?”

  “Quite a few,” said another voice. Female, cutting, enjoying herself.

  That one I didn’t need any time at all to recognize. “Ah . . . shit.”

  “It took four of us to lift you here but Russell already ran off,” Ceinwyn told me, her voice doing all the smiling for her, my eyes closed or not.

  “Eriksons?”

  “The Holding Room for the rest of the day.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Would you of all people rather the penalty for fighting be more severe?”

  I thought about it. “Good point.”

  “Any other time of the year would have been more. Brawling in public . . . very stupid for all involved.”

  “Even magic jocks get the breaks, don’t they?”

  “The Winter War is too important of a tradition for us to remove students who show too much team pride.”

  “Showing pride. I’ll remember that euphemism. Especially next time I see the Eriksons.”

  Strange interrupted, “Don’t move for ten more minutes then I’ll take it off, Price. And keep the talking to your lips.”

  “Least it’s not a bikini wax, right?”

  “I could do one of those too if you feel the need . . .”

  “Pocket, please protect me.”

  “Wouldn’t mind it if you’d actually hang around instead of running off for food,” he sulked.

  “It wasn’t food, it was chili fries.”

  “Worth a few hours in the Infirmary, dude?”

  “If I’d gotten them.”

  Ceinwyn cleared her throat.

  “Yeah, boss lady?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Concern from Ceinwyn Dale?”

  “More like wanting-an-accurate-appraisal-of-your-physical-state-to-accurately-bet-on-the-next-match from Ceinwyn Dale . . .”

  “Betrayal is the deepest wound of all.”

  “I’m up five-thousand, King Henry, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Didn’t think you’d value money.”

  “I value bragging rights, they’re very useful politically.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Nothing broken. Few bruises. Be good as new by the next game.”

  “Good.” A slim-fingered hand touched my shoulder, Slush or no Slush. Hard exterior but a softie in the center, that’s Ceinwyn. “Try to be more careful . . . and remember that while we only gave the Eriksons one day, that if you retaliate physically you will be banned from the semi-finals.”

  “Only physically?”

  Ceinwyn gave a ‘ha!’ before I heard her leave through the Infirmary doors.

  Not physically. No finding the Eriksons and smashing their oversized heads together from behind. Or from the front with something wooden. Aluminum baseball bat from the Gym stores would be preferable but . . . damn, fighting geomancers is a surprising pain in the ass. Bit of a loss though, since neither Erikson has bothered to iron fist me in the first fight and apparently the Asylum was set on there not being a second fight outside the Winter War field of play.

  So fucking unfair.

  Good as new by the next match? Maybe.

  They’d be waiting for me across that line now, like Leo had. Waiting to continue the fight on their terms. Two-on-one, with a gimpy King Henry as the punching bag. I wouldn’t be in shape for practice by tomorrow, not that I wanted to listen to another of Welf’s briefings on the other team or have him order me around. But . . . mouth will get you in serious trouble one day, King Henry.

  The Slush was as good a reminder to that as anything else. Oddly sticky. Smelled like water mixed with water, boiled, frozen, then imploded or something. Smells like drowning. Feels like being buried in snow.

  I must have flinched at the thought. “You okay, dude?” Pocket asked.

  “Fine . . . just plotting my revenge.”

  “Miss Dale said not to do that,” Raj preempted my master plan.

  “Miss Dale said don’t get caught, that’s what Miss Dale always says—at least to me.”

  “Don’t think it will matter, dude. After you got taken out, Welf ordered us to travel in groups. Blackjacks and the Intras started the same before we even got you in here,” Pocket explained. “Pretty weird the way everyone walked around people not supporting the same team.”

  “That don’t matter. I mean . . . it does, but it don’t affect my plan. Erikson twins are too much for even me to fight straight up. But you know how you beat someone bigger than you, Pocket?”

  “Um . . . jumping off a couch?”

  “Well . . . yeah . . . but . . .”

  “Or kicking them in the balls, you like that one.”

  “I’m lying here covered in hydro-slush and you’re giving me shit?”

  “Or punching them in the stomach when they start walking into a cave.”

  “I’ve apologized for that one-hundred times already!”

  I did get slapped by Strange this time. “I said, don’t move!”

  “A little warning next time that the hag is coming over, guys.”

  “Why hasn’t he been expelled?” Raj asked the general vicinity.

  “Don’t think they do expel Ultras,” Pocket answered. “We’re too valuable.”

  “It’s in the Institution Bylaws and Foundation Documents.”

  “There are laws?”

  “And Found
ation Documents. Miranda and I dug them out of the Library and read through them in our first month. It’s best to be prepared.”

  “You know you get a dreamy look on your face when you say Miranda’s name?”

  “I do not!”

  “And now you’re blushing . . .”

  “I am not!”

  I didn’t talk through this because Strange was cleaning off the hydro-slush. You’d think it would involve a shower or something, but no. That would be too easy . . . and also dangerous to put that much hydro-anima into the water pipes. Removing Slush is a complicated process with plastic bags and a metal scrapper, followed by an industrial-sized hairdryer . . . kind of like the one from Spaceballs, except with Strange using it instead of that hot ass Princess Vespa.

  When Strange finished, she nodded at one of her helpers to haul away the Slush and threw a hospital gown my way. Still had on the geomancer pants but not the coat or my white undershirt. All King Henry chest . . . not yet the damn fine specimen of muscle and bulk like I am today but not as twerpy as when I showed up at the place. Didn’t have no Super Soldier Serum around, Cap, had to do it the old-fashioned way.

  I held up the hospital gown in confusion. “What?”

  “Put. It. On.” Strange nodded at me with each word like I was on the one digit part of the percentile curve.

  “Why? I’m leaving, right?”

  “No. You’re staying. No complaints, Price, or I drug you with the same stuff we use on new recruits.”

  The Big Fucking Needle . . . my nemesis.

  “It’s not that bad. I’m fine.” I touched my chin to prove it and barely managed not to wince at the pain.

  Strange stared at me some. “Touch your cheek.”

  My cheek went squish.

  The whole room tilted sideways.

  I almost threw up this time, doubling over into my knees whether I wanted to or not. “GOD DAMN FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!”

  “One of the nastiest cuts I’ve ever seen from a punch,” Strange said, hand pushing me back down to the hospital bed. She took the gown from me, opening it so I could put my arms through. “Either the Eriksons are secret sciomancers or they have the sharpest knuckles in recorded history.”

  I thought back on the minute of fighting as the gown settled on my not-so-twerpy chest. My cheek still pulsed. God damn fucking son-of-a-bitch alright. “Rings . . . they each wear a thick steel ring on their right ring-finger. Could use it as a razor blade with a little geo-anima.”