Hero's Manual: Chpater 17
A/N: "Astrophel" comes from the poem "Sonnets from Astrophel and Stella" by Philip Sidney, and was innitially supposed to be called called Madness, but the joke didn't really work. Frank is the name of LJ's mascot. The bit about the mouth and the screaming was scribbled by me years ago but, since I've seen it referenced since, it must be from the Borg-overmind. Which means, I have no idea where I got it from. Certainly not directly from this computer game.
Chapter 17: Lacking in Goats and Scones
Early the next day the two saw a road leading through the words. They followed it and landed their carpet beside a signpost. Hero scampered towards it, read the sign, then walked a little down the road. Gwen stayed sitting on the carpet, hugging the lamp to her chest, one hand clamped over its opening. Neither of them were keen on speaking with Huzzah again for a while.
When Hero came back, he seemed concerned.
“Well, do you know where we are?” said Gwen. “Is there a town nearby?”
“Yeah, there is,” said Hero as he sat down beside her. They flew a few minutes following the dirt road before Hero acknowledged Gwen’s curious stare. He’d been biting his nails.
“What’s wrong?” said Gwen. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming, she prodded his foot. “Well?”
He lifted a shaking finger and pointed. “Astrophel: ten clicks that way.” He stared at the road for a moment, then resumed biting his nails.
“I take it it’s not the greatest of towns,” said Gwen.
“Hardly.”
It was just ten minutes later that the near-naked man jumped at them. When the carpet swung upwards to avoid him, Gwen and Hero fell off. The carpet ignored its masters and flew towards the trees, zigzagging upside-down in its panic. It hid amongst the undergrowth and watched.
The man stood staring as Gwen and Hero stood up, scratching under his loincloth. He gave the lamp a poke before Gwen covered it with her sweater.
The man gibbered. Gwen had often read the word, but had never believed the sound could actually be reproduced by human lips.
“May I help you, madman?” said Hero.
The scrawny figure lifted a hand towards them. “You!” he shouted, spittle spraying as he pointed. “Beware the goat! Of doom!” He then curtsied, holding out a snot-covered rag, and hopped away back down the road.
Hero looked down at his shirt and grimaced. “There’s four padded walls somewhere that sorely miss that man.”
Although Hero was quite right in calling the man mad, he should have taken his warning seriously. There are few sane men in the world who are acquainted with The Goat of Doom (née Frank). There are ancient scriptures which refer to it as The Black Goat of the Woods that Has No Mouth and Yet Must Scream, but it wasn’t catchy enough.
“Here,” said Gwen, offering Hero a napkin. It smelled suspiciously of scones and had a few, somewhat squished, crumbs still attached to it.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping the spittle off his face. “Let’s hope he’s an exception.” He made to return the napkin but Gwen shook her head. “No use without the scone, is it?” he said, a little irritably.
“Wha-?” Gwen gulped and took a step back. “No, no scone. There was no sconeing. What a ridiculous idea.”
Sighing, Hero pocketed the napkin and walked over to where the carpet was hiding. “Come on, let’s see if we can find someplace to hide for a bit. And,” he added, glaring at Gwen as she sat beside him, “something to eat.” She looked sheepish and poked at the carpet.
As the carpet rose and started floating along the road again, Hero muttered to himself. “I hardly even got to try those scones. And now I can’t ask Vicky for the recipe.”
Chapter 17: Lacking in Goats and Scones
Early the next day the two saw a road leading through the words. They followed it and landed their carpet beside a signpost. Hero scampered towards it, read the sign, then walked a little down the road. Gwen stayed sitting on the carpet, hugging the lamp to her chest, one hand clamped over its opening. Neither of them were keen on speaking with Huzzah again for a while.
When Hero came back, he seemed concerned.
“Well, do you know where we are?” said Gwen. “Is there a town nearby?”
“Yeah, there is,” said Hero as he sat down beside her. They flew a few minutes following the dirt road before Hero acknowledged Gwen’s curious stare. He’d been biting his nails.
“What’s wrong?” said Gwen. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming, she prodded his foot. “Well?”
He lifted a shaking finger and pointed. “Astrophel: ten clicks that way.” He stared at the road for a moment, then resumed biting his nails.
“I take it it’s not the greatest of towns,” said Gwen.
“Hardly.”
It was just ten minutes later that the near-naked man jumped at them. When the carpet swung upwards to avoid him, Gwen and Hero fell off. The carpet ignored its masters and flew towards the trees, zigzagging upside-down in its panic. It hid amongst the undergrowth and watched.
The man stood staring as Gwen and Hero stood up, scratching under his loincloth. He gave the lamp a poke before Gwen covered it with her sweater.
The man gibbered. Gwen had often read the word, but had never believed the sound could actually be reproduced by human lips.
“May I help you, madman?” said Hero.
The scrawny figure lifted a hand towards them. “You!” he shouted, spittle spraying as he pointed. “Beware the goat! Of doom!” He then curtsied, holding out a snot-covered rag, and hopped away back down the road.
Hero looked down at his shirt and grimaced. “There’s four padded walls somewhere that sorely miss that man.”
Although Hero was quite right in calling the man mad, he should have taken his warning seriously. There are few sane men in the world who are acquainted with The Goat of Doom (née Frank). There are ancient scriptures which refer to it as The Black Goat of the Woods that Has No Mouth and Yet Must Scream, but it wasn’t catchy enough.
“Here,” said Gwen, offering Hero a napkin. It smelled suspiciously of scones and had a few, somewhat squished, crumbs still attached to it.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping the spittle off his face. “Let’s hope he’s an exception.” He made to return the napkin but Gwen shook her head. “No use without the scone, is it?” he said, a little irritably.
“Wha-?” Gwen gulped and took a step back. “No, no scone. There was no sconeing. What a ridiculous idea.”
Sighing, Hero pocketed the napkin and walked over to where the carpet was hiding. “Come on, let’s see if we can find someplace to hide for a bit. And,” he added, glaring at Gwen as she sat beside him, “something to eat.” She looked sheepish and poked at the carpet.
As the carpet rose and started floating along the road again, Hero muttered to himself. “I hardly even got to try those scones. And now I can’t ask Vicky for the recipe.”