Hero's Manual: Chapter 19
A/N: What the women are muttering over the pots is, obviously, from Hamlet. The man with the snacks is a more disturbing version of CMOT Dibbler whilst the dog is Gaspod (The Wonder Dog), both from TPratchett's Disworld novels. The soup is part Neil Gaiman (who wrote of, in Shoggoth's Old Peculair, a beer "advertisers would describe as "full-bodied". Although if pressed they would confess that the body in question had once been that of a goat.") and part Discovery Channels's "Travelers", in which Our Man sups with the Mongols and gets offered the tastiest bit of the goat. The box labelled goat actually exists: I saw it in a clothes store and, once recovered from the massive WTF-factor, jotted it down in my n otebook. As for Frank: he wasn't supposed to be this creapy, I swear.
There's a squick-warning:
Chapter 19: Some Local Colour
Astrophel, it turned out, was a decently-sized town buzzing with activity. Barefoot children ran around waving banners, old men chasing after them waving brushes and dripping paint. A group of men was hammering away at a collection of logs, trying to turn it into a banquet table while a larger, more vociferous group of women pointed and corrected. Old women huddled over large steaming pots, mumbling the same two lines over and over.
“If cooking’s so much ‘toil and trouble’, why do you think they do it?” asked Vicky as they passed the women.
Quasi shrugged. “It seems we’ve arrived just in time for a festival or mid-spring feast.” He was silent for a moment and Vicky felt the butler’s shoulders tense. “I thought there’d be more screaming.”
“Oh, Quasi, you flatter me.”
“Not because of you,” said Quasi dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder, “because of the- Oh.” Quasi squirmed to look around Vicky then scanned the surrounding crowd, looking for the tell-tale aura of concentrated terror. The goat had disappeared.
The pair rode past the carpenters and moved slowly through the town. From their vantage point on Clyde’s back, they scanned the crowd for the Hero and the Damsel. The crowd grew particularly thick between two large cabins, where a hunched man with a mongrel was selling various festival snacks. Quasi felt Vicky searching through his vest pockets.
“I wouldn’t, master,” he warned Vicky. “I’ve heard of him.”
“But we haven’t had anything since dinner last night,” whined Vicky. “It’s past lunchtime as it is, Quasi.”
“We’ll look for a pub or something.” Quasi guided Clyde through the crowd. “Just don’t look at his dog,” he added.
Luckily, they found a bar not far from the town’s main square, where the bulk of the festival preparations were being carried out. They both ordered the special (“Lucretia’s Full-Bodied Soup”) and sat by the door. The soup, it turned out, was indeed full-bodied: Quasi found an eyeball floating in his bowl, and there was a something crunchy he really didn’t want to analyze.
Vicky didn’t have that many scruples and slurped his soup happily.
“Will you be having your eye, sir?”
Quasi glanced up from his bowl to see a small boy standing beside him. He was holding a pile of flyers. Wordlessly, Quasi scooped the eye onto his spoon and handed it to the boy.
“Thank you, sir,” he said as he plucked the eye. “Mother never lets me have the eye, sir, says it’s not right for a boy to eat it. Say’s I’ll see ‘the unmentionable horrors the beast inflicted upon the innocents,’ sir.” The boy tucked the eye into his cheek and sucked on it happily for a moment.
“Give us a flyer, then,” said Quasi, trying not to stare. “I expect it’s about the festival tonight?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said the boy, and Quasi had to avert his eyes from the, well, eye. He couldn’t help thinking how well the boy and his organic jaw-breaker would fit in at The Dark Closet. “It’s a new festival, sir. Here,” he said, laying two flyers on the dirty table. “We’ve got wizards, sir, in town. They flew in this morning on a piece of sky, sir.” Quasi glanced at the flyer, which bore a crude illustration of a banquet scene. The boy continued, his speech hardly hampered by the large bulge in his cheek. “We’ll be celebrating with a fine feast tonight. All travelers, meaning you sirs, are welcome.”
Quasi wondered if that was how he’d sounded, when younger. Saying “sir” every fifth syllable or so.
Vicky perked up at the news. “Was there a girl?”
“Oh, yes, sir, a fine girl, sir.”
Vicky smiled at Quasi, who was still staring at the flyer. “You hear that, Quasi?”
“What’s in the soup, boy?” asked Quasi, ignoring his master.
“Why, sir, the Dark Lord of the Woods, sir.” Quasi heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, not the Dark Lord of the Woods, sir.” The butler’s hand tensed so suddenly his nails ripped through the flyer. “It’s goat, sir.” He gave a thoughtful suck. “I think that was Spotty, actually.” Suck. “We only like to pretend it’s the goat, sir.” The boy caught Quasi’s crestfallen look. “If you like it, sir, we’ve got whole boxes of it.” Both men looked in the direction the boy was pointing. There, sitting on the bar, were small boxes labeled “Goat”.
“There will be no need, thank you, go now, please,” muttered Quasi.
Once the boy had left, Quasi pushed his bowl across the table to Vicky. “I’m going to check on the camel, sir-master.” The boy’s “sir”-ing habit was catching. His master shrugged and started on his second bowl of Lucretia’s Full-Bodied Soup.
Quasi didn’t need to step into the stable at the back of the bar. He didn’t even think he could. From the doorway, he could make out the light-coloured camel well enough. Beside Clyde, Quasi could just make out a small black form. It was dark in the stable, but Quasi knew the goat was looking at him, working on it’s cud like ten-year-olds sucked eyeballs.
He kept a tight grip on his candlestick all the way back to the bar.
There's a squick-warning:
Chapter 19: Some Local Colour
Astrophel, it turned out, was a decently-sized town buzzing with activity. Barefoot children ran around waving banners, old men chasing after them waving brushes and dripping paint. A group of men was hammering away at a collection of logs, trying to turn it into a banquet table while a larger, more vociferous group of women pointed and corrected. Old women huddled over large steaming pots, mumbling the same two lines over and over.
“If cooking’s so much ‘toil and trouble’, why do you think they do it?” asked Vicky as they passed the women.
Quasi shrugged. “It seems we’ve arrived just in time for a festival or mid-spring feast.” He was silent for a moment and Vicky felt the butler’s shoulders tense. “I thought there’d be more screaming.”
“Oh, Quasi, you flatter me.”
“Not because of you,” said Quasi dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder, “because of the- Oh.” Quasi squirmed to look around Vicky then scanned the surrounding crowd, looking for the tell-tale aura of concentrated terror. The goat had disappeared.
The pair rode past the carpenters and moved slowly through the town. From their vantage point on Clyde’s back, they scanned the crowd for the Hero and the Damsel. The crowd grew particularly thick between two large cabins, where a hunched man with a mongrel was selling various festival snacks. Quasi felt Vicky searching through his vest pockets.
“I wouldn’t, master,” he warned Vicky. “I’ve heard of him.”
“But we haven’t had anything since dinner last night,” whined Vicky. “It’s past lunchtime as it is, Quasi.”
“We’ll look for a pub or something.” Quasi guided Clyde through the crowd. “Just don’t look at his dog,” he added.
Luckily, they found a bar not far from the town’s main square, where the bulk of the festival preparations were being carried out. They both ordered the special (“Lucretia’s Full-Bodied Soup”) and sat by the door. The soup, it turned out, was indeed full-bodied: Quasi found an eyeball floating in his bowl, and there was a something crunchy he really didn’t want to analyze.
Vicky didn’t have that many scruples and slurped his soup happily.
“Will you be having your eye, sir?”
Quasi glanced up from his bowl to see a small boy standing beside him. He was holding a pile of flyers. Wordlessly, Quasi scooped the eye onto his spoon and handed it to the boy.
“Thank you, sir,” he said as he plucked the eye. “Mother never lets me have the eye, sir, says it’s not right for a boy to eat it. Say’s I’ll see ‘the unmentionable horrors the beast inflicted upon the innocents,’ sir.” The boy tucked the eye into his cheek and sucked on it happily for a moment.
“Give us a flyer, then,” said Quasi, trying not to stare. “I expect it’s about the festival tonight?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said the boy, and Quasi had to avert his eyes from the, well, eye. He couldn’t help thinking how well the boy and his organic jaw-breaker would fit in at The Dark Closet. “It’s a new festival, sir. Here,” he said, laying two flyers on the dirty table. “We’ve got wizards, sir, in town. They flew in this morning on a piece of sky, sir.” Quasi glanced at the flyer, which bore a crude illustration of a banquet scene. The boy continued, his speech hardly hampered by the large bulge in his cheek. “We’ll be celebrating with a fine feast tonight. All travelers, meaning you sirs, are welcome.”
Quasi wondered if that was how he’d sounded, when younger. Saying “sir” every fifth syllable or so.
Vicky perked up at the news. “Was there a girl?”
“Oh, yes, sir, a fine girl, sir.”
Vicky smiled at Quasi, who was still staring at the flyer. “You hear that, Quasi?”
“What’s in the soup, boy?” asked Quasi, ignoring his master.
“Why, sir, the Dark Lord of the Woods, sir.” Quasi heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, not the Dark Lord of the Woods, sir.” The butler’s hand tensed so suddenly his nails ripped through the flyer. “It’s goat, sir.” He gave a thoughtful suck. “I think that was Spotty, actually.” Suck. “We only like to pretend it’s the goat, sir.” The boy caught Quasi’s crestfallen look. “If you like it, sir, we’ve got whole boxes of it.” Both men looked in the direction the boy was pointing. There, sitting on the bar, were small boxes labeled “Goat”.
“There will be no need, thank you, go now, please,” muttered Quasi.
Once the boy had left, Quasi pushed his bowl across the table to Vicky. “I’m going to check on the camel, sir-master.” The boy’s “sir”-ing habit was catching. His master shrugged and started on his second bowl of Lucretia’s Full-Bodied Soup.
Quasi didn’t need to step into the stable at the back of the bar. He didn’t even think he could. From the doorway, he could make out the light-coloured camel well enough. Beside Clyde, Quasi could just make out a small black form. It was dark in the stable, but Quasi knew the goat was looking at him, working on it’s cud like ten-year-olds sucked eyeballs.
He kept a tight grip on his candlestick all the way back to the bar.