Histrionical Diner: Anachronisms Served Daily, Chapter 1
This is the novel I started for NaNoWriMo 2010; I reached my goal of 25,000 words, but it's only about halfway through (or maybe a bit less, I'm not sure). Anyway, I'll post a chapter every few days or so. Here goes!
Chapter 1:
Ricimer sighed gloomily and studied the leather cords binding his wrists. The light in the black tent was dismally meager, but there was enough effulgence filtering through the heavy fabric for him to be able to tell that he had made no progress with the knots at all.
That rat Meino! When he got back to his tribe he would make him pay. After the death of his father two years prior, Ricimer had considered banishing Meino, but thought him too cowardly to attempt a coup. He had been mostly right; Meino had not raised a hand against Ricimer himself, instead leading him almost straight into the Gothic camp and fleeing in the confusion.
He had to get out of here somehow. Usually he was pretty good at undoing knots, but the Goths apparently had nothing better to do than sit around practicing knot tying, as the knot they had used would practically hold an aurochs. Attempting to chew through the cords gained him nothing except the knowledge that whatever the Goths used to tan their leather tasted absolutely awful. He was feeling about on the floor for something sharp that he could use to cut through them (and coming up with nothing, of course), when the curtain of the dark tent was flung open.
Ricimer shielded his eyes from the sudden bright light. When he pulled his hands down again, he was not alone. A girl was staring at him from a very uncomfortable proximity.
"I'm Amalasuintha. What's your name?" she said.
"Ricimer..." he replied. Where was this conversation going to go? Amalasuintha (she was the chieftain's daughter, he remembered---she had been standing beside the chieftain when Ricimer was dragged before him) was being disturbingly casual.
"Ricimer...Ricimer. That's a nice name, I like it." Well, good for her. But it looked like she had more to say. "Daddy says that I need to get married, but all the boys here are so boring and some of them are so much older than me, you know? So I asked him about you since you looked nice and were just the right age and he said yes so now we're going to get married!"
Ricimer's caravan of thought stampeded like Hannibal's elephants crossing the Rhone. "What."
"We're go-ing to get mar-ried," Amalasuintha repeated slowly, in Received Gothic, as if she was speaking to a small child. Ricimer resented that. He was flummoxed, not stupid. Besides, he was older than she was.
"Not. A. Chance," he said firmly, once he had recovered some coherence.
"Awwwwww," she pouted (from the sound it was a very good pout, maybe even better than his sister's) and flounced out, swishing the curtain wide open. Through the bright light, he could see at least two guards at the entrance of the tent. Even if he could free his hands he would have no chance of escape without a weapon of some kind.
"Daddyyyyyy!" he heard Amalasuintha wailing. "He says he won't marry meeeee!"
He couldn't make out what her father said in reply, but it didn't exactly sound as if he was saying “Why don't you find a nice Gothic boy instead, then?”
The conversation continued rather more quietly for a little while (Amalasuintha's pouting tone carrying even if her words didn't). Finally, he heard Amalasuintha say "So we’ll have the wedding at sunset? Pleeeeease?" and her father apparently assenting, for she shrieked with delight and began firing orders at her women.
Well, this was going to be fun. If one had a really twisted idea of fun.
To Be Continued...
Chapter 1:
Ricimer sighed gloomily and studied the leather cords binding his wrists. The light in the black tent was dismally meager, but there was enough effulgence filtering through the heavy fabric for him to be able to tell that he had made no progress with the knots at all.
That rat Meino! When he got back to his tribe he would make him pay. After the death of his father two years prior, Ricimer had considered banishing Meino, but thought him too cowardly to attempt a coup. He had been mostly right; Meino had not raised a hand against Ricimer himself, instead leading him almost straight into the Gothic camp and fleeing in the confusion.
He had to get out of here somehow. Usually he was pretty good at undoing knots, but the Goths apparently had nothing better to do than sit around practicing knot tying, as the knot they had used would practically hold an aurochs. Attempting to chew through the cords gained him nothing except the knowledge that whatever the Goths used to tan their leather tasted absolutely awful. He was feeling about on the floor for something sharp that he could use to cut through them (and coming up with nothing, of course), when the curtain of the dark tent was flung open.
Ricimer shielded his eyes from the sudden bright light. When he pulled his hands down again, he was not alone. A girl was staring at him from a very uncomfortable proximity.
"I'm Amalasuintha. What's your name?" she said.
"Ricimer..." he replied. Where was this conversation going to go? Amalasuintha (she was the chieftain's daughter, he remembered---she had been standing beside the chieftain when Ricimer was dragged before him) was being disturbingly casual.
"Ricimer...Ricimer. That's a nice name, I like it." Well, good for her. But it looked like she had more to say. "Daddy says that I need to get married, but all the boys here are so boring and some of them are so much older than me, you know? So I asked him about you since you looked nice and were just the right age and he said yes so now we're going to get married!"
Ricimer's caravan of thought stampeded like Hannibal's elephants crossing the Rhone. "What."
"We're go-ing to get mar-ried," Amalasuintha repeated slowly, in Received Gothic, as if she was speaking to a small child. Ricimer resented that. He was flummoxed, not stupid. Besides, he was older than she was.
"Not. A. Chance," he said firmly, once he had recovered some coherence.
"Awwwwww," she pouted (from the sound it was a very good pout, maybe even better than his sister's) and flounced out, swishing the curtain wide open. Through the bright light, he could see at least two guards at the entrance of the tent. Even if he could free his hands he would have no chance of escape without a weapon of some kind.
"Daddyyyyyy!" he heard Amalasuintha wailing. "He says he won't marry meeeee!"
He couldn't make out what her father said in reply, but it didn't exactly sound as if he was saying “Why don't you find a nice Gothic boy instead, then?”
The conversation continued rather more quietly for a little while (Amalasuintha's pouting tone carrying even if her words didn't). Finally, he heard Amalasuintha say "So we’ll have the wedding at sunset? Pleeeeease?" and her father apparently assenting, for she shrieked with delight and began firing orders at her women.
Well, this was going to be fun. If one had a really twisted idea of fun.
To Be Continued...