In Which I Throw Somebody Out Of A Window And Then Get Beaten Up
Impetuous, I leapt from Alfonso’s back and began to sprint to the city gates. I heard Selladore call out for me, somewhere far behind, as though in another world. All that mattered now was Astra.
With the grace of a sunbeam I raced betwixt the baffled guards, who could only turn and call out to me in vain. I lighted over the city streets, unable to think of anything but my beautiful wife. The city was but a blur. I shouldered my way through the throng of peasants and followed signs for the cathedral, readying myself for the fight of my life. I could hear the church bells!
In Which I Offend Boomlay And Then Sprint Off To My Doom
“And who might this young woman be?” asked Selladore as I stalked back to camp with Boomlay tottering along behind, her arms crammed full of pots and pans. Her cabbage was bringing up the rear, apparently of its own accord.
In Which I Get Lured Away By A Nice Aroma And Meet A Witch
A NOTE ON THE DESTRUCTION OF GALANTHUS:
Actually, it turns out it’s a jolly good thing that fair Galanthus sank into the sea. Much later on, I read up on the town – slightly out of guilt from being a possible instigator of its implosion – and it turns out that Galanthus was home to the highest number of racists per square metre on the entire continent. The town had also held the title of ‘Scam Capital of the Six Kingdoms’ since 1243, and three separate hate groups called Galanthus their home, these being: The Anti-Troll League, The Elf Punchers, and the rather ambiguous General Loathing Society. All in all, they were a rotten bunch and you shouldn’t feel too sorry for them.
*****
And thus, our journey to save my darling Astra was nearing its end. We had successfully traversed the Great Valley Road; we made it over the dreaded Klinghorns in one piece (except for Dedmiht, who died); we boldly crossed the accursed Goochi Desert, where I lost a hand and we gained a pirate; we navigated the treacherous Mines of Mupplecock and Edgar was magicked into a stupid worm; we crossed the Sea of Piss and discovered and then sort-of destroyed the fabled ice town of Galanthus; and now, now, finally – the end of our quest was in sight.
Well, almost. Obviously we had to encounter one more idiot first.
We were setting up camp for the evening in a flowery meadow when a strange scent caught my nose. Caressing the inner lining of my kingly nostrils was a peculiar blend of spices and herbs utterly alien to me. The smell was intoxicating and delicious, and my hungry nose devoured it, gobbling up the aroma from the air like an elephant draining an oasis in one unbelievable huge honk.
I wanted more smell. I needed more smell. My nostrils were not big enough. Dash it all, why did I have such useless tiny nose holes? I gripped them and attempted to open them wider so as to hoover up more of the scent. It was bewitching – beguiling, so it was! So consumed was I by the delicious fragrance that I quite forgot my colleagues and wandered away, nose upturned, snorting up giant globules of air like a greedy anteater. I was entranced, enraptured, enchanted, enamoured and enslaved. And there I found it: nestled in secret between two enormous boulders, a crooked wagon was waiting, its chimney trailing a thin plume of deliciously whiffable smoke.
The wagon was strange. It wasn’t made of wood, nor any building material I’d ever seen. I approached gingerly and prodded its dark purple surface, and it wobbled. Could it be– no, surely not. That would be too silly. I prodded it again. No, it had to be! Was it… made from… cabbage? Was this a big purple cabbage on wheels? A cabbage carriage? Who in their right mind would craft a carriage from—
“Come inside, dearie,” creaked a voice from within, causing me to leap a foot in the air.
“Erm… no I’m fine thank you,” I replied, but then the scent collared me by the nose hairs again and I couldn’t help but climb inside.
Upon entering I found myself nose to nose with an astoundingly wrinkled old lady. Her nose was half a foot long if it was an inch, her earlobes were long and floppy, and her hands were slow and soft, that unique old person kind of soft, baby soft; actually no, softer than that; so soft that they made the gentle smiling cheeks of newborn babes look like gravelly jowls of goblins. She smiled at me and showed a mouthful of glittering silver teeth to match her glittering silver eyeballs.
“My name is Boomlay,” said the old lady, and I internally rolled my eyes because nobody ever has a normal name, do they?
“Alright,” I sighed, “and what can I do for thee… Boomlay?”
“I was expecting you, King Athelstan,” said Boomlay.
“Yes, apparently everyone is these days,” I replied.
“I have a message for you regarding your quest.”
“It’s doomed?”
“Your quest is– hey, what? How did you know?” asked Boomlay.
“Somebody beat thee to it. I received my dark prophecy a few weeks ago.”
“From who?”
“Tall lady. She kept calling herself a wizard. Disappeared in green fire. Left her shoes behind.”
“Oblivia! Blast it all, she wasn’t supposed to prophesy your doom. That was my job!”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and examined the cabbagey interior. It looked pretty much just how you’d expect the innards of a cabbage to look.
“I can’t believe it,” said Boomlay. “I’ve been parked here for days, brewing delicious malevolent fragrances every hour, working on the perfect blend to attract your nose and your nose alone, and she’s already been and prophesied you! Unbelievable. Oh, I worked so hard.”
“I don’t mean to be rude but – isn’t it a little late in the quest to be dishing out grave prophecies anyway? The wicked prince’s castle is a day’s ride away now. What’s the use of letting my company ride this far, only to tell us it’s all useless at the last leg?”
To my horror, the old woman began to weep. She blew her gigantic nose on a grey handkerchief and her shoulders bounced up and down with the force of her sobs. I felt deeply uncomfortable and began to stand up and vacate the cabbage, but was seized by the damnable fingers of my stupid conscience. I sat back down opposite the sobbing woman and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
“Oh, balls to it. Fine. Boomlay, listen. Thou can still prophesise my doom, if it please thee.”
The woman’s sobs slowed, and she looked up at me.
“What?”
“I don’t mind. Thou hast gone to much effort. T’would be a shame if it was all for naught.”
“I don’t know… it wouldn’t be the same,” sniffed Boomlay.
“Look, we can make believe, okay? I’ll exit the cabbage, and thou must entice me inside once more. I will act as though I am completely unaware, and thou can prophesy my doom. Does that sound fair?”
The old lady wiped her tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I suppose… yeah.”
“Okay.”
I climbed out of the cabbage and stood back in the meadow, rocking back and forth on my feet. I whistled a tune. After a minute, the thin plume of smoke drifted over to me once more.
I approached the cabbage again.
“Come inside, dearie,” an eldritch voice shrilled.
I parted the cabbage leaves and squeezed into the giant purple vegetable once more.
“Hello,” I said, making myself comfortable.
Boomlay watched me with her little silver pupils.
“I have been expecting you… King Athelstan,” she grinned.
“Oh, have you now? Goodness, that is quite something,” I replied. I was never very good at acting, I’m afraid.
“I have lured you here through dark magic, because I have a prophecy regarding… your sacred quest,” whispered the witch.
“Surely not?” I gasped.
Boomlay cackled and handed me a small silver gravy boat with a long curved spout. I raised an eyebrow. This must be her thing; maybe each magical person has their own little flourish when predicting doom and despair. Why does nobody ever prophesy anything good, I wondered. ‘I prophesy that you will have a lovely evening and get a good night’s sleep.’ That would have been nice.
“Now… rub the lamp,” said the witch.
I looked around me but could see no lamp anywhere besides the one dangling from the ceiling. I reached out and gave it a stroke.
“No, not– you’re holding it,” said Boomlay, wrestling to keep her evil composure. “You’re holding the lamp. Rub it.”
“It looks like a gravy boat to me,” I replied, turning it over in my hands. “What kind of lamp has a spout like that? How would the light escape? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s a gravy boat.”
“Lamp,” scowled Boomlay.
“No look, really, thou seest the gravy goes in the top here. Thou just take off the lid and-“
The instant I lifted the little lid from the gravy boat, a rush of unearthly wind burst forth from within, knocking me backwards. I flopped around on the floor of the carriage like a bewildered salmon as the evil mist slithered all over my regal body. It felt as though I was being licked by a gang of deviant eels.
“Shiiiit! Shiiiit!”
“King Athelstan, behold! You have summoned a genie from the lamp.”
I peered through the gaps in my fingers as I lay curled up and foetal on the carpet and saw above me, floating a foot off the ground, a fantastical figure wreathed in purple smoke, belched forth from the gravy boat. Its arms were folded and it was regarding me coolly. I struggled back into my seat. As the wisps of dark vapours surrounding the shadow figure began to withdraw, my eyes were able to fully inhale the demon I had summoned.
It looked like nothing I had witnessed in all my travels. The strange apparition had a gleaming domed head with a faint frizz of straggling hair around the sides, swept up and draped across its crown. It had stubble, a beard of three days’ growth with a thick moustache. It wore strange rectangles of glass in front of its eyes, the glass held in a thin metal frame that rested over its nose and hooked around its ears. Its torso, pillowy and gaudy, was clad in a large white garment with a stiff collar and buttons up the front, and tied around said collar was a strange blue strip of fabric, knotted at the neck to hang down the front of its body. I shuddered at the ghastly visage.
“Whomst be-est thou, O dreadful spirit of the Gravy Boat that is at once a Lamp and sauce dish with spout?” I quavered.
The apparition regarded me a moment, then turned to Boomlay.
“Uh, what did he say?” it asked the old woman in strange, foreign tones.
Boomlay looked slightly annoyed. “He asked you what your name is.”
“Oh right. Sorry.”
The spirit turned back to me, and I withered under its frightful gaze.
“Hullo,” it spoke. “My name’s Ian.”
“Ian,” I cried. “A name both eldritch and a-cursed, to be sure. Aye, Ian!”
The spirit turned back to Boomlay with a look of confusion.
“He likes your name,” she explained.
“Mighty Ian!” I cried as the apparition turned back to me. “From whence doth thou hail?”
“Explain where you come from, Ian,” said the old lady.
The gravy boat demon coughed a bit, and shrugged.
“I was just at the office one day working late on day – I work at an accounting firm you see – and I suddenly got this weird feeling in my head, like I was being sucked through a thin straw, and I just appeared here, with Boomlay. She tells me she summoned me from a parallel realm, and that I have unearthly wisdom, or something. She summons me every now and then and asks for advice. It used to be annoying, but I suppose I’ve gotten used to it now. It breaks up my evenings and it fills the gap between X Factor and Game of Thrones.”
I gawped at the spectre, allowing its strange intonations and odd words to sink into my headbrain.
“Office? Parallel realm? X Factor? Spectre, I know not of what thou speaketh!”
“Look,” said Boomlay, “Ian is my genie. I performed a spell and I summoned him. You can ask him one question. It used to be three but due to budget cuts we’ve had to lose the other two. So what’ll it be?”
“I can ask anything I want?”
“Yes,” said Ian and Boomlay in unison.
“And there you have it. Your question has been answered.”
“Wait! That wasn’t my question. T’was but a statement.”
“No it wasn’t, it had a question mark,” countered Boomlay.
“How wouldst thou know if it had a question mark? Thou cannot hear grammar,” I protested. “I want another go.”
“Right, fine,” said Boomlay. “But this is the last one.”
I sat back in my seat and stroked my royal chin. I had to ask just the right question, a question that would set me sailing bold and true on my quest for rescue Astra. I toyed with a few ideas – I could ask if success would be ours, or if anybody else would die or be turned into a chubby little worm, or if I would best the wicked prince when the time came for us to duel, as surely we must in a few chapter’s time. But these questions seemed unimportant. Where my Astra was concerned, there was only one question of any import.
“Astra,” I breathed, “as we speak here and now, is she okay? I must know this.”
Mighty Ian looked blankly at me a moment, then, from a compartment sewn into his strange britches, pulled a small, metal, rectangular object. It winked obsidian in the lamplight. The apparition prodded the object, and it sprang to life, glowing pale blue, illuminating Ian’s ghastly visage. With his fingers he pressed various points on the object, and strange images flickered momentarily across its surface.
“Prithee, what devilry is this?” I asked.
Ian looked up, inconvenienced by my curiosity.
“Oh, er, I’m just Googling the plot. Give me a sec to fire up Wikipedia. There’s bad signal in the spirit realm.”
“Googling?” I turned to Boomlay. “Pray tell old woman, what is this ‘Googling’? And whence is Wickapedium ablaze?”
She shrugged and bit into a gleaming red apple, then spat it out and retched.
“Bugger. Always forget which ones are poisoned and which aren’t. And I don’t know, he uses that weird shiny square thing to tell us about the future.”
Ian was hard at work, his fingers a-blur poking the glowing bit of metal.
“Okay,” said he. “Whereabouts are you on your quest? Have you crossed the Goochi Desert?”
“Yes, a couple of weeks ago, actually. It’s very pretty.”
“And Edgar has been turned into a worm?”
Sigh.
“Yes…”
“And Dedmìht is-“
“Yes, yes, he died ages ago.”
Ian gave me an odd look, then went back to his curious Googling box.
“Right, okay. So at this point in your quest, the Queen is… oh.”
“‘Oh’ what?” I cried, leaning forward, stepping on Boomlay’s foot by accident.
“Well, ah, it’s nothing really. Yes, she’s okay. Astra is okay. You don’t have to be concerned about her wellbeing.”
“But what made thou say ‘oh’?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve had your one question. That’s all I can do you for, I’m afraid. Maybe another time, yeah?”
“But… but Astra…”
“Astra’s fine, honestly. Don’t worry. You’ll see her soon enough.”
My face lit up with joy. Soon enough! I would see her soon enough, once more! Oh joy of joys how I missed her! Callooh! Ca-fucking-lay! Then I caught Ian looking at me with a strange watery half-smile. He was really devilishly ugly, and the sad drooping grimace that was smeared on his lips didn’t help the effect one bit. He patted me on the shoulder lightly.
“You’ll be alright, mate. Don’t worry,” he said.
I laughed, warmly, reaching out to ruffle the hair of the spirit.
“I am not concerned about mine own wellbeing, sir. If thou hast not yet noticed, I’m short five knuckles. Yet this grave wound doth pale into insignificance when I picture the face of my love.”
Ian winced, presumably at the sight of my stump, which I was presently waving around to make my point. He patted my shoulder once more, then by some arcane whatevery his smoky form was sucked back into the gravy boat with a soft ‘whup’ that sounded like someone sucking a runny egg through a straw. I had been cradling the boat in my lap, and felt slightly violated by Ian’s diving headfirst into the gusset of my britches. I placed Ian and his condimental vessel on the cushioned bench beside me.
Boomlay had apparently become bored of the fortune-telling exercise and was busy picking herbs out of her teeth.
“So…” I offered. She looked up and noticed the lack of Ian.
“Oh, right, I see you’re all finished. Did you find the answers you sought?”
“Well, not really.”
Boomlay scratched the end of her beaky nose.
“Nobody ever does, really – not now that you’re only allowed one question. Everyone always gets too giddy and asks something silly.”
“I think I did that too.”
Boomlay offered me a sympathetic smile, and then held out her palm.
“What?”
She wiggled her fingers.
“You want paying?”
She nodded.
“What! You lured me here, predicted my doom, and didn’t even do a good job of it. You ought to pay me. Besides, I don’t have any money. I lost it all in the desert. Now bugger off.”
“I told you!” cried Selladore as we stood watching my beloved pig sinking into the watery abyss.
We’d made it several miles, winding through the ranks of gnarled frozen fingers, when Margaret had misplaced her trotter and plunged through the ice. The hole around her grew, and within seconds she was in the middle of a large watery ring. She didn’t do a very good job of treading water. Through the ice, we watched the vague pink shape of my steed sink away from us.
In Which I Tell A Lovely Story About My Gorgeous Wife
The next morning we waved goodbye to the shrinking earthworms below us as we ascended up and out of the Mines of Mupplecock. Glob and Selladore were operating a large hand crank on a rickety old elevator made of frayed rope and gnarled wooden planks. The worms in the meadow had no use for it, obviously; worms don’t have hands. I was clinging on for dear life as we rose, as each turn of the giant cog sent a threatening shudder through the knackered machine. It didn’t help that we had the fat useless lump that was worm Edgar dangling below, suspended from a bundle of rope because he couldn’t fit aboard the platform.
I had not made it two feet when a brilliant white light seared into my retinas, rendering my eyes useless. I staggered forward, flailing wildly, stupid and helpless.
“Selladore! Glob! Ugh – Edgar! Thy king is blinded, help!” I called out.
They must have run in and suffered the same fate; I heard the chorus of their shrieks. We four blinded fools clattered into one another as we raced around whatever chamber we were in. The roars of the unseen creatures were deafening, coming from every side. I tripped over something soft and furry, sailed arse-over-bosom through the air, and landed in a clanking heap on the floor. My sword fell from my grip, leaving me defenceless. I felt hot, stinky breath in my ear, and span around to punch with all my might whatever beast was coming for me. My armoured fist connected with the monster’s fleshy hide, and I heard a squeal. The monster backed away as I rubbed my eyes hastily, urging them to adjust to the light.
We rode (and jogged) for two days through the cherry blossom forest, and the journey was largely uneventful except for one point where Edgar got dragged away in the night by a swarm of goblins and we had to go and get him before they could dissolve him in their subterranean gunge tanks. Aside from that the forest was lovely, and I wrote down in my diary that I simply must take Astra this way on the route home.
When I awoke it was mid-afternoon and my skin was hot and my mouth was dry. With a groan I tried to move, but something held me in place. I glanced down at my body and found myself quite naked, roped to the mast.
“Ugh.”
I always wake up naked after I black out. I’ve no idea at which point in my bloodlust-filled rampages I decide it’s a good idea to strip down to my skivvies (and then out of them), but it seems to be a running theme. Almost every siege I’ve commanded has ended with my swinging bollock naked from the castle’s chandeliers with a knife in my teeth. My soldiers have come to expect it, and mostly leave me to my own devices.
A fly landed on my nose. I tried to blow it off, but it crawled up inside my nostril; Selladore found me cross-eyed and screaming. He kept his distance.
“Are ye alright, laddie?” he asked.
A gigantic honk of my schnoz sent the fly hurtling out across the deck. With my nose free from intruders, I regained my composure and regarded the captain. He was ashen and bloody, his whole body ravaged with deep cuts and shrapnel wounds, and his red eyeshadow was smeared across his face. The boa was still pristine, slung over one shoulder. I noted Glob and Edgar behind him, sitting together in exhaustion, equally battered. I felt proud of them.
“Aye, Selladore, I have calmed myself. I… apologise for the bloodshed I did inflict before thee.”
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that, ya devil! Are ye sure ya don’t fancy staying aboard a while? I could use a first mate like you. Together we could be the scourge of the sands.”
“I thank thee, Captain, but I must decline. My darling Astra needs me, and I am for her as long as I draw breath. Prithee, untie me. Mine bloodlust is sated.”
With only the briefest moment of apprehension, Selladore untied me and handed me my blood-drenched clothes, which he informed me had been found in a heap in the crow’s nest, somehow. I crossed the deck to check on Glob and Edgar, then glanced around the ship. This was not One Ball; the sails were black, the deck was larger, and there were not burning corpses everywhere. I supposed Selladore had commandeered one of the ships from those ugly twins I decapitated earlier.
The ship was thundering across the sands; we would be at the mines in no time. I leant over the railing and glanced behind us, and small on the horizon I saw our old ship, wrecked, engulfed in flame. The charred mast of One Ball twisted and cracked as I watched, and fell with an enormous weight, smashing through the deck to the lower floors.
Then, before my very eyes, the sand around the ships began to swirl; the dunes shifted and throbbed like mercury. Then, from beneath the sands, a writhing cluster of thick, red tentacles burst forth, each one the length of the ship’s mast. The whipping limbs wrapped around the ship, clenching it tightly. Even though we were many miles away, I heard the colossal sound of the hull crunching as it was compressed with unfathomable force. The ship cracked in two, its hull burst apart from the pressure, and the tentacles dragged the remnants beneath the dunes. Not a trace was left, and all was still.
“Beautiful, aye?” said Selladore, by my side.
I didn’t say anything for twenty five seconds, gaping open-mouthed at Selladore.
“What about that was beautiful?”
Selladore stroked his chin, as though he’d never before considered this.
“Nice colours, I suppose.”
If I’d known that was lurking beneath the sands, I’d never have tried galloping across them on the back of a blasted pig. Well – alright, I still would have, because Astra is worth any hardship – but I’d have been a damn sight more cautious. It’s probably better I didn’t know, really. And the more I thought about the thunder bird and the sand pirates and the monstrous desert kraken, the more I questioned what the hell that jangly old woman was thinking when she decided to set up Inebrium in the middle of a savage hell-plain. Probably just chewed a few too many Boogie Tree leaves.
*****
We arrived at the edge of the desert in the late afternoon, just as the sun was doing that thing it does where it goes low and turns everything orange and everyone looks gorgeous. As abruptly as it began, the desert ceased. The sands stopped dead, lapping harmlessly against angular slabs of grey slate. Cracked hills wound away into the distance peppered with vivid pink cherry blossoms, lined up along the hilltops in long enchanting avenues. I stood abreast with Selladore, Glob and Edgar in quiet awe.
“Great Gods… I’ve never strayed this far west before,” breathed Selladore, turning to me. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your quest. True love, romance, adventure and all that, and, if you don’t mind – I’m coming with ye.”
I had been feeling forlorn about saying goodbye to the captain, and as he said this my inner voice leapt into the air and squealed with delight. I am a king however, and as such I felt it more appropriate to greet his declaration with a regal nod and a noble smile.
“T’would be a pleasure, Captain,” I replied.
Edgar and Glob, who had equally taken a shine to the captain, cheered at this news. Edgar even attempted a joyous celebratory cartwheel which obviously went horribly.
“Aye,” said Selladore. “And besides, you saved this buccaneer’s rotten-hearted life from those thrice-damned Gristle Twins. I do believe I’m indebted to ye, King.”
He turned to his crew – those who hadn’t been sliced to ribbons earlier that afternoon – and gave command over to his first mate, a fearsome looking woman with stormy black hair and an ornately carved peg arm.
“Be good to her for me, Rosa. I’ve some landlubbin’ to do for a spell. I’ll find you again when the time is right.”
I found myself grinning like an idiot to hear the word ‘landlubbing’ used in earnest. Or used at all, to be honest. God I love pirates.
The woman nodded and set out about yelling orders. The plank was extended, but this time I was gently led down it rather than shunted off the end. Our bold trio was restored to a gay quartet once more, and with long avenues of bowing cherry blossoms lining our path to the horizon, we were in the highest of spirits. I rode my chubby sow under the charming pink boughs, and reaffirmed my vow under my breath.
In Which Battle Breaks Out And I Get Ever So Slightly Carried Away
The cannonball burst through the ship’s hull sending splinters the size of bananas stinging through the air, pinged neatly through a bewildered crewmember’s torso, and came to rest in a collection of grain sacks. The newly disembowelled pirate glanced down at the gaping hole in his stomach, murmured something inconsequential, and collapsed backwards into a collection of pots and pans.
In Which I Meet My First Ever Pirates And Get Made To Walk The Plank Six Times In A Row
The jangly woman wasn’t joking when she said we wouldn’t last an hour.
Barely twenty minutes into our flight, a bellowing horn blast rattled our ribcages and sent Margaret into a panicked bucking frenzy. Given that I’d only been mutilated half an hour earlier and hadn’t quite mastered the art of riding one handed, I was immediately slung from my sow and treated to a mouthful of hot sand.
