Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress Page 2

  "Come now!"

  "I must visit the little warrior's room first," said I.

  "Fine," she said. "I will be waiting outside."

  I was loath to leave, but what was I to do. I stepped out back to, um? wash my hands. Then I headed back through the taproom for the front door, stopping just a moment to help Taffy, who was floating face down in the mud, while Mustard Seed was biting her on the foot. When I exited the tavern, I found the sorceress standing with a man. I didn't recognize him until I got close-it was Ellwood Cyrene.

  Chapter Five: Wherein an old friend causes me some momentary discomfort and a most remarkable transformation.

  "Ellwood Cyrene," I cried, so glad to see my old friend that I momentarily forgot my ruse. "Um, is me, which is to say that I am Ellwood Cyrene."

  "Yes," said Ellwood stiffly. "He is Ellwood Cyrene. And I am the? ahem? great story-teller Eaglethorpe Buxton."

  "Story-teller adventurer," I offered.

  "Story-teller adventurer."

  "Great story-teller adventurer," I added.

  "I said great," said Ellwood.

  "You said great the first time, but you didn't say great the second time."

  "I am the great, the marvelous, the wonderful adventurer and story-teller Eaglethorpe?"

  "And hero," said I.

  "Never mind," said Ellwood. "He is Eaglethorpe Buxton. Go ahead and kill him. I no longer care."

  "Foolish children you are," said Myolaena, her face taking on a snarl which quite detracted from the, well, if not beauty, then certainly the attractiveness that I had felt for her before. "Do you think for one moment that I could not tell who this idiot was?"

  "Idiot is not quite the word you are looking for," said I. "Perhaps bard or wordsmith might be a better fit."

  "Silence! I know who the true Eagle-brained Buffoon is." She turned to Ellwood Cyrene. "Just as I know who you are. You have your father's eyes."

  "I met his father once and I don't think he looked anything like him," I opined. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he was adopted."

  "That is because you are an idiot," hissed the sorceress. "What do you know of it? What do you know of anything? You write a play about the royal family of Aerithraine and you wouldn't know the Queen if she fell on you!"

  "That is not so," said I. "The Queen and I are quite close. I once spent a fortnight in her company."

  A smirking noise came from my friend, which he, somewhat less than valiantly, tried to suppress.

  "You find this funny?" asked Myolaena.

  "Well, yes," said Ellwood. "You see, he actually did spend a fortnight in the company of the Queen. It was her infantry company, and he served in it for a whole two weeks before he was drummed out for failure to carry out his duty."

  "Oh varlet, villain, and false friend!" said I.

  "I did not hear "liar" amongst those names," quoth he.

  "Enough of this," snarled Myolaena.

  "Yes, enough of this," said Ellwood. "Let this foolish hack go on his way and you and I will find some quiet place to quench your fire."

  "Campfire?" I asked.

  "The fires of passion!" hissed the sorceress.

  She did not have the passionate look on her face that I had expected. In fact her expression was nothing like it had been when we had spoken before, when she thought I was Ellwood Cyrene. But at last she gave a curt nod.

  "We shall go," she said. "But Eaglethorpe Buxton shall not go his way unscathed."

  And before either Ellwood or I could do anything, she aimed her wand at me and I was engulfed in a purple light. I felt myself shrinking and had just enough awareness left to realize that I had been turned into a toad.

  Chapter Six: Wherein I am returned to my human self, an event you probably expected as toads seldom tell stories and most especially do not see them published in book form, and then I have a most peculiar conversation.

  It is true that toads do not have much of interest in their lives. They chiefly go about their business eating bugs and other small creepy-crawlies and attempting to not get eaten themselves by cats. I honestly don't remember too much about it, no doubt a result of my toad brain having been somewhat smaller than the average pea. It did feel like quite a long time had passed. I am not sure how long toads live, but I would guess that it is somewhere in the neighborhood of a year or two and as I was a toad for at least a week, I must have aged at least seven years. The next thing I truly remember was waking in a hard bed in a room that was obviously not in one of the better inns in town, with Ellwood Cyrene leaning over me.

  "Oh varlet, villain, and false friend," I said, and felt my lips crack as my swollen tongue moved around to form the words.

  "Do not speak Eaglethorpe," said Ellwood, pressing the brim of a glass of cold water to my lips. "You must know that I love you."

  "In a very manly way, no doubt," I croaked.

  "Yes. Very manly indeed."

  He took a clean white cloth and dipped it in the water, using it to bathe my brow.

  "I only belittled you because I thought that it might make the sorceress let you go. You know I have the highest respect for you."

  "And my storytelling?"

  "And your storytelling."

  "And my heroic adventuring?"

  "Heavens above Eaglethorpe. If I did not love you so much, I would hate your guts."

  "What happened anyway?"

  "She turned you into a toad, a quite ugly one at that. It took me all of a week to locate you and three bags of silver to get an apothecary who was willing and able turn you back into yourself."

  "What happened to you?"

  "Oh I managed to escape her after a few hours."

  "A few hours?"

  "Yes."

  "A few hours?"

  "Yes, a few hours."

  "A few hours?"

  "Yes, a few hours. Did you damage your brain while you were a toad?"

  "So you were with her for a few hours?"

  "I believe we have established that."

  "So? she made you do things."

  "What?"

  "You spent time with her?"

  "A few hours!" Ellwood rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  "She? you know."

  "Know what?"

  "She quenched your fire?"

  "Campfire?"

  "The fire of passion."

  "What? No!" He stood up and began pacing back and forth across the room. "Well, I'm sure she would have liked to, but I got away long before that could happen."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "What do you mean why?"

  "Why didn't you wait till after the quenching before you escaped?"

  "Because she's a sorceress."

  "So?"

  "And she's evil."

  "So?"

  "Well, she's a? She's just not my type."

  "Why not," I wondered.

  "She's? too pale? and too blond? and too short."

  "What complexion do you prefer for your woman?"

  "A complexion about like yours."

  "That's too dark. What hair color do you like?"

  "About like yours, with little streaks of grey."

  "Then she would be too old for you," said I. "A young man like you should have a beautiful young woman. How tall do you prefer?"

  "About your height."

  "That is way too tall for a woman."

  "I know," said Ellwood, and then turned and rushed out of the room.

  Chapter Seven: Wherein Ellwood Cyrene returns as though nothing strange had happened between us.

  I didn't see anything more of Ellwood Cyrene that day, but in truth he could well have been there and I simply didn't see him, which is to say, I immediately went back to sleep and had the strangest dreams. I remember nothing about them, except that they were adventurous and heroic and very manly. Yes, they were very manly indeed. Then next morning I woke feeling a bit better and had just managed to sit upright when my friend returned, ac
ting as though nothing strange had happened between us. I will be honest. While I was somewhat bothered by the strange dialog that we had engaged in, I was none too sure that it was not the mere workings of my imagination, which is to say a dream.

  "How are you feeling?" asked Ellwood.

  "Better," said I. "I am a bit bothered by our conversation of yesterday."

  "You were out of your head yesterday," said he. "Anything you remember me saying is no doubt a result of your overactive imagination mixed with delirium."

  "You think so?"

  "It was probably all a dream."

  "If it was, then it was a manly dream," said I.

  "No doubt."

  "That's the only type of dream that I have."

  "That's very strange," said he. "That's true of me also. I have nothing but manly dreams-dreams with lots of killing and mayhem. Sometimes there is bloodlust."

  "And beautiful women?" I asked.

  "Yes. Oh, yes. Many beautiful woman, um? running around. Sometimes they are nude."

  "Sometimes?"

  "Almost all the time? all the time. They are always running around nude? with their navels and what-not showing."

  "Me too," said I. "I really like women."

  "I do too," said Ellwood. "Some of my best friends are women."

  "Friends?"

  "No, not friends. Acquaintances? um, companions? Conquests! That's what they are. They are conquests. Dozens of women. Scores! Hundreds! And all of them, running around and all of them beautiful, and not the least bit intelligent or accomplished in any way."

  "That makes me feel better," said I, stopping to pull out something that was stuck in my teeth and turned out to be the wing of a fly.

  "Good," said he, setting in my lap a tray, which I had here to for not noticed. "I brought you some breakfast."

  "So you escaped the sorceress."

  "Yes, I did," said Ellwood Cyrene. "I would have stayed to um? dally with her, but I had to find you before you were eaten by a cat and have you returned to human form."

  "That makes sense," said I. "Where is she now?"

  "I led her on a trail halfway to Goth and then worked my way back here. Sooner or later though, she's going to figure out what I've done. Then she'll be back here, twice as angry."

  "Maybe you should have led her only half as far, then she would only be twenty percent angrier," I opined.

  "Eaglethorpe, you are as good a mathematician as you are a story-teller," said he.

  "Thank you. Where am I, anyway?"

  "This is the third floor of The Reclining Dog. Finish your breakfast and come down to the taproom. We will plan our next move.

  Chapter Eight: Wherein I am reminded of one of the more obvious problems in a friendship with Ellwood Cyrene.

  I ate my breakfast, which was very tasty indeed. It was a traditional Antriadorian breakfast: two eggs, white pudding, three large sausage links, two strips of bacon, fried potatoes with onions, beans, kippers, mustard greens with olive oil, and of course a ham steak. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking "What? No flapjacks?" In fact, Ellwood had brought a stack of four very nice looking flapjacks along with some disconsolateberry syrup, but conscious as I am of keeping fit and trim, I had only ten or twelve bites. And I also did not eat the mustard greens.

  After I got up and washed my face, I must say that I felt great, which is to say not at all like someone who was turned into a toad. I did find that as I walked across the room, there was more bounce in my step than was typical, but by the time I had gone down two flights of stairs, the bounce was gone, and I was walking in a far less toadly and a far more manly way.

  It was mid-day and the taproom at The Reclining Dog was full. You may remark on the fact that as I tell my tale, I mention that I go into this establishment and the room is full, or I go into that establishment and the room is full. All I can say is: that's Antriador! It is a party town. I have been to big cities and small cities, to villages, to hamlets and to towns of all sizes- industry towns, farm towns, and college towns, but to my mind, none of them has so many taverns, pubs, and saloons as Antriador. Not only that, as I mentioned already, they are usually full, which is to say a lot of people are in them.

  Though the room was full, it was not difficult to spot Ellwood Cyrene, who had a table to himself right in the center. I had just reached his table, when someone called out "where is Ellwood Cyrene? I want to buy him a drink!" Naturally, I called back "I am right here!" It was then that I spied eight warriors moving through the crowd toward our table. I drew my sword as the first approached. His attention was completely on Ellwood Cyrene and not on me, and he continued to not notice me as I smacked him across the face with the flat of my blade. He went down with blood spewing from his nose.

  Two of the other warriors were quickly upon me. Meanwhile, pandemonium broke out in the bar. People ducked under tables and headed for the exits. Both my new opponents swung their swords at me. In an incredible feat of dexterity and agility, I dodged both, while at the same time slicing into the middle of the first and kicking the second. Then whipping around, I ran through the one that I had kicked, all the while tossing a pair of throwing stars from my sleeve, hitting two more across the room. The first warrior, which is to say the one that I had hit in the nose, lunged for me. I grabbed him by his leather jerkin and swung him around to use as a shield as two daggers flew at me from two of his friends. I tossed his body aside as the remaining three warriors all attacked at once, and in what could only be described as the greatest demonstration of swordsmanship that the world has ever seen, I dispatched the three of them without so much as a cut on my finger.

  I immediately sat down and began to write some notes, while Ellwood Cyrene climbed out from beneath the table where he had been hiding.

  "What are you doing?" said he.

  "I'm taking some notes for when I write the story of how Eaglethorpe Buxton defeated ten swordsmen while Ellwood Cyrene hid beneath the table."

  "I counted only six swordsmen."

  "Oh, there were ten."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Oh yes. Don't worry. This is going to be a very accurate account."

  "It will be accurate, will it?"

  "Oh yes."

  "Then you are going to explain how someone called out "where is Ellwood Cyrene? I want to buy him a drink!" and you called back "I am right here!" causing the warriors to mistake you for me? Are you then going to describe how the Eaglethorpe Buxton fighting the swordsmen was actually Ellwood Cyrene and the Ellwood Cyrene hiding under the table was actually Eaglethorpe Buxton?"

  "I don't really think that's important to the story," I explained. "What is important is that one of us fought twelve warriors and defeated them single-handed, not which of us did it."

  "I see your point," said Ellwood.

  "Thank you."

  "And it's on your head," he muttered.

  "I'll tell you what," said I. "I will write the story your way, if you tell me why people are always trying to kill you."

  "Write it however you wish," said he.

  Chapter Nine: Wherein we stop at the well at Potter Town.

  Taking into account that a group of sword-wielding would-be assassins, fifteen strong, had found and the gone after Ellwood Cyrene, attempting to kill him, notwithstanding my valiant efforts on his behalf, we decided that it was probably a good idea if we found some other location for ourselves. To wit, which is to say therefore, we left. Ellwood had brought my horse Hysteria and had her stabled nearby along with his own, so we quickly packed and set off for Potter Town, which was an area of simple houses and low class eating establishments just outside the northern city gate. Ellwood offered that it was a good idea to get out of Antriador entirely, but I was loath to leave as I was still expecting to make a sizable fortune from my play. Ten percent of gross receipts are nothing to sneeze at. We stopped at the local well to discuss the matter.

  A word about
the well in Potter Town. This particular well was a relic of some earlier civilization who had inhabited the promontory where now sits Antriador. It was made of stone, which is to say the well was made of stone and not the previous civilization, though a good many of the monuments from that civilization are indeed made of stone. This well had carved all around the outside, fanciful images of people now long forgotten. Its center was formed of a round silo some eight or nine feet tall, and above this was constructed a wind-mill to take advantage of the plentiful breezes that made their way up the slope from the sea. The windmill turned a long shaft with a screw which pumped up the water from some unseen underground aquifer. The water poured out of about twenty spouts cut into the stone silo and flowed into a pool thirty feet around. This three foot deep pool was enclosed by close-cut stone walls, which too were carved into the images of people, and it was this pool which the local people dipped their buckets into for their daily water. This alone would have made it an interesting landmark, but there was more. Shooting off from the pool in three directions, like three spokes of a wheel, were stone horse troughs. Water flowed into these troughs when there was an excess in the pool and they were six inches lower than the pool itself, so there was no backflow. From each of these horse troughs, a series of gutters spread out like the branches of a tree, carrying the small amount of overflow away. What need of the builders of this system was fulfilled by these gutters, one may only guess, but the locals today use them to bring water to their gardens.

  As Hysteria and Ellwood's horse drank from the troughs, he and I talked over our options.

  "I know you don't want to leave for any length of time," said Ellwood, "but you should at least leave for a few days."

  "I don't see how leaving for a few days will help pie."

  "What?"

  "Pie. I smell pie."

  "Oh no," said he.

  "Oh yes," I replied.

  I scanned the little square until I could see that which I could smell, which is to say a pie. A chubby little red-head with a checkered apron and a brown bonnet stood in an open doorway holding a pie.

  "Eaglethorpe."

  "Hmm?"

  "Eaglethorpe!"

  "What?"

  "As I have no desire to interfere with the love of your life?"

  "I've never even seen her before," said I.

  "I meant the pie," Ellwood continued. "As I have no desire to interfere, I'll be leaving you now."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I have business in Auksavl, but I'll be back to Antriador in five days."