* * *
Parcifal was fidgeting uncomfortably inside their make-shift, make-believe suit. Lernea exhibited magnanimous self-control, but the deadly hawk-like furrow on her face gave away her true feelings. Parcifal simply spoke them aloud instead of holding them within:
“This is ridiculous! Why are we supposed to be the freak of the show?”
Ned was busy searching for the men who had disembarked from the flying ship. He had seen a couple of them, along with an ape-man, and what must’ve been the Hound Fingammon had heard mention of. Still, as they waded through the bush, approaching Hobb’s search party with care, he once more explained to the noble princess why she and her sister, the Queen by right, were wearing a large bear-skin covering up their gear, pretending to be a two-headed freak:
“It’s the gear. It’s the only way to cover up your gear. I’ll be playing the drum and singing, while Theo will be in charge of the pyrotechnics for the show.”
“By pyrotechnics, you mean flames and whatnot, right?” asked Theo anxiously. Ned nodded reassuringly. Lernea talked with an impossibly sticky voice reminiscent of what dying in a tar pit would sound like:
“What about the halfuin?”
“No other place to stick him, sorry. He could have been the jester but there’s nothing at hand for a jester suit; also, he couldn’t dance for the life of him. So, you’re the two-headed, six-legged freak,” said Ned.
“I get better ideas when nature calls,” said Parcifal as she tried to walk in step with the others occupying the same skin, meeting with stumbling success. Winceham’s voice came muffled from under the bearskin, and in direct opposition to the sisters on either side of him, sounded positively delighted with Ned’s idea about diversionary tactics:
“I can’t see a bloody thing in front of me, but I know where to put me hands if I should happen to fall, laddies!”, said the halfuin with a rowdy, knowing laughter. Lernea protested:
“That was a sexual innuendo if I’ve ever heard one! Shameful, Mr. Abbermouth! Recant at once, once more!”
Parcifal’s idea of a protest was more physical. “Do that, and I’ll make sure you and your hands part ways none too soon,” she said with a cold voice and a vicious gaze that searched the clearing ahead for an opportunity to slash something to its death.
“Keep it quiet! Act like it, alright?”
Theo nodded his agreement. He flexed his fingers and kept a wary eye, while Bo burrowed and dug up himself by his side, vigilant flames flaring up from his perky beady eyes from time to time.
“I’ve already seen the act’s preview back in the Lake!” said Winceham and started giggling like some sort of gibbering old fool. Parcifal exchanged a look with her sister and put her boot down hard on Winceham’s right foot, while Lernea caught his left arm and dragged him along while he hopped on one foot.
“Ow! No need to get upset!” he said with some real pain echoing in his voice.
“We’re not upset. Your feet are too small to notice, that’s all,” said Parcifal with a blank face and Lernea added as she too, fidgeted inside her suit:
“That was for fooling us out of the water, you perverted thief.”
“That was a misunderstanding! His eloquence, the-woodkin-not-from-around-these-parts, Hanulthetryftidor whats-his-name, had me thinking there were monsters in there,” said Winceham and even behind the bearskin, his muffled voice made it easy enough to picture him stabbing Theo with an aggravated look.
“Hanultheofodor, though Hanul or Theo will do just fine,” replied Theo as he turned to look at the sisters with an overeager smile before adding:
“I’m sorry, but by monsters in that context, I was referring to the water spiders. Bo hates water-spiders for some reason, but they’re fairly harmless unless you’re a bug, which is what they eat. Mostly.”
“Well you’re not complaining about Ned! He was there as well!” said Winceham before stumbling over a thick root and grumbling an incoherent curse.
“Ned disciplined himself like a true gentleman and averted his gaze while you kept grinning from ear to ear.”
“Right, so I’m to blame for being a hot-blooded halfuin while this lad is still a-”
Ned was about to interrupt Winceham’s rant with some mild verbal violence when Theo froze in his stride and whispered:
“It’s them; behind those trees. At the edge of the village, near the well. See? The man-apes, Hobb’s men, and that thing...”
“The Hound,” he said with a feeling of awe and mounting anger as his eyes could not peel away from the three-headed canine, abnormally large, its skin sleek-black like the darkest of nights. A hundred feet or so behind the pirate search party, the silhouette of the ship bobbed lazily in the air, nearly the same height as the treetops. “Alright,” said Ned with conviction. “It’s show-time. Act natural.”
“We’re supposed to be a freak of nature. What’s natural about that?” said Parcifal dismissively while Lernea tried to fit her bow snugly under the taught bearskin that covered all three of them like an over-sized coat.
“Try to clap along the sound of my beat. When I stop the drumming and singing, have a go at them,” said Ned and started off with a drum roll, his red drum strapped in place in front of him, his tinglewood sticks a gift from his father. His voice echoed merrily as he sung at the top of his lungs, alongside the perky beat of his drum:
And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well, I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the southern ocean I must wander
Hobb’s men heard them before they could see them. One of the Hound’s head’s sniffed the air vigorously, while another turned and looked sideways at Ned and the others as they tried to dance about to the tune, the sisters and Winceham having a real problem standing upright while their dance looked more like a drunken balancing act.
The ape-men grinned broadly at the spectacle, while the buccaneers had the uneasy expression of someone meeting an odd, crazy-looking person on his doorstep asking to use the facilities.
Ned kept at the song as they got closer at a walking pace, and Theo performed a sort of light show, sprinkling shiny dust in the air. Even Bo added his flaming eyes to the performance, hopping eagerly.
Where are me boots, me noggin, noggin boots
they’re all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking for better weather
And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the southern ocean I must wander
Ned exchanged looks sideways with Theo. The ape-men where clapping their hands and jiggling their heads in tune with the beat of Ned’s drum, while the buccaneer men pointed a couple of fingers and shot some ugly stares at the two-headed freak. They were in fact arguing whether or not the six-legged weirdo was supposed to be the dancing lead, seeing that the drummer and the clown were busy with their own act. Perhaps not surprisingly, the Hound had its six eyes all set on Bo; the beast looked tense, its lean muscles taut on edge. They were now no more than ten yards away, and Ned was banging away a joyous beat, his voice like hearty laughter through the air:
Where is me shirt me noggin, noggin shirt
It’s all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking for better weather
And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the southern ocean I must wander
The two-headed freak, the sisters and Winceham in disguise really, tried to clap its hands together on tune but rarely managed to do so. It rather seemed to punch its belly vigorously, both heads smiling
brightly as it did so. Winceham’s muffled agony at the hands of the sisters was obfuscated by Ned’s singing and drum act, while Theo’s cantrips had even attracted the gaze of the wary buccaneers who were tapping their boots in tune as well. The ape-men had put down their blunderbusses and were dancing, arm-in-arm, in a rather hairy, unpleasing sight. The Hound though kept trained at Bo who was happily doing somersaults in the air; a flaming rainbow of orange light trailed his eyes. Ned and the rest entered into a circle around the group of Hobb’s men, and into the final verse:
I’m sick in the head and I haven’t gone to bed
Since I first came ashore from me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies don’t you know
Far across the southern ocean I must wander
And it’s all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the southern ocean I must wander
Ned’ voice trailed off and he ventured a somewhat nervous look at Theo. The ape-men staggered as the banging of the drum stopped, and one of the buccaneers asked showing a set of teeth that looked like a puzzle badly missing most of its pieces:
“Oy, what yer’ doin’ ’roun ’ere now, then? Off ye go, ’less you be wantin’ a taste o’ me steel.”
“And hot lead, aye. Don’t forget about hot lead now, Mr. Jessums,” added the other one and spat at the ground for no reason at all.
“Are we on yet?” came Winceham’s muffled cry from within the belly of the two-headed freak and one of the ape-men was instantly overjoyed:
“It’s one of’em velonitrocultists!”
“It’s ventrilo-quilts, you dumb ape!” said the other one and Ned shouted:
“We’re on!”
The sisters shed the bearskin in one fluid motion, revealing their armor and weapons underneath with Winceham in the middle, holding a rather pointy dagger in one hand and sporting a wild-eyed grin. Theo side-stepped Ned and passed him the crossbow he kept tucked under his robes. Hobb’s men were fiddling with the flintlocks on their guns, gnarled looks of surprise on their weather-torn faces; their dropped jaws denoted dental hygiene was probably a pirate’s worst fear. One of the ape-men had time enough to ask their pirate handlers:
“Is this part o’ the troupe’s act?”
Before the brighter of the two had the chance to explain, Ned’s bolt had buried itself in his head. The other ape-man looked at Ned with a cocked eyebrow and complained even as his hand reached for the cutlass at his cloth belt:
“That’s not entertaining, at all.”
“How’s this then!” shouted Winceham and with a jolt and a rolling tumble right beside the pirates, reached under the large ape as he was about to have a go at Ned and Theo. Winceham gave the ape-man a quick stab in one leg; blood spurted and the large brute growled in pain as his animal self took over. The pirates were only a pace away from the sisters; free of the constraining bearskin, they truly seemed to dance to an inner beat. The pirates’ blunderbusses let off their leaden shots from point-blank range with a thundering boom and a plume of smoke and sparks.
The sisters were nowhere to be seen.
“Oy, these ’basses work bettah when loaded with sumetin’, eh?” said Mr. Jessums and jogged the other pirate’s shoulder with an elbow. When he gave him a look though, he became morbidly aware that the man’s head had been chopped off clean. A few feet away stood Parcifal wielding Encelados in her hand, grinning at the pirate broadly. A few feet behind him, Lernea showed off her skills with the bow.
“One is easy, two is old, three is flashy and four is bold!” she cried and let loose a fistful of arrows headed for the ape-man from a distance a blind man would rarely miss. Sadly though, they zipped by harmlessly and the growling ape charged at Theo with his cutlass swinging down from way up high.
“Do something Theo!” cried Ned as he struggled to reload his crossbow, his drum getting in the way. It was all happening in fractions of a moment; Theo laid there helpless, his hands unable to produce anything other than a trembling motion. His senses had nothing good in stock for him.
Lernea was trying to nock another arrow, and Parcifal was exchanging blows with the remaining pirate. He could hear Winceham cursing as he rushed behind the ape once more, but he was far too slow. And Bo..
Where is Bo?
The thought flashed in Theo’s mind as he lay there practically paralyzed. His vision then filled with the image of a white fluffy rabbit smiling at him in an uncanny human fashion; Bo leapt in the air, swung his head around, and shot a pair of small fireballs at the charging ape, who was instantly engulfed in flames. His body came down crashing, writhing in flames, while Theo saw the Hound hurtle past him, ignoring him completely as it was after Bo at a running pace that its size belied. Its three heads shot cones of fire, lightning and acid as it ran after Bo, charring the ground, making plant life in its path fizz away into goo.
Theo shouted “Bo!” with pained affection and worry and ran after the hound heedless of the danger. Winceham stuck his dagger into the charred remains of the ape-man with a wild cheer, while Encelados’ clangs came to an end when Parcifal expertly nicked his cutlass away from him and brought her blade against his bare neck. “Yield!” she cried. The pirate glimpsed at Encelados, licked his lips anxiously and said nodding:
“Oy, boyo, I’ll do that,” he said and raised his arms slowly.
“By Skrala, Temisra guide my arrow!” said Lernea and her bow shuddered as an arrow flew away. It struck the Hound at one of its necks, and caused it to give pause to the chase. The head where the arrow had struck soon fell limp as it died - the other two ventured to pierce the very clouds with their howls and growls. The hound turned about and charged straight at Lernea. Running past a bewildered Theo, the Hound swerved around one of Ned’s bolts and shot him a glancing shot of deadly acid breath. Fortunately his drum got in the way, and promptly began to melt away.
“Blasted grog-scum of a mutton-whore!” shouted Ned and Winceham commented looking at Lernea sideways:
“Acted like a gentleman, did he? Ya got the beast’s attention, at any rate lass!”
“Sister! Like the boar hunt!” cried Lernea to Parcifal as she nocked a second arrow in her bow. The Hound was closing in damnably fast; a shot of acid went wide of its mark, while a bolt of lightning knocked Winceham off his feet and threw him down with a thud that didn’t match the halfuin’s size. Ned was reloading his crossbow, while Theo was still running after Bo, nearly lost behind some trees.
As the hound’s heads growled ferociously and prepared to leap at Lernea, only a few yards separated them. It was Parcifal who slided on her knees suddenly in front of the hound, hunched behind the family shield, Erymanthos. The Hound clashed on the shield with all its might and a terrible raucous; Parcifal was knocked away wildly, while the Hound bucked and leapt on the air without any control, rolling haplessly. As it fell down on the earth only a few feet away from Lernea, it was still trying to stand on its feet when two arrows struck true right between its heads.
Without so much as a squeak, it passed away. It’s death cry was replaced by a cannon shot like thunderclap flaring hot as it flew right above everyone’s heads; the red-hot cannonball cut down a swath of trees with a pompous thud and a loud mass of creaking noises. Winceham mumbled obscenities between deep moaning sounds while Ned caught a man reloading a cannon from the corner of his eye. He turned around and looked; it was Culliper. Ned overflowed with rage suddenly:
“Murderer!” he screamed and instead of reloading his crossbow, simply ran for the ship and the rope ladder still hanging below.
“Is it just a flesh wound? Tell me it’s just a flesh wound!” yelled Winceham as he awkwardly checked for missing parts to no effect. Lernea afforded him a cursory look.
“It’s a burnt shoulder. Keep an eye on this one!” she said and pointed to the scruffy looking pirate.
She put her bow away and
started running after Ned, while Parcifal was still getting back up from the ground.
“Take Erymanthos sister!” she yelled. Lernea nodded and picked up the shield as she went.
The cannon on the prow of the ship was manned by Culliper alone. With the element of surprise gone, he yelled menacingly:
“Ya land-ridden scallywags, I know yer faces! Should’ve killed you when I had the chance, good and proper! But it’s never too late!”
He then fired both his pistols, one aimed at Ned and the other at Lernea. Ned was running with the speed and grace of the wind; Culliper simply was too slow to aim and the bullet meant for Ned zipped past him, blowing chunks of wet-wood out of a nearby tree. But the other bullet struck Lernea true with an ominous metal clang, and felled her to the ground.
“How’s that for starters, eh?” he yelled with a broad, maddened grin which promptly vanished when he saw Lernea get up with a stagger and raise her battered, hole-torn shield and run towards the ship once more, her hair ruffled up.
“Pesky little foreign critters! You’ll be hanging from the main mast naught to soon!” yelled Culliper with a fist and started reloading his pistols mumbling curses under his breath with a jittery voice. The smell of something burning drew his attention and then noticed the intensity of the smell. Combined with a burning sensation, it made him realise his hat was on fire.
He threw it on the deck panicked, and stomped on it repeatedly. He then realised a bunny with flaming eyes was grinning at him, perched on top of a barrel of highly flammable grog.
“Now lookit here, a bunny with flaming eyes. One of a kind, eh? Just stand still,” he said as he licked his lips and calmly aimed at Bo.
Culliper cocked the flintlock but before he could pull the trigger, a fist connected sharply with his face and sent his head spinning and him staggering like a pirate with coin to spend. Before he had time to recover, another punch sent him sprawling on the deck. It was Ned, trembling with hate as the man who killed his father laid helpless before him, his pistols lying about far corners of the deck. He looked at him with a viciousness that marred his benign face:
“I’ll put you down like the animal you are,” he said with a voice quavering from hate.
“No, Ned, wait! Don’t!” said Lernea as she climbed onto the deck. She still held Erymanthos, its upper lip torn and a large sunken hole prominent near the Nomos crest of the Holy Mountain.
Culliper looked at them with surprise and stubbornness mixed in equal parts. For a passing moment, Culliper thought about upstaging everyone with a feat of nimbleness and pick up his pistols, shooting the meddling pests dead. But his pragmatism and his basic cowardice overcame him. Laying on his back he begged for his life:
“No, please! Listen to her... Ned! If I heard her right, that is.”
Ned picked up a loaded pistol nonetheless and aimed it squarely at Culliper. He then told Lernea with pain in his voice, the pistol in his hand trembling with frail determination:
“Tell me a really good reason not to pull this trigger, Queen of Nomos. I’d expect you’d understand. Or would you have me adhere to the sanctity of life, even the life of a maggot, like this one? Will this scar me for life? I’m already scarred, Lernea. Nothing good will come of this, you might say. I care for naught. It’s him, and Hobb. This one pulled the trigger; Hobb was the one who sucked my father’s life out of him. So tell me, good Queen, one good reason not to.”
“Bloody well do tell him! You won’t believe how hard it is to get brains off this deck,” urged Culliper, his awkward smile revealing lots of golden teeth.
Lernea looked long and hard at Ned; her stare had a calming effect. She sighed and said carefully:
“He’s the only one that knows how to fly this ship!”
Culliper looked at the ship’s mast and sail sideways before slapping his palm across his forehead:
“Of course!” he cried and with a curt nod to Lernea yelled, “I was coming to that!”
Ned let his shoulders sag, breathed deeply and pistol-whipped Culliper into unconsciousness.