A Matter ofTaste

By the time we reached the place where I’d met the missionaries, I was walking fast enough to make Annali’s saddle knock against my pack.

The second time I’d met them, that was. The first encounter remained largely missing from my memory, and everything I’d learned about it suggested my memory had shown excellent judgment.

Rufus trotted ahead while I hurried past the spot, keeping one hand on my scarf. I had directions now. Actual directions, supplied by people who’d already had my trousers and weren’t getting anything else. All I had to do was follow the road back to the Twin Cities.¹1

Something stepped from behind a tree ahead of us. Rufus stopped, six little feet planted in the road, and looked up at it.

“Rufus.”

He was perhaps six feet from the thing. I was nearer twenty.

“Rufus, come here.”²2

It was roughly the size of an orc, with enough of a man’s shape to make the differences unpleasant. Its arms hung too far down. As it shifted, I saw an extra joint bend where no joint had any fucking business being. A broken greatsword dangled from one hand; the other held a strange charm. It mumbled steadily in a language I didn’t recognize, working its mouth around sounds I couldn’t have repeated if someone had paid me.³3⁴4⁵5⁶6⁷7

I tried to think. Running forward would put me within reach of those arms before I reached Rufus. Throwing something might distract it, provided I could find something to throw. My pack was on my back, my wooden shortsword was deeply unimpressive, and several very clever ideas required the Thing to wait politely while I explained them.

By the time I’d rejected the last one, its eyes had settled on my splatcat.⁸8

There was no time to get between them. I felt a horrible certainty that it was deciding whether to eat Rufus in one bite or two.

I swallowed the panic and put on my professional smile.

“Hey there, friend!”

The Thing stopped mumbling long enough to look at me. For one glorious instant, it seemed startled by the possibility of conversation.

Then its expression changed.⁹9

I had offended it. Possibly with the smile. Possibly with my existence. The important part was that it began walking toward me, leaving Rufus behind.

“Lovely,” I said. “Yes. Over here.”

My voice had risen rather higher than intended. I could hear its muttering again as it approached, and those long arms swung with each step. The sword had lost a substantial portion of its blade. What remained looked entirely sufficient for a man of my size.

I dragged my bagpipe guitar into position. Music had brought me applause, a hundred and fifty jades, and an invitation to stay at an inn for free. I needed it to achieve something considerably more modest now.

Keep this fucker occupied.

I struck a chord and launched into the first song that came to mind.

I’d sell my soul for a pair of tits,
And throw in my boots if the bargain fits;
Two lovely handfuls, warm and round,
To squeeze till the bed legs leave the ground!

The Thing kept coming. I played faster.

A teat for breakfast, a tit for tea,
A faceful of supper would satisfy me;
When the milkmaid says, “Come suck my—”

It raised the sword.¹⁰10

“NOPE! Clearly not a boob guy!”

It broke into a run.

“WAITWAITWAIT!”

My fingers found another chord while the rest of me tried to shit itself through a scarf.

Oh, the miller had a mighty cock,
It woke the town at six o’clock;
He kept it proud and fed it grain,
And stroked its neck when it complained!

The Thing slowed.

I nearly forgot the next line.¹¹11

“Oh?”

The sword lowered. It was listening.

“Oooooh.”

I couldn’t help smiling. A moment earlier I’d been preparing to die, and now I had identified an audience preference. There were performers who spent years learning that skill. Mine had come with a broken greatsword and a very firm deadline.

I gave the next verse everything I had.

The baker’s wife said, “What a beast!
I’d like to have it at my feast.
Bring it round behind my shop,
I’ve got a place to stick your cock!”

He said, “My cock likes room to spread;
It won’t be happy in your bed.”
She said, “Then let the bugger crow—
Just shove it in and fuck me slow!”

The Thing remained still. I could feel myself settling into the rhythm, holding a pause before the last word as though I had a tavern full of patrons waiting to shout it back.

Oh, stroke him high and stroke him low,
And mind the mess when he lets go;
The miller’s cock has done its best—
Now wipe your chin and let him rest!

I finished with a flourish. Entirely unnecessary, but difficult to resist when the preceding verse had gone so well.

“Thank you,” I said, breathing hard. “Rickon Fiddler. Available for taverns and private functions.”

I took a cautious step sideways, meaning to collect Rufus and continue down the road. The Thing moved with me. Its grip tightened on the sword, and the mumbling resumed with a distinctly dissatisfied sound.¹²12

“Ah.”

I had apparently advertised the wrong private function.

Rufus was clear of its immediate reach. That was something. Unfortunately, its attention remained firmly upon me, and the song had done rather too much to improve its disposition.

I looked down at the knot in my scarf.

There were few things in the world I wanted less than to untie it in front of this particular admirer. The Thing still had its sword, though, and every attempt to move away made it unhappy. I needed it pleased enough to put the fucking thing down.

I caught the end of the scarf between two fingers and began loosening the knot.

Poor scarf. Would you ever forgive me?

The Thing watched my hands.

Rickon. Focus.

I worked the cloth a little looser. My knees had begun trembling, which I hoped it would interpret as artistic sensitivity.

It knelt.

I stopped breathing. At that height, its face was considerably closer to mine, and I could hear every damp little sound beneath the muttering. It set down the broken sword and the charm.

Both hands were empty.

Oh, dear sweet Moonthings. If I’ve pleased you as much as those missionaries claim, this would be an excellent time to look after me. Surely you didn’t bless me last night just so I could die here with my cock out.

I lunged for the sword.¹³13

Its hilt was made for much larger hands. I seized it with both of mine and hauled upward, discovering that a broken greatsword was still a very substantial quantity of fucking sword. The weight pulled at my shoulders. For a dreadful instant, I thought all I’d accomplished was picking up something I couldn’t use.

Then I got it moving.

I swung as hard as I could and buried the blade in the Thing’s back.

I let go, snatched my guitar close, and yanked the scarf tight as I turned.

“RUFUS!”

We ran.¹⁴14

The saddle battered my pack with each stride. My guitar bounced against me, and I clamped an arm around it while trying to keep my feet beneath me. Rufus shot ahead, all six legs suddenly united by an interest in going somewhere else.

I kept him in sight. Whenever the road bent, I called his name, and whenever he appeared around the next curve I found enough breath to run a little farther.

It felt like miles. I couldn’t have told you how many. Measuring the distance would have required a degree of calm I had left back by the tree.

Eventually, I looked over my shoulder and saw an empty road. We carried on anyway. I waited until I could no longer hear anything behind us but the noise we were making ourselves, then waited a little longer before slowing to a walk.

I bent over with my hands on my knees. Rufus stopped beside me.

For a while, I could only look at him. He was there, whole and fluffy, and apparently wondering why we had stopped. I put a hand on his back and let him lean into it.

“Good boy,” I managed.

I had been so certain the Thing would eat him. The thought came back now that I could afford to have it, and I held him a little longer than he considered necessary.

When he wriggled free, I straightened and checked the road again.

Was this what Annali had meant when she’d warned me that the grass wasn’t always greener? Stay in Redfork, Rickon. Don’t go chasing fame in the big city. You’ll lose your pants, and every single fucking thing will be horny.

She hadn’t actually said that last part.

I felt it was a significant omission.

A clearing ahead offered enough level ground for the tent. I inspected the surrounding trees with considerably more interest than I’d ever shown in woodland before, then lowered my pack and set to work.¹⁵15

Pitching the tent gave my hands something useful to do. Once it stood, I got a fire going and sat beside Rufus with our food and water. The city could wait until I’d eaten and my legs had stopped objecting to being attached to me.

I started laughing halfway through a mouthful.

It took a little while to stop. Rufus looked up, and I scratched him beneath the chin until he settled again. Perhaps laughing meant there was something badly wrong with me. At least I could breathe well enough to do it now.

Tomorrow, I would try the road again. Tonight, I was quite content to perform for an audience that wanted a scratch and a share of supper.