'Where is he?' I asked.
The king trotted toward me and stopped at the first step, his hands clamping hold of the railings and his chest intimidating me backward up the staircase. 'Who?' he drowsily said. 'Who?'
'Kat! The samurai warrior!'
'Oh!' he said. 'The yellow man! His body no longer desired him. Had to mop up the remains myself — like the floor in an arbitrary, all grizzled guts and shit everywhere… Gory business, speck. A gory business.'
I was not surprised to learn that Kat was gone; nobody could have survived that pulverizing smash of rock. What did surprise me was Bludgeon's flippant attitude toward the warrior. I did not understand it, and was further dismayed by my own feelings toward the news, or lack thereof — there was none inside me.
'He was supposed to be my guide,' I muttered. 'My north star.'
'Things are never that simple, speck!' Bludgeon said, rubbing a crick from his neck. 'You cannot be led by the hand! If you want to get sentimental, I could fetch you his hand? I have it in a bucket somewhere.'
I caught a troubling whiff of his rich old breath. 'You're drunk!'
'And you're a shit stirrer!' he barked, thumping his fist on the railings. 'I am far from pissed you little pisser! I am a centaur! Do you know what it means to be a centaur?'
'No. I don't.'
'It means that I can drink your weight in blood and still lead an army into battle! And bloody win too! Win good!'
He rolled his head back and wobbled, reminding me of my Glaswegian Uncle Tam at every family get together. 'Talk out of turn again speck,' he added, 'and I'll be moping up your remains, yes? Mind me now, boy pisser! Mind me!'
'I didn't say a thing! Hey, I didn't ask to come here! I didn't want to come here!'
'And I don't bloody want you neither! Why do I get these mud monkeys forever calling at my door? I swear to murder that scientist one of these days! To squash his face with the fat end of a cricket bat — a second death good and proper and to hell with all of them!'
He placed his hoof on a step and I recoiled further. Disturbingly, the hairs of his arms were infested with millipedes, making their way toward his shoulder.
'There are rules!' he exhaled. 'The doors that I open are the rooms your eyes are permitted to see. What I say bloody goes — I am the one and only law here, and if you ever, ever break my law… I'll take a break to your puny little neck!'
His eye wandered hungrily over that neck of mine, and the gulp of my Adam's apple.
'Now,' he added; 'you've already seen the dinner hall and your own quarters…Quite enough for the time being. This minute I am starving hungry speck. Starving hungry! I will show you the kitchen. You'll be making my meals from now on, but scrub your hands before you cook — I won't eat anything prepared by your contaminated arse picking fingers!'
'I'm not your fucking maid!' I blurted out.
'Did the speck just speak out of turn? he asked, a cockroach crawling out of his curly beard. 'Do you want to see yourself strewn to pieces? Shall I fetch my mop?'
He rubbed his fist and five chubby knuckles, and I submissively lowered my head.
'I'm… sorry.'
Bludgeon swayed again before taking that cockroach whole into his mouth; there was the crunch of the insect against his teeth, followed by him wiping the sides of his mouth with the beard.
'Another rule speck!' he added, slurring words. 'You will be a quiet little mouse from now on. Zero cursing. Also, try not to breathe, the sound of your inhaling and exhaling cuts through me like a knife. Yes, a quiet little mouse is what I expect from you. What have you to be?'
'…'
'Well?' he demanded, stamping his hoof on the staircase.
'A… quiet little mouse,' I grumbled.
'A what? What?'
'A quiet little mouse.'
'Correct mouse! Now toddle off to that kitchen and fix me some dinner, and if you spit in my food I'll know, I'll know and I'll kill you for it!'
I couldn't believe my ears. With Kat and Scarfell, I thought I had met all the tyrants the Distinct Earth had to offer. I bit my tongue while he kept his serious stare fixed on mine. Finally, the centaur backed down the stairs and I followed to his kitchen, clenching my fists and cursing the stinking beast under my breath.
***
No chair required for his strong horse form, Bludgeon was at the dinner table, starting a meal I prepared in his gross kitchen. Not a kitchen per say, more a cold storage facility taking advantage of the outside temperature to preserve the food in random buckets and barrels. In that freezer, I opportunistically eyed a solid wooden block I might use to lock my cell door, that's if my relationship with the king continued to deteriorate.
The food itself consisted of various living things found in this wet cave — bats, shrimps, mushrooms, snapping crabs, slinky spiders and slippery salamanders. Then there was the grog, which I presumed he made himself — endless casks stacked against the glacial walls.
A week later, I sat facing Bludgeon at the end of the table, holding a mug of water and a bowl of clay colored stew. An upset stomach wouldn't let me eat, but Bludgeon slurped and dribbled the lot into his beard. No use for utensils, his insect riddled fingers were more than satisfactory; I'd puke if I had the energy.
I didn't get it. Why was he so precious about me washing my hands only to eat the way he did? Why had he gone to all the trouble of a beautiful golden seal and grand marble entrance, only to live in squalor underneath it? This revolting creature was far removed from the gallant centaur riding the back of a fire-breathing dragon. Was marble and seal, and this grandiose geode hall just pomp and circumstance? The pretentious facade of a fallen king?
He always ate with a spear tucked safely by his side, a weapon seen previously piercing my neck.
Momentarily removing focus from his belly, Bludgeon looked up to watch me poke at my rations.
'Do not play with your food pisser! Shall I fetch you a skipping rope, child? You can play with that instead? Food is for eating! Mind me!'
'The food would be fine,' I droned, 'except — why does it taste the same? Everything in this world, it's all bark!'
'Why don't you eat bark then pisser?' he cried. 'Why don't you? I would surely like to see that! I surely would!'
I slunk in my chair as Bludgeon protested, a crust of bread falling from the tangled net of his beard.
'Where does the scientist get his gall?' he boomed. 'Sending this insolent thug from a retarded generation of halfwits to my home? To live with me?'
His temper was explosive, and once off its leash there was no controlling it. 'I give the speck free room and board from the good kindness of my heart! He doesn't open his mouth to converse and when he does it's only to squirt his shit on my cuisine!' he peered at me now from the opposite end of the table. 'Would you like my spear in your belly, mouse? That would certainly be more interesting than your personality, or the so called bark you jab at!'
'Apologies,' I said, timidly. 'It was just an observation.'
My apology wasn't nearly enough to settle the king's complaints. 'You may not enjoy the taste, but eating is a necessity — one you will get used to.'
Sounds familiar, I thought, as Bludgeon cast his resentful expression to the geode sky, cursing the angels beyond it with his fist clenched. His theatrical moan was like an old Thespian in complete command of his craft; and after this award winning moment, he let out a lingering sigh. 'Only in Heaven shall one sample the tasty delights of food and drink. Does this look like Heaven to you pisser? Does it? Answer me mouse!'
'No!' I snapped. 'No it does not!'
Sneering, Bludgeon leaned proud over the table, 'It is Heaven to me weed! Tell me then, man preferred by righteous above — what is wrong with my home?'
'Nothing!' I said, dousing his new fire. 'Nothing at all!'
'Damn straight nothing at all! The bloody impertinence of some people…'
