From now on, I thought it best to speak only when spoken to, and not be drawn into further argument.
As this meal continued, Bludgeon fussed through small bones on his plate, I heard his complaints at the lack of meat on them, then the distant roar of thunder and strikes of far off lightning. High above our heads, past geode crystals and thousands of tons of rock, two marble walls were colliding.
'Blasted mountain birds!' bellowed the king. 'Carve your own home out of your own bloody mountain! Winged pests…'
I pushed my water and stale stew aside — the trap bringing my mind back to Kat, 'He didn't want to be here either.'
'Oh, will you ever shut your lips?' Bludgeon moaned. 'Whatever his reputation promised, the yellow man was a murderer — certainly less but nothing more!' He grinned, filling his already bloated mouth with more. 'Gifted swordsman is he? Escaped Hell did he? Overrated rot! And for my traps it's a job well done.'
It is true that I disliked Kat, but in a few short days and hours, the centaur had well surpassed him. 'Fucking Bastard…' I mumbled.
Suddenly, Bludgeon's mouth stopped the motions of chewing, leaving a single cheek-full of mulched food. Something was said, something he did not fully understand. The dullness in his eyes washed clear, as if awoken from a long hibernation. His forehead creased and the millipedes began to crawl from his arms and down the table leg like some vast retreating army. The centaur's lips now parted and his tongue spat out a ball of compacted food, which rolled like a snowball down his beard. 'Say again mouse? Say…again?'
I kept my mouth shut and my eyes glued to the wooden table. Bludgeon's lips meanwhile curved upward to a half smile. 'I imagine the yellow man felt a lot of pain,' he said. 'A horrendous amount actually. Those traps may look spectacular when crushing tiny birds and the like, but it takes a great deal to flatten a man. No doubt the last thing your Kat ever felt was the squash of his own skeleton, like meat in a sandwich. I wonder how long he remained conscious. Nine lives my eye. Not hungry speck?'
'Bastard is what I said! Fucking bastard!'
I smashed my plate to one side and stood with fists shaking. 'Enough! Enough of your stink, and your darkness and your moods! I've fucking had it! I know why you live alone in this shit-hole, I know why, because there is not another living soul who could stand you! You are a pissy, stinking, alcoholic mess! The most repulsive old bastard I have ever fucking met! How can you train me for anything? You can't even hold your liquor; you can't even eat with your mouth shut! If I can't — '
CRASH!
The centaur's spear interrupted my rant, flying the length of the long dinner table and ending in the head of my chair, a mere inch from my ear.
'I see a spine in you after all!' Bludgeon announced, striding forward.
Reaching me, he tugged his spear free from the chair. 'Next time… I aim for your bloody mouth!'
With a thick wrist, he pushed the chair back and I was sent to the floor with it. He then loomed over my defenceless body and slapped me across the face. 'Discipline speck! Discipline! That temper will not get you anywhere but on my nerves! And only a damn bloody fool would linger there…' He slapped again. Harder. 'Commanding emotions will help you think clearly in a crisis, master weapons you never dreamt of wielding and make the tough decisions that keep you alive.'
SLAP!
'Discipline speck! Yes?'
I fluttered a nod, utterly swept away by the centaur's primal power. 'Full training begins tomorrow morning,' he added; 'no more games! Fifteen hours a day, everyday until your final exercise. Between training, you will be cooking and cleaning — if there is time you may sleep. You will work harder than you've ever worked speck — you'll be a walking, talking callus before I'm through!'
SLAP!
My eyes filled with water and my cheeks burned hot. I was struggling to take it in as Bludgeon bent closer, so close that I felt his frizzy beard and embedded pieces of food brushing against my face, the putrid egg falling to ooze down my chin.
'You are an emotional boy,' he said, 'that you are. By the end of training, you will be a man! Yes… a very dangerous man.'
The king finally moved back, leaving me to contemplate a ridiculous schedule and whirlwind last few seconds.
'Oh.' he added, calmly; 'raise your voice or swear at me again… and that newly discovered spine of yours… will be broken. Then eaten.'
He turned his back and was gone, becoming just another shadow in his secret network of tunnels.
10. Blood & Sweat
A watery droplet hitting my forehead woke me from sleep. My leg slid out from the covering bed sheet and I was immediately disturbed. I was naked. Covering myself, I searched for my jeans and fleece, but there was only that flickering torch, the glistening walls around it and the chilling thought of Bludgeon undressing me.
My body was tense and sore, nose running with flu. Goosebumps covered my flesh and my teeth chattered behind my lips as Bludgeon opened the door, his spear in one hand and a gift in the other: a baggy tarpaulin sheet, filthy wet and tear ridden. 'Wear it always.' he said, throwing it at me. 'It's highly uncomfortable and perfectly inadequate for keeping out the cold.'
'Where are my own clothes?'
'Belt too,' he added, passing me a length of string. 'If things get too grave you can always hang yourself with that. Just under the apple will do the job nicely.'
Wasting no time, I threw the tarpaulin over my head, batted off the sitting water then made a belt with the string. 'Ca — can I at least have my boots, Bludgeon?'
An amused smirk came over the beast, his beard free of food for a change.
'Addressing me by name?' he said. 'The strangest notions do occupy your nut! You are my pupil — I, your master… Mind me now!'
'Can I at least have my boots back… master? My jeans?'
'Unnecessary. You walk barefoot from now on, and those jeans only attract flies. I hate flies. Come along cave dweller. Move it pisser!'
'Wait!' I objected, missing a personal item more important than clothing. 'The dagger?' I said. 'It's for my own protection. Where is it?'
I held out my arm as straight as his spear, and Bludgeon's stonewashed expression gave nothing away.
'It's mine!' I exclaimed, frustrated. 'I want it back! Give it to me dam it!'
'For your own protection? Ha! Protect you little mouse?'
His laughter died an instant death when he bumped chests against mine, his stubby finger poking me back to the wall. 'Nothing, nothing, nothing could protect you boy pisser! Not a scientist, not a samurai, and certainly not a puny blunt dagger!'
'But it's mine!'
'Wrong!' he snapped, voice as deep as a voice can get. 'It's mine! You are mine! And the child will get his toy back when he is old enough to play with it!'
And that was all the beast had to say on the matter.
'Come along!'
Stones stabbed into my soles as I chased down another clammy tunnel. Already I had lost sight of Bludgeon, but heard and followed the
He waited for me before a door not far from my cell, with hypnotic torches burning bright at each end. Bludgeon smiled under that wiry beard, a crooked and foreboding sign that should never see the light of day, and usually never did.
I examined the unpleasant slashes over my arms and feet, particularly the heels, scabbed over with blood and dirt. Bludgeon showed no sympathy as he opened the door. It swung inward with a prolonged creak. A stale
