Chapter I.

(Pages 1-15)

Chapter I.

In which two lowly cabbage merchants stumble upon

what could prove either to be a fortune

or complete waste of their time and effort.

Either way, at least the time was terrific

            Two men on horseback trot steadily along the gravel path. This is the route from Bovet to Great Trickle – a harrowing four-day journey by foot; however, on horseback this time seems to transpire much more quickly. One man in gaudy red garb turns to the other, a satchel of silver jangles near his hip right next to his scuffed scimitar. As the horse continues he speaks out to the other man, “Oh strongest, most courageous Sir Humphrey, how further shall it be to Picapelli’s? For see thou sir my stomach is starved and thirst is parched; this canteen has not more but a few full swallows trapped within its stalwart walls any longer, for its aquatic complement hath drained down my thirsting throat into an oblique oblivion.”

            “Worry not Sir Desvot, my canteen has plenty of water to share; these sumptuous éclairs have pleased my palate since their purchase back in Bovet, and swig have I not from this canteen when the motion is premature or unnecessary,” says Sir Humphrey dressed in brown, wiping what trifling trace of chocolate frosting he could not lick from his fingers himself into his horse’s hair.

            “Thou remembered to submit my requisition for two crates of cabbage to Picapelli as well, correct sir?”

            “Yes indeed Sir Desvot, four crates await our arrival at Picapelli’s and thence we may bring them back to Bovet for sale. Say, doth Picapelli carry upon him any stock of utensils in his cabbagery emporium in the case I may grow hungry along the journey back to Bovet?”

            “I do not recall,” Desvot says while Humphrey pulls an empty cigarette holder from his shirt and places it in the corner of his lip soon to occupy it with the form of a cigarette pulled from the same satchel as his own silver and what trifling sum of gold he carries. He lights a match and then the cigarette, Desvot continues, “although the thought of fresh cabbage does indeed sound quite exquisite at this moment in time.”

            The path begins to meander rightward and upon the execution of this turn Desvot nearly flips his horse over the body of a dormant stranger strewn nonsensically across the trail, falling off his steed into the gravel. Despite being trampled by an entire horse, the man remains asleep and his plangent snore bellows to the greatest extent his sinuses can endure. Humphrey dismounts his horse and chumps him in the chest with his boot but cannot hear his foot even strike the man on account of this strenuous snore; where now he jerks his body almost unnoticeably and continues his long-lasted slumber.

            Desvot takes this opportunity to light another match and proceeds to singe the sleeping fellow’s unibrow, doing him a substantial favor as well as stirring his attention. The man awakes to the crackle, “Ah, could it be? Is it thou fairest virgin Delcita Lavie? Thou Delcita of such pristine and perfect pulchritude? Hast thou come to guide me home at last to our heavenly home? Please, thou delightful Delcita, come closer. I request the succor of thine lips so lush pressed gently against mine face and thence I shall wrap my arms around thee to more affectionately love thee with this heart of unparalleled passion that I store herein the cavity of mine chest. I beg of thee dear, I’ve not seen thee in days or eaten for longer; I am useless without thine loving affection; one solitary kiss upon the cheek dear Delcita is all I shall need to remedy all my ails,” the man says all with his eyes still shut, “Awake thine sleeping beauty from his long-lasted slumber.” He feels the touch of a woman’s lips pressed damp against his cheek, “Delcita, it has been so long since I have felt the warmth of thine tender and loving compassion; I was set under the impression that I had lost thee forever. Oh my dear, how long it has been since thou hast shaven thine mustache? I do not recall feeling such stubble sticking from thine upper lip but love, thou and thy love shall always mean more to me than any other woman in the world,” he reaches out to wrap his arms around her but something seems askew. He opens his eyes to see none other than Sir Humphrey crouched down in front of him. “Agh!” He shrieks in startlement of the man who had mouthed him so moistfully. “Who art thou? Explain thyselves; at this instant!”

            “I am so sorry to disappoint thee sir. I am not this alluring Delcita but a lowly cabbage merchant, and this is my business partner,” Humphrey proclaims though a cloud of smoke.

            “Hello there, my name is Sir Desvot, so pleased am I to make thine acquaintance sir. Have thou any need for a hand?”

            “Minime, mine own hands shall suffice,” he says as he gets up to his feet, “Salvete Humphrey et Desvot, nomen mihi est Lev, Quomodo tu te habes?” Humphrey and Desvot appear bewildered at this incomprehensible remark. “Sorry gentlemen, my apologies. I come from a faraway land; this tongue ye heareth me speak thru is not but my second. I was raised a speaker of Latin, but this language is where I have settled my speech. I am Sir Lev of Great Trickle, most chaste knight throughout all the kingdom of Valji’ik, how art thou sirs on such a fine day as today?”

            “Lev, is it?” says Sir Humphrey, hand extended in preparation of a handshake that if not for their near lack of eye contact would have been executed successfully, “We’ve had quite a swell day thank thee, but I doth have a Solitary Question which may or not sound so pertinent to thee although Indeed so for I.”

            “And what would that be, sir?”

            “Why in glory’s name was thou lain unconscious in the middle of the trail? Know thou the way to Great Trickle? Art thou in need of directions? By chance an escort, perhaps maybe two of them?”

            Lev scours the ground around him for something and looks straight to Sir Humphrey, “Dost thou know a safe or shorter passage to the city Sufoma?”

            “The city of what?” Desvot chokes through a cloud of Humphrey’s overstayed smoke.

            “I believe it to either be Sufoma, Sofuma, or Sfuoma; its precise pronunciation escapes my lips at this very moment, though I know we shall find her there at long last!”

            “Mean thou the City of Sfouma?” Humphrey corrects him.

            “Yes, the City of Sfouma. I am but an Erudite Bookwrite, not a single muscle yet toned on this body, and the only that I am is in love with in this world doth be the alluring Delcita Lavie, though I must journey to Sfouma to meet and wed this wonderful woman of which I speak. I’ve naught but my Kris as means of defense over this tedious trail which I must follow. Hear my plea O generous sirs; follow me through on my journey to Sfouma and thenceforth thou wilt be known as royalty. All the gold and ladies for which thine heart could yearn and more: wilt thou accept my plea for thine immediate aid?”

            The man is clearly delusional, but under the promise of great fortune, Humphrey and Desvot are quick to come to an ocular agreement, “If thou wilt follow us through to Great Trickle sir, we will gladly guide thee safely to Sfouma,” Humphrey compromises.

            “Splendid! The sooner shall I espy the eyes of my dearest Delcita, then so sooner shall I again arrive in a state of blissful transcendence. Have ye any idea Sir Humphrey, Sir Desvot, how indescribably gorgeous is this delicate Delcita?”

            “No, sir. I’ve ne’er met Delcita in my life. How gorgeous is she?” Desvot asks.

            “I have lucubrated the dictionary anterior to post, and nary a word as beautiful as her eyes, some words may ring better than most, yet not a single syllable is worthy to describe even a pinprick of her exultant countenance. She is the most gorgeous woman I have e’er laid eyes upon, and as far as I am concerned she does not even know we are married yet.”

            Looking at the man who has clearly lost most his sanity at the sight of such overwhelming and astounding beauty, Desvot asks him this, “What makes thou so certain this woman even Wants to marry thee, sir? It seems thou havest naught but two shoes and a pack, within I see only paper from where I here stand. If thou have not strength, looks, wealth, or even a home it so seems, then what makes thou believe that this woman would be willing to marry the likes of Thee?”

            “I have only one gift to offer her, but no more than this; inside my haversack a story of decades written out all for her: the love of my life. I call it An Inane Immersion, for such is my life without her, henceforth it is just over a thousand pages long and further to go now than this as my love for Delcita is unending.”

            Humphrey rolls his eyes as they continue ahead. “What makes Thou so certain this woman will love thine masterpiece? I assume she has not read a page of it before?”

            “It is the greatest work I’ve writ in my life thusfar; these pages here shall suffice. Whilst on this sir, in which classification of labor would ye happen to partake for thine livelihood? How doth ye earn thine wages?”

            “We are progeny of many as we: for centuries, practitioners of cabbage merchantry; although, we don’t currently have any cabbage and are to restock our supply at Picapelli’s in Great Trickle. Have thou any wants or needs inside this city otherwise?” Humphrey reaches down for another éclair, one which has flipped over and lost half its chocolate frosting that he eats nonetheless.

            “Well Sir, what goods do they offer at Picapelli’s? Have they any stock aside from the aforementioned Cabbage he is purportedly in such abundance of?”

            “Last I was aware they sold only cabbage, some homemade dressings – though we’re well-stocked on those,” he says, thwacking one of his saddlebags, “as well as many other varieties of cabbagery paraphernalia.”

            “Is there mayhap a mule merchant? Methinks it to be much more endurable on horseback than foot; have thou any recommendations?”

            “I do recall Melardi’s to be a fine establishment if an inexpensive mule is what thou currently desire,” Humphrey again, being an equine expert.

            “If thou would wish, I could aid in thine acquisition of a boffo bargain, for Melardi and I go back many marvelous years. Have thou any means of payment on hand?” Desvot offering what aid he may provide.

            “I do have this priceless timepiece herein my pocket that could be pawned for a hefty sum, an ancient family heirloom once owned by Gregor the Gargantuan who had used it to keep himself punctual to his battles, always arriving on time and coming out on top until he was decapitated by a halberd on the battlefield due to his own distraction and inattention. This timepiece and his successor Greigor the Gargantuan are all that remain of him, for his corpse was incinerated by the raiders and the ashes left as a warning – timepiece its apex – to assert their destructive power and wring every drop of hope from the civilian’s bodies. The raiders were inevitably defeated by the Royal Guard (what had previously served as the country’s Law and Military); for generations since my family has been trusted with its safekeeping, but if this mule is the only thing keeping myself from Delcita, then sobeit I shall pawn it off to whosoever shall pay the most seductive sum of silver, for her beauty is worth far more than any silver or ancient artifact, any ankle-aching journey, as I see it the very depiction of her face is worth far more than any jewel or gemstone; but a glance of her visage is worth alone a small fortune.”

            “So follow us then, Lev was it?” Desvot says with his arm extended to the man who is still lain in the dirt, he takes it and replies with a firm shake, now lifting him to his feet. “Shall we proceed to the village of Great Trickle then? I’m sure Humphrey would oblige to thine company on his steed for the remainder of this journey.”

            “Of course, hop upon my horse weary traveler; we will be sure thou wilt make safely to Sfouma and thine dearest Delcita with none but a scratch upon thine skin to deter her gaze,” Humphrey reaches out to help lift the man to the back of his horse and there behind him he rides along.

            “Has Picapelli any stock of cabbage for mine own potential purchase and sale? For of course we may be unable to pawn this watch for enough silver to last the journey, especially with the glut of bandits and thieves purportedly on the prowl these preceding months.”

            “We shall see when we arrive in Great Trickle; still four days of horseback be ahead, there is no use in deliberating these issues so early. If he has none left after we take our crates then I shall sell to thee a share of my stock if it shall suffice. Mayhap one fourth what I have in tow, and for less than I demand of my most valued customers.”

Lev relaxes on his horse as the path veers to the left a ways, and now back to the right, he ponders pseudonyms silently for much of this first day until the sky makes a gloom transition nightward and they make a fire in a clearing to keep warm. The trees stand over them, staring down at the trio like insignificancies and nothings while the smoke rises above them all into the sky from the droning flames of dispassionate productivity. Desvot is scouring the earth for twigs, sticks, and sometimes entire branches scattered in the darkness, overstood by blades of grass.

Humphrey is lying down with his feet nearest the flames as he is able to tolerate, a ring of stones and approximately two feet separating the two forces ill and otherwise. As he feels his tendons loosen, his muscles relax, he musters the energy to sit and from this position reaches into his coat that he withdraws from which a small bottle, “A health it shall be then brother and newfound acquaintance, for our warmth, safety, and slumber, may fortune fall upon us by our journey’s end and glory at last shall cast upon my soul,” he precedes a drink with this, removes his third cigarette from the holder which he replaces in his saddlebag, then a subtle belch, “May God see to it our feats bring us honor.”

Lev has emerged from the woods dragging behind him a burdensome branch, stood upright it is taller as well some could say even more stout than he by comparison, ahead placing it and pruning branches into more suitable portions for the fire ring they have assembled. As he is throwing bills of branches into the flame, he believes himself to hear something in the woods, turning over to see Sir Desvot in a direction completely disconnected with this minor disturbance he brings this issue up to the nearest Humphrey, “Sir, hear thou not the snapping of twigs and breaking of branches in yonder wood?” he asks this leaving in his wake a lapse of silence through which they hear in the distance the footsteps of three – could that be four bodies surrounding them in the woods?

“Sir Desvot, I implore thee to come hither for the warmth of the flame: something evil lurks in this very wood.” The scampering of footsteps continues in the distance, “If these are not wolves encroaching us then what are they but fantasies and phantasms?”

“Ah but wolves indeed before us, the very footsteps of which I recognize so familiar, but even shall they not pass us by then shall we stand our ground with swords in fangs,” Sir Desvot replies, returning to the flames with a bundle of branches and sticks in tow, he heaps them on the ground atop those already pruned though not yet burnt by Sir Lev.

They keep attentive of their ken, but inside it does not draw the form of a wolf anytime soon to come so they lie awake for hours until they hear Sir Humphrey rise in a state of pure panic, “I see one, here,” he points ahead, “come to us three for a midnight snack, and to be viewed as such I cannot bear, so if into us it shall tear then so shall I reply with one substantial stroke of my scimitar, crumple its body here into the ground to keep fed what lurking scavengers have we in this wood.” Sir Desvot and Lev with their attention now captured by the distant form of a wolf see it disappear into the trees, and now to their left they hear the crunching of leaves. They all stare into a nebulous nothing, soon behind them they look and see again a wolf disappearing into the wood. The horses are asleep near the fire; Sirs Humphrey and Desvot both keep certain of their safety from the predators as they remain vigilant until they shall later vacate the premises, fading back into their relaxing rest.

It takes not even two hours into the night until Lev awakes at the detection of an auditory disturbance, glancing upon the horses he sees in the distance three wolves on the prowl, gradually enclosing themselves around them. With his Kris incandescent extended in front of him, he kicks at the sleeping sides of Sirs Desvot and Humphrey’s bodies. The two flick awake, and upon seeing a solitary index finger pressed against Lev’s lips, they follow his other hand that is gesturing toward the prowling predators. Now digesting the full gravity of the situation, they slowly rise to their feet and unsheathe their scimitars before making a careful approach toward their horses.

Lev carelessly decides that it is tactically advantageous to make a fearless charge ahead of them all into the three thickly-coated wolves and now stands therein the center of them to stare each wolf head-on. His confidence vanishes immediately, but with one strong salivary swallow it all comes back to him and aloud his voice bellows over the treetops, “Ah, ye stealthy scoundrels, wimpish wolves, ye pests so painlessly prostrated by the pattering of these lips alone and none else, I dare ye each and every to take thine approach and make thine best to take a piece from even mine leg. For I, hereby known to all in the land under the name of Sir Levi, shall oblige thine challenge and outwit you with naught but my body and blade as one in tandem with my mind.” The man formerly known as Lev but now recognized by all to be Levi looks the three wolves keenly in the eyes and waits patiently for the first to make its move, which to his surprise is the three of them at once.

Levi falls backward onto his ass in astonishment as the three wolves jump clean overtop him, he gets back to his feet and dashes to the nearest, delivering a forceful kick into its ribcage and landing one slick slash that calamitously carves into its thoracic vertebrae. The wolf remains collapsed, he turns around to the two behind him and stands above them with his Kris pointed toward them, “Which one of ye wicked wolves shall I waste away next with one wave of my waved blade? Or wilt thy minds reason and leave us be on our quest to the faraway city Sfouma and ye scamper into this wood where shade shall keep you secure from the cutting edge of this carnivorous Kris.”

The wolves keep distant as he steps forth with insane overconfidence, and now he lunges forth, one wolf is startled by this while the other retorts with a powerful pounce into Levi’s chest. He is sent straight to the ground, drops his Kris, and wraps both hands around its neck to keep its snapping jaws away from his flesh as he attempts to throw it off of him, an effort forceful enough to get the wolf away for a moment that he interprets as an opportunity to locate his Kris but a foot away from his head. He pierces it through the creature’s heart before throwing it off and pulling it back out, the way the curved blade glides outward, how its edge maneuvers out the wound, one can feel it all through a firm grip of the hilt.

“Puny predator, thou wilt cower in fear of this man standing before thee, hereon known to all by the moniker of Sir Levit,” The last wolf standing surrenders into the wood and the man previously known as Levi but now rebranded as Sir Levit returns with nary a claw carved into him. “So my fellow travelers, newfound acquaintances, shall we feast upon our prey tonight or await the morrow? For after performing such a feat, all the indolence hath drained from my flesh like blood gushing from a gash, and I feel not the faintest desire to slumber in the following hours and shall remain alert.”

“With all due respect sir, these lids hang heavy upon our eyes and what benefits may accompany Desvot’s and mine continued consciousness are outweighed by naught but cons, of our languor and dire requirement of slumber,” Humphrey says in a sentence that midway transfigures to a yawn.

“Please let us sleep Sir Levit and in the morn we shall together feast upon these wolves thou hast graciously fended our horses from to make further our way forth for the village of Great Trickle.”

“Here I propose a compromise sirs, if ye will lend me the use of any equipment ye may be so generous as to offer for the preparation of these steaks tonight, then it shall be done by the morn. We shall depart once we are satisfied.” At the presentation of this proposal, Sir Desvot gets to his feet to find a stone slab used to grill whatever meats they may muster in their tiresome travels as well to prepare the steaks. Sirs Desvot and Humphrey are fast to fall back asleep and Levit stays awake preparing the steaks until in the distance recommences the cracking of twigs.

“Halt, who goes there so late into the night? Art thou friend or foe?” to no response, he uses his Kris to begin gutting the predators-turned-prey, debunking this disturbance as yet another wandering wild animal. It takes about an hour to finish gutting and skinning each of the wolves, saving the pelts for sale in Great Trickle. Now he glances a glimmer near the horses, the familiar sound of the saddlebags unfastening, and someone digging desperately inside them. Sir Levit wipes the blood from his blade and pursues what pilferer may be present, “Halt sir, rise so I may see thine face foul thief,” following this he hears naught, but once a minute lapses a man covered by a dark sheet rises to his feet and extends a silvery cinquedea with sparkling golden hilt.

“Stand back or I shall thrash thine throat with this invaluable Dirk or Dagger, whichever it may be called, it shall sever thine speech and break thine breath for all eternity,” edging closer to the crazed, Kris-wielding weirdo.

“One step closer and thine heart shall be in havoc,” poising his blade to swipe through his stomach. The thief does not listen and steps closer to him anyways, soon pulling out from its scabbard a similar cinquedea, with the silver and gold inverted. He readies his arm backward and at this Levit rolls out of the path of a soaring cinquedea destined for the dirt, back to his feet he makes a split spring to the thief, holding at arm’s reach his dagger.

“I swear, one step closer and you’re a goner,” the thief says to the undaunted Sir Levit who with one considerable crack of his Kris sends the cinquedea soaring from his hand into the dirt, “I shall return thou wimping waste, and on that day thou will regret ever threatening the Lord of Thieves himself: that is I, the unnamed and mysterious thou wilt never know, even once I’ve severed each thine toes,” before scampering to the woods, tripping over a log and falling face-first into a stone, back to his feet and into the darkness. Levit refastens the saddlebags, relieved that nothing seems to be missing from them.

As the steaks begin to sizzle later into the night, Levit can attest to the ruckus of this thief returning for his dueling daggers and none else, back into the wood, his wakefulness wastes away as midnight passes into the deepest hours of night.

Copyright 2020 -- Return to Chapter Selection