This is during a rather rousing party where our heroes find themselves having to perform in front of the enemy.
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“I am Casamir! Casamir is my name. And you can call me
Casamir.” Ciara nudged Bartrone in the ribs, hoping it’d restart his brain.
The man swallowed hard and glanced to his hand, upon which
he’d written an acronym for every one of this lines. He was really afraid of
the TBPHINRITMTKMTYVM speech.
“And I am traveling to the ma..me..mystical land of the
elves with my trusty companion!”
Pajamas stood to his full height, rubbed his glistening
stomach and belched.
The room erupted into applause. Even the soldiers seemed
aware of the fabled Humphrey and his predilections, slapping their knees in
encouragement.
Pajamas waved his arms around as if he’d just scored the
winning stab during a war. “Casamir” coughed and “Humphrey” fell back in line.
“Boy, it sure is nice to be off that rickety boat and here
in the land of the elves!” Bartrone wasn’t so much projecting his lines as
yelling them to an invisible giant towering over the top of the Baron’s head. This
kept his line of sight always above everyone’s faces and his words ringing
through the hallways.
Pajamas smiled wide, “Tha’s true thur, but why are we e’en
here?”
“I am glad you asked that Humphrey…my trusty companion.”
Repetition was a tool of the bards to keep the audience from forgetting midway
through a poem why someone named Grendal had an affinity for eating Danes.
They’re not even candy coated. But it gave Ciara a headache, as she stood
skittishly in the back shadows, grateful that all eyes were upon the man trying
to shout down the castle walls.
“For you see,” Casamir continued, “we were caught on what
we thought was a terrible storm but was in reality a whirlpool caused by the
sea serpents mighty tail. While you stood upon deck and proceeded to refer to
its mother as a very promiscuous rope, I was jumping down its throat and
slicing its head off from inside.”
“Right,” Humphrey said, and ad libbed, “wonder how I forgot
about that.”
Casamir glared at his friend for the interruption and
continued, “Now we are trapped here, amongst the land of the elves. The pointy
eared devils who work magic to steal men’s essence and weave rugs.”
“But how do you know it’s the Elves?” Humphrey asked,
poking at his belly button.
“Because there’s one right now,” Casamir said, stepping out
of the main circle and trying to cue Aldrin.
But the boy refused to let go of Ciara’s hand. He shook his
head, shifting his false ears around on his face.
“Yep,” Casamir put a hand up over his eyes, “I can see one,
far in the distance. I’m sure it’ll come to us any minute now.”
Humphrey stood beside him and made the same move, “Are you
sure it’s not just a rock? Seem to be a lot of those on this island.”
Bashta nahroot! Ciara cursed in her father’s tongue and ran
into the spotlight dragging Aldrin with her, “Help! Help! I have been kidnapped
by this terrible elven lord!”
Casamir blinked back at her as the script turned in on
itself. Humphrey reached out and swiped a handful of stuffing off someones
plate and jammed it in his maw.
Ciara placed her head next to Aldrin’s frozen jaw, “He says
he’s going to kill me and use my blood to summon a terrible demon to destroy
all of mankind. Also that he has a terrible cold and can’t talk very loudly.”
The boy’s eyes looked around at the multitude of enemies
staring inquisitively upon him and, instead of a flush of embarrassment at
being caught giving the worst performance of his life, or fear from the
knowledge a single one of them could drain his blood with a swipe of the blade,
he felt a rage creep across his brow hotter than any he’d ever known before.
“AARGH! I am Lord Galdwin, high keeper of the Elves and I
have come to destroy all of humanity!” he shouted to the parapets and the
pigeons roosting within. The Baron slid forward in his seat, enraptured with
this story. Even the man in black beside him seemed to perk up from stirring
around the untouched food on his plate.
“He seems much better now,” Humphrey mumbled through a
mouth of breadcrumbs.
The Lord elf waved his finger upon the assembled audience,
daring each of them to try and attack, “And not a single one of you can stop
me!” Aldrin cackled, and, still grabbing Ciara’s hand, pulled her back into the
shadows that stood in for the “Mighty Elven Castle.”
“Oh help, help, won’t someone save me,” she called out, a
small tremble in her voice from the emotion pouring from the boy’s iron grip
upon her.
Casamir stood tall and tried to remove his wooden sword
from his scabbard, but it was stuck. Instead he wrenched the entire thing off
his belt and pointed towards the “mighty elven castle.” “Come, Humphrey. We
must rescue the girl and save the world.”
“And stop for lunch along the way?” It didn’t much matter
what Humphrey ad libbed, as long as he remembered one simple rule.
As Casamir turned to glare at his companion, the scabbard
fell with a clunk onto the stone floor just as Humphrey let loose a torrential
cadence of flatulence.
The audience went wild.
While inebriated soldiers, blitzed lords, and tipsy ladies
(who’d gone drink for drink with their husbands) hooted and hollered, the
traveling players took them on a wild ride as Casamir the Dragon Slayer fought
off giant man eating cats, a pair of knights who’d turned into trees, and a
horde of lawyers (blood sucking insects didn’t translate well). Occasionally
the elven princess would cry out from her tower (a stack of chairs). The evil
Lord Galdwin would cackle and steeple his fingers while talking about all the
people he’d be sure to kill, pointing at a few soldiers who’d laugh at the
small boy threatening them.
And all the while Humphrey would provide the light hearted
comic relief every harrowing tale of heroism needed as he tried to hop up on
the tables, run across plates, slipped, and slid clear across the floor into
the wall a bearded man had previously occupied. But Casamir was on a role, and
turned that into some terrible invisible giant that was tossing them about like
rag dolls. He then proceeded to punch and stab at thin air with his sword while
Humphrey slowly rose to his feet and tried to determine if he’d severed his
spine.
“Pst. Hey, mighty hero, you maybe want to think about
saving me?” Ciara interrupted as Bartrone wove about his stage, soaking in the
attention like flour whisked into water. He paused, and decided it was time to unleash
the gravy of the third act upon his fans.
“Humphrey, arise! We have bested the invisible giants!”
“Uhh,” the old man groaned, carefully walking back into the
performers circle, “How can you bloody tell? Ya can’t see them?”
“Now we have come to the mighty Dark Lord’s castle!”
Casamir thumped his chest, rattling some of his armor so that poorly adhered
metal chunks fell to the floor.
“So we can rescue the Dark Princess,” Humphrey muttered.
Ciara glared at him, not wanting more attention drawn to her.
“And sell her back to her Sultans for an exorbitant
reward,” Casamir continued, so far off script she didn’t know why they even
bothered.
“Maybe one o’ them harlem girls too.”
“I still need rescuing, by a big,” Ciara’s voice gargled at
that, “strong,” she choked back a laugh as she gazed upon Humphrey, and
sputtered out “man,” before shoving a fist into her mouth to stifle the
giggles.
Aldrin jumped out in front of Bartrone, and waved his
walking stick as if it were a mighty wizard’s stave. “You may have bested my,
uh invisible giant but you shall not best me!”
Casamir unsheathed his sword out of his belt and waved it
high, “For Analia!”
The audience murmured in confusion, no one had mentioned
this Analia before. Was it some land of the great hero? One of his wives? Maybe
one he didn’t slaughter when Bards needed him to be single again. A favorite
horse?
Bartrone realized his mistake in going so far off script no
one thought to name the woman they were supposed to rescuing. “Which is what I
now name the woman we’re rescuing!”
Ciara slapped her forehead with her palm, but the audience
seemed to buy it. Of course a man like that would go around randomly changing a
woman’s name because he couldn’t be bothered to ask her what it really was. Why
not?
Aldrin was so far in character he barely noticed the delay
and waved his staff high in the air, “I call upon fire to obey me. Burn this
fool until there is nothing but ash left,” and he cast his hands forward as if
fire would actually leap from it.
Casamir shouted, “I call upon my sword to stick in your
guts,” and poked Aldrin hard in the side right where he’d been stabbed by the
assassin. The kid crumpled into a ball, the staff slipping from his fingers and
clattering to the ground.
They’d spent hours practicing a long, complicated
fight sequence where Casamir was supposed to steal Galdwin’s staff, break it,
and destroy his magic. Medwin suspected that would play best with the Argur
crowd. Instead the boy prince curled up on the floor in blinding pain while
Casamir lapped around the stage, slapping the hands of every soldier sitting
near.
Ciara leaned down and checked on Aldrin. He was breathing
heavily and there were tears streaming down his face. “Are you all right?” she
whispered.
He nodded, his teeth clenched as he fought off a wave of
nausea. Ciara stepped forward and said flatly, “Oh, my hero.”
Casamir stopped his revelry and came forward, his hand
swooping around her hip and pulling her body close to him. Cursing Chase’s
inability to remember lines, she shut her eyes tight and brushed her lips
against Bartrone’s whiskery blonde cheek.
As the crowd cheered, he dropped his hold upon her, and
while the rage faded from her eyesight she saw a smear of black paint on
Casamir’s cheek. Humphrey was gently nudging Aldrin with his boot while working
hard on a chicken leg he got from gods knew where. Ciara turned to check on the
boy, when Casamir grabbed her hand and shouted so loud half the kingdom could
hear, “And that is the tale of Casamir and the Elves!”
Then, still holding the girl hostage, he took a deep bow
forcing her to join in. Humphrey turned to look at the clapping crowd and
curtsied. The lords and ladies scrambled out of their chairs, giving the man
who’d spent most of the play pointing out the plot holes a standing ovation.
Aldrin managed to stagger to his feet and leaned upon his
wizard staff wheezing.
“Encore!” someone started near the head table.
“Yes, Encore!”
“Encore! Encore!” it was picked up by everyone gathered
around the tables.
Ciara finally broke free of Bartone’s hold and turned to
Aldrin who looked her in the eye and pleaded, “Sweet pantheon, no.”
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