I skulked in the bushes at the limits of a clearing. In the heart of that space amidst the stand of trees sat the second brother of the threesome of siblings I'd been hired to torment. I watched and waited for some time, wondering when this lout would take to his bed. I am often patient, but this one gorged upon a shank of partially cooked mutton for such a stretch of time that I became wrapped in an ever growing agitation that only fueled my desire to get my night's work underway.
The intensity of my observation, when combined with the soothing crackling of the fire residing at the man's feet, and the avidity with which he ate, after some time caused a mesmerizing effect to grow with in me. Each chunk of sheep's flesh pulled by his teeth into his mouth was systematically torn asunder by the inhuman champing motions of his jaws. Once sufficiently chewed, each mouthful of meat would then be inhaled into what one could only presume was a vortex formed by a near bottomless stomach.
If that was not revolting enough, the sounds of the disappearing meat, and the vocalizations made by that piggish man formed a healthy queasiness in my stomach. He sucked, smacked, slurped and once or twice even growled as a morsel of his mutton clung to its bone, resisting the efforts of his hungry, tugging bites. Manners are something I often scorn as they are arbitrary rules set forth by particularly miserable sorts amongst our society, but even I was horrified and repulsed by the animalistic feeding of the one before me. Yet, much like a farmer's wagon filled with country folk I'd once seen topple from a poorly constructed log bridge, I was transfixed, and had to continue watching this beast dine. I could not drag my eyes from that scene.
Long minutes passed BEFORE blessedly the glutton was AT LAST finished. He allowed the bone from his haunch of meat to fall, not so much dropping it as letting it tumble down his ample belly, to land upon the ground, where I imagined a legion of ants and other tiny beasts would soon come for their share. My quarry then rose, wiping his greasy hands carelessly upon the front of his tunic, which bore the evidence of countless, similar feasts. Bloody juices from the mutton shank surrounded the man's mouth, and dripped from his unshaven chin, lending him the appearance of a swine fresh from the slop trough. A hideously repugnant and revolting belch leapt from his mouth as he wiped a further measure of grease from his snout like nose with the back of his hand. That portion of liquid food residue was soon added to the mess already residing upon his garments. Stretching and yawning, he then lowered himself to the ground and crawled into a rough lean-to that stood a threesome of paces further on from where he had been seated.
I experienced great difficulty in resisting my urge to move as soon as my quarry's form had disappeared into the confines of his crude shelter. My breathing quickened, and my jaw clenched as I fought against that desire. To soothe myself, I stroked the wiry grey wolf fur that lined the edges of my dark cloak. That often had a calming effect upon my soul and as usual, eased my impatience. Finally, the unholy and ragged cacophony of snores broke the peace of the surroundings with their loathsome cadence, indicating to me that the time for action had come.
The glutton required a tad more care than had my first victim. This one was slightly more intelligent, which if I were to be honest, was not saying a lot. More concerning to my mind though was the fact that the glutton was not slowed by drink. The first brother had been, which made my work ever so much easier. Now however, I could hope that the savagely large meal tonight's quarry had consumed would be enough to make him drowsy, lending me some measure of advantage that hopefully would not be too insignificant.
Pulling my hood down farther over my head, so that it completely swallowed my face in its depths, I stepped forth from the embrace of the woodland undergrowth. A branch had scraped my face, and it would not do for that superficial injury to be visible to the glutton while I carried out my business with him.
I crept across the clearing towards the lean-to, licking my lips with nervousness. As my tongue passed around the outer limits of my mouth, caressing my incisors in its motions, I could not restrain the low chuckle seeking to bubble up from my throat. That was my personal calling card as a jester of the local noble's hall. I ever so enjoyed my work of thrusting a barb into the sanity of those deserving, or at least those whom I had been told were in need of such mental and emotional meddling, and rarely was able to contain my ensuing mirth.
My foolish thoughts, which had served me greatly in the unwanted ambition of tripping up my night's plans were suddenly broken. As I moved towards the lean-to, I stepped on the discarded sheep's bone. Its uneven and vaguely rounded shape shifted beneath my foot. Franticly I flailed at the air for some moments, seeking purchase with my hands. There is no need to tell you that I was unable to grasp anything that would arrest my fall, and so I tumbled heavily to the ground.
"Hell's shades," I grunted, overly loud in the remains of the night's silence.
Spitting blood, as I had sharply bitten my tongue during my rough landing, I looked towards the lean-to, fearful its occupant would no longer be buried in sleep beneath his ungodly symphony of rasping snores. My apprehension was well founded. No noisy inhalations were emitted by the mouth of the shelter. The glutton had most definitely been awakened by my clumsiness.
"Worse had happened," I reflected, briefly remembering a night in my later youth where I'd tripped, landing conveniently upon my face in front of a hound of generous size.
That canine belonged to the father of the buxom lass whose bed I had just vacated. Unlike then, little chance of a whipping for tonight's blunder existed. The worst consequence would simply be a withholding of my fee for the night, possibly permanently, but more likely until satisfactory completion of my prankish duty.
Most irritated with myself for my careless blunder, I levered myself to my hands and knees and crawled ever so cautiously towards my victim. I fancy I completed that short trek with little or no sound. Arriving at the side of the lean-to I studied it in the dim shadows, examining the placement of each branch making up its walls, for the easiest point of entry.
From my original point of observation in the foliage surrounding this clearing, it had appeared as though this shelter had been crudely constructed. Yet, close up, indeed a mere hand's breadth from my eyes I was to discover the sticks composing the walls were placed with a moderate measure of precision. That observation made sense as the gusty snores of the inhabitant were quite probably forceful enough to blow down the walls of the lean-to had it not possessed reasonably sturdy construction.
Selecting a branch that felt looser than its neighbors, I lifted and pulled, creating a space sufficiently wide for me to reach through. I peered in, straight into the wide, fearful eyes of he who lay within. Despite my face being hidden in the maw of my cowl's depths, the glutton was able to make eye contact with me. He too whimpered as his brother had done. How utterly feeble that sound was, somewhat reminiscent of a frightened mouse.
Wishing to avoid the wastage of time I spoke. "It be your turn young one to meet your maker."
Upon that utterance, I reached through the gap in the lean-to's wall, barely managing to slip my hand past the glutton's attempt to fend me off with his own arm. He made a second effort to pull my hand away from his throat, which nearly succeeded in dislodging my fingers. Yet, sadly for him he lacked that final vestige of strength necessary to save himself.
I dug my finger into a point upon his throat I'd learned could cause unconsciousness. Soon that piggish glutton succumbed to my ministration and lapsed into a dull stupor, his horrified expression lingering.
As before, I required a token of some variety to prove successful completion of my duty to my lord. The convenience of luck was with me, fore as I rendered the lout unconscious, I had come in contact with a chain about his neck. I pulled on that series of metal links and came up with a clover shaped pendant, roughly matching the one I had lifted from this one's sibling.
The chain upon which the pendant resided was of poor quality. Its condition had been further degraded through tarnish and a general lack of care. I drew my belt knife and sawed at the chain which parted easily due to its state of decrepitude. Then it was of little trouble to slip the clover pendant free where I then pocketed it, and once more rose to find my equine companion for the journey home.
Continued next week...
Your Thoughts:
This is the part two of, "The Grim Prankster," and is part of my series of short fiction pieces, and is a three parter. As always I look forward to your thoughts in the comments below or on my Facebook page: Author Jonathan Birdsall on Facebook, or on my Twitter page at: Writer Jonathan Birdsall (@writerjbird).
I humbly await your return next monday. Cheers my good readers!
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