Kill the Farm Boy Read online

  The next morning, the party didn’t exit the Morningwood so much as gush from it in a torrent of magical effluvium. This was terribly awkward for a variety of reasons, and they soon found themselves at a fork in the road. Normally, Argabella didn’t approve of the phrase “found themselves” because she had obviously never lost track of her own body or mind before. This time, however, it rang true. Whenever the elves did their magic and turned the world inside out, she did in fact lose herself temporarily and generally rediscovered herself in the process of vomiting. Argabella’s opinion of magic went down several notches. What was the point if it always made her nauseated and kept spoiling perfectly nice cloaks? At least Fia was there each time it happened, patting her back in a reassuring way and holding back her ears.

  Straightening up to wipe her mouth and consider the path ahead, Argabella couldn’t help thinking that forks in the road were rather Gloomful things. Since the path diverged, that meant one had to choose, and choosing meant that opportunities were lost forever. In making the choice, one literally murdered possibilities, which didn’t seem very fair or nonviolent.

  However, forks in the road were also Songful things. Argabella liked to sing about them when she was feeling especially Thinkful because they illustrated how our choices shape our lives rather than some goddess playing at puppets. And perhaps because people were aware of that—perhaps because some people did and others definitely did not want to have the sorts of encounters bards sing about—forks in the road were also places where arguments tended to break out, and one broke out soon after they bade farewell to the elves. Argabella had strummed only one chord before her somewhat Gloomful, somewhat Thinkful song about forks was casually destroyed by what began as nonsense and ended up as nearly a brawl.

  “Cor,” Poltro said. “Elves. Know what I mean?”

  “Not really,” Argabella answered, wanting to be supportive. “But you seem glad to be gone. I thought you were excited about spending time with Bargolas. Was it not…pleasant?”

  “Depends on what you consider it to be,” Poltro muttered. “He just had me brush his hair for a while, and at first I thought that was okay because he seemed to like it; he was moaning and carrying on, and that’s pretty good, right? But then he shouted a bit about his father, cried in my lap, expessed a universal fear of crevasses, and fell asleep, and that wasn’t any fun for me, was it? Nothing proper to eat in the room either, just some dried fruits, and when I peeked outside to ask for help, they told me to get back in there with Bargolas the Snore Prince. Well, I didn’t sign up for a dried peach, no I didn’t, and I won’t ever have anything nice to say about elves no matter how shiny their hair is, you can be sure.”

  “That’s not so bad comparatively,” Toby said. “The rest of us were dumped unceremoniously in a horse stall, locked in with the oxen, and given nothing but a musty bucket of water and a tuft of elvish hay to go around.”

  “And our own food stores were infected with glitter,” Fia added. “We didn’t know if it was the pleasant, friendly sort of glitter, or the bad, actually-bird-droppings glitter, or the oh-maybe-we’ll-choke-to-death glitter.”

  “And those blasted cheese thieves!” Toby howled, arms waggling in the air for emphasis.

  “Not this again, I beg you,” Fia moaned. “All night, nothing out of this one but whingeing about lost pecorino.”

  “Oh, and I’m the only whiner?” Toby shot back. “What about your soliloquy about how straw tends to wedge into one’s most personal crannies?”

  “There wasn’t a lot of sleep,” Argabella said soothingly. “The night was rather Wakeful. And literally no one brushed anyone else’s hair. But perhaps, if we keep moving, we might find some cheese and hairbrushes.”

  “We need to take the western fork and head south from Humptulips to Malefic Beach.” Fia stepped boldly toward the cleft in the road, her form rippling in ways that Argabella couldn’t help noticing.

  “I agree,” Gustave said, pausing as he chewed a strip of elvish leather. “Not because I’m big on maps but because she’s the only one who doesn’t want to eat me.”

  But the Crepuscular Lord was having none of it. “South? Are you insane? Our only choice is to take the eastern fork to the city of Groggyn, where we can replenish our cheese stores. And, incidentally, not die! Everyone knows the south is the more dangerous route. I’m for not dying and a nice Groggish Gruyère.”

  Poltro took his side, saying, “That would be Gouda,” and snort-giggled at how successfully she’d delivered one of the oldest cheese puns in history.

  “We can’t afford the time!” Fia raged. Her chain-mail bikini tinkled a little bit as she jiggled around, and Argabella thought it a winsome sound. “We need to get the sand witch working her magic on the farm boy as soon as possible!”

  “We’ll have no time left at all if we’re dead,” Lord Toby pointed out. “That road to the south is almost sure to kill us, and we’ll be no better off than your farm boy.”

  “The south is sure to kill us? What foolishness. You’re talking about silly stories!” Fia shouted, advancing on the hedge wizard, but he held his ground.

  “True stories, silly or not! There’s something deadly lurking around the Titan Toothpicks. Very few people ever return from there, as you well know.”

  “Very few people can fight like me, or, uh…” Fia trailed off.

  “…Make almost-crackers like you,” Argabella finished.

  Toby ignored Fia and turned to Argabella. “You!”

  “Eep!” She cringed, ears drooping, eyes watering, nose twitching. She’d been afraid someone would draw her into the argument, but was surprised to discover that someone was herself. Argabella desperately wanted to support Fia, but at the same time, it didn’t do to rouse a wizard’s anger. It was frustrating how the curse made her even more twitchy and fearful than she’d been before, which was saying a lot. She’d never done well with conflict, but now it made her want to dig holes and dart under bushes, which wasn’t considered socially acceptable.

  Lord Toby’s eyes widened and his scraggly chin hairs waggled to impress her with the import of his next words. “Look, Argy, my dear. You must break the tie because it’s two against two. So: Shall we go south and die a horrible shrieking death at the hands of some cruel monster or go east and enjoy some cool Muenster?”

  Argabella quivered like a pudding. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her answer. Everyone except Poltro, who frowned and held up a finger.

  “Hang on, m’lord,” she said. “I think Cutter told me about questions like these. Isn’t that one of those either-or thingies, a fella-you-see or false canary or—”

  “A fallacy!” Fia pounced. “A false binary! That’s exactly what it is. There are many more possible outcomes than the two he gave you. A horrible shrieking death does not necessarily await us in the south. In fact, I’m sure it doesn’t! And I don’t think you can even get Muenster cheese in Groggyn.”

  Argabella’s ears perked up, and she straightened her shoulders a bit. “You’re right, you can’t,” she said. “It’s too low-fat and therefore banned by the Earl of Grunting, who sure does like his lipids. He had me sing a song about it once—”

  Lord Toby growled in frustration. “Gahhh! What is even happening? We are talking about death here, as in the end of your life!” He pointed to the road leading south—first with his hand, then with his almost-beard pointed as well to make sure no one had missed a vital bit of body language. “And our death is that way! So let’s not go there, okay? Come on, Argabella.”

  “Yeah, come on, Argabella,” Fia said, her voice uncommonly gentle and a soft smile on her face. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about the Titan Toothpicks. They’re supposed to be beautiful shining pillars of stone with ribbons of color shot through them that sparkle in the sun. It would be the sight of a lifetime and inspire such sublime music. Don’t you think?”

>   Argabella thought she might agree to do most anything—even swim with the man-eating jellyfish of the Awful Salty Sea—if Fia would just keep smiling at her like that.

  “That sounds wonderful,” she breathed. “Let’s all go seek a horrible shrieking death together.”

  Gustave laughed. “That’s perfect. I like you, rabbit girl. Much more sensible about the world than my former pooboy.”

  Lord Toby spun on his heel, shaking with rage, and after a few steps threw back his head and bellowed, green bolts shooting from his fingers into the sky. He covered his head with both hands, and that was the only warning the others received before a hail of smoking crusts of bread fell down all around them, sizzling hunks thudding onto the turf.

  “Now it’s raining toast?” Gustave said. “That never happened back at the farm. I mean, who’s even heard of toast showers before—is that what you’d call this? Maybe a bread squall? A loaf storm?” He reached out tenderly with his goat lips and nibbled on some. “Huh. Pumpernickel. It’s nothing like a pair of filthy suede shoes, but it’s not bad, I guess.”

  Lord Toby’s shoulders slumped, his anger spent, and he flapped one arm toward the south. “Fine. You all go first. I’ll follow behind so that when death comes, the last thing you’ll hear is me telling you I told you so.”

  Fia flashed a grin at Argabella. “Thank you,” she said.

  The bard stood tall and smiled. The fighting was over, and it was easy to speak her mind again. “You’re welcome.”

  While Poltro got Moxie and Doxy headed in the right direction, Argabella hoped there wouldn’t be many more of these forks in the road. It almost made her long for her lonely days in the earl’s enchanted castle, because sleeping people did not get into arguments or force her to take sides. But, she reflected, sleeping people didn’t smile at her either.

  The good feeling ebbed away quickly after they swung south from Humptulips, because signs began to appear alongside the road, an entire Worryful series of them. They were Brimful of sage advice, saying things like TURN BACK NOW OR DIE and NO REALLY YOU WILL DIE and CAN YOU EVEN READ I SAID YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DON’T TURN AROUND.

  Toby cleared his throat significantly once he saw them. “In light of this new intelligence, can we reconsider this course of action?”

  Fia scowled at him. “No, we can’t. For all we know you conjured these up to mess with our heads.”

  The Dark Lord snorted derisively. “I excel at summoning yeasty foodstuffs but have never in my life even attempted to conjure a series of weathered signs planted by the road, overgrown with years of weeds.”

  Argabella could feel her shoulders hunching in the silence that followed and reached for something positive to say. “Your eldritch crackers remind me of things that are delicious,” she said. Toby’s eyes narrowed in condemnation.

  “I don’t think he’s bready to forgive you,” Poltro all but sang.

  “But I do so admire his magic! And his snacks!”

  Fia grinned. “So you’re saying you’re his biggest flan?”

  “Enough!” Toby shouted. “You’re all nuts!”

  A beat passed before Gustave whispered, “Don’t be so crudité.”

  Toby crossed his arms in a huff, and Fia winked at Argabella, who couldn’t help grinning. She’d never had someone stand up for her before, much less have an entire group of friends band together in such a Punful way. Toby’s anger with her was now stretched over the entire group, and a warm sort of feeling spread out from her belly. Relief: that’s what it was. But it didn’t last for long.

  Another grouping of three signs appeared later in the day. IT CAME FROM THE TITAN TOOTHPICKS and IT ATE THEM ALL WITH MUSTARD and OH GODS, WHY? TURN BACK, YOU IDIOTS!

  “Now really, this is folly,” Lord Toby began. “Don’t you believe me yet?”

  Fia made a chopping motion with her hand. “No! We are saving time. And these signs are years old. Whatever was there has got to be gone by now.”

  “I’m intrigued,” Gustave said. “You don’t typically hear of monsters bothering with condiments. The stories I’ve heard imply that they adhere to a paleo diet, preferring their foods in a raw, natural state.”

  “What does it matter?” Lord Toby snarled. “Either way, you’re eaten.”

  “Except for me. I can run faster than all of you,” Gustave said. “I’m counting on you to put up a fight and give me a chance to escape in the resulting brouhaha. Fail me not, ye fat ’n’ sassy slow-moving monster chow!”

  “Unless you get suddenly frightened and faint,” Toby said nastily.

  “Look, it’s all about genes. I got fainting genes, but I also got beard genes, so who’s the real winner here?”

  With a prissy “hmph!” Lord Toby set to brooding silently while making many dramatic gestures to ensure that everyone knew he was brooding. Argabella began to understand that Lord Toby was a champion brooder and that if there were a Sulky Olympics, he probably would get silver and then brood about it.

  They encountered no more signs after that, and the tension slowly drained away, especially after they had eaten that evening and woke up again in the morning perfectly safe. It was, in fact, perfectly lovely, Argabella thought as the days passed perfectly in peace. They had the road to themselves, and the rich green land qualified as bucolic. Sure, there were ruins of old villages here and there, but they were so ancient that they looked artful and as if they had been placed there to improve the scenery. Idyllic scenery that didn’t have very many animals in it, even insects. The bard supposed that was a leading indicator of danger but didn’t want to bother Fia with her concerns. Time had passed while she’d been trapped in the castle, and perhaps things had changed in the land outside, including food chains.

  Moxie and Doxy made good time pulling the wagon, and those with the capacity for speech talked of many things while they traveled, including the coastal delicacies unique to Malefic Beach they would like to sample, such as poached pepperfish in sea-salted butter pumpkins and spicy clam biscuits and, for the less Meatful folk, battered and fried crème-filled spongecake on sticks. Argabella was grateful to note that as soon as Lord Toby started talking about food, he stopped brooding and started drooling, which was more relaxing for everyone.

  When they topped the swell of a fetching hill adorned with yellow buttercups and finally beheld the Titan Toothpicks sparkling on the western coast, a collective gasp escaped their mouths. Even Toby’s jaw dropped, which was saying a lot when cheese wasn’t in evidence.

  “Whoa. I didn’t expect them to look that good,” Fia said.

  “They’re beautiful just like you said,” Argabella hastened to reassure her. “Definitely worth singing a song about.”

  “Resplendent! Spectacularly fetching! Unabashedly stunning!” Lord Toby said, his face lit with wonder.

  “I’ve not been much of a world traveler till now,” Gustave remarked, “but I gotta say, those are some pretty special rocks.”

  “Now hold the chicken a minute.” Poltro lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and squinted at the distant pillars. “Aren’t rocks mostly supposed to stay still? I think I remember hearing somewhere that one of their distinguishing characteristics was that they didn’t move—yes, I’m sure of it, because during my training I kept tripping on rocks and thought they were sneaking up on me, but Cutter said, ‘No, Poltro, rocks don’t move, so they can’t sneak, ipso facto,’ except I think Cutter was wrong about that, and I still don’t know what ipso facto means.”

  “Cutter was right,” Lord Toby said. “Rocks don’t move.”

  Poltro pointed at the Titan Toothpicks. “I swear one o’ them pillars moved, sir—look! There it is again! It must not’ve gotten the memo about not moving.”

  Argabella squinted at the shining pillars of stone, and so did the rest of the party. Something had detached from the mass of the pillars and was ta
king impossibly long strides in their direction.

  “That’s no rock,” Argabella said.

  “What is it?” Fia wondered aloud.

  “It’s the thing from the sign! The thing that eats people with mustard!” Gustave said. “Flee! But not as fast as me!” He took off down the buttercup hill, heading back the way they had come, leaving a trail of terror poops in his wake.

  Lord Toby growled at Fia, “In case I don’t get a chance later, I told you so.”

  Fia drew her sword and her wicked shears. “Fine, you were right. Now shut up and help me fight this thing.”

  Argabella didn’t want to fight—running away seemed to be far more sensible at this point—but she couldn’t let Fia fight alone. For the first time, she was able to resist her rabbity urges and stand her ground despite a bone-deep longing to hop into a log. She swung her lute around and strummed a powerful chord, trying to imbue her voice with as much confidence as possible even though she was terrified, and sang an improvised song of obfuscation:

  “We are not food

  No sir Mister Monster

  We taste super bad

  Oh gods we are not food

  Really really really

  You gotta believe me”

  Her desperate song appeared to have no effect whatsoever. The colorful thing’s long legs covered a vast distance with every second, and the distance it closed was specifically that distance which separated them. As it grew closer, they could tell that the thing from the Titan Toothpicks was indeed not a rock at all, though it had much the same coloring. It was a spindly and severe looking giant with a nose the size of a battleship. Its only hair was a pair of aggressive eyebrows and an enormous white mustache that fell from the upper lip like two foaming tides, which Argabella supposed meant it must be male. His skin was a curious mural of vegetal colors, yellow and green and deep purples mixed with rich reds and browns, no blacks or blues of any kind. And it wasn’t smooth by any means but rather bumpy like an angry custard apple except for the tip of its schooner nose, which had greenish-purple layers to it reminiscent of an asparagus floret. His eyes were empty black pits with only a diamond’s glow deep in the socket, and he looked angry or hungry or maybe hangry, a hybrid of the two.