| Mook and the Giant: Being the third and last part. |
May 9, 2008 11:08 am
1700 Views | Their horses stamped nervously as Druoon Antigoon advanced upon the knight and his squire. Tom’s hand started to creep towards his sword hilt, but was stayed by a glance from Mook. The giant looked down upon them.
“A tenth part,” he growled.
“Is that all?” replied Mook evenly.
Druoon blinked. He was used to curses, threats and mumbled complaints, but not this. Squinting, he stooped to get a better view, sniffing the air as he did so. Mook tightened his grip on the reins as his steed danced nervously under him. Tom’s horse had started to sidle away from the confrontation. The giant straightened up.
“You don’t smell frightened, and neither do you appear false. What is your business here?” he said.
“Whatever my business may be here is my own,” said Mook, “But if my business were such a business as you have here, then I wouldn’t sell myself so short.”
“Who are you, little man? And why have these others come with you?” Druoon gestured at the growing crowd, “Are you a fool come to entertain me? For if you are not a fool, you are certainly foolish. And the foolish do not live long around here.”
“Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner, good sir. I am Mook, thane to the King of the Britons, whom they call the Bear, and servant of your own lord, King of the Low Countries, by whose command I am here. Word has come to court that persons unknown are operating an unlicensed ferry service across this very river,” Mook gestured vaguely to his right, “The King’s Chancellor has expressed concern that certain revenues due to the crown are not being collected. Decree states that all services of public transport are liable to pay a tax of up to two florins a month to the lord of the manor. As all rivers are property of the crown, these fees are owed to the king himself. As the king’s representative, I am charged with collecting such dues. According to my information, this ferry service has been in operation for over ten years. By the most conservative estimate the debt is valued at twenty gold sovereigns. I am here to collect that debt from you. But to be honest, good sir, you do not give the appearance of one likely to be in possession of such a sum. For this reason, I wonder why you only charge a tenth part for your services, as it seems plain to me that if you are to honour your debt to the crown, then the tariff must be increased.”
Mook paused for breath. At first the giant had appeared confused by the speech, but confusion had slowly turned to bemusement and then to anger. When Mook had got to the part about tax, Druoon had begun to heft his sword menacingly. By the time the twenty gold sovereigns were mentioned, the sword was raised and the giant’s eyes had narrowed, as he debated whether to run this impudent mortal through, or simply split him in two from scalp to crotch.
“Now, Tom,” said Mook, and drew his sword from its scabbard in one fluid movement.
From the moment that his master had gestured towards the river, Tom had continued to let his horse drift away to the right. Neither the giant, nor the onlookers had noticed as the squire continued to circle until he was positioned behind Druoon Antigoon. As Mook attacked from the front, so Tom spurred his horse towards the giant’s back. Too late, Druoon realised his mistake. He had allowed himself to be outflanked, and now found himself assaulted from two sides. With a bellow of rage he launched himself at Mook. The knight’s horse appeared to jump to the side, and instead of shearing his opponent in two, Druoon found Mook’s sword arcing up and slicing cleanly through his shoulder. At the same time, Tom’s blade bit into the back of the giant’s knee, severing the leg. Raising himself in his stirrups, Mook brought his sword around in an overhand swing which passed between Druoon’s head and his body.
The giant fell to the ground without a sound. Mook and Tom wheeled their horses and stared down at the quartered body. Where the blood spilled the grass was withering and dying.
“Was that really necessary, sire?” asked Tom.
Mook sighed.
“I don’t know, Tom. There is a time for talk and a time for action, and he didn’t seem the talking kind.”
“Talk might have cost him twenty sovereigns, but action has proved far dearer,” a slow grin started to spread over Tom’s face.
“Tom, if you mention anything about it costing him an arm and a leg, you’ll be eating fried roots for a week,” growled Mook.
“There was no need for him to lose his head like that though, was there, sire?” Tom’s grin was getting broader.
“Remind me why I chose you as squire again, Tom, I seem to have forgotten” said Mook, as he turned his horse and followed the river downstream towards the sea and home.
“Because I give no quarter, sire? Quarter…quartered…four parts. Do you get it, sire?”
“I’ll see if there’s a vacancy for you at court, Tom. I believe they’re in need of a new jester. The last one got bad views.”
“Don’t you mean he got bad reviews, sire?”
“No, Tom. He got bad views. They threw him in the dungeon for a week.”
“Point taken, sire. Point taken.”
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