Chicken Stroll
Part Ten
“I tell you, it keeps watching me!” Thom complained as he picked up another sack of corn.
“What rubbish.” Grat replied. “You need a holiday. A long one.”
“It is!” Thom insisted. “That black rooster is nasty. Look at those spurs.”
“Yeah, it's got spurs, it's a rooster. A boy chicken. They're built that way.” Grat replied. “And they like to sit on the roof of the coop. Means they can keep an eye on the hens.”
“But these chickens are ex-humans! Maybe they keep some of their brains. We don't know for sure.” Grat shrugged. “They act like chickens, so they are chickens. Some act a bit funny for the first few days, but they soon stop. Can't squeeze human brains into that little head, right?”
“That's what they say...but I don't think I believe it any longer.” Thom looked at the black rooster, which was placidly observing him again. “That black one just gives me the creeps. It always looks like it's planning my assassination.”
Grat snorted. “You're nuts. Still, we need to get rid of some roosters, right? So, why don't we get rid of the three new ones?”
“She wants them gone, anyway.” Thom replied. 'She' was always Emeral Fress, their powerful but obviously insane boss- who paid very well.
“Yeah, and I think we can make some money on this, too. No need to tell her, of course.”
“I like it already.”
“Well, you heard them crowing this morning, right? I think we've got some pretty tetchy new roosters there. That red one and the black one look really nasty. So, why don't we hold a cockfight?”
“They'd rip each other to shreds!” Grat said gleefully. “Right! We'd charge for entry, and then take bets. A nice little earner.”
“How about that...other one? The big weird one?”
“The one that's almost as ugly as you, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Grat sighed. “That one.” He'd put up with endless ugly jokes since he'd been a child, and nowadays he just ignored them. I prefer it to people telling me I'm quite handsome, really, honestly, we mean it…
Thom shrugged. “That one can be dinner.”
The two thugs entered the chicken enclosure, Grat confidently, Thom nervously. It was all very well for the half-orc to laugh his premonitions off, but he had a very bad feeling about that black rooster. It gave him the willies, to tell the truth. Something about the way it was calmly watching him, looking as if it was somehow cataloguing his behavior, waiting for him to slip up and make a mistake. The wiry, slightly balding man shook his head briefly. Maybe he was imagining it, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Those spurs were nasty, and that beak looked far sharper than it ought to. He frowned, and then picked up a pitchfork leaning against a wall before he entered the enclosure.
“Come on, Black Chicken,” he muttered. “Wanna take me on, do you? Well, just try it and I'll spit ya like a...” Then, he startled. “Hey! Where'd it go?”
“Where did what go?” Grat asked. “The rooster! The black rooster!”
“What about it?”
“It...it's not there any longer!” The half-orc looked at the empty spot on top of the chicken coop. “So? It's a chicken. Chickens move about. So what?”
“I just don't like not knowing where it is, that's what!” Worrying as that cool gaze in the rooster's eyes had been, the absence of the rooster was even worse, because surely that meant it could be anywhere. Watching. Waiting. Biding its time...he could almost feel those dark, glittering eyes boring into his back even now... “Hey, look at that!” Grat's cheerful shout made Thom leap two feet into the air, his heart pounding wildly. Then, he noticed that it wasn't the black one after all. It was that weird, overlarge bird that looked a little like a turkey, and the noisy red one. The two roosters were standing in the middle of the enclosure, glaring fiercely at each other, combs raised as they made angry, squawking noises.
“What do you suppose they're saying?” Grat curiously asked. Then he grinned. “Think they're making up clever plans on how to ambush us, do you?”
“Very funny.” Thom tried to steady his hands on the pitchfork a little. Where is it? Where is it?
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let's just grab these two, save the black one for finals, right? The mutant is big enough to put up a good fight, and the red has a really nasty temper if ever I saw one.”
“Whatever,” Grat said, shrugging. The half-orc was big, but he was faster than his size might lead you to think, and the two arguing roosters were entirely preoccupied with each other. He made a swift lunge, caught one rooster with each hand, and rose triumphantly, two outraged birds clucking and hanging upside down as he dangled them by their legs. “That's it lads,” he told the roosters. “It's off to the cock fight for you two.”
He grinned at Thom again, tusks showing prominently. “Let's go then...'less you wanna stay here and search for your scary black chicken.” He turned around, and walked off.
“I'm not scar...” Thom started saying, and turned to follow. Then he froze, and the words froze on his lips as well. The black rooster had just stepped around the corner of the chicken coop. The wickedly sharp and curved beak opened, and there was a low, threatening hiss. “St-stay away from me!” Thom threatened, brandishing his pitchfork. The black cockerel's eyes flickered from the pitchfork towards Grat, who was even now exiting the enclosure, two roosters in hand. There was another hiss, this one louder. Damn that stupid half-orc, couldn't he have waited up to see I got out safely? As it was, Grat had his back turned, and the two roosters he was carrying were squawking too loudly for him to hear any call for help. Thom clumsily swung the pitchfork towards the menacing bird, which sidestepped it with almost contemptuous ease. There was a blur of black feathers, and the rooster was suddenly on top of the coop again, out of reach, and giving up a crow that sounded more like the bloodcurdling scream of a banshee. The two captured roosters fell instantly silent, then started their racket again.
They're talking to each other, was the one, feverish thought that ran through Thom's overheating brain as he ran as fast as he could away from the chicken coop. The birds...the birds...the birds are talking...
***
Edwin didn't like being held upside down by his feet. Not only was it hideously indignified, it was such an unnatural position for a rooster to be in that he had to prevent himself panicking instinctively. I will never let my mind be ruled by a bunch of mere feathers! Nevertheless, he still screamed and thrashed his wings, trying to get lose. “Let me go, you hideous green ogre!”
“S'not an ogre, he's a half-orc like me.” Andorel had stopped thrashing, and simply hung upside down, his green crest not flopping over his eye for once.
“He is the same colour as bile, the intelligence of a chicken (a stupid chicken, of course), and breath that could stun a basilisk at fifteen paces. I see no great difference between the two of you.”
“Hey, I don't have bad breath!” Andorel huffed loudly into the red rooster's face. “See?”
Edwin recoiled. “You've been eating grubs again.”
“Like you don't.” Andorel snorted. “All chickens do. 'Cept Vaddy, 'cos he's daft.”
“HE IS NOT DAFT!” Edwin screamed, and started thrashing again, wings fruitlessly beating the air. “Watch it, you'll blow out yer gizzard. Anyway, he said no fighting, right?”
“Yes.” Edwin said, subsiding. “No fighting.”
“Anyway, you have bin eatin' grubs. Tried the big fat white ones yet?”
“I have not been eating grubs!” Edwin snapped in reply. Only when I need the protein, anyway. I need it to keep my mind active, after all.
***
Nalia had always thought of herself as pretty fit. She got up early, went for plenty of walks and rode around her estate a lot. However, she was out of breath trying to keep up with the frantic assassin. Dekaras had started by flying up to the top of the coop, scanning for any possible exits, then started walking around the perimeter of the enclosure, looking for any gaps in the fencing.
“Vadrak!” She puffed, trying to catch up with the assassin. “It's no good. This place is as well locked up as my dun...cellars.”
“I'm just making a final check.” Dekaras replied, apparently calmly. “All prisons can be broken out of, it is merely a matter of careful planning.” He raced off again, feathers slicked down flat.
“This isn't careful planning!” Nalia replied, catching up with him for once. “We have to sit down and decide what to do.” She paused briefly, cocking her head to one side. “Edwin says they've been put in a box, but they're still ok. Well, he says he's ok, he doesn't mention Andorel at all.”
“No, he wouldn't.” Dekaras replied bitterly, stopping briefly. “Though I have no doubt he'd take gleeful pleasure in telling me every single detail if Andorel was hurt.”
“So, they're both ok. And...” Nalia swallowed, “If they were going to be...eaten, they wouldn't be placed in a box, would they? They'd just be carried off and have their heads chopped off. Or their necks wrung.”
The black rooster's comb went pale at the thought. “Naturally. However, I think we should work towards gaining egress from this place, agreed?”
Nalia cast her thoughts back to Edwin, and could sense that the mage was near panic, and not even bothering to try and hide it. “Agreed.”
***
Andorel was normally very easygoing, not likely to let things get to him. However, being locked up with Edwin in a small box was gradually starting to grate on him. Hell, being locked in a small box with Edwin would get to anybody, wouldn't it? Except maybe Vaddy. But that's diff'rent. After all, the wizard was such a...such a prat, wasn't he? A selfish, mean little prat. He deserved to be taken down a peg or two, didn't he? Andorel certainly thought so, and had thought so ever since their first unfortunate encounter on that bridge in Nashkel. He clucked happily to himself at the thought.
“What?” Edwin snapped, turning his head around. His comb looked as stiff as a board, and there was a wild look in his eyes. “What is so amusing, you sad sack of moldy feathers? (If we are to get eaten, they had better not put us in the same pot and spoil the taste of my own, superiourly succulent flesh.)”
“Oh, nothin'.” Andorel chuckled again, and flipped his green comb out of his eyes. “Just thinking about that time when we first met. You know, when I threw ya into that river?”
Edwin hissed loudly. “Make one more mention of that, and I may just scatter your bloated innards all over this box, imbecile! (Though getting them out of my feathers would be an inconvenience, it is one I am prepared to deal with.)”
“Ha! As if you could ever as much as scratch me, bein' such a sad little runt. 'sides, ya deserved it for ticking Minsc off like that. I bet Vaddy would have told ya it's a really stupid idea to ask somebody's bodyguard to help kill her.” He shrugged his wings. “Dunno how he puts up with you, really.”
“Oh yes?” Edwin said, and by now he was glaring Andorel directly in the eyes, and his voice was practically dripping venom. “Well, the feeling is entirely mutual, let me tell you. Because I don't know how he puts up with spending as much as a minute in the company of a barbarian oaf with the wits, refinement and charm of a squashed slug, and the personal habits of a drunken troll!”
“Oh, I dunno,” Andorel said. “Maybe 'cos he knows he can trust me not to suddenly stab him in the back, unlike some I could think of.”
“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”
“Huh, maybe you can fool him, but you aint' foolin' me. You'd sell him out in a heartbeat, if you thought it'd fetch ya some new fancy robes or weird spell scrolls.”
“Liar...” Edwin's voice was so thick with hatred by now that it was almost unintelligible. “You...you filthy liar, trying to take him away from me! You will stay away from him! Do you hear me? Stay away from him or you will regret it!”
“Nuh uh, can't do that. He's just a servant to you, right? Well, he's my friend, and I'm not lettin' ya get away wit' it while I'm still alive to keep you from hurting him.”
“Well,” Edwin hissed. “I think that whole 'being alive' thing should be reasonably simple to deal with...”
And then the box was opened.
