Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]
Post: FFF – December 13, 2013
Theme / Genre: “I told you so!”
Include: –
Words: 674
Grubweilden
‘Grubweilden,’ Lord Maxington called.
‘Yes, Sire,’ Grubweilden answered.
‘Grubweilden.’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Grubweilden, where are you?’
‘I’m here, Sire.’
‘Where is, here?’
‘Behind the walnut chest encrusted with mystic runes cursed
by Great Wizard Ophthalmist the Twelfth, Sire.’
‘Why are you hiding behind the walnut chest encrusted with
mystic runes cursed by Great Wizard Ophthalmist the Twelfth, Grubweilden?
‘You told me to, Sire.’
‘When, Grubweilden. When did I tell you to hide behind the walnut
chest encrusted with, oh this ridiculous. Get out from there boy.’
‘But, Sire.’
‘Get out, I said.’
‘Yes, Sire, but Sire, you did say last evening to get out of
your sight.’
‘I did, Grubweilden, I did, but have you no brain? How can you serve me breakfast if you’re
constantly hiding from me?’
‘Oh yes, very good, Sire.’
Grubweilden stuck his head up, above the worn walnut chest,
his young ruddy face could do with a splash of water and his hair could do with
getting intimate with a hairbrush; his clothes couldn’t get more crumpled if
Giant Paxor used him for a game of paper basket toss.
‘Have you been there all night, boy?’
‘Yes, Sire. Out of
your sight, Sire.’
‘Grubweilden, you really are very simple aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Sire. Thank
you, Sire.’
‘Breakfast, Grubweilden, breakfast.’
‘No thank you, Sire, I’ve already eaten.’
‘My breakfast, you dolt of an Underbriar, my breakfast.’
‘Sorry, Sire. Yes,
Sire. On my way, Sire.’
‘If you’ve been there all night, Grubweilden, what breakfast
did you have?’
‘Found some old bread and goat’s liver in my tunic pocket,
Sire. Very tasty is was too, and a few
weevils sneaked out of the walnut chest in the night, bit salty for my liking,
but nice and crunchy.’
‘That will be the green stains on your lips, Grubweilden.’
‘Green stains?’ Grubweilden
said in alarm. Maxington waited. Grubweilden vigorously rubbed his lips with
his sleeve. Still Maxington waited, and
stared. Grubweilden rubbed and Maxington
waited, and stared some more. The
Underbriar frowned at Maxington and realised his mistake.
‘Green stains, Sire?’
‘That’s better, Grubweilden.
I can’t stand insubordination.’
‘Sorry, Sire. Won’t
happen again, Sire.’
‘Those weevils were enchanted, Grubweilden, cursed with
wizardly woe. I will not be surprised if
you lay an egg, or mutate into a Black-beaked cave frog, or something more
sinister.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you oaf, now just get me my breakfast before that
happens.’
‘Righto, Sire. Usual:
slats, borgers, parch pens sunny-side in, Sire.’
‘Exactly, my boy, I’m a man of consistency. And I’m a man who’s bloody hungry, so get a
move on,’ Maxington burned his eyes into Grubweilden’s soul. ‘And wash your hands.’
‘Yes, Sire.’
Grubweilden disappeared from the bedroom. Maxington collapsed into the comfort of his
layered duvets and wrapped his head in feather pillows. He lay and contemplated his day.
First, he must call to Bostixwil, for their weekly game of
jewel poking and a cup of nettlebrack, no doubt. Then, onto the Halls of Blad, to arrange a licence
for his, recently acquired, Migrating Blue Grouse. And—
Lord Maxington’s thoughts disturbed by a crash from the
hallway, followed by an excruciating belching sound.
Grubweilden! Damned
Underbriar will have to go, he muffled into the down, face covered.
Maxington threw off the covers, climbed out of his
four-poster and brushed down his sleeping gown.
There was more belching.
‘Oh, for crying out loud, Grubweilden.’
Maxington knotted his scarlet and green paisley
dressing-gown tightly, slipped his feet into his woolly winkle-picker slippers,
and trudged to the bedroom doors. Yet
more belching ensued from behind the ornate timber, and now he could hear a
kind of dribbling, sloshing sound.
At the door Maxington grabbed both handles and yanked both
doors inward, whilst calling, ‘Grubweild—’
Staring straight towards him dribbled an eight-foot Black-beaked
cave frog, but before Maxington could conjure a spell—
‘Omnistratichni—’
The beak closed around him, swallowing him whole and there
was more delightful belching.
‘Grubweilden,’ Lord Maxington shouted from inside the frogs
belly. ‘I told you so!’
‘Yes, Sire. Sorry,
Sire,’ belched the Black-beaked cave frog.
