‘Have you got that, Jeudd?’ checked Trussuk as he fanned the flames of the campfire.
‘Of course I have,’ replied the poet testily. ‘Do you think I’m not capable of making a journal entry? I am a wordsmith by profession, you know.’
‘I know that,’ said Trussuk, ‘but I want to make sure you’ve got down exactly what I said. I want my contribution to this expedition well documented.’
‘It will be,’ assured Jeudd.
‘Yes, but it won’t if you don’t describe how I wrestled bare-handed with that ferocious animal before snapping its neck and bringing it back for a good roasting.’ He gave the dead carcass that was propped up over the fire a prod to check it was cooking nicely.
‘I’d hardly call a rabbit a ferocious animal,’ said Armoro.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ responded Trussuk. ‘Surely their ferocity is renowned? Believe me, tackling these creatures is not a task for the slight of muscle.’
‘And it has been duly recorded,’ said Jeudd. ‘Now, is dinner ready?’
Trussuk knelt up and turned the rabbit round. It was cooked to perfection right through. Delicious.
‘Nah, it needs another fifteen minutes,’ he said.
<=> <=> <=>
It was twenty minutes later, while they were chomping their way through a blackened, over-done char-cass that a man in a pullover came and sat with them.
‘Hello,’ he said cheerily. ‘My name’s Roger. Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Er, no, I suppose not,’ said an astonished Armoro.
‘Excellent,’ said Roger in excruciatingly bright, lilting tones. He almost sang his words. ‘MMMmmm. That smells good. Rabbit, is it?’
‘There’s plenty spare,’ said Trussuk. ‘Do you fancy some?’
‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t really. Got to watch my weight, you know,’ complete with clichéd pat-pat of stomach. He looked around at his new friends and smiled. ‘So, what are your names, then?’
They told him.
‘And what brings you round these parts?’
They told him.
‘Indeed, a noble quest,’ he said. ‘I have often thought of doing something similar myself. Perhaps I could...’ The stranger paused while he pulled a hideous fluffy backpack off his shoulders and started rooting around in it. ‘I think,’ he said as he dug around, ‘I’ve got some... ah, yes, here we are.’ He pulled out a sheaf of papers and started to scribble on them with a quill. Trussuk was impressed with variety of small glass pots in which the man carried his ink. Each came with a complex mechanical clasp to stop the top falling off that seemed almost magically sophisticated to the simple warrior. It was also not beyond his appreciation that such a quantity of fine glass would be worth a small fortune back in Thercoup.
‘I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me,’ Roger continued. ‘Nothing taxing, just a quick session to get a rough idea of your ideals and your beliefs.’
‘Erm, well I don’t think that we can...’ started Armoro, realising they’d been duped by a religionist, obviously out on a recruitment drive. They should’ve been more careful - eating in a public place - it was the natural hunting ground of religionists. Stupid, stupid.
‘Right, so I already have your names,’ interrupted Roger blindly, ‘I just need your occupations. Just to give a bit of context to your answers. Armoro, what do you do?’
‘I am a psychoanalyst,’ said Armoro quickly, hoping to fox the unwelcome stranger.
‘Ah,’ said Roger approvingly and scribbling a note. ‘A man of the mind. Very commendable.’
‘How do you know...’ started a mystified Armoro, but he was interrupted again.
‘Now, let’s see, ah yes, Jeudd, what’s your profession?’
‘Poet,’ snapped Jeudd.
‘Rrriigghhhtt,’ said Roger thoughtfully, ‘that’s fine. No, really, it’s great. Excellent. And Trussuk?’
‘I’m a brave warrior. I have sailed the seas of Alatania, conquered the peaks of the Himalalps and survived the snowy wastes of Nocedonia. I have fought the savage beasts of the Southern islands, defeated a mighty Krochen, single-handedly slaughtered an entire army, beheaded a powerful...’
‘I’ll just put warrior, then,’ interrupted Roger. ‘Excellent,’ he said again. ‘Okay, I know who you are and what you do, now what I’d like to do is discuss with you your belief systems - what you feel is the guiding principle, the driving force behind your lives. Let’s start with you, Trussuk,’ he said, much to the warrior’s annoyance. ‘Tell me about your spiritual side.’
‘I suppose I believe in the Gods,’ he said. ‘Safariz and His Blessed Shadows.’
‘Ah, so you’re a religious man,’ noted Roger.
‘No,’ said Trussuk, ‘I believe they are a race of superhuman heroes, the greatest of fighters, and that their Godly powers are manifest in the actions of warrior men such as myself.’
‘I see,’ said Roger, ‘so you’re purely a man of war.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Trussuk. ‘A man is defined purely by his axes.’
‘That’s very, very interesting. But why do you feel this is? What drives you to this way of life?’
‘I dunno,’ said Trussuk. ‘Because it’s fun?’
‘Hhmmm,’ said Roger, making a few more notes. ‘Interesting. I’ll come back to you later, I think. Now, moving on, Jeudd, what do you believe in?’
‘Poetry,’ said Jeudd.
‘Yes, anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Right. That’s excellent, it’s just I was looking for something a little more meaningful,’ explained the religionist. ‘The thing that drives you, that makes you who you are.’
‘Poetry,’ said Jeudd.
‘You won’t get any more out of him,’ advised Armoro. ‘He’s totally obsessed. Doesn’t think about anything else.’
‘I see,’ said Roger, beginning to sense a spiritual void amongst these people that perhaps he and his friends could provide a remedy for. They were always on the lookout for these sorts of people; people that were lost, people that didn’t really know who they were or what their purpose was. He usually managed to recruit them within a week. ‘That’s fine. Excellent. Really. And finally on to you, erm, Armoro.’
‘If you’re really interested, I believe in science,’ the psychoanalyst spouted pompously, ‘and nothing else. Religion is nothing but a sham as far as I’m concerned. Something made up by people that can’t be bothered to try and work out how the world really works.’
Roger wrote all this down carefully on the form. ‘Very interesting,’ he said. ‘Very interesting indeed. Right, the next thing I’d like to ask is whether or not you think the word of the Gods is relevant in the modern world.’
<=> <=> <=>
Two hours later, as Trussuk fed the last of Roger to the birds, Armoro decided it was time to settle down for the night.
‘What a day,’ he said as he unpacked his blanket. ‘What a day indeed.’