A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [146]
Jason was relaxing in a cool, shallow pool when Kimp entered. The man was built like a power lifter, his bulging physique graffitied in green and black ink. Only his face was unmarked.
Kimp waded into the hottest pool, an almost comical expression of relaxation transforming his gruff face. Transferring to the hot pool, Jason sloshed over to Kimp, the water just above his waist.
“We haven’t met,” Jason said, extending a hand. “I’m Lord Jason of Caberton.”
“Kimp,” the hulking man grunted, giving Jason’s hand a limp shake. “This is where I come to unwind.”
It was an unmistakable invitation to leave him alone, but Jason pretended to miss it. “I haven’t seen you around since the feast.”
“I stay busy here. I’m the duke’s majordomo. And I tend the dogs. You don’t ever want to upset the duke, friend.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Kimp sniffed and twisted, arms raised. Jason heard joints popping.
“I like your tattoos,” Jason said.
Kimp cocked an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”
“They’re really intriguing. Astounding artwork. Where were they done?”
“All over.” His demeanor became much friendlier. “My back has the best one.” Kimp turned around.
Jason could not believe his good fortune.
Just inside the left shoulder blade, beside the mast of an elaborate ship spanning the majority of Kimp’s broad back, inscribed so tiny that Jason had to lean in close, were three letters arranged vertically and spaced unevenly. The second syllable was “rim.”
“The detail is amazing,” Jason said, trying to bottle his excitement. He had the Word!
“You ever see a jollier picture? My own idea. An artist in Ithilum rendered it. Name of Sgribbs. Only fellow to see for quality work. Took seventeen hours.”
The sailors on the ship were all women. They climbed the rigging, hauled lines, hefted frothy mugs, and tussled with one another. On the bow stood a disproportionately large woman wearing a captain’s hat and an eye patch, her hands on her rounded hips.
“That is the most intricate tattoo I’ve ever seen,” Jason said respectfully. “You’re a walking gallery.”
Kimp turned back around, grinning. “You want one?” he asked, giving Jason a friendly slap on the chest with the back of his hand.
“A tattoo? Well, I’ll have to think it over.”
Kimp frowned. “Nothing complicated. Start simple. How about a shark on your chest? I do great sharks.” He lifted a leg with sharks all over the front of the thigh to prove it. They were pretty good sharks. One was devouring a terrified woman.
“You do tattoos yourself?”
“I’m an expert. I have all of the equipment. If you don’t like sharks, I can do wolves. How about it?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Is it the pain?” Kimp asked. “The process only stings a little, not bad at all. Then you have the rest of your life to enjoy it. Nothing could look more lordly.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“So is drowning in quicksand. I expect I’ll agree; just let me think it over. Decisions always take me a little time. I’ll get back to you.”
“You do that.”
That night at dinner Jason and Tark sat together at the long table. Duke Conrad, Count Dershan, and Kimp were also present, along with many of the guests who had attended Jason’s arrival feast. Drake sat across the table from Jason, not paying him much attention.
Servants wheeled out a tremendous cooked bird on a cart. The enormous fowl was called a ponchut; it was big enough to rival an ostrich, with soft, pink meat. Servants moved the cart around the table, portioning out slices of the bird along with a creamy sauce.
“You want to leave now?” Jason murmured to Tark.
Tark glanced over. “Whenever you decide.”
“I’ve looked around; the wall is high, and there are no doors. The drawbridge never seems to open.”
“I’ve reached a similar conclusion.”
“Might be hard to scale the wall.”
“Seems designed that way.”
Jason ate some