The Call - Michael Grant [16]
“Everyone’s a fleer nowadays,” the man snorted. Then he held out a fat-fingered hand. Grimluk shook it.
“My name is Grimluk.”
“Wick,” the man said. “I came to join the Army of Light as a pikeman. I could get you in to see the pike captain.”
“I have no experience with a pike.”
Wick shrugged. “Eh. There’s not much to it. It’s a big, long spear. You hold the pointy end toward the enemy. I’m not saying there’s not some skill involved, but you seem sharp enough.”
It took Grimluk a few seconds to think about that. “Sharp enough? Was that a pun?”
Wick chewed at his lip. “I’m not sure. All I know is, they’re hiring pikemen. It pays two loaves of bread and a small hatful of cheese curds per week, and they supply the pike.”
“I used to earn a large basket of chickpeas and a plump rat per week, and one pair of sandals a year,” Grimluk said.
Wick guffawed. “Ha! You won’t find that kind of riches carrying a pike, that’s for sure. A plump rat? A pair of sandals? That’s Magnifica money.”
“Magnifica?”
The use of that word had the opposite effect on the room from what the words Pale Queen had caused. Instead of stunned silence and fearful glances, Grimluk saw drunken eyes open wide and fill with tears of hope.
“He can do that,” Gelidberry said quickly.
Wick shook his head sadly. “Oh, my lady, your confidence does your husband proud, but to be a Magnifica, a man must be no more than twelve years of age.”
“He’s twelve,” Gelidberry said.
“And he must possess the enlightened puissance.”
That shut Gelidberry up pretty effectively. Because she had no idea what enlightened puissance might be. But by this point Grimluk was feeling a little disrespected, both by Gelidberry and by Wick’s casual dismissal of the idea that he might possess puissance.
Grimluk had no more idea that Gelidberry had what enlightened puissance might be. But he didn’t see why he couldn’t possess it. Lots of it.
By this point Grimluk had swallowed half the tankard of mead.
“I have that,” Grimluk asserted. “I have a bunch of it.”
“Of what?” Wick asked cagily, narrowing one narrow eye still further.
“Enlabored pittance,” Grimluk said.
“Is that how you pronounce it?” Wick asked.
“In my country, yes,” Grimluk said quickly.
“Then you must go. Go! Run to the castle and announce yourself, young man, for they await with ever-growing despair for the twelfth of the twelve!”
“Okay.” Then, “What’s twelve?”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Wick said kindly. “I only learned the concept yesterday myself. Here’s what it is: picture eleven. Right? Do you have eleven firmly fixed in your imagination?”
“Yes,” Grimluk said doubtfully.
“Well, twelve is one more than eleven.”
“What will they think of next?” Gelidberry said.
“Haste! Haste if ye truly possess the enlightened puissance.” Wick leaned across the table, blasting them with the smells of stale mead, gruel, sweat, horse, goat, leather, very dirty wool, and stable sweepings. “Haste! For surely if we find not the twelfth of the twelve, the Pale Queen…I mean…the Dread Foe will have us all, pikes or no pikes!”
This put Grimluk in a rather embarrassing situation. He’d opened his big mouth and announced that he had something he’d never seen and wouldn’t recognize if he tripped over it. And every tear-brimmed eye gazed at him now with hope and anticipation.
Gelidberry shrugged. “Go. What’s the worst that can happen? They’ll say no, and you take the pike job.”
What neither she, nor Grimluk could possibly know, was that Grimluk did indeed possess the enlightened puissance. He had it in spades.
And because he had it, he would never grow old with Gelidberry, or watch the nameless baby grow up.
Nine
Mack was somewhat disturbed by the incident of the snakes. If by “somewhat disturbed,” you mean “on the edge of complete meltdown panic.”
“That old dude in green was trying to kill me!” Mack wailed as the last of the snakes went noisily down the disposal.
“Yes. I believe he was,” the golem agreed.
“Why would he be trying to kill me? I just