How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Two (3 page)

The interior of the farmhouse was large and airy. The room contained a stove with a number of pots simmering on it, and a wooden table with benches on either side and a chair on each end. It could easily seat eight, maybe more.

We stood in the doorway, all wiping our feet on the mat for longer than was required. The woman came out of a side room carrying a whimpering toddler. The kid stopped the moment he saw us and stared. Mainly at Maurice.

“Sit down, then,” said the woman as she walked over to the stove where she began stirring one pot after another. “My name’s Margi.”

We all introduced ourselves as we took a seat at the table. Margi didn’t seem too worried about having five strangers in her house, but then, she looked like she could beat the crap out of us with the kid in one hand and a rolling pin in the other.

“My husband’s not here at the moment,” she told us, “but he should be back soon. I take it you’re not here for the rogue ogre.”

We all looked confused.

“What’s a rogue ogre?” I asked. “Don’t all ogres run around smashing things up and roaring for no reason?”

She gave me the look I knew only too well from the people in Probet.

“And please remember we don’t have ogres where we come from.”

Her face relaxed a little and she shifted her son onto her other hip. “You’re right, it isn’t fair to expect you to know these things. Ogres, in general, aren’t particularly troublesome—if you leave them alone, they won’t bother you. But every now and again, one will suddenly become enraged and go on a rampage.”

“There was something ripping up trees in the forest,” said Maurice. “We didn’t see it, but it sounded pretty mad.”

“That’ll be him,” said Margi. “No one knows what sets them off, but the only way to stop them is to kill them. It doesn’t happen very often, but recently we’ve had a spate of them. That’s why my husband’s gone into Fengarad to fetch someone to take care of it. At first, I thought maybe that’s why you were here, but by the looks of you, you aren’t ready for that kind of a fight. Not yet, anyhow.”

The ogre we encountered on our first day had been enraged for sure, but the one we saw eating rabbits had been calm, almost docile. So what Margi was saying seemed to be true. They weren’t aggressive unless something provoked them. Knowing what that something was would be quite useful.

“Can they talk?” I asked.

She looked confused. “Can who talk?”

“Ogres,” I said. “Are they able to speak?”

Despite my explanation for our ignorance, she still cocked her head like she couldn’t believe just how dumb a question I had asked. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never spoken to one.”

“Perhaps,” said Maurice, “if you asked it why it was upset it would tell you.”

This received a very long stare.

“Sure,” said Margi. “I suppose you could try asking as it ripped your arms out of their sockets.”

I know what you’re thinking. Here we were learning about some mysterious reason that drove ogres to kill and destroy—clearly the starting point for a quest. All we had to do was discover what this reason was, and we could bring peace to the valley. At least that’s how it would go in a game.

The villagers shower us with gifts and hold a festival in our honour. Maybe the ogres, grateful for our assistance, bestow on us the blessings of their god,
Og the Mighty
(sounds like the kind of name an ogre god would have). We would level up and claim our quest reward, Shield +1/+1. Ding! Quest complete.

Yeah, well, quest declined. I had no intention of doing anything like that. In a game, you can try one approach, get killed, then try something else. In this world, getting hit hurt like a motherfucker. I hadn’t experienced what it felt like being eaten alive, but I got the impression it wouldn’t be much fun. And as far as I could tell, you didn’t respawn at your last save point.

“Your husband’s going to hire some people in Fengarad? People like us? I mean, Visitors.”

“That’s right,” said Margi. “There’s usually a few willing to help for a fee. Of course, it would be easier if the army took care of it like they’re supposed to, but they’re always too busy.” She rolled her eyes.

Having seen Captain Grayson deal with an ogre, I assumed it was something that wouldn’t be much of a problem for the army. I wondered what it was they were busy doing.

Margi opened the little door in the stove and, using the hem of her apron, pulled out what looked like shepherd’s pie. It smelled amazing. She dropped it on the table with a clatter, and then produced plates and cutlery (real knives and forks!) for everyone.

She managed to serve the pie and dole out vegetables from one of the pots, all while carrying the kid on her hip. It was pretty impressive.

The kid kept a suspicious eye on Maurice throughout.

“Now eat up, especially you,” she plopped an extra large portion of pie on Claire’s plate. “Men round here like a girl with a bit of meat on the bone, like your friend here.” She served Flossie another huge portion. “You’re going to be right popular with the boys, and no mistake.” Her eyes positively glowed as she ran them up and down Flossie’s curves.

Now, I’m sure you’ve seen movies or TV shows where the characters come across some classic situation and they act like they have no clue what’s going on. It’s like the characters have never seen a movie or TV show themselves. It’s understandable why it’s written like that, but it’s still annoying. Personally, I’ve seen a ton of movies. And this scenario was feeling very familiar.

Isolated farmhouse out in the sticks. Surprisingly friendly matron-type with the racist baby; eyeing up the chubby girl and practically licking her lips; force-feeding the skinny girl in an effort to fatten her up… It’d make you wonder what kind of meat was in the shepherd’s pie, right?

“This looks fantastic,” I said, moving the food around my plate, looking for a finger or eyeball, “what kind of meat is it?”

“Mutton. Do you have that where you come from?”

“Yesh,” said Maurice through a mouthful of food. “But it doesn’t taste as great as this.”

Obviously, I was being silly. The others were tucking in with gusto. The smell was too much for me to resist.

It tasted as amazing as it smelled. Freshly cooked and perfectly seasoned. I think it may have been the best meal of my entire life, even if it was soylent green. 

After we’d stuffed ourselves I felt a bit dazed, like I was stoned. I just sat there feeling full. We were very grateful and expressed our thanks repeatedly.

“Is it just you and your husband here?” asked Claire.

Margi laughed. “Oh no. My boys are out working the fields. Six in all, including little Dom here.” She cuddled the boy in her arms. He pulled a face and tried to wriggle out of the embrace.

The news of five more sons had an unsettling effect on me. There was no reason to believe they were anything but wonderful young men, but a pinching feeling in the back of my head urged me to not wait around to find out just how wonderful.

“We should get going,” I said.

The others looked taken by surprise by my suggestion.

“My husband should be back tonight. If you’re heading to the city, we make regular trips. He could give you a ride in the wagon.”

“How far is it to the city? asked Maurice. “If you were on foot.”
 

She thought about it for a moment. “Three days?”

The others turned to me with pleading eyes. This was the problem with being well-fed and comfortable. It made you sloppy.

“I suppose we could stay for a bit, if it’s okay,” I said, like an idiot.

“Of course,” said Margi. “Having Visitors is an honour. One day you may become great people, and you’ll remember little Margi who helped you when you were just starting out. You can stay in the barn. It isn’t much, but it’s warm and dry, and a straw bed is more comfortable than the ground, that’s for sure.”

It seemed a reasonable deal. A hot meal and a warm place to sleep, in return for which she’d have the gratitude of five potential legendary heroes. Of course, the greatest thing we were likely to achieve was not dying, but she didn’t know that.

The warmth in my stomach, the eager looks on the faces of my party, they all contributed to me ignoring my natural instinct to spend as little time with people as possible.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Margi looked out the window over the sink. “Oh, I can see my boys. Perhaps I should show you the barn now. Once the boys get here, I won’t have time to do anything but shovel more food at them. You want to see some real appetites, you don’t see them bigger than my boys’.” She beamed with pride.

She led us out to the barn, which was full of bales of straw. Ladders led up to a loft, and the place had a comforting smell to it. Like summer in the park.

“Oh, and another thing,” said Margi. “That little shed we passed on the way here, that’s the outhouse. Feel free to use it when you need to take care of your business.”

The kid in her arms finally spoke. “Poo poo.”

We were left to settle in and everyone flopped down on the bouncy straw. Compared to sleeping on the ground, this was like a bed of clouds. Full of food and feeling safe for once, we lay there revelling in the luxury of not having to fear for our lives. Once the farmer returned, we might even be able to get a lift into the city. It seemed too good to be true. Which, of course, it was.

The warmth in my stomach shifted downwards. I struggled to my feet and decided to give the outhouse a visit. As I walked out of the barn, I could hear voices drifting across from the farmhouse. I couldn’t make out any words, but the occasional hooting laugh made it sound like a jovial get together.

The outhouse was the size of a garden shed, the kind you can just about fit a wheelbarrow and lawnmower into. There was a trough of water beside it where you could even wash your hands. All the mod cons.

I opened the door expecting the usual hole in the ground, but was stunned to find an actual toilet, with a wooden seat. There was no flush, so it was probably just a deep hole with a chair over it, but it felt like I’d just walked into the penthouse suite of some fancy hotel.

There was even toilet paper! Well, a stack of dried leaves, but they really felt smooth and soft. I sat there, enjoying the near normality, when the sound of water splashing told me someone was probably washing their hands in the trough. I then overheard the following conversation:

“Aw, you lazy bums. You still not got that tree stump out the top field? What’re you like?”

“What you mean, lazy? That’s damn hard work. I’d like to see you try.”

“Yeah, Jarrad, we really be putting our backs into it.”

“Three days you been at it. Lazy is right.”

There seemed to be three speakers, all young men.

“You can shut your mouth! My hands are ruined from pulling on that rope. Why can’t we use one of the horses to help?”

There was the sound of someone being slapped.

“Because Da’s taken the horses to the city, you dimwit. You expect him to pull the wagon his self? You better get finished with that stump by this afternoon, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Aw, I’m so tired. We haven’t had a break in forever. When we gonna have some fun, Jarrad?”

“Oh, it’s fun you want, is it? Well you can forget about it. I told you some Visitors killed the Mouse King, didn’t I? Until a new mouse colony moves in, we don’t do anything. We can’t have people wondering where their girls have gone if there aren’t any mice to blame.”

“A new mouse colony? Aw, Jarrad, that could take years.”

“It might. Or a few months. You can never tell with them mousey bastards. In the meantime, you both keep your mouths shut while these Visitors are staying with us.”

“Do you think they’re the ones who killed the Mouse King?”

“Nah, according to Ma, these are real green. She says they have a couple of girls with them, though.”

“Really? Are they young?”

“Hold your horses, now. Let’s see what the men are like first. Don’t want to start any trouble if they look like they can handle themselves.”

“We can take care of them, Jarrad. Come on, I need my fun.”

“You can always go back to shagging chickens—hur, hur, hur.”

“Shut your mouth. That was only the once.”

“Sure, sure it was.”

The voices drifted off as they moved away. I sat there, trousers around my ankles, sweat pouring down my face, feeling incredibly lucky. Lucky that they hadn’t noticed my presence on the other side of the thin wooden wall, and lucky that I was in the perfect place to shit myself.

I waited a few seconds to makes sure they really had gone, then I snuck out and returned to the barn. I immediately got my stuff together and prepared to leave.

“What are you doing?” asked Claire. They were all up in the loft area choosing where they planned to spend the night.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

“What? Why?” Claire sounded shocked and angry. Four heads were staring down at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Okay,
I’m
leaving. Normally I wouldn’t try to persuade you to follow me, but in this case I’m going to make an exception. Listen very carefully. Come with me, right now. Keep quiet, do exactly what I tell you, and fucking move!”

I turned, bag on back, weapons drawn, and left. There was no time for explanations, and I was reluctant even to give them a hint of what I’d heard. If, somehow, one of those brothers heard me voice my suspicions, we’d be done. It was unlikely, but then it was unlikely for me to have heard them, too.

I should point out that the conversation I overheard was not conclusive proof of anything. I could quite easily have misunderstood what they were talking about. Or they might have been exaggerating and making outrageous statements to try and impress each other, as boys often do when they’re together.

It was hard to forget what Captain Grayson had said about the mouse warriors, how they kidnapped young girls and what they did to them. Not that it lessened the guilt of killing those babies, but at least it made it seem like some good would come of it. But if the mice weren’t responsible at all, if these hillbilly arseholes were the real culprits, not only did it mean we really were murderers, it also meant we were about to meet a sticky end if we hung around here much longer. It would be especially sticky for Claire and Flossie.

I had no intention of waiting around to find out if I was suspecting them unfairly. Fuck fair. If I was making unreasonable assumptions, I’d just have to learn to live with it.

The others caught up with me, looking confused and scared. They followed my lead, keeping low and sneaking around the back of the barn into the fields of corn. I headed back toward the road that led to Fengarad, but rather than use the track we’d taken to get here, I was cutting through the field so we would come out much further along the road.

Trampling through someone’s crops was considered a crime in these parts, but my only concern was to not be seen, and the tall stalks of corn provided excellent cover. I just hoped I was heading in the right direction.

After about half an hour, we broke out of the corn into a meadow. Far to our left we could see a break in the grass indicating where the track was. Ahead of us was the forest and the road to the city. I stopped to take a drink of water.

Unfortunately, we had missed out on the chance to stock up on food at the farm, but if we got back to the river, we would be able to survive the three days it would take to get to Fengarad. Assuming we didn’t run into the rogue ogre.

“Are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on?” said Claire.

They had all done what I had asked. Not one word was spoken as we fled through the corn. No one demanded answers or wanted to stop and rest. They deserved an explanation, so I told them what I’d overheard.

They were all stunned by what I said. Claire and Flossie both paled, while Dudley and Maurice drew their weapons even though there was no one to fight. They didn’t question the accuracy of what I’d heard, or of the conclusions I’d drawn.

“Somebody has to stop them,” said Claire, her voice all shaky.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I hope somebody does, but right now we have other things to worry about.”

I pointed down the road at the horse and wagon approaching in the distance.