“Oh and I take my delights in the juice of the barley-corn and wooing little country maids a-early in the morning a-rinky-dinky doo la right oh the barley oh there’s whiskey in the jar!” Isidor finished his nineteenth song as he walked along. Eva and the unconcious Matvei were on Baly the Horse, the grey donkey (whom Pasha had christened Bastard after nearly being kicked in the shins by the creature) was laden down with knapsacks, and Pushki rode Ludmilla.
“You should let Isidor be the bard.” Pasha suggested, doing a coin trick and taking a copper piece out from behind Ruslan’s ear. The hero gave no reaction.
“I have to admit, I’ve some respect for a man who can sing ‘Sweetly Gone, the Fair Selene’ backwards. However, I’ve more respect for a man who can sing ‘The Gypsy and the Vampire’ the way we did back in Cliffsight.” Eva said, propping Matvei forward on the horse as he began to slip off again. Misha yowled from Eva’s knapsack.
“Oh once there was a-walking on down Hanley’s Highway the prettiest gypsy you ever did see with black hair and blue eyes and baubles of silver and vi-o-let skirts all hitched up past the knee alone did the girl stroll past midnight down Hanley’s until she did roadside a gentleman meet with a waistcoat and breeches and blood on his fair mouth and a pair of webbed flippers where he ought to have feet…”
Isidor’s rendition of “The Gypsy and the Vampire” was cut short by a loud grumble from Pasha’s stomach, followed by a dull roar from Ruslan’s. Suddenly dizzy, Pushki swooned. Isidor caught him before he tumbled off of Ludmilla’s back and onto the dirt road.
“A meal, anyone?” Pasha suggested. Isidor slung Pushki over his shoulder and tugged on Bastard and Ludmilla’s ropes to bring them to a stop. Ruslan did the same with Baly.
Eva and Ruslan managed to get Matvei off the horse as Isidor and Pasha dropped their knapsacks in a little clearing off the path.
“I swear he’s heavier dead.” Ruslan grunted, letting Matvei down on the grass with a dull thud.
“He’s not dead!” Isidor reprimanded, appalled. Ruslan took a seat on the grass.
Eva led Baly, Bastard, and Ludmilla to the edge of the clearing. Pasha rummaged through a bag of food.
“How about some fried potatoes?” He requested as Eva tethered the animals to trees with plenty of length to graze.
“A whole mess of fried everything.” Eva promised.
“Have any fish?” Pushki asked, helping Isidor unpack potatoes, onions, string beans, and mushrooms.
“Nope. We’ve got some sort of funny jerky.” Pasha held up several bags of dried meat. Ruslan reached over and took one from the thief. He leaned against a tree and began snacking, feeding the occasional piece to Misha.
Eva rolled up her sleeves and wiggled her purple fingers and started a nicely contained fire in the center of the clearing. Isidor and Pasha handed her a sack containing a large assortment of roots and vegetables.
“Needs meat.” Pasha sighed.
“So kill something.” Eva suggested, pouring oil into a pan.
“Kill how? Jab something to death with a pottery shard?” Pasha asked skeptically.
“Strangle it with your bare hands.” Eva said sarcastically.
“We’re manly, Pasha. We can take on a warthog with no weapons.” Isidor cracked his knuckles.
“You can’t take on a woman, forget a warthog.” Pasha scoffed. Eva whistled to herself and rolled her eyes. Pushki rummaged through Isidor’s knapsack.
“You won’t take on a man.” Isidor threatened.
Pasha hit Isidor with a diving tackle and the men proceeded to pull hair, kick, punch, and bite.
By the time Pasha and Isidor were finished beating each other within a yard of their lives, Ruslan had fallen asleep, Eva had fried up large amounts of potatoes and greens, and Pushki had constructed some odd thing out of the contents of Isidor’s knapsack.
“Is anyone else going to have lunch or do I have to eat it all myself?” Eva grouched, spearing some potatoes and string beans with a sharpened stick. Pasha tossed a hot piece of potato between his hands and popped it into his mouth.
“Needs more spices.”
“You always think it needs more spices.” Eva complained.
“It does! Your fried potatoes leave a lot to be desired. Now your sister, she made mean fried potatoes. They could kick me from here to next Thursday and I’d still be full.” Pasha took a makeshift skewer from Eva and speared some potatoes.
“What’re you building, bunny?” The thief asked through a mouthful of potato.
“Something.” Pushki muttered.
“Be nice to Zarya and she just might make you some fried potatoes the way you like them.” Eva huffed.
“They’re wonderful potatoes, Eva.” Isidor assured her.
“You’re just saying that because you can’t agree with Pasha.” Eva said.
“She’s right, you know.” Pasha said, shaking his potato skewer at Isidor.
“Not another word. I’ll turn you into a pineapple.” Eva threatened.
“You will not.” Pasha laughed.
“I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again!”
“No one will be turned into pineapples.” Isidor said, handing Pushki a skewer of fried vegetables. The boy gnawed at it absentmindedly.
Eva jabbed Ruslan with a skewer of hot vegetables. The hero yelped.
“Food. Eat.” Eva ordered.
“Needs meat.” Ruslan griped. Eva threw her hands up in the air.
“Kill your own forsaken meat!”
“There’s nothing about but sparrows and bees.” Ruslan pointed out.
Isidor squeezed his eyes shut (not a difficult task as one of them was already black and swollen from his match with Pasha) and mumbled something.
“What was that supposed to achieve?” Pasha asked, refilling his skewer with vegetables.
“It was supposed to summon meat.” Isidor sighed, crestfallen.
“Keep trying.” Pushki suggested, taking apart a section of his contraption. Misha wandered over and sniffed the structure briefly. He dragged something from Isidor’s knapsack with his teeth and offered it up to the boy. Pushki accepted it and scratched the cat behind the ears.
“Where’d you learn to hook things together like that, bunny?” Pasha asked.
“It was my job with dad’s men.” Pushki rearranged some little bits on the section that he had removed.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you back to your family, little boy?” Ruslan asked hopefully.
Isidor, Eva, Pushki, and even Pasha gave Ruslan dirty looks.
“They don’t need me. I’ve got two stupid sisters and an older brother, and a younger sister who isn’t half bad. Dad’s a lout. Mum’s a priss. I’m tired of the whole lot of them and of being sent out with Fyodor all the time.” Pushki said, peering at some tiny bits of things that he was hooking together.
“You’re welcome to stay with us.” Eva snapped her purple fingers and the lunch mess began to clean itself up. She took a jug of water out of a knapsack that had been lifted from a stall in Grundorf and poured some water over Matvei’s lips. His eyes fluttered and Eva nearly dropped the jug. Isidor leaned over and prodded Matvei.
“Dioxi.” Matvei mumbled before lapsing back in unconciousness.
“Do you suppose he was talking to you or me?” Isidor asked in confusion.
“Well, we don’t expect you to know anything about it, but Eva looks just like the poor girl.” Pasha pointed out sarcastically.
“Yes, but I did dress like her that one-”
“Thank you, Isidor, I’d tried to forgive and forget.” Eva interrupted Isidor’s story.
Pasha and Ruslan packed leftover food into sacks and began loading things back onto Bastard and Ludmilla.
From somewhere amidst the trees there was a curious sound.
“Did you hear that?” Pasha asked, strapping some bags onto Bastard. Eva cocked her head to the side as she wrestled Misha back into her knapsack.
“Dull roar?” She guessed.
“Lots of… of chittering. And… ticking?” Pasha wrinkled his forehead. Isidor grabbed up his knapsack and began to whistle the tune of “The Ghosts of Kirk-Mile” very loudly.
“Sounds familiar.” Ruslan mused.
Isidor hauled Pushki up and hustled him over to Ludmilla, hoisting the boy onto the donkey’s back and leading the animal out onto the path as quickly as he could.
“You know, when I was a kid these sand rats used to migrate in the beginning of the summer. They made the weirdest sound.” Pasha pondered. Eva jumped up on Baly’s back. Ruslan and Pasha manuevered Matvei up to her, and Eva secured him with rope. The sound grew louder and more distinct.
“Sort of like…” Ruslan began.
“SQUIRRELS!” Pasha shouted, practically dragging Baly and Bastard over to the path by their ropes. Ruslan bellowed and began to run as hundreds of squirrels stampeded into the clearing. The fuzzy woodland creatures bounded across the grass, squeaking and chattering.
An explosion shook the trees. Squirrels panicked and dispersed.
“Yes!” Pushki crowed.
His impromptu bomb had left a litter of cooked squirrels in its wake. The smell of warm meat filled the air as black smoke curled off of the critters unfortunate enough to be at Ground Zero.
Ruslan and Pasha took deep breaths inwards and sighed.
“Smells good.” Pasha said.