Ladles and Jelly-Spoons! Part One

By: Nilly Posted on: February 26, 2004

Nilly chuckled weakly as he realized the futility of trying to see one's own mouth. The taste of salty blood was enough to confirm that he was going to have a very fat lip in the morning. Maybe a missing tooth. He watched, fascinated, as a single drop of bright red blood rolled off his lip. It hung suspended in air for a brief moment before falling to the rain-soaked cobblestones in the alley behind Hashan's Dragon's Tail Bar.

He blinked a few times and raised his head to the figure before him. Pain and rain blurred his vision so that he saw not one, but two Sentaari monks standing there. They-- no, he-- was human, a little shorter than average, and bald. He was currently examining a fresh bloodstain on his cloak, cursing Nilly for bleeding so damn much.

Nilly winced as the Paladin behind him tightened his grip.

"Still think it's funny, goat-boy?" The lizard-like tongue of the Xoran hissed in his ear.

Ordinarily, Nilly kind of liked that. This was not one of those times. One is bound to make a few enemies as a Jester. Everyone's a critic these days. He had done quite a bit of "entertaining" in Shallam the last few months. He had received some bad reviews, death threats really, and had decided to take the show on the road. He called it "touring." The Paladin had called it "running away."

Nilly grinned in spite of the pain as he recalled the "performance" he had given these two. It was one of his most memorable. Baldy and Tickle-Tongue certainly hadn't forgotten. Even in the dim moonlight, Nilly could see that Baldy was going to have some scarring.

"No sense of humor at all," the satyr squeaked. "Philistines!"

The monk, hammer to the Paladin's anvil, left off his examination and continued his review of Nilly's last performance. He let his fists do the talking. They spoke volumes, and Nilly was moved by their eloquence. He saw stars. Four stars. Not a bad review after all, he thought. Then the curtain came down.

* * *

When Nilly awoke, he was surprised to find himself, not in a rubbish heap behind a dingy bar, and not, he noted with great relief, outside a certain Cave, but in an emerald green forest. Beams of dawn's golden light penetrated the canopy and played across the mossy forest floor.

Nilly was lying on his back on a bed of moss, which he would have found luxurious were it not for something unpleasantly hard poking into his back. He rolled over stiffly and looked for the cause of his discomfort.

It was a spoon.

It wasn't Nilly's spoon, he was sure of that. He examined it closely. It was a long wooden spoon, the kind used to stir pots. Or cauldrons, he thought as he noticed the runes carved into the handle. He sniffed it gingerly and gagged.

"Definitely potions," he said out loud. The spoon seemed to have many more months of usefulness in it, so he slipped it into one of the many pockets in his bulging coat.

Nilly stood up and stretched. His lip felt fine, as did his ribs, arms, and tail. He flipped up the silken eyepatch covering his left eye and examined his reflection in a nearby pool.

"Handsome devil," he murmured. Everything appeared to be in order. He polished his horns with a handkerchief and dusted the dirt from his hooves. He had lost his hairbrush on the way to Hashan, so he smoothed out the fur on his legs as best he could and gathered up his belongings.

He looked like a peddler with pack, kitbag and scabbard slung across his back. None of them were as heavy as he would have liked. His long black coat seemed to be fabricated completely from pockets. Big pockets and little pockets bulged with smokebombs, herbs, bolts of cloth and pastries.

Nilly clamped a pipe between his teeth and patted his pockets. No tinderbox. He frowned. No blackjack either, he realized. Nilly sighed and put the pipe in his pack.

"Too bad," he said. "Always puts a smile on my face."

"Stunts your growth, too," added a deep voice behind him. "Obviously."

Nilly whirled about.

Sitting on the other side of the pool drying off was the largest being he had ever seen. It was at least nine feet tall. Ten with the elaborately styled pompadour. He had the puffy features and immense girth of most giants.

Nilly reflexively slipped some wood out of his pocketbelt. He dimly wondered if he would need any extra to make a giant-sized puppet.

The giant continued his lecture. "Mushrooms, too. I always say no to purple mushrooms. You'd better too." He squinted at Nilly. "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?" he asked, swatting away a bee that droned around his head.

Without waiting for an answer, he rose and bowed deeply. "I am the Gentle Giant," he said solemnly.

"Erm, yes," said Nilly replacing the unshaped wood. "I can see you are also the gentile giant. Why don't you put some clothes on and we'll talk."

* * *

"Curious," said the Gentle Giant, returning the wooden spoon. "I have never seen anything like it. It has an air of magic about it. The world doesn't seem quite right when I hold it."

"I know what you mean," replied Nilly. "My thoughts meem suddled." He blinked. "Seem muddled, I mean."

He stared at the spoon. They were sitting on the giant's beautifully woven pink bath mat. He was obviously accustomed to bathing in this pool. Hanging from the branches overhead were an oversized scrub brush, loofah, shower cap and other assorted bathtime accessories.

"Rubber Ducky," crooned the giant in a deep bass.

"Not anymore," Nilly replied absently. "I haven't been a Squire since, oh..." He broke off, seeing that the Gentle Giant was singing to one of his favorite bath toys.

"Eh?" said the giant.

"Nothing," said Nilly. He put his chin in his hand and idly tapped out the rhythm with the spoon.

The spoon began to hum softly and the bath mat began to squirm beneath them. Nilly and the Gentle Giant leapt to their feet in amazement. The mat shifted form, vibrated and rose into the air. With a flash of light it disappeared and in its place was a large bat. Still pink and still plush, but a bat nonetheless.

"Two times four is eight," the bat recited. "The sum of eight and ten is eighteen. No number is divisible by zero. Or is it the other way around?"

The bat scratched his head in confusion and consulted his multiplication tables.

"I hadn't counted on that!" exclaimed Nilly.

"Figures," glared the giant. He rubbed his chin, and looked about thoughtfully. "My bath mat seems to have turned into a math bat."

Nilly examined the spoon with a calculating stare. "I'm beginning to guess at its power. Yes, it's starting to add up."

The spoon had not stopped its humming. It now intensified and rays of light began to shoot off into the woods. A distant scream echoed through the leafy shadows as Nilly fought to control the pulsating utensil. The vibrating stopped and the forest fell quiet except for some muffled croaking cries to the north.

The Gentle Giant had already started off in the direction of the cries, and Nilly hastened to keep up. They had not gone far before they stumbled into a clearing. A Grook Sylvan stood there looking forlornly at a tree stump and sighing. He turned toward Nilly thoughtfully.

"Someone, he solemnly croaked, "has smelled a tree fart."

* * *

Nilly blinked.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

The Grook thwapped himself on the head. "Felled a smart tree," the Grook sputtered. "Felled a smart tree! I don?t know what?s come over me. I keep, er, tripping over my tongue."

"He would," snickered the giant in Nilly's ear. "It's long enough."

"Er, yes," said Nilly, hiding the spoon behind his back. "I think it must be a, a bug or something."

"A bug?" the Grook?s eyes lit up as he scanned the area. "It seems ages since I last ate. I could eat bugs all day." He sighed contentedly. "Time?s fun when you?re catching flies. What I wouldn?t give for a mere bug."

Nilly sighed, his thoughts drifting back to the unfinished flagon in the Dragon's Tail Bar. "What I wouldn?t give for a beer mug," he said.

"You're still not making any sense," interjected the Gentle Giant. "What do you mean 'felled a smart tree?'"

"Oh, many of the trees around here are intelligent," said the Sylvan. "At least, intelligent enough for conversation, or to pick up a trade. And someone..." He spoke slowly and carefully. "... someone...has...cut down...this tree."

"He was never a good conversationalist," interrupted a large Oak tree on the edge of the clearing. "A bit too wooden, too formal. Not the kind o' bloke to go out on a limb for anybody."

"Never liked the sap," added a Pine. "Thought he was nuts, frankly. But, that's a tree's lot. You never get to choose your neighbors. Can't just leave if you want."

"Aye, that's the root of all our problems," agreed the Oak. "He never bought any of my shoes, either."

"Why should a tree buy shoes?" asked Nilly.

The cobbler tree blinked and asked, "Why should a tree make shoes?"

Indeed thought Nilly, but the tree seemed to think he had put the satyr in his place with this profound remark and continued with his cobbling. Nilly felt some annoyance at this and pursued the question.

"Why DO you make shoes?" he asked. "I shouldn?t think that a tree would know the first thing about making comfortable shoes."

"Slander!" cried the tree. "I?ll admit that the Elms have been known to make boots that pinch a bit, but as my sire used to say, 'We Oak trees make acorns, not corns ache!' If your feet are aching, don?t blame the cobbler. Time wounds all heels as we say."

The Grook was still weeping over the fallen tree trunk. The giant whispered into Nilly?s ear, "Try the spoon."

"I don't think it's going to work in this situation," Nilly attempted to explain.

The giant huffed in impatience and snatched up the spoon in his meaty fist. He made a grand flourish in the air before pointing it imperiously at the tree trunk.

Nothing happened.

The giant scratched his head in confusion. "It don?t work," he said. He peered at the spoon unscrupulously, then screwed his eyes shut and tapped himself on the forehead between the eyes.

He opened one eye, then the other. "Nothing," said the Gentle Giant.

"As I was trying to say," scolded Nilly. "I'm beginning to understand how it works."

The Oak tree interrupted, peering down at Nilly. "I notice that you aren?t wearing any shoes," he said hopefully.

"Well, no," said Nilly. "I am a satyr, I have hooves, beautiful hooves."

"Or any pants," continued the tree, as if he had not heard the satyr?s answer. "Most distressing that."

* * *

The Grook had gone off in search of a sump sturgeon, whatever that was. Nilly had stopped asking questions. Fish did not interest him. He plodded along, followed by the Gentle Giant, who seemed to have been affected by the magic spoon whether he would admit it or not.

"I'm still the Gentle Giant," he claimed. "I haven't banged a chit. Er, changed a bit."

Nilly only nodded silently and continued his plodding. He still had no idea where he was or where he was going. But as long as he kept to the road, he figured, he would be somewhere between here and there, and that was somewhere after all.

The road crested a small rise and dipped down toward a small river. The sun was beginning to descend as Nilly and the Gentle Giant did the same. The road crossed the river via a stone bridge as did the companions. They had barely reached the center of the bridge when two large shapes materialized in the shadows ahead of them.

Nilly glanced over his shoulder. Jestering on the streets of Shallam had taught him to keep an eye on his avenues of retreat. He shuddered as he saw two more dark shapes file in behind them.

"Toll Trolls," hissed the giant.

"I don't have any gold," whispered Nilly.

Beads of sweat began to break out on the giant's forehead. "Do it!" he squeaked.

Nilly was surprised to see a being of his stature so frightened.

The giant was babbling now. "Pay the toll! Pay the troll! Pay the troll toll! Troll, troll, toll, toll, troll!"

The giant's eyes rolled in his head and he fainted. His great bulk made the stone pavement tremble. The four trolls advanced as Nilly tried vainly to revive the giant. The lead Troll Toll Taker chuckled evilly. Nilly brandished a smokebomb menacingly and shuffled some cards from his deck.

They were all blank.

He hurled the smokebomb to the ground with an anguished cry. Through the cloud of billowing smoke, Nilly could see the trolls bare their sharp teeth and drool. With no escape and no blackjack, he realized too late, that all he had accomplished was to make them hungrier.

To be continued...