Cuthbert waved his hand dismissively. 'Rules schmules!' he said. He felt it was a pretty sound argument. 'Rules are for losers, riddles are for...' He stopped, wondering what the opposite of a loser was. 'Not losers,' he finished.
Or, at least, quash the urge to discreetly spit into a napkin?
I’ve been really struggling with Cuthbert lately. Not with any particular problem on Cuthbert, just summoning the will to work on it at all.
I’ve spoken about this before – how, in choosing to do this hard slog of refactoring, I’ve effectively set the progress of the whole game sprawling backwards.…
Continue reading'Go on, then,' Dave hissed in his ear, 'kneel!'
Cuthbert hurried over to the throne. He flashed the queen his brightest and most I'm-an-extremely-capable-hero-est smile.
'Kneel!' Dave hissed again and he dropped to the ground.
He could feel the queen's gaze on his neck. His pulse beat in his throat.
'What is your name?' the queen asked. Her voice was cool and sweet. She over-pronounced her Ts. That meant she was really posh.
'You can't just go barging through doors protected by riddles all willy-nilly,' she fumed. 'What sort of place do you think this is?'
'One with stupid rules about doors,' Cuthbert muttered under his breath.
The guard on the right glared at him. 'What was that?' Cuthbert stopped short. 'I said time with a crooked fool is a chore,' he said, proud to have thought of some inoffensive rhyming words so quickly.
The guard on the right glared at him.
'What?' he asked brightly.
'She won't send anyone out until she's sure they'll survive the unspeakable horrors that await them,' he continued in a cheerful voice. 'Within reason.'
'Within reason?' Cuthbert repeated doubtfully. 'Is that the horrors are unspeakable within reason, or...?'
'Oh, give it up, Will,' the tree muttered. 'He's onto us.'
That, Cuthbert was certain, had not been the wind. He peered at the tree.
'Who goes there?' it called to him. 'Friend or foe?'
'Uh,' Cuthbert said, his eyes darting nervously across the bushes and trees as he tried to decide if he wanted to be associated with them. After all, he was new here and he didn't really know anybody yet, and he didn't know who was cool...
'Here,' the fishmonger said with a wink as she dumped a fat and - ew - slimy fish into Cuthbert's hands. 'The first one's free.'
He tried not to shudder as he slipped the fish into his pantaloon pocket. He could feel it sticking to his leg. 'Thanks,' he said, though he couldn't muster much enthusiasm. 'That's... Thanks.'
'Why can I only ask one question?' he asked, frowning. 'That seems oddly arbitrary. I mean, you're both here, we've been having this conversation so far. Why would you suddenly stop talking to me?'
The guard on the left shrugged. 'I think that counts as two questions, mate.'
Cuthbert clamped his hands over his mouth in panic.
Cuthbert reached up, bitterly tugging each of his eyebrows back down into a scowling position. He refused to be impressed.
Cuthbert looked the band up and down. Then back up and back down, in case he'd missed anything, since he didn't feel any clearer on matters. 'Why would anyone want your autograph?' he asked, giving up on puzzling it out himself.
The lead singer gestured to himself then, after a moment's pause, the rest of the band. 'Because we're the Bremen Town Musicians, dude.'
Cuthbert didn't feel that had answered anything but he felt it wisest not to press the point again. He had things to do.