Chapter 130
What’s That Smell?
(Thrush)
I traded with Erik, Hiccup, and received eighteen elodons worth of meat. The ribs were as thick as a human, and I was given the bones and all. I couldn’t help but suck the marrow and break bone with my teeth. My fur tinted red, and my skin wrinkled as elodons came to make 6% of my Composition. Raw elodon was nowhere near as delicious as it was smoked, so I set up my yurt near the silos in Hiccup’s field of barley. I sprinkled salt and pepper on two ribs, and I lay them in the current of blue smoke in the smoker. Oak and pecan smoldered in the offset chamber.
I closed the lid and licked the juices from my gray wrinkled fingertips.
“Be sure that temperature remains where it is,” I said. “You can touch it.” My palm sizzled on the lid.
Riggvelte cleared his throat. “We’ve a different method for monitoring temperature; I assure you, Jiona will abide by every instruction, Master Thrush. Won’t you Jiona?”
Jiona was pale, and he trembled. He couldn’t help but gulp every few moments. He nodded vigorously.
“Shall we be off?” said Hiccup.
“Don’t open those chests. They belong to the little besties.”
Jiona swore on his life that he would never touch the chests. He wouldn’t even think about it, and he would defend them with his life and others’ lives if need be.
“If you need me for any reason, pour a drop of this.” I passed Jiona a bottle of dreambon ale. “Don’t share this with anyone.”
Hiccup sputtered, and his eyes went wide. He seemed incredulous. I remembered then that he had pleaded for dreambon ales. It must have seemed so odd that I shared one with Jiona.
“I assure you, Master Thrush. I shall be the only one to touch your smoker.”
I didn’t give him the ale to summon me for the smoker. ”If you can’t protect the bestie’s chests, summon me.”
“Everything is in good hands!” said Riggvelte.
He spoke with a butler who then ran off at full speed. Hiccup, Erik, and I were then led by Riggvelte and a number of butlers toward Lavenfauvish city center.
Green leaves had turned from their bright green to a dark green on vines which climbed posts and stone archways and building facades. Enormous pots contained towering trees with flowers that were bursting with pollen at the bases. The type of stone changed whenever we turned down a new road or avenue or boulevard. Folk gave us a wide berth.
We strolled down Rue St. Kinni, and I saw Hiccup’s inn. Humans and monsters crowded the front. The barrels which I had earlier delivered were rolled around the side of the inn, most likely to be brought through the back.
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We turned down a boulevard with cobbles that glittered with micaceous dust. The sun warmed the stones and they sparkled like snow does under a clear sky. I breathed deeply the aromas of the city. Among the chaos of smells, there was a thin drifting line of something with stink.
“The Oud Brewer’s competitive is next week,” said Erik. “Hawkin’s not competing this year, is he?”
“No,” I said.
“Better chances for the rest of us.”
“Yes.”
“Erik,” said Hiccup. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You’re entering with something dastardly?”
Erik pumped his fist in the air. “Slime-tooth’s Goblin Spuck!”
Hiccup shook his head. “Of course. You might not place, but at least you won't have the judges heaving again.”
Erik regarded his friend and laughed. “Is Abigail entering?”
“Yes,” I said.
My nose twitched. I tilted my head as he passed beneath the canopy of willows. I caught that stink again; however, this time it was thicker and creamier. It was so stinky, that I felt like I was inhaling particles of green dust.
“I’m entering a Grand Ol’ Sludge,” said Hiccup.
“Grand? Ya haven’t hit diamond without telling me, have ya?”
Hiccup scoffed. “Far from it. I have, however, broken into the Lesser Mythic quality.”
“Ya bastard! Ya’ve hit level two thousand five hundred! I oughta bash yer face in for not telling me sooner! We should celebrate!”
“I always hold a private celebration first.”
Erik put his arm around Hiccup’s neck. “Ya went to Ashlee’s grave.”
“She’s always first,” said Hiccup.
Erik tousled his friend’s hair. “That’s what I appreciate most about Hawkin. Gave me me friend back.”
Hiccup turned about, and he walked backward while looking at me. “We must meet that man in person.”
Riggvelte side-stepped a puddle which reflected the pink paint of the second story of a house with hanging baskets of red flowers. “Caution.”
We avoided the puddle, and turned down yet another avenue. I took in the smells once more. That thick creamy stink had evolved. Now it smelled of damp cave and barn funk. It was so palpable, that I finally recognized it.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“A surprise is a surprise!” said Hiccup. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“Master, Skullander,” said Riggvelte. “You may have an advantage this year at the Oude Brewer’s competitive.”
“Oh, you sly worm! Ya’ve got the ins!”
Hiccup stood straighter, and he flashed a smile. “Riggvelte always has finger on the pulse of things.”
Riggvelte seemed to struggle at suppressing a smile. “Nothing of that sort, gentleman.” He didn’t refer to them as Masters. “One of the judges is a half-orc.”
HIccup slapped his own forehead. “Of course!”
“Oh, you know,” said Riggvelte. ”Just common sense.”
“Was that a jab?” said Erik.
Hiccup laughed so hard he bent forward and held his belly. “This is the Riggvelte I love!”
The smell seemed to come alive, like it had taken the shape of a ghost that forced its way up my nose. It was haze-thick and stank of decomposing funky hay.
“Here we are!” said Riggvelte, leading us up a manicured pathway between coral lilies. We came to a large brick building with old windows that looked to have slightly melted over time. The butler who had run off earlier greeted us with a bow. A round man exited the shop. He wiped his hands on a pristine apron and he smiled heartily.
Above him, the wooden sign read The Mehri Monger.
My belly rumbled, and my eyes pulsed.