I have solved my tax problem. It turns out you don’t need to pay taxes if you declare yourself a charity. So, once a month when the moon is full, I tell Ergo to go into the grounds and stand at the gates with a charity box in the name of ‘The renewable clock foundation.’ It’s simple –

We collect money, we buy disused clocks, and I destroy them. Simply because I hate the blasted things, what with their ticking and clicking. Honestly, what does an immortal need a clock for?

It seems to keep the taxman happy. That, and I managed to hypnotize the mayor of Cove Town that every time he thinks of me and my unpaid balance, he defecates himself. So far, it’s been working. I haven’t had any more letters.

I have discovered something ghastly about the web.

I was starving, and the local farmers were becoming wary of their lambs going missing so I needed something different.

Last night, I had a deep craving for prawns for the Uber eats man to bring to me. I haven’t had them since I was stowed on a fishing boat to the European mainland following my journey to the middle east. Amazing place. Their poetry is incredible.

I thought I would relive my youth of those wonderful times lost at sea when the mist was so thick that the fishermen would be gripped by terror. Not many of them could swim, and that made for devilishly good entertainment when the storms came. But alas, with that, there came problems. No fishermen meant no food. I had to improvise.

Birds are too costly to catch and I had a boat to somehow steer back to land. I have never been good at fishing either. Not much blood in those things, plus the scales are difficult to dislodge from my teeth. So, I took to the fishing cargo. Prawns. Fistfuls of the little crustaceans right there for the taking. I devoured them hungrily, and I have loved them ever since.

So last night, I opened up the web on the eye pad – I haven’t found any spiders yet. They must run away when the light comes on. I typed in ‘PRAWN,’ however, I must have hit the wrong keys with my claws because what came up instead was definitely NOT fish food. Someone was eating something alright, but I couldn’t possibly tell you what. I never knew people even DID those things. Not once did I see a wedding ring, especially when there were SEVERAL of them going at it at once. I turned it off. I had lost my appetite completely.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I decided to write a letter to the ‘HUB,’ which is where most of the debauchery appeared to happen. I pulled out my quill and parchment paper. With the help of some candles, I bought from the amazon rainforest from the web (The world really has changed since I last walked amongst cattle. How do they make the wax? Has the Amazon become a candle factory? But it’s so humid there? A terrible business model if you ask me, but they do smell rather quaint), Jasmin infused with lavender. Reminds me of walking past the whore houses in Paris back in the day. And even THEY DID NOT DO WHAT I SAW. WAIT, OH GOD I HAVE DONE IT AGAIN. I CAN’T GET IT Off thanks. Ergo heard me shouting. As I was saying -

I wrote the letter and sealed it. I explained in great detail the acts that were being committed were grossly damaging and the women clearly needed acting lessons. Even Christopher Marlow could write a better script. Ha! I wrote step-by-step instructions on how they should get a husband and only then could such acts be committed. I was going to bring up the part about the extension cord, the donkey, and the leather mask, but I would rather scrub that from my memory completely.

I stood at my chamber window and summoned the power to become a swarm of bats. I was a little rusty – I became part wolf on the first try, and then a goldfish. A goldfish with fangs. Nobody would have guessed.

Ergo stopped me mid-transformation. He eyed my hand – part rodent, part me – and handed me a strip of sticky paper with the Queen’s decapitated head on. I nearly threw up. I haven’t seen such a thing since Vlad the Impaler ruled. The history books are too kind to him. His moustache was not that big. I queried this gesture, unsure of what he was giving me them for.

“Male,” Ergo said. His breath was terrible, even by my standards.

“Male?” I asked, my voice rising several decibels. He nodded. What on earth would I give a male my letter for? “I drink the male?” Ergo shook his head.

“Royal male.”

“I can eat a royal for a letter!?” I gasped. Ergo took the letter off of me and put the Queen’s head on the top of the parchment. I was so confused. I place the Queen’s head on a parchment and pass it to a royal male who I don’t drink, and somehow that fixes my Prawn problem. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Back in the British civil war people were hung for doing such things. How times have changed…

The good news is, I managed to get my Prawn’s from the Uber Eats guy. He just leaves them at the gate now. I don’t think he’s a fan of wolves.

Until we speak again – R.W