Speaker 1: The scum Kings, a Broadsword Studio production created and written
by Mike Daltrey. Chapter twenty three, The Dead River. I
needed meat.
Speaker 2: I didn't actually need meat, but with the hangover settling
into a dull, thumping rhythm behind my eyes, my stomach
felt like a hollow cave. The wine had been a mistake.
The cure I needed was a thick, seared beef, salty
enough to burn my tongue. I sat at the head
of the long table in the Mayor's Hall, drumming my
fingers on the wood. Cob, I shouted. Kitchen door swung open.
Cob appeared, wiping his hands on a stained apron. He
looked nervous. Cob always looked nervous, but today he looked
like a man expecting a beating steak. I said, rare
and potatoes, fried and lard. Bob swallowed. He didn't move.
I hope you're not waiting for a please. No. Cob
walked forward, his hands palms up and pleading. It's just
that there isn't any dre stopped drumming. What do you
mean there isn't any no beef? Cobs squeaked, no pork.
I have some dried river eel and turnips. I am
the king of Vance's folly, I said, standing up slowly.
This is a trading town at the intersection of two
large merchant roads and two rivers. Why am I being
offered eel? Stocks are empty? COB's voice rose in octave.
The butchers are closed. No wagons came in yesterday, no
wagons have come since we arrived, and there are no ships.
Cobs sounded as frustrated as I was. The venison comes
from the forest, and the hunters haven't returned. The steak
comes from the farms up the river, and no river
boats have come. Stared at him. The silence of the
town was one thing, But hunger that was an unacceptable. Stiggined,
I barked at the lump of muscles sleeping on the bench.
I was certain he was still drunk up. We're going
to the docks. Stench from the river front was oppressive.
I had spent enough time working on the docks in
the summer that I knew the smell of fish, oil,
sweat and salt was actually the smell of one thing,
the smell of money moving Today it just smelled of
mud and decay. Three main piers jutted out into the
muddy fork like rotting teeth. They were empty, no timber rafts,
no grain flats, just the brown water sliding past, heavy
and indifferent. I walked to the end of the center pier.
The harbor monster's shack was locked. The warehouse that stored
the goods off the boats was closed. Where are the boats,
I muttered, shading my eyes. The grain, the wood, the oar,
the meat. Maybe it's a holiday, Stiggin suggested, scratching his
beard for three days or so, said joining us. He
looked at the empty horizon. No, the ships are passing
us by. We stood there for an hour, sweating in
our armor. My stomach growled loud enough for Stigging to hear.
He chuckled. Wine fills his stomach as well as meat.
I glared at him. There or so pointed upstream a
shape cutting through the haze. Barge, A big conquered hauler
painted in bright blue and gold. It was laden with crates.
I pictured, salted beef, wine iron. It was moving fast,
riding the center channel. Finally, I said dinner. I stepped
to the edge of the pier. I didn't care about
taxes or tolls anymore. I just wanted a steak, doc,
I roared, waving my arm. We are buying. The barge
didn't slow. The polars were working in a rhythmic blur,
driving the heavy vessel forward. They weren't drifting, they were sprinting.
They aren't stopping, Stiggins said. As the barge drew level
with us. Fifty yards out in the deep water, a
figure stepped up to the railing. It was a peacock,
a dandy in a doublet of ridiculous crushed velvet, wearing
a hat with a feather so long it threatened to
take his eye out. He held a goblet of wine
in one hand and a skewer of meat in the other.
He looked at me, He looked at the town. He
took a bite of the meat, sewed slowly, staring right
at me. Ay, I shouted, turn in, that is a command,
But dandy swallowed. He smiled. It was a nasty, superior
little twist of the lips. He tossed the skewer into
the river, despite it still having meat stuck at the end.
His hand now free, he gave a dainty little wave
and turned back to the center of the boat. He
he threw the meat away stigand whispered, sounding heartbroken. A
barge swept past the polars, digging hard. They were terrified,
I realized, But the dandy he was laughing. He knew
the water was a wall I couldn't cross. I gripped
the hilt of my sword. I wanted to scream. I
wanted to swim out there and throttle him with his
own feather. But they were already moving away, shrinking into
the distance. I stood on the rock outing wood of
my empty kingdom, watching my dinner float away. They're mocking us,
I said, my voice quiet. They're starving us, or so corrected.
They don't need to fight, you, dre They just need
to wait. Turned my back on the river. My stomach twisted,
not just from hunger now, but from a cold, creeping realization.
I had the gold, I had the castle, But out
there in the current, I was nothing but a joke
on a peer eel. I spat tell Cob to cook
the damn eel.