Intermission: Christmas, Part 4.

December 23, 2009. 2:14 AM.

“You don’t really need those bells, do you?” The thing seemed slimy. It wasn’t, of course. It was slimy the same way a snake was. Sam had heard this speech before of course, but he waited politely. Or at least pretended to, while he daydreamed about the ride back home and watching the sun rise in a few days. Remembering that it very well might not happen brought Sam out of his stupor. The little thing had brought out the Bag. It was a tiny burlap sack with, imaginatively enough, “The Bag” written on the side in permanent marker. The marker having been traded for the holly he was wearing over his head.

“I seek a weapon, for the king,” Sam eyed the bag, tilting his head. “I will give you two bells for it.” The little thing tapped its bearded chin, staring at the bells.

“For two bells, I give you this,” it pulled a knot of gnarled tree roots from its bag, the points of the roots twisting together into a spike. “Oh maybe,” it took from the tiny bag, a toy sword, the kind one would get from their son at a circus, “This, is more your style? Perhaps you just want to bop the king about the head, a bit?” The merchant-thing set both things down on the ground. “Or maybe even this,” It trailed off a moment, eyes glinting evilly. From its bag it took (with some work and careful tugging) an automatic rifle. “This is good stuff. The ammunition will cost you another bell, but it’s very good, I’m told,” Sam had to think for a moment, wondering where it would possibly have gotten the rifle, but it was moot. The merchant had his ways.

Sam stroked his chin, a sigh escaping his lips. The weapon and ward against the king did not always quite make any sense. A toy sword may well function as a true sword against the thing. Of course, there was always one good option. Sam lowered his voice, leaned close to the thing.

“Do you have,” Sam looked around, lowered his voice even more. “Anything iron?” The little thing narrowed its eyes, made a zipping motion over its mouth. Symbols meant as much in the kingdom than they did against the king, and so the merchant’s mouth literally zipped shut. It flailed, and some part of Sam’s mind told him his son would want a souvenir to go with the story. He scooped up the toy sword, tossed the flailing little thing two of his bells.

Grinning, Sam strode down the length of the market hall, a cheap plastic sword in one hand. At the end of the hall, he was faced with a heavy set of doors, and a matching pair of tall, gaunt, grey-skinned men. They grinned mischievously.
“One of us tells only lies,” the leftmost one started. Before the one on his right could even open his mouth, Sam held up a hand to shush them.

“I know. It was a good movie, I told you. Want another?” Sam grinned, reaching behind himself. The twins eyes widened and they nodded eagerly, leaning forward on their spears. “If you let me through, there’s a movie in it for you.” The things nodded again, waiting. Sam grinned and took out his wallet, handing one twin a scribbled note and the other enough cash to buy a movie. The twins giggled as one, lifting their legs and kicking the doors behind them, gently. The double doors swung open slowly, and the twins wandered off the way Sam had come. Ahead of Sam, snow fell in an empty hallway.