SEVEN

Where Are We?

It was only after the mirth had died down that the gravity of the situation began to set in. They were walking aimlessly through the desert with no food, no water, and no plan whatsoever. Dungar’s hands also remained shackled in front of him, and Jimminy had been singing “Way hey and away we go” songs ever since they started walking.

“Do you have a crippling fear of silences or something, Jimmy?” Dungar sarcastically asked.

“Me mum was killed by a silence.” Jimminy joked back, not missing a beat.

Dungar shook his head.

“Wot about you, mista Dungar? Whereabouts do mista and missus Dungar senior reside?”

“Rainchild will be able to answer that once I’m through with him.”

“So they’re in a dispensary?”

“They’re dead, you dunce.”

“Oh. Did you beat them to death?”

Dungar shook his head again. All the turmoil of today had made him physically exhausted enough as is without having to deal with the mental stresses of satiating Jimminy’s incessant need for banter.

“I’ll make you a deal, Jimmy.” Dungar offered. “If you agree to stop talking to me, then I’ll agree to not have you beheaded when I’m running the kingdom.”

“I’ll make YOU a deal, Dungar.” Jimminy countered. “If you agree to sing a song with me, then I will get those cuffs off your hands.”

Dungar gaped at him. He looked down at his wrists and the shackles that had worn into them. The repeated friction and heat had caused them to become raw and blistered as the metal continued to dig into his skin. He deeply regretted putting them on so tight. His eyes returned to Jimminy. The man’s usual cheeky smile still present, peppered with the smugness of knowing the corner he was in. Grimacing, he looked away. Much as he didn’t like it, he knew what he had to do. The mere thought of what he was about to willingly put himself through pained him, but the pain was slightly lesser than that of the alternative.

He looked back at Jimminy. “No deal, jackass.” He defiantly grunted as he continued walking, shackles remaining firmly in place.

Even though Jimminy hadn’t explicitly accepted Dungar’s proposal, he remained quiet for the next few hours of walking. Occasionally he would mumble something to himself, but ultimately the majority of sound was generated by the soft, rhythmic squishing sound of their feet hitting the sand harmonizing with their scratchy breaths. Dungar was no stranger to the arid environment, and as such his throat and lungs were less bothered by it than Jimminy. However both men felt the pangs of dehydration taking hold as they continued to slog through the sand.

As their hike through the desert neared its conclusion, Jimminy shattered the silence with his first exclamation in hours.

“Hark, mista Dungar! Look alive, mate! I see me some trees! Soon we’ll be in the shade!”

Dungar looked in the direction where Jimminy was pointing. He had no idea why his companion was just pointing it out now though; it had been visible for quite some time and was now less than fifty feet in front of them. If the forest hadn’t been visible then it would have been certain that they had been walking in the wrong bloody direction. He opted to remain silent anyway. Decoding Jimminy’s convoluted thought process was unquestioningly of secondary importance compared to reaching the lush, green, fertile embodiment of relief.

As his feet touched grass and the shade swept over him, he immediately slumped against a tree. Jimminy, taking it one step further, collapsed to the ground and proceeded to roll in the grass making satisfied moaning noises. Nothing should have been said; a rest as required as this needed no words. But this type of thought naturally did not occur to Jimminy.

“Blimey. I have no idea how this ecosystem is even possible, but I’ll be burned if I really care right now.” He mused indifferently whilst rubbing the moist leaves of some foliage on his face.

All Dungar wanted to do was collapse to the ground right next to him. But making it into the woods did not mean that they were out of the woods. He pinched at his skin. Overheated as he was, it was virtually devoid of sweat and elasticity.

“We have to keep moving, Jimmy.” He sighed. “We need to find a town or at least a water source before we can stop.”

Impressively, Jimminy bounded to his feet when he said that. “Well slap me flap, mista Dungar, I do believe you’re right!” He proclaimed enthusiastically before confidently picking a direction into the forest to walk towards.

Dungar, having no idea what to make of any of that, quickly set out after him.

“Is there a town in this direction?”

“How should I know? I’m crazy!”

As the two trudged through the trees, Dungar constantly kept his ears open for any indication of a nearby water source. With Jimminy even loopier than usual, he felt the weight of their survival falling solely to his shoulders.

Fortunately, not long after they entered the forest, Dungar caught the sounds of flowing water somewhere nearby. Maybe Jimminy actually did have an inkling that he neglected to mention. Probably not, though, because his dehydration appeared to have deteriorated his mental state into bouts of delirium. He seemed far more interested in feeling up a nearby tree and burying his head between its branches than anything else at the moment. Dungar wasn’t entirely sure what Jimminy was whispering to it; but, given the few words he had caught, he was relatively certain he didn’t want to know.

Exasperated, he peeled his partner off of the tree amid the frail man’s fruitless attempts to resist and proceeded to carry him in the direction of the water source.

“Mista Dungar, you blockheaded buffoon, you are the worst wingman ever. She had a friend, you know!” The deranged man hollered. “Say, when’s lunch?”

The stream was definitely close now; he could hear it very clearly even over the maniacal cackling of the lunatic slung over his shoulder. Finally they emerged from the thick tree cover into a small clearing and there it was. It was a small and shallow stream roughly three feet wide, but to Dungar it may as well have been its own prominent oasis not unlike the one he called home. He dropped Jimminy like a sack of potatoes and plunged his face into the water. The cold and refreshing feeling of satiating his ferocious thirst was sweeter than any beverage he had ever brewed in all his years as an innkeeper. When his head emerged from the water he felt like a new man. He turned back to Jimminy, who remained lying exactly where he had been dropped, gibbering something to himself about how he wished his beard was as soft as this grass.

“Jimmy!” He barked. “There’s water here. Drink it before you die.”

Jimminy perked up as soon as he was addressed. “You can lead a horse to water, mista Dungar! But you can’t make him drink!” He declared, giggling to himself. “And I, my dear friend, am a stallion!” At that, he began rolling on the ground chortling loudly.

Dungar rolled his eyes. Irrespective of whatever mythical creature his guide purported to be, he wasn’t about to let it die of thirst before it had carried out his mandate. Casually, he grabbed a fist full of Jimminy’s long, scraggly black hair, plunged him face first into the water, and held him there until he felt the man had likely ingested a sufficient amount of liquid down one pipe or the other.

Jimminy seemed mildly more lucid after he emerged from the water, spluttering. He surveyed his surroundings as if trying to orient himself.

“Do you have any idea where we are, Jimmy?”

“Well, I would imagine my most educated of hypotheses would dictate we’re currently in a forest, likely near a water source of some kind judging by the moistness of me face!”

He sighed. The sun was in the midst of setting and the stresses of the day had worn him thin. He would walk no more that day; so instead he began to settle in for a long awaited rest. A soft snoring sound indicated Jimminy had already passed out right where he lay.

Dungar wasn’t an experienced survivalist in any capacity, but he figured sleeping exposed in the middle of an unfamiliar land populated by unfamiliar creatures was likely a bad idea. He attempted to survey his surroundings, looking for some sort of cover, but his mind was fuzzy and unfocused as the irresistible temptress of sleep beckoned to him. Some nearby bushes would have to do; it at least made sense to him at the time. Slowly, he dragged Jimminy’s unconscious body over to them before flopping into the bushes himself. The discomfort of being slumped over a clump of foliage was of no consequence, as the moment Dungar became horizontal his whole world started to drift away.

When he awoke in the morning it was to the sound of his rumbling stomach. The mental refreshing that resulted from his slumber allowed him to more adequately take stock of his situation. They were still a significant distance away from Jenair, so particular directions were not required yet. The main priority for the time being would be to procure some supplies and simply head northward.

“Get up, Jimmy.” He said, nudging the fellow with his foot.

Jimminy awoke with a start.

“I didn’t order the continental breakfast!”

Ignoring him, Dungar began scanning the sky for his bearings. From the clearing he currently stood in he had a relatively unimpeded view of the horizon. The sun was only just beginning to creep out from behind it. Using that information, he deduced which direction would take him northward. Covering distance was very important to him, but he also hoped they would come across a town soon as well. Having been maliciously chased from his home before he got to eat lunch the day before, he was starting to feel quite peckish.

Jimminy rose to his feet and appeared to try and gather his bearings in the same manner. His attention was diverted by another violent rumble from Dungar’s stomach.

“Blimey.” Jimminy laughed. “You keepin’ a bear in your belly, mate?”

Dungar grumbled. “Ah what do you expect, I’m really bloody hungry.”

“Well hi there, Really Bloody Hungry.” Jimminy joked, grinning and outstretching a hand. “They call me Jimminy!”

And so it was that mere moments after being roused into consciousness by Dungar’s foot, Jimminy found himself returned to unconsciousness by Dungar’s fist.

As he looked down at Jimminy’s crumpled body, Dungar felt a mild pang of regret for his response. Not because he felt bad for Jimminy, for anyone who makes that joke deserves such treatment, but rather because he was now going to have to carry the bastard along the way until he finally wakes up. He looked down at his wrists which still bore the shackles as a metallic manifestation of the memories of yesterday. Even though Jimminy’s lack of size would make carrying him easier, having constrained limbs would still make it awkward.

Grabbing two handfuls of ragged shirt, he attempted to pick his friend up. Jimminy’s mouth was wide open with his tongue comically hanging out of it, and his head flopped side to side with each lateral movement. As he studied his accomplice’s limp and lifeless body, an alternative idea to getting the walking underway popped into Dungar’s head.

Jimminy awoke with a start for the second time that day. Rather than the familiar surly face of Dungar looming over him though, he instead woke face to face with the sharp beak of a vulture.

“GAAAAAAAAAAH!” He shrieked, the penetrating shrillness of his cry of terror echoing through the clearing he lay in.

The vulture answered with a loud squawk of fear itself before the sound was sharply cut off by a large rock colliding with the bird creating an audible “thud” and cloud of feathers.

Perplexed beyond belief, Jimminy looked at the lifeless bird that now lay on the ground next to him. Then, as he began to survey his surroundings, he noticed there were rocks and feathers littering the field all around him. As he turned back facing forward, Jimminy saw Dungar casually step over him and retrieve the battered bird.

“Morning, sunshine.” He quipped. “Hungry?”

Upon being extended the offer, Jimminy traded his look of confusion for one of a more blithe nature. “I suppose I am feeling a bit peckish.” He mused.

Dungar smiled as he lifted the man to his feet. “More than you even know, it seems.” He intoned in his usual manner, smirking.

Jimminy followed him out of the clearing to a small outcrop sheltered by trees. There, he found a fire complete with spit and a rather impressive looking pile of bird carcasses, all of which were plucked of feathers. As Dungar sat on a nearby log by the fire, he looked up at Jimminy, who still remained standing. Things appeared to be falling into place in his mind.

“You used me as live bait to attract vultures didn’t ya?”

“Whatever could have given you that idea?” Dungar gibed, nonchalantly picking at his breakfast.

“I made me deductions!”

“Did any of those deductions involve the fact you’re currently bleeding from the face?”

“Aw! Not the face! This is me favorite face!”

Jimminy dashed back to the stream, followed only by the sound of Dungar’s laughter. From the opposite side of the outcrop from which Jimminy exited, someone else could be heard rustling in the foliage. Dungar hopped to his feet just in time for a petite, attractive woman to step out of the woods. She had long dark brown hair neatly swept to the side so as not to hinder the view of her delicate features. As she turned to face him, her kind looking brown eyes met with his crazy looking blue ones.

“Hello there, fellow traveler!” She called to him, raising a hand. “May I share your fire?”

Her voice was silvery and feminine; it hit the ears very pleasantly.

Dungar’s eyes remained on her for a moment before he shook his head back into the present. “Be my guest.” He stated dismissively as he sat back down.

Shyly, the lady clasped her hands in front of her and slowly walked towards him. As she sat down, she looked back over to study him. Her cute button nose sat perfectly between her pronounced cheekbones just as her dimples aligned with her thin lips, which were curled into a bashful smile.

“Hello.” She greeted again with a small wave and nervous laugh. “Why are you in shackles?” She asked after noticing his wrists.

“Trust me, it’s a long story.”

The lady laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Dungar offered a short, awkward smile in response.

“So where are you from, stranger?”

“Oh, uh. Woodwall.” He mumbled disinterestedly.

“I’ve heard of Woodwall, actually.” She acknowledged. “It’s that drug town in the middle of the desert right?”

Dungar perked up, ready to defend his home. But after mulling it over for a moment, he realized he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

“More or less actually, now that you mention it.” He admitted with a slight nod. “But not me though.” He added quickly.

She smiled at him again as he said that, and the two sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again.

“So where are you headed?”

“Oh, uh. Jenair.”

“Oooh, the big city! What’s your business there?”

At that, he clammed up. He found himself very conflicted as to how to answer that question. The secrecy of the true nature of his mission was of paramount importance to him. However, for reasons he chose not to analyze, he found himself reluctant to claim himself as a suitor for the queen either.

Fortunately he found himself let off the hook from answering any more questions as Jimminy came noisily tromping through the brush back into the campsite. He had removed his shirt to reveal his pale frail chest which was pockmarked with lesions matching those on his face. As he held up his shirt to reveal a plethora of holes that had been poked in it, he addressed Dungar.

“I just got your ‘feeling peckish’ joke, mate. Real cute.” After that, Jimminy turned his attention to the strange woman. “Oh look, you made a friend. Hello, my darling, what’s your name?” He greeted, bending down and extending his hand to her.

“Herrow.” The woman acknowledged, shaking his hand.

“Hello there.” Jimminy repeated, continuing to shake her hand.

“Hi.”

“What’s your name, my dear?”

“Herrow.” She repeated again.

“Yes, hello!” Jimminy exclaimed. “Do you have a bloody name?”

“Who … ?” Herrow asked whilst looking around, puzzled.

“You!”

“Me?”

“Yes!”

“Herrow.”

“HELLO.”

Herrow just stared at him blankly.

“She seems nice!” Jimminy cheerily informed Dungar whilst patting Herrow on the head. “If things don’t work out between you and the queen maybe you two might have something!”

“Oh, you’re a royal suitor?” Herrow interjected, looking at Dungar.

“He sure is!” Jimminy answered before Dungar could say anything. “And I’m his trusty guide!”

“So the two of you are attempting a trip to Jenair all by your lonesome …” Herrow clarified.

Dungar raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, but Jimminy carried on candidly.

“We sure are! We’re on an adventure! A quest if you will.”

At that, Herrow stood up. “Alright, I’ve heard enough.” She announced in a much colder and firmer voice as she strode several quick steps away from the men. As she turned back to them, all kindness had vanished from her eyes and her cute smile had been replaced with an emotionless glower. “Clearly no one is going to miss you two naïve fools. Grab em, boys!”

Mere moments after the words escaped her mouth, no less than ten thugs came bounding out of the brush and set upon them. Still seated and confined by cuffs, Dungar found himself quickly overpowered by the goons as they pinned him down and put a sack over his head.

Though deprived of his vision, he surmised from the sounds he was hearing that quite a struggle was taking place between Jimminy and the ruffians. Jimminy’s classic girlish screams were still present. However, also present were thuds, groans of pain, and occasional shrieks of “AHHHH HE BIT ME.” Inevitably the scuffle came to an end, though, at the sound of a metallic clang followed by the familiar thud of Jimminy’s unconscious body. Dungar found himself somewhat ashamed to realize he was now familiar with the unique sound of his friend’s body in particular crumpling to the ground lifelessly.

As he felt himself being hoisted off the ground and carried away by his new captors, he couldn’t help but feel that the only lesson he’s derived from his adventure so far is the fact he is apparently not a very lucky man. Maybe, just maybe, his kidnappers were at least carrying him northward.