The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

to look for. After rinsing the root in the river Goldenrod headed back to camp.

***

Newman walked last in the line of hunters, glancing back every few steps. As they approached the camp cheers broke out. “They got a deer!” cried a herald at full volume.

The animal hung from a roughly trimmed sapling. Beargut and Merrybrew held the ends on their shoulders. They’d already gutted and drained it under Newman’s direction. People speculated how many meals it would make.

A man with a grey goatee examined a leg. “It’s not a deer.”

“Looks like a deer, Parchment,” retorted one of the load-bearing hunters.

Parchment bent a hoof toward him. “Look. Three-part hoof. Deer have two toes. This is not a deer.”

“It has four legs and antlers. That’s close enough. Who cares about the exact species?”

“If it’s not a deer,” Parchment said with exaggerated patience, “We can’t be sure it’s safe to eat.”

“You think it’s poisonous?” asked the other load-bearer.

“Maybe. Or we could be allergic.”

The crowd stopped pressing so hard around the hunters.

“It has to be good. We need the food,” someone muttered.

“We’ll have a few volunteers eat some,” said Parchment. “If they feel fine a day later then people can eat the rest.”

Some of the crowd drifted away. More volunteered. Parchment winnowed them down to the healthiest young adults. “Only those suited to survive some food poisoning,” he said.

Bodkin, the lead hunter, interrupted the selection. “Not Newman.”

“I earned a piece of it,” protested Newman.

“That’s why you’ll not be part of the experiment. Two hits with two shots is too much skill to risk.”

“Skillful indeed,” another voice broke in. “I must bring him to Their Majesty’s attention.”

“My Lord Autocrat!” Bodkin bowed, followed by the rest.

“I came to offer Their Majesty’s congratulations. You are the first hunting party to catch an animal.” After a few more compliments he listened to Parchment’s 24-hour experiment plan and blessed it.

“My lord?” said Newman as the Autocrat began to turn away.

“Yes?”

“My lord, there’s predators out there. Big ones.”

“Did you see one?” Autocrat Sharpquill studied the other hunters, who seemed almost as surprised as the rest of the crowd.

“Saw piles of bones, sir. Sometimes three-four skulls in a pile. Takes pack hunters to catch that many at once. Lots of cracked bones. They’ve got to have muscle to break them like that.”

“Did the rest of you see these piles?” asked the Autocrat.

“Aye, milord,” said Bodkin. “He pointed them out to us, just like he said. I hadn’t realized the implications.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Runner!”

A ten-year-old boy abandoned the stick he'd been poking an anthill with and ran to the Autocrat’s side.

“My compliments to Master Chisel, and tell him I approve his plan for a palisade. He is to present the details at court.” The boy waved and dashed off.

***

Newman built a fire in the pit while Goldenrod looked through the pots and pans. House Applesmile’s heads were in a big meeting of nobles called by the Autocrat. She felt certain they wouldn’t mind her borrowing what she needed.

A baking sheet and carving knife offered the simplest cooking method for the tuber. She spread half-inch thick slices evenly across the sheet. Newman had the metal rack assembled over the fire. Goldenrod placed the sheet on top.

Strongarm ambled up. “You people are cooking dinner already?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Goldenrod. “It’s an experiment.”

“You’re risking potatoes on a new recipe?”

“It’s not a potato. Don’t have a name for it yet.”

“She discovered a local plant that might be edible,” said Newman. If his girlfriend wasn’t willing to brag he’d do it for her.

“Oh, wow. That could save our butts.”

“Maybe,” said Goldenrod. She flipped over some of the slices. They still had the slightly translucent look of the raw pieces.

“Do you need a taste tester?” asked Strongarm.

“Didn’t you get breakfast?” said Newman.

“Technically, yes, but you wouldn’t believe the rationing Wolfhead Alpha came up with. He wants us to go a month on three days’ food.”

That brought a laugh from the other two.

“Look, can I try some of the raw slices? Some foods are better raw.”

“And some are toxic.” Goldenrod pulled up her sleeve. A raw slice of tuber was tied to the inside of her forearm by a ribbon. She slid it over to examine the skin underneath.

“I’m not reacting to it. I guess a small piece wouldn’t be too dangerous.” Goldenrod chopped another slice and offered it to him on the knife.

Strongarm took it as one bite. The couple watched his face as the fighter thoroughly chewed the slice then swallowed. “Kinda bitter. But I’ve had worse.”

“I just realized the problem with using you as a guinea pig,” said Goldenrod. “If you start foaming at the mouth and collapse I’m going to think you’re play-acting until rigor sets in.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” He chuckled. “Okay, I’d try it on someone gullible.” He looked at Newman. “Maybe I could’ve freaked you out.”

“Dude, you set off my bullshit detector in your sleep.”

Goldenrod flipped the slices again. “I think this one might be ready to eat. But I’ll give it a little more to be safe.”

“Anyway, if I’m not poisoned I don’t have anything to worry about, right?”

“Depends how well you chewed it,” said Newman. “My three-year-old nephew ate a handful of peanuts. But his system couldn’t digest them. So that night he’s passing chunks of peanuts—with corners.”

Goldenrod and Strongarm flinched.

“Well, hey, I’m not hungry any more. So I am digesting whatever that is.”

That started a discussion on what to call the tuber. Strongarm’s contribution was a Monty Python song, cut short by threat of violence. Goldenrod settled on “vineroot.”

Newman ate a slice browned on the edges. “Tastes like a turnip. With a bitter aftertaste. Not hard to chew.”