Free Lore of the Underlings: Episode 7 ~ Ho-man Holds Court by John Klobucher Page B

little
anxious. “Anyway, we’d better carry on. It won’t be long before the
fun.”
    “Um, before we do that,” piped up John Cap,
who now kneeled knightly upon one knee, “I’d just like to
know…”
    “Last-meal menu? That’s page three. You can
choose billit or billit-free.”
    “Well…”
    “Funeral pyre options and fees? Our new
no-smoking policy?”
    “Well, actually, no, if that’s okay. I was
just hoping to catch your name… and maybe some explanation…”
    The penman leaned in and winked at him.
“There’s not much time,” he whispered. “But I’ll tell what I can,
Tom Cat my friend.”
    The young man grinned, opting not to correct
him. This new pet name was the least of his problems.
    Then without warning a half-gnawed boar rib
beaned the scribe off his oblong noggin.
    “Ho-man!” bellowed one of the Guard, “why has
this hearing not begun? Who dares delay us, the core of our war
men?!”
    Ho-man felt for the dull red welt that was
starting to form above his ear. “Sorry about that, Xyzor-ull sir,
but we need the grand inquisitor. Just stepped out for a moment or
two. He’s bound to be back fairly soon.”
    “The grand… You should have said… Never mind.
Let him take his treasured time.”
    When the Guard had finished, Ho-man bowed and
turned back to the pre-tried teen. “So, old bean, as I was saying…”
He squatted down on the sooty ground, ready to do some
spilling.
    “As you might have heard from our honored
Guard, these days most folk call me Ho-man, though that is not my
given name. For I was the first born of this oasis and honored as
Homeboy, my claim to fame. Yet sadly my surname was also reset on
that sweet and bitter summer’s day… the day when my mum died
birthing me. Since my dad had already passed in The Crossing,
another family who took pity adopted this half-blessed,
double-crossed orphan. That’s how I joined the Havvum clan.”
    Ho-man wiped a tear from his eye with the
backside of his prose-stained hand.
    “And they raised me well, in the Treasured
way. Made me what I am today,” he chirped in his usual chipper
voice. “Record keeper of our Keep and clerk of the Treasuror’s
court, of course!”
    John Cap appeared to be lost for words.
Luckily the clerk found more.
    “Oh, and if I forgot to mention — I’m
grateful to get such a kind kind of question.”
    At that Homeboy Havvum reopened his notebook
and drew what looked like a happy face. Then he flipped to a mark
on a far-flung page.
    “We’re required by law to state your
age.”
    The young man readily gave his answer but
something bright distracted him. “Seven…” he turned to take it in,
“…teen.” It was white and blinding. Then…
    “Ogdog?!” He uttered the name in wonder
underneath his bated breath. “Sure glad to see you here… I
guess…”
    There bathed in beams at the chamber’s dead
center and all aglow like an omen of death, his comrade the
battle-hardened changeling stuck up from the blackened earth. He
was still in the form of a sword of tusk — a long, broad alabaster
blade — that someone had made a point of thrusting deep deep down
through the floor’s scorched crust. In anger, by the looks of
it.
    Sight of that mock but lifelike weapon made
him ponder even more.
    “What exactly am I here for?”
    But Ho-man was once again watching the door
and did not even hear the query.
    The visitor couldn’t help but notice how this
soul differed from the rest. Not your average Sylander. He had a
style the others missed.
    It began with his mug, which all but beamed
despite a mouthful of tea-stained teeth and the ironwood fillings
that capped them off. Smiles were hard to come by here, often even
frowned upon. A grin like this one’s was uncommon, so
happy-go-lucky and ear-to-ear. And speaking of ears, his two
appeared to be dressed for anything but a hearing — courting
disaster you might say — for each one wore a ring of fire according
to the naked eye. In fact it was