Look for the mystical catnip

“As much as I long for a good meal, we should make sure the catnip is where you remember it to be,” admits Duncan. “I don’t suppose it is edible, is it?”

“Naturally, it is edible. Assuming, of course, that you don’t mind the side effects humans typically experience. They would make an encounter with a Decidua seem tame in comparison,” says Felixia. “I remember one bloke about your age who nibbled on some of the stuff during my last visit here. For all I know, he’s still buck naked, prancing around on all fours like a unicorn, blabbering on about how he’s being sexually harassed by a sentient race of nearsighted pickles.”

“So no catnip for me,” concludes Duncan. “Why didn’t we bring provisions with us?”

“Do you think I am daft? Of course we brought provisions! I told Mule — or Gerbil — or whatever that lummox’s name is — to bring along some food and enough money for us to rent lodging, if necessary. I may be old, but I’m not senile.”

“Felixia, you are a lifesaver! I take back everything I said about you! Where is the food?” Duncan begins digging through the saddle bags on his horse. “These appear to be empty. What do you have?”

Felixia inspects her saddlebags, and says, “Well — and trust me, we’ll look back at this one day and laugh — there isn’t much here we can use at the moment. Now that I think about it, he was quite insistent upon keeping the provisions in his knapsack so he could provide an extra measure of security.”

“The knapsack that is laying in the mud next to his clothes back at the creek?” asked Duncan with dismay. “And it didn’t occur to you to retrieve it before we left?”

“No, it didn’t. Frankly, I was more interested in putting distance between us and the Decidua. Its hallucinagenic powers increase with proximity, and when it is aroused, it has an effect on anyone who happens to be nearby. I knew it was getting to me when I looked at you and started fantasizing about laying you on your back and teasing you by dangling a piece of string in front of you.”

“Is there nothing in your saddlebags?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing,” says the Felechon, pulling out a small bottle and a book. “Horace did think to bring an ample supply of lubricant and his personal journal.” She opens it and peruses a few pages. “Oh, this is compelling reading. The first chapter is entitled ‘Babes I want to Bonk, by Horace.’ Well, technically, It say ‘by Whore Ass,’ but I don’t mark down for spelling errors. Shall I read the list to you?”

“No thank you,” sighs Duncan. “I’ll wait and go see the play.”

“Oh look... It has your sister’s name here on page 2....”

“I really don’t need to know this, Felixia...”

“Why do you suppose there is a check mark by her name?”

“Felixia...”

“And what did he write next to her name?” Felixia turns the journal on its side and studies the writing. “‘...likes it in the butt, but keeps calling out her brother’s name.... Says I have a much bigger penis than Duncan.... She wishes he were as smart as me....’”

“Stop it, Felixia! I know your tricks, and I know it doesn’t say that. You will not get a rise out of me.”

Felixia continues to study the journal. “Well, evidently your sister got a rise out of Horace. Did you know she is into role playing? I wonder how they got a Ceberus into her bedchambers. Did you know in addition to three heads, they have three penises, too? Horace even drew a picture here .... My goodness, but your sister is flexible! She must have studied gymnastics!”

“I’m not falling for your tricks, Creature,” responded the prince, evenly.

“Oh, you are no fun whatsoever,” says Felixia, returning the items to the saddlebag. “Did anyone ever tell you that when you are hungry, you become as cranky as a menstruating troll?”

“You could help by locating some sustenance for us, instead of imagining ways to goad me.”

“I’ll keep an eye open. By the way, just for future reference, what gave me away about the journal? Did I go too far with the Cerebus?”

“You went too far when you suggested that Horace could write.”

“Hmmm... Good point. There actually weren’t any words on the pages. Our friend evidently uses it as a way to file and categorize the various secretions he plucks from his nose. At least, I assume they come from his nose.... one page had a hint of earwax scent to it.”

Duncan abruptly stops his horse and motions for Felixia to do the same. “Wait a moment! Do you smell that?”

“I’ve been smelling it since we started on the journey, but good breeding precluded me from mentioning it until now. Since you bring it up, however, I agree you could do with a wash; I believe there is a small pond up ahead....”

“Stop your blathering! Am I imaging things, or do I smell dinner cooking on a fire?”

Felixia takes a few sniffs. “It’s hard to tell. How do you humans smell anything with noses like this? I assume you evolved a diminished sense of smell so you wouldn’t be repulsed by your own odor....” She sniffs a few more times. “But I think you are right. It seems to be coming from up ahead. But let us be cautious. We are in wild territory here. There’s no telling who or what we might find.”

The two travelers proceed cautiously, and when they are able to see smoke rising up ahead, they quietly dismount from their horses and creep silently ahead on foot. Soon they arrive at the edge of a clearing.

They see a small fire, and gathered around it are four small men, roasting a couple of small animals — possibly squirrels.

“At last! I am famished,” says Duncan. “Let us see if we can persuade them to share.”

Felixia grabs his arm. “I think not. Those are dwarves, and from the sound of their speech, they are from the Lower Griphon Valley. In my day, that lot were little more than roving bands of thieves; I recommend we double back and give them a wide berth; I do not fancy our chances against four of them — especially in our present condition.”

“In your day.... Surely things have become more civilized since then,” says Duncan. “If there were roving bands of thieves around here, my father would have dealt with them.”

“Not necessarily,” mused the Felechon. “The Crown has traditionally left it to the magical community to deal with its own, and we have found it easier to simply stay out of harm’s way. Believe me, young Spareling, we will do well to avoid these rogues.”

“Very well,” sighs the prince. “But I am so hungry! Is there nothing we can do?”

The Felechon strokes its chin with its tail, and says, “Hmmmm.....”