Bump

15: VEHICULAR COMPANIONS

In which Fang does not feel very well.

#

Fang was counting to ten for the eighty-sixth time. This was because Gustav was relating the exploits of the 'Scourge' for the eighty-sixth time.

Five...

"...and bent over the poor innocent's bed, what did I see?"

"What did you see?" Winkton's eyes were as wide as a child's hearing a fairy-tale.

The same thing he saw every other Day-burned time, Fang wanted to scream. Instead he thought: Six...

"None other than a specimen of blood-sucking parasite whose true name I will not mention, for fear of offending our Lord Bloodless here."

Fang received two hefty claps on the shoulder strong enough to dislocate a Middler's joint.

Seven...

"And what did you do then?" Winkton gasped.

The same thing he did the eighty-five times before! Fang took a deep breath. Eight...

Besides his nerves being tested to their absolute limit, Fang was also feeling rather unwell. The small quantity of fresh air filtering though the heavy shrouding of the coach had proved insufficient to counter the ever-increasing stink of garlic. Fang had tried surreptitiously pinching his nose, but found he could still taste the stuff in his mouth, which in turn caused a coughing fit that resulted in several more of Gustav's resounding slaps.

"...holding the stake poised, I tiptoed towards the fiend..."

Fang was finding it difficult to concentrate. He would have considered this a blessing if not for the waves of nausea sweeping over him.

Nine...

"I say, Lord Bloodless?" Gustav leant towards him, his face the picture of concern. "You look rather... green."

Fang didn't answer. He swayed.

"Stop the coach!"

Fang's fingers fumbled at the door as the coach ground to a halt, drawing up his hood with the other hand.

"Lord Bloodless?"

Fang found the handle at last. In one fluid movement—which might have been graceful had it been intentional—he opened the door and fell out of the coach. He landed face down in some grass. This was good, because it wasn't garlic. Fang revelled in the scent of earth. It was testimony to his previous suffering that he didn't even give a thought to the fact that he was getting dirt on his nose.

The creaking of the coach steps and the jingle of spurs somewhere near his head told Fang that Gustav and Winkton had descended and were standing over him. Fang didn't move. Moving would not have been advisable.

"That's right, Lord Bloodless, just take a little rest."

Winkton gave a snort that Fang was sure was suppressed laughter. At that moment he didn't much care, as long as the air was free of garlic.

"Coach-sickness. Happens to the best of us, I assure you," Gustav went on gallantly. "Indeed, in my youth I was greatly plagued by it. Thankfully I find it has much improved. I swear it is the bracing nature of my profession that has cured it. Perhaps if you were to dedicate your life to the hunt, Lord Bloodless, you might feel the same improvement."