Barendd Nobeard vs. son of lilith
The rain had finally let up. The sky was beautiful but the mud was hell. No matter, the slaves still had to work the fields; grapes must be picked when they are ready, not when it is convenient. The Duke smiled as he thought of the crop. Yes, technically, the land belonged to the church, but since he supplied the slaves, he stood to gain the most profit.
"My liege," bowed Father Kinkaid as the Duke entered the church. "It is an honor to receive you."
The Duke got right to business. "How are preparations for the festival going?"
"Very well, my lord," answered the cleric. "While the slaves pick this year's crop, we shall be feasting on the best vintage from ten years past."
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Duke. Without another word, he left. Father Kinkaid judged the Duke's mood to be foul. He hoped the festival went smoothly, for he enjoyed his duties as spiritual leader; he would hate to be sent to the—no! better not even to think of that!
The Duke rode away from the church, through the vineyard. Stopping at the bottom of the hill, he turned for one last look at the unplucked vines, remember how they had looked just a few short months before (photo 3).. In a few days, they would be bare of grapes, and the Duke expected this to be his finest plucking ever.
The Duke's thoughts turned to his siblings. They were all toeing the line, and would pose no threat to him. Tonight, they would drink the family vintage and toast his health. The Duke chuckled, remembering all of their weaknesses, and how he had exploited them. Playing them against one another had been most fun; he almost wished he could do it again. Oh well, he sighed to himself, perhaps that one slave he had been dreaming about would keep his mind occupied during the festival….
The church bell sounded the morning hour.
The slaves hurried from the hovels, but there was no excitement in their rapid pace. Picking grapes was hard work and they did not enjoy it. Doubly worse, they were expected to pick faster than was humanly possible, for each year a new record crop must be plucked. To do otherwise was to invite disaster, probably directly from the Duke's hand.
"Hey, why all the rushing?" asked a slave named Gregory. "Grape time," mumbled an old-timer who move away quickly. Gregory turned to his brothers and sisters, "Grapes? I wonder what that's about?" "You'll learn soon enough," answered another slave. "It's my fourth year for grape time. Pick fast or you'll be whipped. And don't eat any! You'll lose a finger for each one you eat!" The slaves glances around furtively, "My name's John," he whispered quietly to Gregory before moving away in the crowd.
Gregory could not tell if this slave was serious. If he had learned one thing since they had been captured, it was that people rarely told the truth or helped one another in this hellhole. Nonetheless, he thought it prudent to warn his siblings, so he relayed what he had learned.
"Gee, Gregory," said his youngest brother Robert, "we'd better pick fast then."
"And don't eat any," admonished middle sister Janice, already stressing rules and propriety.
"I may not have to pick any grapes," said the eldest sister, Marsha. "I think the Duke likes me."
No one had any response to that, expect to glare at her with anger—and a little envy. They continued on their way to the vineyard, slogging through the mud.
After a few hours picking grapes, some slaves actually believed that death would be a welcome reprieve. They were not to be so lucky. Gregory's middle brother, Pietr, did note with some satisfaction that eldest sister was working her finger to the bone, just like the rest of them. He nudged his brothers, tilting his head toward her, and giving a silent laugh. They smiled back for a second, and went back to work.
They were all filthy. The mud was deep, and the few slaves who had shoes quickly lost them in the muck. Still, the baskets were filled quickly, only to be replaced by more empty baskets which needed filling.
Just as the sun approached its zenith, a commotion drew everyone's attention. Someone was running through the vineyard….chasing someone, perhaps? No, chasing something. Something small.
All the slaves were soon following John. Several slipped and slid down the vineyards gentle hills. A few were trampled to death; that was not good news for the harvest size.
Finally, in the muddy waters of the stream, at the edge of the vineyard, the slaves caught up to John. As Father Kinkaid ran to get some soldiers to force the slaves back to work, everyone else looked expectantly at John.
"I got 'im!" John exclaimed. His hands were at his side, hidden by the muck at the river's edge.
"Got what?" "Got who?!"
John looked a little sheepish.
"Uh….this." He pulled one hand up out of the muck. He was holding a frog (photo 2).
The older slaves sighed in exasperation and went back to work. Perhaps if they got back fast enough, Father Kinkaid would only punish John and let the rest of them live.
John continued to look sheepish, until everyone but the Gregory and his siblings had left. Then his expression changed drastically. "Guys," he whispered excitedly, his face charged with excitement, "this is it! Our way out!"
"What do you mean?" Gregory asked, a little confused.
"This is no ordinary frog!" John climbed out of the river's muck, with a little help from Gregory. He still had the frog in one hand. "It's a Michigan Jumping Frog. They grant wishes."
Everyone's eyes got wide; then they broke into nervous smiles.
Jean relaxed, and that was his mistake. For the frog was waiting for just such an opportunity. It leapt from his hand, and jumped toward the river.
Fortunately, littlest sister Cynthia caught it. Unfortunately, she immediately made a wish. "I with we could overthrow thith evil duke and be fwee!" she lisped happily.
The sky grew dark. Thunder clapped. And a strange transformation began. All of the siblings began to morph and change shape. Some subtly, some not so subtly. Oh, they were all still human—for the most part—but their clothes changed, their hair grew longer, and each sibling had a black mask affixed to his or her face.
But even more horrifying, John appeared to turn into a large rat! The frog cackled wickedly, and hopped into the river, never to be seen again.
Gregory scooped up the rat. "Well, we got Cynthia's wish. But how will turning us into an evil rat-worshipping cult overthrow the Duke?" (photo 1)
"Maybe we could gnaw his knee caps off," offered Robert. Pietr punched his younger brother's arm.
"No, there's got to be some other way," mused Gregory, "but what?"
'"A-hem."
Everyone look at the rat. It was speaking to them.
"First, let's get out of here before the soldiers arrive." They ran down the river, until the got to some trees that offered a little cover.
"Next, don't you silly kids know anything about evil rat-worshipping cults?" demanded John-rat.
The cultists stared intently at the floor, embarrassed to admit that they did not recall the techniques and powers of rat-worshipping cults.
Exasperated, John filled them in. "It's not just the Duke. His whole family is evil. Ever since they were kicked out of the pear tree vineyard they used to run. We have to take out The Duke and his four siblings. Otherwise, we'll get a ruler just as bad as The Duke."
"But how will we manage that?" asked Janice, a worried look on her face.
"Simple," said John-rat. "At the festival tonight, we will poison them. We will use our evil rat-worshipping cult powers to add poison to their wine before they drink it. When they die, the next in line to the throne can ascend and that person will free all the slaves!"
The cult eagerly discussed their plans for the evening. Since Cynthia and Robert were the smallest, it was decided they would have to sneak in to the wine preparation tent and spike the beverages.
The rat cult spent the rest of the day feeding John-rat certain herbs and plants, forcing lots of water down his throat, and then milking him (for he was now a she-rat) to produce the poison.
"Remember," John-rat admonished before the youngest (and most adorable) rat cultists set off on their task, "The Duke's family drinks from vessels the same shape, but different sizes. The Duke's is the largest, put about half the poison in his. Put half of the remaining poison in each vessel, continuing from largest to smallest, until you have one vessel remaining. Put all the remaining poison in that vessel."
"We know!" whined the two youngsters.
"Good," said John-rat. He smiled, but his sharp teeth and beady eyes made the smile kind of creepy.
With the excitement of the festival, Robert and Cynthia tried to sneak into the wine preparation tent. They made it! There before them, lay their goal! (photo 4)
They crept forward, poison in hand. Soon, the deed was done, and they crept back outside, to join their rat brethren.
About an hour later, the time for the drinking of the vintage arrived. The Duke called forth his siblings. He named them: "Princess Tracy! Prince Christopher! Prince Daniel! Princess Laurie!" The crowd seemed stunned. When had they been elevated to the status of Prince and Princess? Could it be? "I have been elected Prince of the region!" A great cheer went up; well, as great a cheer as four tipsy royals can manage without advanced warning. The sacred vessels of the former rulers of the pear trees were placed into the hands of the royal family. They drank. Deeply.
"Ahhhh," they all exclaimed, as was the tradition.
"Ack!" they all exclaimed as they died, which was not the tradition.
The slaves all celebrated for hours. They stopped picking grapes, drank wine, had Father Kinkaid drawn and quartered for complicity in the Duke's wretched leadership, and slept the sleep of drunks.
The next day, they work. (photo 1 again) "Hey," Gregory asked John-rat, "who's the next in line to the throne anyway?"
John-rat smiled evilly. "Why, I am, of course. Now back to work, slaves!" Terrified, they all began picking grapes again. Occasionally, King John-rat would fire his evil rat lord death rays near someone's feet, just to make him "dance" for his amusement.
"Hey!" complained the slaves, "why didn't you just kill The Duke with your evil rat lord death rays?"
"Because," answered King John-rat, "it's so much sweeter to have your work for your freedom and achieve it, before I take it away. Dance! Dance!"
The End?
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