Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Eight - Walking Songs

We had to usher the last bun off the Beaver Cleaver. It was really hard, because they really didn’t want to leave. The whole lot of them had only grown more and more excited as they bounced around the inside of the ship.

I thought that maybe Clive wouldn’t like having so many little people on the ship, but somehow he gathered a bunch of the littler ones in a big pile before him and started telling these great stories about strange places and weird peoples that he’d met while travelling.

I won’t say that I was envious of the kids listening to his stories, but I did kind of want to join them. They certainly seemed to enjoy it, every ear that could perked up and listening.

“Alright,” I said as I helped the last little one down the ladder. We’d lowered the Beaver until his keel was just brushing the grass, just in case a bun went over the edge. It also meant that the ladder wasn’t as much of a climb. “That’s the last of them,” I cheered.

Amaryllis had her feathers poking out every which way, and Awen looks just as bedraggled. Even Bastion looked a bit mussed up.

“Wow,” I said. “You’re all really bad with kids.”

“They kept pulling my feathers!” Amaryllis shrieked.

A few of the little buns still nearby squeaked and bounced off.

“They found them pretty,” I said. “Which they are.”

“Don’t try to flatter your way out of this,” she said while brushing her talons through her feathers. “You’re too dumb to get away with it.”

Her reply was met with laughter, but not from me. I turned to find Momma wading through a sea of little buns. There had to be forty or fifty that had come aboard the Beaver to bounce around our decks and ooh and ahh at everything while annoying the scallywags and the rest of the crew.

“When I said you’d make an impression,” Momma said. “Even I didn’t think it would be this big. Thank you for giving the little ones a tour.”

“My pleasure,” I said. “They were really well-behaved.”

“That’s good to hear,” Momma said. She glanced over my friends, then back to me. “We’re about to leave. If you want to come with us, now’s the time.”

I nodded. “I’d love to. We have all of our stuff ready. Uh, should we follow you?”

“You can,” Momma said. “I still have to inform a few people that we’ll be gone for a spell. Do you want to meet by the north gate?”

I bobbed my head up and down. “Sure thing!” I said. She rubbed my head, the same way she pat the little ones as she moved past them.

I watched her move off, then skipped over to my backpack and spear, both left a little ways under the Beaver. Amaryllis picked up her own pack, and Awen put on her heavy coat and slung her crossbow over one shoulder and a satchel over the other. Bastion had the smallest pack. A small purse-sized thing strapped low on his back and out of the way of his wings.

“I think this might be a lot of fun,” I said as I started heading north. I waved to all the little ones we crossed, and they waved and cheered us on.

“I’m already exhausted,” Amaryllis said.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad!” I said. “It’s an adventure.”

“I’ve been on adventures with you.”

“And you’re still alive and just as grumpy as when we first met,” I said.

Amaryllis huffed most mightily.

We found Momma where she said she’d be. With her were three other buns. The huge one we’d met when we arrived at Hospalot, though now instead of simple clothes and a big apron, he was in full plate armour, with a shield planted by his side that had to weigh as much as three Broccolis. He had a hammer sitting on the ground next to him, with a long haft and a head that looked a bit like the bottom of one of those two-liter soda bottles, but meaner.

Next to him was a small bun woman in a thick bundle of cloth with a cascade of red hair pouring out of a leather cap. Her gambeson, all brown and padded, made her look like a marshmallow with two ears sticking out the top. She had a pair of big gauntlets on, and bigger boots with metal studs on them.

And finally there was a small bun man, in a much thinner gambeson with knives strapped to his hips and a big black cloak over everything.

Momma had changed out of her summer dress at some point, and now wore half-plate over her chest and a ringed skirt with chainmail here and there. She only had a knife by her side, and it looked more utilitarian than a weapon. Her helmet only hid half her face, and made her look like some sort of long-toothed monster with a big mane.

“Are you all ready to set out?” she asked as she lifted a pack over her shoulder with a casual swing.

I was starting to get what Bastion meant about her being on the stronger side.

“Yup,” I said. “Is this everyone?”

“It is,” Momma said.

I bowed a bit to our new friends, then grinned at the lot of them until my cheeks hurt. “Hi, I’m Broccoli Bunch, I’ll be in your care today. I hope that I learn lots and that we become great friends.”

Buster Hopsy
Desired Quality: Someone who looks up to him
Dream: To never see a friend be hurt

That was for the big guy in the plate armour.

Carrot Lopsy
Desired Quality: Someone fun
Dream: To fill Hopsalot with little buns

That was the red-headed bun, who grinned right back at me.

Peter Flopsy
Desired Quality: Someone quiet and understanding
Dream: To retire peacefully, and away from all the noisy people he likes

And that was the rogue-looking one. He seemed nice, but I had the impression it would be hard to make friends with him.

Momma introduced everyone by name, and my friends did the same. And then, just like that, we were off.

The area surrounding Hopsalot was pretty much cleared of any woods. A lot of open space, with little rocks jutting out of the ground here and there, and spaces that were covered in lush grass and little fenced-off patches where unfamiliar plants were growing in neat rows.

We passed a couple of farmers with big floppy sun hats on our way to the woods. Momma waved at them, and they would wave back, or call out for us to have some good luck on our adventures.

When we grew closer to the woods, Buster cleared his throat and started to hum a low, droning tune.

“Off to the woods and off to play
I went off to hike and find some fun
I danced in the sun and rain all day
Off to the woods and on, my son

I bounced with a bonny with bright blue eyes
And I scuffed my knees on my own pride
In the morrow she came with a surprise
I found myself with both hands tied

Oh, off to the mill and off to fun
Because my blue-eyed bonny was fat with sons”

Buster and Carrot and even Momma sang the last line together. Carrot, as it turned out, couldn’t carry a tune. At all. She was downright awful, but it was really encouraging because she was so enthusiastic about it. It didn’t help that the song had a strange tune to it.

“That was great,” I said.

Momma chuckled. “Do you know any walking songs?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nope, but I wouldn’t mind learning!”

“The winter songs are nicer,” Peter said.

“It’s not the right season for that,” Carrot chirped. “Not yet, at least.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it anyway,” I said.

Peter nodded, then started in a really pretty, lilting voice.

“Walk, this path through the sleet and rain
Snow, the sky sends for our heads
Grit the will to bear all the strain
Drive a-way the fear and dread

Cold, the dark of the win-try night
Buns, the lead-ers char-ging bold
Warm-ing hearts to set them a-light
Push-ing on and we for-e-ver hold”

Without really even realizing it, I found myself stepping in time with the others, the clangs and bangs of Buster’s armour playing the drums to which Peter set his tune.

When he repeated the whole thing over from the start, I found myself humming as the other buns joined in with their own voices.

“Awa, I... I know a walking song,” Awen said. By then we were a good few minutes into the forest, the trees clawing up at the sky around us, and masking the sun in layers of shifting green leaves.

“Really?” I asked. The only songs I knew were ear-worms, and I didn’t want to ruin this world by introducing “Barbie Girl” to it.

Awen coughed a few times, then took a deep breath. Her cheeks were already a little rosey from the attention, but she seemed intent on singing anyway.

Mattergrove girls ain't got no worries
When they see a boy they spread their knees

And we're bound for the Snowlands
So crank away, me rough and tumble boys
Crank away, crank away
Heave her up and don't let her make a noise
And we're bound for the Snowlands

Mattergrove kids ain't got no clothes
How they stay warm, ain’t no one knows

And we're bound for the Snowlands
So crank away, me rough and tumble boys
Crank away, crank away

Mattergrove birds ain't got no tails
They chopped them off with a dragon’s scales

Heave her up and don't let her make a noise
And we're bound for the Snowlands

Mattergrove girls ain't got no bottoms
They fill their skirts with packed up cotton

And we're bound for the Snowlands
So crank away, me rough and tumble boys
Crank away, crank away
Heave her up and don't let her make a noise
And we're bound for the Snowlands!”

I clapped when Awen finished, and she rewarded me with a huge grin. Carrot and Buster clapped too, the redhead while giggling quite maniacally. Awen’s singing voice, as it turned out, was very pretty. Clear and almost angelic. She must have practiced a whole lot.

“Where on Dirt did you learn that song?” Amaryllis asked. She didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as I did.

“Um. My uncle taught it to me,” Awen said. “He used to sing it all the time when working on the Shady Lady.” Her smile turned a little wistful. “He used to laugh a lot when I sang along. And he told me never to sing it with my mom around.”

“Of course he did,” Amaryllis said. “That scoundrel.”

“What’s wrong with the song?” Awen asked. “Did I sing it wrong? I think I remember all the lyrics right.”

“I’m not doubting your memory,” Amaryllis said. “I’m doubting your common sense.”

“Huh?” Awen asked.

I was a bit lost too.

“Nevermind,” Amaryllis said. “Here, listen to this one.” She took a deep breath, then started to chirp and whistle.

I was expecting lyrics, but none came, just more whistles and the occasional squawk.

Carrot was the first to let out a snort. Then I started to giggle too. Soon, Momma and Buster and Awen were laughing too, and Amaryllis cut herself off mid-whistle with a discordant toot.

That made me laugh even harder.

“That’s right, mock centuries of harpy culture, why don’t you?” Amaryllis grumbled.

Our walk continued, filled with songs and laughter, and sometimes the occasional bit of whistling.

This was what I had always envisioned when I thought of adventure, and I was glad to be part of it, even when the others told me that I was pants at carrying a tune.

***