“Butternut squash,” Dale said. “Has there ever been a thing more poorly named? Neither butter nor nut, yet we’re forced to carry on like it’s vegetable royalty.”
The squire was using a stick to flick something brown from his shoe.
A miller had to sidestep Dale to enter the granary. He gave Dale a dirty look.
“I believe that man just snarled at me,” Dale said.
The squire kept digging.
“Squire, are you listening to me?”
“I am, sir. Shortfalls in gourd identity. The strife of a passerby. All great stuff.” The squire finally broke the chunk free. “Ah, there we are.” He slid the shoe back on and leaned against the horse tie railing.
They both stared across the square, where cheers rang out from the tavern.
“You know, squire, it occurred to me you’ve never told me your name.”
“I have, sir. Remember, we even tried that thing where you stenciled it on the back of my shirt. It’s Je—”
“Pip, pip, that’s enough of your droning. That miller’s coming back out.”
Dale stood taller as the man passed, bumping him on the shoulder with a bag of grain.
“Pardon me,” the man said. He loaded his cart and left.
“Have you seen worse coordination? The man had no control over his limbs,” Dale said.
“He was carrying two forty-pound bags.”
“So you agree he had the upper-body strength of a bedridden handmaid?”
“Yep. That was exactly where I was going.”
A man burst from the bar, stumbling toward the back of the building.
Dale shook his head. “Shameful drunkard, it’s not even noon.”
The squire brightened. “Ah, that brings up an important point. What shall we have for lunch?”
“Fish.”
“Fish?”
“Something light. Trout perhaps.”
“The tavern usually has trout.”
The man began retching behind the building.
“Perhaps we should try and fish ourselves?” Dale said. “How hard could it be?”
“Quite easy. Since I was a boy, my father used to take me before he lost hi—”
“Excellent! Fetch the rods.”
Shortly after, they set up at a nearby stream.
The squire put a worm in his mouth and pulled its body out with his hand.
Dale stared at him in horror. “Good Lord, squire. When was your last meal?”
“Oh, this?” The squire smoothed the worm on his shirt. “Old fisherman’s trick. Cleans the dirt off and straightens it for the hook.”
“I can’t tell who’s enjoying it more—the worm or yourself.”
About an hour later, the squire had caught three fish. Dale successfully scared away a gnat.
The creak of wooden wheels came from the path behind them.
Dale glanced over his shoulder. “Well, well.”
The miller from the granary was pushing a small handcart along the road, with several sacks of grain inside.
“What?” the squire asked.
“Our friend must be making deliveries,” Dale said, lowering his voice. “I want you to distract him. Show him that worm fetish of yours.”
“Oh, I’m certain he uses something comparable. But yes, I will.”
As the miller approached, Dale raised a hand. “Good day.”
“Good day,” said the miller.
“Good day,” said the squire.
The miller stared at him. “Good day.”
“Say, miller,” Dale began.
“My name’s Geor—”
“Irrelevant. I was just having a debate with my squire here. Do you fish?”
“On occasion.”
“Ever straighten a worm with your mouth?”
“Of course.”
Dale gave a disgusted look. “Right, well my squire insists he has the best form but I believe he’s doing it wrong.”
The squire stepped forward. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Dale smiled. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”
While their backs were turned, Dale gathered the three trout they’d caught. He loosened three of the grain sacks and dropped a fish into each.
He returned to find both men with worms dangling from their mouths.
“Good Lord,” Dale said.
The miller pulled the worm slowly through his lips.
“So,” Dale said. “What’s the verdict?”
The miller examined his worm. “Your squire’s got the right technique.”
“Marvelous. Shall we never speak of this again, yes? On your way miller.”
The miller shook his head and pushed off down the path.
The squire looked toward the stream. “We should probably eat, huh?”
“Agreed.”
“Hey where’s the fish?”
“Let’s just say they’ll be awfully easy to fry, seeing how they’re covered in flour.”
The squire stared after the miller. “So they’re already breaded?”
“Uh, huh.”
Both of their mouths started to water.
“Should we get them back?” the squire said.
“Precisely. Come on!”
Dale took off after the cart. “Say, miller! Help us settle something. Which one of us is taller?”
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Dale still resists.
See you soon,
—Ricky C.
This emotional rollercoaster took me from butternut squashing to worm sucking, and I think I'm still in shock. Lol. Another great one, Ricky.