A BP&G adventure - Pockets; Heretic

[joegoda]

Been a long time since we visited our friends. I pass on a special thanks to Sherry, without whom this would not have happened. I was stalled out and crippled before the three hour trip between Springfield and Tulsa. Her mind and imagination will always and forever be my muse.

For those wanting to know where the last chapter is, it's here: The previous chapter . Other than that, I present, Bags, Pockets, and Grizelda in the next installment of Pockets; Heretic.

Oh... one more note for those editors out there. Yes, I know that in a previous entry it was Peter, mayor of Underhill. Here he's mayor of Overhill, which is as it should be. If Peter's story gets entered into this book, I'll make the necessary changes.

"Those are ..." Bags searched for the word.

"Centaurs." Pockets offered.

"Yeah. Those are centaurs!"

Pockets nodded. "Yep. That's what they seem to be, all right." He peered out the window, his nose almost pressing against it. The nearest centaur reached out and poked at the wagon with his spear. The two inside heard the noise; a dull thunk.

"But they're not real." Bags pointed out. "They're just myths."

"I don't think they'll agree with you, Bags." Pockets turned away from the window. "They look pretty real to me." He walked over to one of the dials and checked it. "Do you know that they are only seventy five miles from Tears?" He turned back to Bags. "It's amazing we never saw them."

"We never saw them because they're supposed to be imaginary, Pockets." Bags scratched the side of his face. "What do you think they want?"

Pockets shrugged. "I dunno, Bags. We could ask them, I suppose." He looked out the window. "It seems they're going round to the front door."

"I hope it's still locked." Bags jumped out of the closet and reached the door just as the first knock came. He jumped back, turned to where Grizelda and Thom were sitting and said, "Polite buggers, aren't they?"

Grizelda stood up, as did Thom. "Who is it, Bags?" she asked.

"It's a bunch of centaurs, honey."

"Centaurs? Aren't they mythical?" Thom asked.

"I've already had that discussion," Bags answered. "And apparently they're very real, because they are standing outside the wagon."

"What should we do?" Grizelda asked.

Bags stood as the second knock came. "I guess I'll answer the door, for starters."

Capitani, up from her nap, stood at the top of the staircase. "Did I hear you say centaurs, Bags?"

Hand on the door latch, Bags answered. "Yep. Apparently, Pockets has us in a place where centaurs exist. He says he didn't do it." Bags shrugged.

"Yay, Pockets!" Capitani exclaimed, skipping down the steps, showing the others how her energy had come back, at least temporarily. "Centaurs, huh." She looked over at Pockets while she joined Thom at the sofa. "You sure you didn't do this, Sir Pockets?" There was a twinkle in her eye and a bit Capitani sized grin on her face.

Pockets scratched his balding head and said, "I don't see how I could, Capitani. I mean, I think I would know if I had. At least, I think I think I would know. Maybe." He shook his head. "Anyways," he put his hand on Bags arm. "I want you to be ready when you open the door Bags."

Bags' hand came off the latch. He raised his eyebrow and looked at his friend. "Ready for what, Pockets? Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Off hand, I'd say that was a foregone conclusion, Bags. There is lots I know that you don't. In fact, I would say that most of what I know you don't. 'Course, there's stuff you know that I don't. Heck there may be as much stuff that you know..."

"Chester Pockets!" Grizelda's voice warned. "What do you know about the centaur's that we don't know? Are they dangerous? Should we not open the door?"

Eyes cast down and pulling a bit at his beard, Pockets mumbled, "Sorry Griz." He looked back up at the others and explained. "See, the window thingy is not always accurate. They may have weapons that we don't know about. They may be only a small force hiding a larger force. There's tons of stuff that they could be that we know nothing about. Are they dangerous? Heck, Griz, it's dangerous to go outside at night. It's dangerous..."

He was stopped by the look in her eyes, which told him where the real danger was. "Um, no. I don't think they're dangerous." he finished.

"Then I'm gonna open the door," Bags said, reaching for the latch.

"Okay, Bags," Pockets said. "I just wanted you to be ready for whatever."

"I'm ready all ready!" Bags said.

"Just be careful, honey," Grizelda said.

"Open the door already! I want centaurs!" Capitani was bouncing on the sofa.

Bags pulled the latch and opened the door. He pulled back in shock, his face registering surprise as only Bags can look surprised, and Bags is not one to be surprised.

"What do you see, Bags?" Grizelda asked, rising and moving to his side. When she got to the door, she too dropped her jaw and her brows flew toward the top of her hairline. "Oh my." She said, quietly.

"See?" Pockets said, sounding vindicated. "I told you to be ready for whatever."

Capitani launched herself from the sofa, grabbed Thom by the hand and dragged him to the door. "I don't want to be the only one that doesn't know!"

With the group crowded at the door, they looked through the portal at a centaur. Human head, shoulders and waist, joined to the spot where a horses neck would be. The rest of the horse, forelegs and trunk, hind legs and tail, took up the rest of the space that would be called, for all intents and purposes, a centaur.

The only thing that distinguished this group from the classical image of centaurs was the fact that they were also three feet tall. That, and the fact that they were dressed in full military uniform, starched white high-collar shirts, tall hats with plumage, white gloves, and red vests with very shiny brass buttons.

Capitani said the thing that was on the top of her head, which, coincidentally, was also on the top of Grizelda's head. "They're so cute!"

For the second time in that day, Bags said, "Now there's really something you don't see every day."

Thom, as cautious a thinker as any, asked, "Is it really a centaur when it's part pony?"

Four sets of eyes, a total of eight, turned towards Pockets, who stood there, sheepishly grinning. "Well, you see..." he coughed gently. "Things in the window may appear larger than they actually are."

"Ahem." A deep voice from outside the wagon. "If I might have your attention?"

Four sets of eyes, a total of eight, snapped with an almost audible snap to the source of the voice. "Sorry, chum," Bags said.

"He's sooo cute!" Capitani whispered to Grizelda.

"My name," continued the centaur outside, "is Peter. I am the mayor of a village not very far from here."

"Probably a small village," Pockets offered.

"Shut up, Pockets." Bags said.

"In fact," Peter admitted, "your friend is right. It is a small village. There are about two hundred and fifty of us that make up the village of Overhill." Peter pointed into the distance. "It is about four miles in that direction."

"See?" Pockets smugged.

Bags stepped down from the wagon. Thom followed him down the steps. The contingency of warriors behind and around Peter stiffened visibly. Bags raised his hands, defenselessly. "What can we do for you, Peter?"

"To be honest, we, that is to say I, were interested in what your intentions were." Peter took a step back and waved a hand at the horseless wagon. "My outlooks told me that there was a wagon riding out here. Now, that by itself is not a large thing. We often see wagons skirting along the border of what you call Nomad's land."

"Really?" Bags crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. "How often?"

"Oh, every few years some human will come to see what is out here. They ride for a few miles into the territory, see that it is fairly empty, and then turn back. They may be looking for minerals, or possibly looking to expand their own land holdings. Regardless, we never find out, as they tend to turn back as I've said. Apparently, the rumors of monsters and evil beings is enough to frighten even the most daring of your people." Peter crossed his arms and leaned back against his own flank in an imitation of Bags' casualness.

"The land isn't empty, and we are evidence of it, but we do hide very well. There have been very few of you humans that have found us, and that was only because we observed enough to allow ourselves to be found."

"Wait a moment." A voice came from behind Grizelda and Capitani. Pockets poked his head between them and asked, "Did you say your village was called Overhill?"

"Yes." Peter said. "Yes I did. Why?"

"Oh... no reason. It's just that I had heard of another Overhill, from long ago."

"Hmmm," Peter hummed.

"Any relation?" Pockets ventured.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Peter said. "Many years ago, centuries ago, there was another of us, named Overhill. He was one of the first of us on this planet, and he disappeared. Our village is named after him, and that's all. Because he was the first, you see?"

Pockets nodded. "If you say so." He looked at Bags and said, "Not sure if I trust 'em, Bags. Not sure that I don't. The previous Overhill, the one he's talking about, was one bad boy."

Peter straightened up, and his warriors came back to attention. "That's true." Peter nodded. "He was, undoubtedly, a very bad boy. The naming of our town was because he was, indeed, the first of us, not because he was the best of us. We didn't find out about his... extra activities until after the town was named." He touched his beard and his front hoof pawed the ground, gently. "I'm surprised you know of him, mister..."

"Pockets," Pockets offered.

"Mister Pockets. An interesting name for an interesting individual." Peter nodded in Pockets' direction. "Perhaps we shall speak, later."

"Maybe. Maybe we will." Pockets disappeared into the background again.

Bags broke into the silence with "You said you allowed yourselves to be found."

"Ah yes." Peter directed his attention back to Bags. "When we have decided that the people we observe may have something to offer us, we make ourselves known. If we decide they might offer a threat, then we tend to... encourage them to leave."

"Encourage them?" Thom prompted.

"Yes. We encourage them by reinforcing the rumors of monsters and evil things." Peter saw the look on their faces and quickly amended. "No, no. We didn't attack them or anything of that sort. My, you humans are a violent sort, aren't you?" Peter chuckled. "We go into the hills and make odd noises. Sometimes we sneak up on them while they sleep and drain their water casks. Sometimes we cut their horses loose and urge them to go free, back the way they came. As you might suspect, we have a certain softness towards horses." A gentle smile. "We tend to look upon them as distant cousins, you see. There are a few of us that become rather upset at the way your people treat them, as beasts of burden or as draft animals. And that brings us to you."

Bags scratched at his ear. "How so?"

"This wagon you ride in. It has no horses."

"So?"

"How does it move?" Peter asked. "We have observed you over the last few hours and we have never seen what it is that causes this wagon to move. Naturally, we were curious. Perhaps it was empty. Perhaps, since humans aren't the only creatures on this planet, there was a different sort of race inside. We didn't know. When you stopped, we decided to come investigate."

"Okay," Bags said. "Do you always visit with an army?"

Peter chuckled. "Sir, I can tell from your demeanor that you are a military man. I have read much about your human military. Would you do anything differently?"

Bags chuckled back. A vehicle that moved by itself, unknown occupants, a mystery for sure and true. "No," he admitted. "I think you did exactly right."

"Good." Peter nodded. "Enough of a force that showed we had force, but not enough to cause force to be used against us in case the use of force was unnecessary." He paused then, and the smile left his face. "Is force necessary?"

Bags shook his head. "No. I don't think it is or will be." He looked back at Thom, who relaxed. "I think these folks are all right."

Capitani bounced out of the wagon at Bags' words, ran to Peter and threw her arms around his neck. Peter's warriors stamped their hooves nervously.

"I am so glad to see you!" She cried. "I knew you existed. I knew you existed all along."

"There, there." And embarrassed Peter said, gently removing the tearful woman from around him. "There, there." It was all he could think to say, never having had a blonde haired human hug him around his neck and crying joyfully while she did it. "There, there."

Thom came to Peter's rescue. "Honey," he said as he led Capitani back to the wagon. "I'm sure Peter would rather you not hug him in front of his army."

Blushing furiously, Peter nodded and adjusted his shirt, all the starch in it suddenly giving up the ghost. He was sweating profusely, and the very act caused him to become nervous, which caused him to sweat even more.

"Thank you, sir..." He stammered. "I'm sorry. I don't have any of your names, except mister Pockets."

Always the social conscience, Grizelda took the lead, stepping down from the wagon, her hand outstretched. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I guess there's suspicion on both of our sides." Her voice, soft and gently, caused Peter to visibly relax. He was still sweating, but more of a trickle than its previous river.

"Let me introduce us," she continued. She indicated the two behind Bags, "That is Thom and his wife, Capitani; they have a young son, Bren, who is..." She glanced at Thom.

"He's out back at the moment, Griz, practicing his sword play." Thom offered.

"Thanks, Thom. And there is Pockets, who is hiding, you have already met."

"I am not!" coming from inside the wagon, out of sight.

"This is Bags," Grizelda continued, "and I am Grizelda."

At the mention of their names, all of the centaurs started. It was a rumbling mumble, and there were more than a few of them that kneeled in the direction of the wagon.

Peter's fore hoof stamped nervously. "You are Grizelda, good woman?" he asked nervously.

"Yes." Grizelda's brow wrinkled. "What's wrong?

Peter looked at Bags. "And you, good sir. Your name is Bags?" He was still nervous and sweating a river again.

Bags nodded and took a step forward, to join Grizelda. "Yeah. I'm Bags. What's the deal? Why are all your men talking among themselves like crazy people? Why are some of them kneeling?" This was making him feel very uncomfortable.

"Would you be as good as to... um?" Peter gulped. "Tell me where you came from? The name of your... um... kingdom?"

Grizelda, shaken by the odd activities of the other centaurs, spoke up. "We came from that direction." She pointed in the direction the wagon had traveled. "We come from the kingdom of Tears."

Peter fainted, and a more than a few of his followers followed suit.

"What the seven hells is this all about?" Bags wondered.