[Shrubley, the Monster Adventurer] Chapter 67: What the Cluck?

Mistress Ceasewane’s house was following them like a lost puppy… or perhaps a chick.

“Slyrox did not expect this,” the koblin confessed flatly.

“None of us did,” Cal put in. “Though, maybe Shrubley did.”

The shrub on legs shrugged, then smiled up at the ambulatory witch hut. “You’re welcome to come along with us,” he offered in a cheery tone. “We’d be happy to have the company.”

The Countess stared at Shrubley, and then at the hut. The oppa blinked out of sync. For once, Smudge wasn’t the only one doing it.

The hut took that for the invitation that it was.

It bent itself down and a small mailbox nailed to the porch’s railing popped open. From its depths a rolled-up scroll fell into Shrubley’s hands.

Shrubley unfurled it and read the contents, then looked at the Countess. “It… is a deed. I have read about these. It says I own this hut, right? I do not think I can own a living thing. It is not right.”

“Give it here.”

Dutifully, Shrubley offered the deed to the Countess, who scanned it. Her ruby-red lips moved slowly. “That conniving little….”

It was hard to grieve the dead properly when they kept bossing you around!

Sose scrambled across her broad shoulders, then slid down her arm to stick his nose right up to the parchment. “It’s legit.”

“It’s a deed all right, but are you sure you want it?” she asked gently. Truth be told, she was more than a little envious. Not that she would have wanted it, but it would have been nice to be asked.

“I will not own it,” Shrubley said. He turned to the hut. Extending a hand to it. “But I would like to be your friend.”

Shrubley didn’t see anything wrong with the whole affair. He didn’t know Mistress Ceasewane much, but he had liked her and he was sad to see her go. But she knew her own mind best and Shrubley was hardly going to spurn a gift from a friend.

“Nice to meet you, er…?” Cal offered tentatively to the hut.

“Cluckley,” Shrubley said proudly as a section of railing unfurled and grasped his hand in a friendly shake. “Her name is Cluckley.”

Without so much as a squeak, Smudge stared at that railing, his eyes growing comically wide.

Cal looked at Shrubley, and then back up at the hut. “Nice to meet you, Cluckley.”

The Countess watched as the scroll caught aflame with emerald fire. She frowned as the words rearranged themselves subtly. Had Shrubley, or anybody else, tried to take ownership and control the hut, the deed would have turned the hut against them.

As it was, the hut—this “Cluckley” as Shrubley insisted on calling it—was the actual determinator of who its owner would be. It was an incredibly complex familiar, one that had been Mistress Ceasewane’s crowning glory. The deed, like many of Ceasewane’s obvious gifts, had been a test.

One that I would have failed, she thought to herself. But Shrubley didn’t.

The chicken hut scratched at the dirt with its massive chicken feet, digging trenches several feet deep with ease. They were a faint off-color yellow from all the swamp’s muck, but there was no denying the four claws that tipped every toe. They were larger than the Countess.

“Shift-toe going to be muchly difficult,” Slyrox brought up, saying what most of them were thinking.

“Could you give us a ride, Cluckley?” Shrubley asked.

The chicken hut lowered itself as if it were about to nest atop them, folding its legs up beneath itself somehow so that the whole thing looked like a rambling but otherwise ordinary hut.

Shrubley wondered where the legs and feet went. And he wasn’t the only one because as soon as Cal walked onto the porch, he opened the door to look inside. “No legs….”

Shrubley climbed aboard and patted the porch’s railing. “Thank you!”

“We’re doing what now?” Cal asked, bewildered by the whole situation.

“Ride,” Smudge said simply.

Oversized feet kicking over the edge, Slyrox scrambled aboard, electing not to take the stairs. Both Slyrox and Cal helped Smudge up. He turned out vaguely cube-shaped after going up step by step.

The Countess got on last, uneasy but also a little excited. Shrubley, as was his nature, had clearly left an impression on the old bat. There was no way Mistress Ceasewane would offer just anybody a precious magical artifact like her wandering house.

“This is going to be mad fun,” Sose said, dancing on his paws.

“Where to, Countess Haalften?” Shrubley asked.

“What? Oh. Yes.” She looked out over the forest as Cluckley rose to its full five-story height. It didn’t quite tower over the forest trees, but it was close. As if sensing the imposing presence of the chicken hut, the trees shuffled out of the way.

There was no other way to put it. One moment they were at the edge of a dense forest and the next they had a corridor more than wide enough for Cluckley to stroll down.

“We’ll make good time in this baby,” Cal said affectionately, patting the splintery railing. “I bet she can go from zero to sixty in five mortgages.”

“Even Slyrox knows that’s not right,” the koblin said, stifling a giggle behind a mitt.

Shrubley looked over at Cal. “What?”

“Something I heard a human talking about once. I don’t know what a mortgage is, but it sounded terrifying and fun at the same time!”

The Countess did her best not to groan. It would be unbecoming. Instead, Sose groaned for all of them, and then she instructed Shrubley, who in turn instructed Cluckley, where to go.

Once again, the trees seemed to shuffle out of the way. No matter which way they were going, the trees managed not to be there. Which was a good thing, because Cluckley was the exact opposite of subtle.

It was raw power made to impress and overawe.

An ambulatory Witching Cottage was the height of magical fashion among a certain brand of practitioners. For Shrubley, to take “ownership” (for a given value of “own”) of it at so young an age was a remarkable thing.

He’s hardly made Copper Rank and already he has a Prime essence and a… very strange Class if I’m any judge. She tried to examine him out of the corner of her eye. He was just this little thing that was half-dead when I found him, and now he’s parading around in a walking magical hut. Just how much further could he go if he was taken to Pandaemonium?

It was a good question, and one that intrigued her. She had never been very interested in any other person’s progression or training until this group. Not unless the person in question was a rival or somebody she was interested in surpassing.

But now she understood her old teacher a little better. You could have said you cared about us a little more, she said to the memory of her teacher. We always thought you were one bad mood swing from turning us into toads or something.

And right on the heels of those thoughts came, Then you should be the difference you want to see. Be kinder to these four. Teach them the way you wished you had been taught. Let them know you care.

The Countess drummed her long fingernails on the porch’s railing. Well, she thought to herself, let’s not get too carried away. I can’t coddle them.

Her thoughts spun in circles as she wondered if Mistress Ceasewane had those very same thoughts.

Cal fetched the broomstick from Smudge and got to work sweeping the porch. After a few sweeps, the broom got the idea and whisked itself out of his bony hands, sweeping all by itself.

Slyrox roamed the place, fixing odds and ends here and there. Eventually, the koblin got brave enough to go inside.

They took one look at the mess they left behind and shivered. They hadn’t known at the time that Cluckley was a living thing. Cal went in after the koblin and the pair cleaned up their mess.

The Countess shook her head. Of course, she’d leave the cleanup for somebody else. She was an expert at getting out of chores.

Sose peeked through the window. “Still ain’t doin’ the dishes.”

Miranda scratched under his chin. “You don’t need to.”

He gave her a toothy grin, his back paw kicking.

“Do you suppose we need to think about defenses?” Shrubley asked, sitting in the rocking chair. With every ponderous step, the chair rocked. For most, it’d be nauseating. But Shrubley didn’t mind.

The Countess was about to tell him to get up off that chair, that Mistress Ceasewane would be quite cross with him if she caught him, when she caught herself just in time.

I bet you’d get a kick out of that, wouldn’t you? Me, scolding this innocent little thing in your name, as if I didn’t do the same and worse, knowing you’d get riled up.

He looked at her, innocent as ever, and slid off the chair. “Would you like to sit? You’ve been through a lot, Lady Haalften.”

That almost broke her.

She turned away, letting the chill wind whip away her tears before they could form. “No.”

“The offer is open, Lady Haalften.” Shrubley hopped back into the chair, setting it rocking again. “Where is this place we are going to?”

“Somewhere I hope we can find an essence or two.” She kept her back to Shrubley. “There is a great deal of magic left here, and now that the worldlet is falling apart, the magic will condense further. Normally, I would say there is not enough time to make it there and back to the manor. But we can cross a great many miles in this thing with relative ease.”

Not to mention the trees are afraid of it. They move out of the way, allowing us to make even better time. We aren’t exactly quiet, but the sound of dozens of breaking trees would surely draw the attention of the serpentii.

It was another question entirely if the serpentii would attack the moving house, along with the outcome that would entail. Much like oppas, chickens and snakes were mortal enemies.

“Cluckley is great and formidable indeed,” Shrubley said, patting the wall gratefully. “What sorts of essences do you suppose will be there?”

“It is an old quarry, so it would be likely to find Stone and Water essences there,” she told him. “Both are very useful. I would have suggested Water essence for you, if you had space available. As it is, either Cal, Smudge, or Slyrox could benefit from those two essences.”

“I think Smudge or Slyrox would like Stone very much,” Shrubley said, kicking his little rooty legs. They looked much more like actual legs now, less like a bundle of roots. He even had knees. Sure, they were a little knobbly, but there were little boys living under staircases in their aunt and uncle’s house with knees that were far more knobbly than his.

“Stone?” Smudge asked slowly from somewhere around the Countess’ ankles.

“Like dirt and rocks,” Shrubley told the slime. “Strong things from the ground, I should think.”

“I would like to be strong,” the slime whispered. “Like Shrubley.”

The Countess looked down at the dumb, yet sweet face of Smudge watching her with all the innocence of a baby lamb. Her first thought was, You’re going to be a veal cutlet.And then her second thought collided with the first, But I’ll do my best to make sure you’re as strong as you can be. Mark my words.

The slime seemed to sense something of her intent. “Pyuu!” he squeaked excitedly.

The Haalften manor was going to be a very different place once they got back. As they traipsed through the woods at high-speed, sitting atop Cluckley the mobile Witching Hut, the Countess wondered if Shrubley understood just what sort of world-changing events he had set in motion.

If we survive.