"David,.Peter.-.Sir.Apropos.3.-.Tong.Lashing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

David Peter - Sir Apropos 03 - Tong Lashing




BOOK ONE
Sick Transit



Chapter 1
Ship Rex

Totally soaked and certain I would die as I desperately clung to a piece of
driftwood, alone in a raging sea while the vessel I'd booked passage on slid to
a watery grave, I couldn't help but consider that there was very little upside
in playing games of chance with creatures of pure, unremitting evil.
I am not certain if that particular bit of advice will be of much general
utility. It certainly lacks the universal appeal of cautions against going out
of one's way to annoy magic users, or the hazards of involving oneself in the
affairs of such beings. In point of fact, I had no idea when I sat down at a
gaming table in the bowels of the good ship Larp that I would find myself,
barely an hour later, the sole survivor of the poor vessel's explosive and
disastrous end. On the other hand, if one had sat me down and told me that such
events were about to transpire, I can't say as I would have been all that
surprised.
I have that talent. The talentЧor insufferably bad luck, if you willЧto find
myself in the midst of unexpected adventures, or disasters, or cursed
happenstance, despite all my best efforts to stay out of harm's way. As any who
have read my earlier autobiographical scribblings know all too well, I make it a
full-time occupation to mind my own business, keep my head down, and stay well
clear of danger whenever it presents itself. I can only say that danger has
become devilishly clever in inflicting itself upon me. I would almost admire the
ingenuity ill fortune displays in finding me and inflicting itself upon me if it
weren't for the deuced inconvenience. It almost makes me wonder what there is
about me that seems worth the trouble. I'm damned if I can figure it out. Then
again, for the things I've done in my life, I'm likely damned anyway, so I
suppose it all evens out.
I bear the unlikely name of "Apropos," a moniker given me by my long-dead tavern
wench of a mother. I was spawned as the result of her gang rape by a group of
knights. As a consequence, I have an understandably jaded view of the world.
Knights, after all, are supposed to represent all that is good and true, pure
and decent in mankind. When a host of these avatars of wonderfulness spend their
off-hours brutally raping a helpless floozy, with the end result being me, it
should be easy to comprehend why I take the nobility of chivalry far less
seriously than the common man. And that's speaking as someone who is as common
as they come.
Curiously, this did not prevent my brief tenure as "Sir Apropos of Nothing" in
the court of good King Runcible, and my even briefer status as future royal
son-in-law. That business came to a fairly disastrous end, and after further