The Most Interesting Man in the World, or: The Eternal Sidekick

The Most Interesting Man in the World

"So, what's with the candlestick?"

Isradore Pendleton Timinias glanced down at the elegantly carved silver fixture thrust into his belt. "Ah, yes." He nodded sagely. "You see, when I was just a baby, my father, the king of Timin, invited all the fairies to my christening, except..."

"Ooooh." His companion, a brown-haired man of somewhat rotund shape winced appreciably. "Don't tell me. He left one out, right?"

Isradore blinked his mismatched green-and-blue eyes at the man. "Oh, no, Reggie. He got them all, there was a full list and everything. But I spat up into the face of the oldest and wisest fairy, on account of having a young stomach and a doubtful lunch." He shook his head ruefully. "My parents were terrified, but the old fairy just shook off the spittle, laughed, and said, 'May you live in interesting times, my boy!'"

"Wow." Reggie was impressed. "Lucky break."

"Yeah." Isradore nodded, playing with the ring of beads embedded in his left ear. "My parents breathed a sigh of relief, and the kingdom of Timin slept peacefully that night."

"Heh. Well, you got off easy on that..." Reggie stopped suddenly. "Wait a second. You're making this up, aren't you? Everyone knows Timin was destroyed by the Raikurs over fifteen years ago."

"Sixteen, actually." Isradore corrected. "And..." his eyes squinted in thought, "...two months and eleven days."

"Ohhhhhh..." His companion's face drooped in comprehension.

Isradore gave another sage nod. "My nurse found me wailing in the ashes of our family estate. She picked me up and bore me to a local tavern, where she spun my tale of woe before being stabbed in the liver by a disgruntled ale-smith from Weztester. A matronly prostitute took me in, and..." Isradore shrugged. "...that was the beginning of my 'interesting life.'"

"Huh. Ouch," ruminated the other. "So... the candlestick?" He pointed again.

"Oh, yes, the candlestick." Isradore blinked, his train of thought momentarily derailed. "Well, I'm told that as the nursemaid plucked me from the ashes of my ancestral home... my tiny fingers reached out and grasped the handle of one of the silver candlesticks from my christening." He tapped the fixture in his belt meaningfully. "And I have borne it ever since."

Reggie looked genuinely impressed. "Wow. Quite a story, that. But hey," he continued, his face clouding, "...what makes you so sure this isn't just a story your momma made up to explain why you grew up in a brothel?" He asked, elbowing the other.

Isradore glanced up. "Oh, the prostitute didn't raise me. She accidentally left me in the saddlebag of one of her patrons, who sold me and the saddlebag into the service of an Ardrarian maze-merchant."

"Oh." Nonplussed, Reggie subsided, and for a moment or two they walked in companionable silence down the road. Then he pointed. "So, what's with the ivory-and-gold filigree accordion?"

"Ah yes. Well, when I was accidentally inducted into the Cultists of Cucutulu..."

--#--

"Many thanks, my friend!" Reginald Dulintorp III towered over the cheering multitude on his new prancing steed, waving his ancestral birthright around triumphantly. "The lands of Urgintrod shall never forget what you have done!"

"Sure thing, Reggie." Isradore waved off the thanks, already melting into the crowd. Glancing up at the rooftops, he muttered. "Now just get out of this city before..'