Manticore Rampant

Ch 8 - One Creature, One Boat

"What do we want?"

"The right to self-determination and the opportunity to participate in the design and establishment of a fair and free governmental system based on a robust constitution and populated by members selected and appointed on merit rather than questionable hereditary rights and antiquated notions of genetic superiority!"

"When do we want it?"

"As soon as is practically possible and consistent with a peaceable transition from those existing governmental institutions currently tasked with wielding executive power, keeping in mind the need to ensure said transition is implemented in an efficient and sustainable manner!"

Slash nudged a waiter passing by their window table and gestured to the crowd gathered in the street outside. "What's all this?"

The goblin frowned at him. "Look, mate, it's just dirt, alright? If you can see through, it's clean enough. When you can't see out of 'em, that's when we clean 'em."

"No, not the window. I mean the bloke standing on the box and the mob listening to him and all the chanting back and forth and stuff. What's going on?"

"Oh, that? That's just Revolutionary Rodrick from down at the docks, crapping on with his usual guff about turfing the High Council and putting ordinary folk in charge. He's out there a coupla times a week these days, going on with all this palaver about dem...demo...um, democrapic rights and how he wants us all to hold a big erection and that everyone should have a boat, or some such nonsense. Getting a fair following, he is, too. The boss don't mind, 'cause all that chanting tends to make the punters thirsty."

"A boat, you say?" Hobe took a hefty swig from his tankard, adding another layer to his already substantial ale moustache, and gestured for the waiter to bring them another round. His eyes took on a faraway look. "I wouldn't mind me a boat..."

"I think you'll find that's 'vote'," said Carri. "Not boat. Anyway, I thought dwarfs couldn't swim."

"It's not that we can't swim, as such. It's the floating we have trouble with. We can swim just fine—all the way to the bottom." He belched. "That's why a boat sounds like a good idea."

"What's a vote?" asked Slash.

"And does it carry much weight?" added Hobe.

Carri took a sip of her chilled white wine. "No, it doesn't. Not around here, anyway. And if we succeed in our little mission, it's not something you're going to need to worry about." For about the tenth time since their arrival at the tavern, she pulled aside her jacket and glanced down at the tracking orb's jar, tucked into an inner pocket. In response to their enquiring glances, she shook her head. "Still nothing."

Cradling his whiskey, Slash returned his attention to the scene outside, where the chanting had just died away and it seemed Rodrik was to make a speech.

"Fellow citizens of Irmway," he cried in a ringing voice, with the hint of an accent Slash couldn't quite place. "Hear me, hear me! The time has come for us to cast aside the oppressive yoke of the High Council and to reclaim our inalienable rights and freedoms."

"Mmm, yolk," murmured Hobe, scratching his midriff. "You know, I could murder an omelette. Where's that waiter?"

"The tyranny of the aristocracy has held sway for too long," continued Rodrick. "First in the unquestioned and uncontested rule of the seemingly endless line of the Manticores and now in the shape of the self-appointed, invidious and odious High Council."

"Boo!" yelled a voice from the crowd. "Boo for the High Council!"

"Those guys sure do suck orc-butt!" shouted another.