Grailblazers by Tom Holt Page A

afterwards that Lamorak’s upper left molar started to hurt.
    â€˜Now then, let’s see,’ said Pertelope. ‘There’s ...’ He unslung his rucksack and started to go through its contents (three clean shirts, three changes of underwear, a copy of What’s On In Sydney with a bookmark stuck in to mark the details of the New Orleans Jazz Festival, a Swiss Army knife with six broken blades, an electric razor, a pair of trousers, a tennis racket, a mouth organ, two flannels, a towel, Germolene, oil of cloves, a packet of plasters, a bottle of dandruff shampoo, entero-vioform tablets, nail scissors, a quantity of ladies clothing ...).
    â€˜What have you got in your pack, Lammo?’ Pertelope enquired. ‘I seem to be fresh out.’
    Lamorak unshipped his head from his hands, said, ‘Nothing,’ and put it back.
    â€˜Oh.’ Pertelope frowned and scratched his head. ‘That’s awkward,’ he added. ‘I suppose we’ll have to look for roots and berries and things.’ He looked round at the baked, sterile earth. It had been a very long time since anything had been so foolhardy as to entrust its roots to so hostile an environment.
    â€˜Pertelope.’
    Sir Pertelope looked up. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
    â€˜There’s always cannibalism, you know.’
    Pertelope blinked. ‘Cannibalism?’ he repeated.
    â€˜That’s right,’ said his companion calmly. ‘You know, eating human flesh. It used to be quite popular at one time.’
    Pertelope thought for a moment, and then shook his head.
    â€˜I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he replied firmly. ‘Not after all we’ve been through together. You’d stick in my throat, so to speak.’
    Lamorak stood up. ‘That’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘I quite understand. Now then, if you keep absolutely still it won’t hurt a bit.’
    A small cog dropped into place in Pertelope’s brain. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘A joke’s a joke, but let’s not get silly. I mean, people can get hurt larking about, and...’
    Lamorak smiled, and lunged at him with a small stone. Hunger, thirst and toothache had taken quite a lot out of him, but he only missed by inches. He landed in the dust, swore and raised himself painfully from the ground.
    â€˜Lizards,’ Pertelope was saying. ‘I’m sure there’re plenty of lizards about, if only we knew what we were supposed to be looking for. Trouble is, the little so-and-sos are masters of camouflage. Would you believe it, there’s one species of lizard in the New Hebrides...’
    He leant sideways, and the haymaking blow Lamorak had aimed at him wasted its force in the dry air.
    â€˜Shut up about sodding lizards and help me up,’ Lamorak growled. ‘I think I’ve twisted my ankle.’
    â€˜It’s your own fault,’ Pertelope replied, ‘lashing out at people with whopping great rocks like that. Anyone would think ...’
    Lamorak jumped to his feet, thereby giving the lie to his own earlier statement, and tried a full-length tackle. As his full length was only a little more than five feet, he failed.
    â€˜Lamorak,’ said Pertelope sternly, ‘you do realise you’re making a most frightful exhibition of yourself. What would a passing stranger think if he saw you now?’
    â€˜Depends,’ Lamorak panted in reply. ‘If he knew what I’d had to put up with from you ever since we left Birmingham, Bloody good luck to you, probably.’ He hurled the rock, which landed about two feet away, and then sat heavily down.
    â€˜Really!’ said Pertelope, offended.
    Lamorak drew in a deep breath, looked for a moment at his scuffed and bleeding palms, and sighed. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘We’ll make a deal. You take the compass, the map, your rucksack, my rucksack, the whole lot, and I’ll stay here and die in peace.