Chapter Seven: Wherein Ellwood Cyrene returns as though nothing strange had happened between us.

I didn’t see anything more of Ellwood Cyrene that day, but in truth he could well have been there and I simply didn’t see him, which is to say, I immediately went back to sleep and had the strangest dreams. I remember nothing about them, except that they were adventurous and heroic and very manly. Yes, they were very manly indeed. Then next morning I woke feeling a bit better and had just managed to sit upright when my friend returned, acting as though nothing strange had happened between us. I will be honest. While I was somewhat bothered by the strange dialog that we had engaged in, I was none too sure that it was not the mere workings of my imagination, which is to say a dream.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ellwood.

“Better,” said I. “I am a bit bothered by our conversation of yesterday.”

“You were out of your head yesterday,” said he. “Anything you remember me saying is no doubt a result of your overactive imagination mixed with delirium.”

“You think so?”

“It was probably all a dream.”

“If it was, then it was a manly dream,” said I.

“No doubt.”

“That’s the only type of dream that I have.”

“That’s very strange,” said he. “That’s true of me also. I have nothing but manly dreams—dreams with lots of killing and mayhem. Sometimes there is bloodlust.”

“And beautiful women?” I asked.

“Yes. Oh, yes. Many beautiful woman, um… running around. Sometimes they are nude.”

“Sometimes?”

“Almost all the time… all the time. They are always running around nude… with their navels and what-not showing.”

“Me too,” said I. “I really like women.”

“I do too,” said Ellwood. “Some of my best friends are women.”

“Friends?”

“No, not friends. Acquaintances… um, companions? Conquests! That’s what they are. They are conquests. Dozens of women. Scores! Hundreds! And all of them, running around and all of them beautiful, and not the least bit intelligent or accomplished in any way.”

“That makes me feel better,” said I, stopping to pull out something that was stuck in my teeth and turned out to be the wing of a fly.

“Good,” said he, setting in my lap a tray, which I had here to for not noticed. “I brought you some breakfast.”

“So you escaped the sorceress.”

“Yes, I did,” said Ellwood Cyrene. “I would have stayed to um… dally with her, but I had to find you before you were eaten by a cat and have you returned to human form.”

“That makes sense,” said I. “Where is she now?”

“I led her on a trail halfway to Goth and then worked my way back here. Sooner or later though, she’s going to figure out what I’ve done. Then she’ll be back here, twice as angry.”

“Maybe you should have led her only half as far, then she would only be twenty percent angrier,” I opined.

“Eaglethorpe, you are as good a mathematician as you are a story-teller,” said he.

“Thank you. Where am I, anyway?”

“This is the third floor of The Reclining Dog. Finish your breakfast and come down to the taproom. We will plan our next move.