Sir Friday the 13th

“And what is your name, good sir?”

“Friday. I am Friday, the 13th!”

Lord Story gave the awkward looking man another glance. A sidelong, exhausting glance. “You’re to say that there were twelve other men in your family? All named Friday?”

Friday grimaced, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be absurd. There were only eight other men in my lineage. Four women make up the difference. Concluding with me mum.”

“Your mum? Your mum named… Friday the 12th?”

Friday nodded once. Story looked down at the application once again, not wanting to stare into the one good eye and one lazy eye of Friday the 13th. It was unnerving.

“And you proposed on killing the dragon how exactly?”

Friday held up a furry object and grinned, showing perfect teeth and the right amount of gums. “With this, sir?”

Story squinted. Sitting at the table as Friday stood on the other side seemed more and more like a mistake. But Friday’s overdone armor wouldn’t allow the supposed knight to sit in a chair, and the distance was almost not enough to escape the smell rolling off of the would-be hero.

Realizing where the smell was coming from, Story asked, “Is that…?”

“My Rabbit’s foot, yeah.” Fur was falling off the foot even as he moved it.

“Sir, that looks like a cat’s foot. A black cat foot.”

“Rabbit was me kitty. I loved him so.” Friday started to frown, an endearing act on a man with only one arm. “He was a good kitty, sir. Always mucking about and killing rats an’ stuff.” Friday sniffled. “Oh lohdy, I’ve done spilled salt now, I have!”

“Salt?”

“I’m crying, ain’t I? Tears are made of salt and water. Like an ocean in your eyes. Mum said that’s why we can all see: ‘cause the sea comes from our eyes.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Story winced, hoping the mental anguish of dealing with Friday the 13th would wash away soon. Pressing on, Story asked the question again, regarding the severed cat’s paw.

“Well…” Friday sniffled. “Rabbit and I were born on the same day…” He sniffled again. “And things always seemed to go my way when he was alive. And even more so now that he’s gone. Thanks to this foot ‘ere.”

He sniffled and finally stuffed the foot back into his armor's hole made vacant by his missing arm. Friday pulled a white kerchief from the same hole and began wiping his face and nose. Even at this distance, Story could see the stray cat hairs on the fabric, and now on Friday’s clean shaven face.

Pushing forward with great effort, Story decided to try and wrap up this pointless interview. It was nearing suppertime and portly men don’t miss meals. “So, Sir Friday, how would the… foot… help kill the dragon that means to destroy our kingdom and way of life?”

“I don’t know.”

His pulse rising, Story said, “Excuse me?”

“Magic like what’s in a cat’s foot is mystic. It can’t be understood by no one. It could be that the luck of Rabbit’s foot leads me to poison the dragon or to drive him away and let him terrorize some other kingdom.”

“Well which do you think it would be? The former or the latter?”

“Sir?”

“You’re a ‘sir’. I’m a ‘lord’. Now, which one?”

Friday’s eyes danced, like he was seeing mathematical equations dance before his young face. When he finally spoke, he said “Under a ladder!”

“Begging your pardon?”

“I’ll kill the dragon like you said: under a ladder.”

“I said no such thing, Sir Friday. I asked if you would be choosing the ‘former’ or the ‘latter’…”

“Yes, the ladder!”

“Stop!” roared Story while standing. He felt his face flush. “I’ll not be demonstrating a grammar lesson for you, young sir! Clearly, you don’t possess the mental faculties to slay a dragon. I should’ve known by the way your application was scribbled upon, as if a cat covered in ink had died wreathing around on the parchment!”

Friday the 13th stared solemnly at Lord Story. Not into his eyes, but at his clothes, his hair, his earring. Anything but the lord’s eyes. “It’s… difficult to write with… but one arm. My lord.” Friday, downcast, put his kerchief back into his socket and Story felt ashamed and sick to his stomach.

He sat down bodily as Friday said, “I’ll be withdrawing my application for services now, please. Good day.” He then turned and clunked down the aisle of the vast church where Lord Story held these particular interviews. In a kingdom of several thousand and only one denomination, it was a large building and Friday had a journey to travel just to escape the shamed Story.

Time was used for Story to contemplate. Several seemingly wondrous knights with fanciful talents and muscles to match had been thrown against the dragon, only to roll down the mountain being cooked inside their armor. Maybe a bit of magic and luck is the way to go… “Sir Friday!” shouted Lord Story. “Friday the 13th!” His call echoed and made the heavy clunking of the peculiar knight stop.

Friday turned, not even halfway down the aisle. “Yes, lord?” he shouted, his own voice laden with graveled sadness.

Story raced down the aisle to meet the knight, growing lightheaded for his effort. When he finally reached the one-armed man, he was without breath. Several gasps later, Lord Story commissioned the knight in helping to slay the dragon.

Ecstatic, Friday hugged the lord as best he could, which was better than Lord Story could’ve anticipated. “Come. It’s time to eat. And if I may be so bold, how did you lose your arm.”

“Oh, I didn’t. Me mum did.”

“Your mum?”

“Yeah. In a game of billiards. She lost it, fare an’ square,” he said while smiling his beautiful smile

Lord Story was already regretting his decision.



Word Count: 983