The midget had a crossbow.
They laughed at him, but this was nothing new. However, he entered into the lists, looking around at people. He was 60 yards out, so that anyone could barely see the targets.
“Nock!” someone yelled. The midget put the bolt in. He easily pulled back the string, without even using a pulley. He took aim. “Clear downrange! Shoot!”
He moved fast, loading bolt after bolt until the Master at Arms said, “Hold!”
He unloaded the crossbow, and then three men went to the target, including the midget. “Eighty points,” announced the Marshall.
The midget turned around and almost skipped back to the lists. He ran into the next man and hit him on the arm. “Beat that, you shithead.”
The taller man laughed. “Right, Snip.”
The taller man held a regular bow an arrow, with arrows stuck in the ground before him, about a dozen. When he was told to shoot, he pulled the arrows out, nocked and loosed, one right after the other. After the twelve were used up, he took some from a side quiver until the Master at Arms told him to stop. He did, fumbling and dropping an arrow.
Snip laughed, drinking some ale from a tankard, and the taller man glanced back. He walked with the three men to look at the score.
“Seventy-two,” said the Marshall. “The winner is Snip!”
“That wasn’t fair, a crossbow versus a bow,” said someone from the sidelines.
“He shot eight arrows. I shot twice as many,” said the tall man. “In addition, I beat you, Jacques.”
Jacques muttered darkly, and the tall man went up to Snip. “Congratulations.”
“With all the thanks to you, Archer,” he said with a low bow to the tall man. “And you owe me a pistol.”
“In due time, my friend, in due time. Let’s see how West is doing.”
They went to the other lists, where the sword and boards were fighting. Their man, Jeff, was holding his own against a bear of a man. The sound of the wooden sword hitting the plastic shield gave a satisfying “Thwack” as the bear came down on Jeff. But Jeff was quick as lightning, ducking down and hitting his leg. The man went down on his knees.
“‘Tis but a flesh wound!” Jeff said, laughing, but the bear was serious and lashed out again. Jeff got hit solidly in the side and went down, a glorious death as there ever was. The audience applauded over it, even though Jeff was out of the tournament now. Archer and Snip went around to Jeff, as someone gave him a bottle of water as soon as he got his helmet off. “Ooof, that’s gonna leave a mark,” he said to the two men as they came up to him. “Who won the archery?”
“He did,” said Archer. “Cheater.”
“I’m not a goddamn cheater! Can I help it if you can’t hit the bull’s eye every time?”
“I meant to lose,” said Archer. “I could have shot an apple off your head at fifty paces.”
“Oh yeah? I could do it at sixty.”
“Boys,” Jeff said, and pointed across the way at the man he just fought. He had pushed back his helmet. He had a beard, and thick brown hair. “Look at his butt when he turns around.”
He did turn around, and they looked. “Can’t see anythin’ for the armor,” said Snip.
“I watched him get dressed. He’s got an amazing ass.”
“Thinking of using it?”
“More like the front,” said Jeff, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “In the shower.”
“I’d rather have Brock,” said Archer.
“Fuck ya’s both,” said Snip, “I’ll take what I can get.”
“We’ll get you a boy, how about a page?”
“How about you?”
“Already did last night.” Archer laughed. “Aren’t you bored with me?”
“Not if you suck my cock like you did last night,” Snip said, a long, lazy grin crossing his face.
“Well, as soon as he’s done, I’m going to talk to him,” said Jeff. “You two can fight amongst yourselves who gets on top.”
“I’ll take him on top,” said Archer. “Look at his chest, unless that’s all armor.”
“No, it’s not.”
So the three men watched and plotted.