The Christmas Pig: A Very Kinky Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

plodded along down the dusty road. The miles and the hours had taken their toll upon all of them, although Benjamin looked precisely as he had as they’d pulled out of The Mermaid. The boy felt a little different, however, whether or not he showed it. It is difficult enough to be disconnected from the world. That was how he always felt. Now he was also disconnected from the world he knew. Now, like a great spirit in a new universe, totally unsmudged by life, he knew everything he needed to ride into the unknown. Benjamin had never been afraid of the dark. Benjamin had never been afraid of anything. Indeed, he felt at the moment what any little boy would feel, tired.
    At last, the party turned off the main road following a sign directing them to lodgings for the night. Soon they noticed fir trees on either side of the road. Then they saw a big lake. Next to the lake was an inn called the Pregnant Sweetheart. The knights took the horses to the stables while Uncle Floyd took the boy to his quarters for the night. The boy was sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Uncle Floyd quietly took the little drawing pad and headed down to the pub for a pint.
    The place was not crowded and he quickly spotted the three knights at a small table by the bar. They motioned for him to join them and this he did, after signaling the barkeep for a pint.
    “The young lad’s a good traveler,” said the White Knight. “Not any trouble at all.”
    “He’s never any trouble,” said Uncle Floyd.
    “The only trouble he’ll have,” laughed the Black Knight, “is if his work displeases the king.”
    “I don’t believe that will be a problem,” said Uncle Floyd confidently. “He paints it as he sees it and there’s nothing worth painting that Benjamin doesn’t see.”
    “He didn’t seem to see much today,” offered the Gray Knight. “Head down scribbling all the time or else looking straight ahead at the road.”
    “We come to see what we want to see,” said the old farmer. “What the boy misses isn’t worth having.”
    “He’ll have his chance soon enough,” said the White Knight. “I figure we’re halfway to the court.” With that, he ordered another round for the table.
    Uncle Floyd bore no ill will toward the three gentlemen from the court. They were, he felt, just doing their jobs. Indeed, he saw their intrusion into his family’s life as potentially a great opportunity. It bothered him a bit that his wife did not see it that way, but Joan had always been a worrier. If the lad could successfully complete his commission, his career as an artist would be assured and the farm would be saved. That, to Uncle Floyd, seemed to be worth whatever the risks that might be incurred. He had brought Benjamin’s drawing pad down to the pub to peruse himself. Now he decided to share the boy’s work with his drinking partners. Let them see the true talents of the young lad currently in their charge.
    “My lords,” he said, “here is the sketch that Benjamin completed before the noonday sun passed over us in the sky. He had put the sketchbook away entirely many hours before we even so much as turned off the road to this place.”
    “Mother of God,” said the White Knight, in a state of genuine shock.
    “It’s a perfect representation of this place,” said the Black Knight. “And he’s never been off the farm?”
    “Never,” said the farmer.
    “He’s not only a great artist,” exclaimed the Gray Knight. “He’s a bloody fortune-teller.”
    “Art is a strange thing,” said Uncle Floyd. “Benjamin has a real opportunity here, I believe. Sometimes it takes a century or more for a great artist to be recognized.”
    “And who’s got the time for that?” said the Black Knight.
    “Wait a minute!” shouted the White Knight. “I’ve found the flaw in the lad’s work. He’s drawn ducks all over the lake but there are no ducks. Where are the ducks?”
    The barman, who’d been casually listening to the