A Giant's Cook - Chapter 6

A Giant’s cook

Written & illustrated by Frenchfeeder

VI. The growing shadow of Revolution

            "That every stride he makes upon my land

              Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope

              The purple testament of bleeding war...”

                             William Shakespeare, Richard II (act III, sc.3)

  In these hottest Summer days anyone had ever seen, there was no place in Mittel Earth quite so fresh and so peaceful as the hills and mountains up North, which used to be the nightmare of all peasants living around such dark woods... The small village built by the giant behind thick curtains of trees and mists had become prosperous in a most unusual way... They didn’t plant or cultivate any field, they had no herds to look after, yet they had stocked piles of provisions far greater than they needed. Their homes were always hidden from the troops of mercenaries coming to the shores, who brought more and more food to them, every day. Born and raised in the waste lands of Kastel-Pancia, the peasants were used to hiding and never drawing attention on themselves anyway...

 Now they only had to do it at some points during the day, then they were free to do whatever they wanted. They got up late in the morning, ate an enormous breakfast with their giant friend – and they would go on like this all day, only taking turns after each new delivery. The first group of men would go back to the village, and slept while the next group was feasting and drinking. After three months, all the men looked like they were born rich and noble. They had become lazy like regular monks. Even the most miserable skinny guy among them had outgrown his old clothes – so they walked naked around the village and to their shabby homes...

  The giant had never worn any piece of clothes, but they had reasons to believe that any shirt or shorts his size would be pretty tight around his meaty body. He was eating more and more, far better than he used to. His appetite had recently increased – really dramatically increased, more than anyone had expected ! The giant wouldn’t mind sitting through four-hour long meals anymore. He certainly had the stomach for it, by now... Considering this, the men had hoped that their own meals would get smaller or shorter over time – but then they noticed that there were more ships carrying food, also bigger than the previous ones. It made a few of them worry about the effect of such changes in amounts and duration of meals, when the giant never changed the smallest thing in his daily habits... Would they have to eat all those exceeding cakes and roasted pigs themselves ? How were they going to deal with it ?

  Every meal now involved ten ships coming from Kastel-Pancia, and twelve from the other cities, fully loaded with meats and omelets, pies and cakes, and all the most fattening foods available in Mittel Earth. It also meant many more journeys back and forth to bring all of it to the giant’s feeding place. However, much to his friends’ surprise, the giant didn’t seem to notice this new increase in his diet, no matter how spectacular it was : Suddenly six more, oversized Burgstijn pies, six dozens sausages and twelve vats of beer didn’t feel like too much of a challenge for him ! By the end of lunch or dinner, when everyone was exhausted and there were still more pastries to be lifted up to his mouth, the giant grabbed cookies, muffins and tarts to stuff his face all by himself. Mark was completely amazed.

“We’ve finally turned him into a real glutton ! Look at him...”

  He was enthusiastic about it, looking at his gigantic lover making a complete pig of himself ! The giant still wouldn’t eat alone, but he didn’t force anyone to stuff their guts more than they wanted, while he would go for more desserts and sweets. He only made sure that Mark always had his plate full – then he finished all the food the other men left when they felt too stuffed and tired to lift a fork... Soon, it looked like an immediate, second full meal for the giant. There was so much food sent for him at all times ! After a week, it became clear to everyone that the giant would have to stay sitting at his feeding place from breakfast to late dinner, if he wanted to finish everything. And he had learned never to leave a crumb. Ships came and went with such loads of delicacies and pastries that a meal was hardly finished when the next one was ready for him...

  The giant welcomed that next meal anyway, with the group of men carrying it, as if he had not eaten at all ! People in the village followed Mark’s instructions and the four meals the giant was supposed to eat slowly soon merged into an unending feast, a mind-blowing exhibition of endurance and gluttony... For a full week, the giant did nothing but gorge and gulp down through the day, and sleep with Mark at night, always slightly drunk on beer. At this rate, he was bound to gain weight faster and faster. And he was already quite fat ! Some men close to Mark started to think about this, and their conclusion was pretty grim.

  Their huge friend – once strong, fit and fast enough to answer any attack from a group of men-at-arms, and crush them instantly – had grown so massive that he was now slow and docile... Even after a long and filling meal, all drenched with sauce and vats of beer, the giant looked contented but still eager for more. There were no more angry outbursts either, like Mark had once experienced. Men were whispering about it… Living with a less aggressive beast was certainly a good thing, but there were other threats on the other side of the hills and forests – and of course the cities on the other side of the Big Lake ! What if more troops came to find them ? What if another army landed on those shores, to fight and kill the giant ? Would he defend himself ? Would he still protect them ?

  Mark was eating next to the giant when a few men came from the village to say their piece. They declined to grab a bite of sausages from the giant, who kept on stuffing them in his mouth, and went on with their growing doubts.

“Why would troops come from Kastel-Pancia ?” Mark reassured them, smacking his lips after he was done with a large piece of meat. “I’m pretty sure they can’t raise a new army so easily…”

“Troops may come from other places. From Stockytown. From Burgstijn... They are sending enough ships every day to launch an attack !”

“What if they bring weapons instead of food, next time ?”

“We’re not prepared to fight !”

“And the giant... Well...”

  At that moment, their friend was done with gobbling full sausages one after the next, each one bigger than a grown man – fully focused on food, and not noticing their little argument, he was moving on to more meat pies... Mark was still half-way through his meal. For lack of a better answer to the men’s complains, he let out a loud belch. Then, to prove them that he was also concerned, he wiped his greasy fingers over his lovehandles and spoke.

“Okay... You’re right, there’s been much traffic on the Great Lake lately. It may not be good. And I’m sure Stockytown is planning on invading Pancia – but that’s in the South, too far away from us, even by ship. And if Kastel-Pancia got to face open war, that would send soldiers away from here !”

“That’s not our only concern... Look at this pie, sent from Burgstijn today.”

“What about it ?”

  One of the men got to a large, thick pie that was currently on a carriage, part of a long line of hot dishes going all the way from the shores to the giant’s sitting place, on top of the hill. Mark saw him cut through the thick crust to take some meat stuffing and bring it back to their group.

“See ? We’ve found out when we cooked it up... Taste this.”

  Mark grabbed a bite, but he had already noticed what the guys meant just by looking at it and smelling it. It was all lard...

“This is hardly meat. Just lard and bacon.”

“All the pies you see now are the same as this one. The cooks in Burgstijn didn’t even bother to use groud beef or ham. They just filled their pies with hog’s lard.”

“It’s so greasy, I’m sure I’d throw up after a slice or two !”

  But the first pie had reached the giant just now, and Mark looked up to see how his friend would react. The men suddenly stopped talking and watched him eat a first bite. The giant merely paused and went on – it took him less than a minute, then the whole pie was gone down his throat and into his swollen stomach. He had his hands on the next pie already. Everyone around Mark was appalled.

“I can’t believe it ! He didn’t even notice.”

“Actually I think he liked it. Look, he’s going through that line of pies almost as fast as he ate his sausages...”

“We definitely have a problem ! It’s clear that Burgstijn and the other cities are not interested in just feeding our giant. They’re fattening him up so that they can come back and kill him, when he’s too heavy and lardy to move !”

“And they must be getting impatient... All the food they send now is disgustingly fat or sickeningly sweet. Even for such a huge creature, it won’t take longer than a month for his guts to split open.”

“And what if the harvest is good, this year ? They will have enough food to stuff him worse than the sausages they feed him !”

“What are we going to do ?”

  Mark didn’t share their views on the giant or the food he devoured, but he was smart enough not to interrupt them. And this change in the cooking could mean that Burgstijn no longer intended to use the giant as a weapon. It had been clear from the start that Sacka-Graez wanted the giant to stay where he was and grow too fat to walk, from the rich delicacies they kept sending to him. Stockytown’s food was the same as Kastel-Pancia’s : more than decent, delicious and filling. It was hard to draw conclusions from recipes only. Mark had to think further about their situation – not just their personal security. Those people in the village were only thinking about themselves. Underneath inches and inches of thick blubber, their old anxiety and survival instincts were still there, unchanged. Mark realized that it only revolved around him and the giant, once again – the rest of the world was still crazy, probably going deeper into madness...

“Alright. What is your plan ?”

“We... Well, we haven’t thought about a plan so much.”

“Then what options do we have ? You’re not going to store all the food you get – there’s too much ! You won’t stop bringing food to our friend – he would grow hungry, come to your village, and he won’t understand why you hide something from him. Then you’re not going to tell the soldiers to go back without unloading their ships...”

“But we have to get prepared. Defend ourselves.”

“We can’t fight right now. We can hide, but we can’t run.”

“And I’m pretty sure we can’t hide this anymore...” a man concluded, giving a sounding slap to his round, overhanging belly.

  Mark agreed with them. The giant would still eat and drink and overeat, but they had to keep him more active. What mattered most to him was that his friend was happy. And the giant was only happy to share enormous meals with Mark before going to sleep, a bit drunk, both on a full stomach, and please him sensually until Mark shivered and moaned in ecstasy...

  By the end of the day, everyone had gone back to the village, more or less quiet and confident about their future, so Mark and the giant were alone. This was his favorite moment – when they were together with only the warm Summer breeze whispering softly in the trees, gently brushing the hills during the night.

  The giant was drifting into sleep as usual, after a long day of excessive gluttony that wasn’t forced on him so much anymore, but well-recieved, even desired... Mark was looking at him lovingly. Now, should he be worried too ? It looked like his huge, athletic friend had truly been reduced to this : a lazy, fattened hog – cynically overfed to serve the conflicting interests of greedy, oppressive powers, and doomed to be slaughtered when the time would be right... Mark had never questioned it, never given it a second thought either. Was it because he was so strong that Mark didn’t believe the giant would ever grow weak ? Or was it because the creature was so tall that his head was literally in the clouds, that his mind was always so foggy ? Certainly his brains had been filled much easier than his belly – with only two thoughts : Food and Mark. When food was presented to him, he would grab it, open wide and devour whatever it was – no matter how rich and sweet, and no matter how much there was...

  And when there was nothing left to eat, the giant devoted himself completely to Mark, keeping him warm and hot, spoiling him, pampering him all night. He was only interested in making his friend happy – more than happy – ecstatic, no less...

  Under the giant’s loving care, Mark had grown fatter and fatter again. After only a few weeks back from his prison cell, he was almost so large and obese as when he had been taken by Burgstijn’s soldiers. He wouldn’t let himself grow so obscenely huge that he couldn’t stand up again, but his once lean, muscular body had grown soft and thick – this time for good ! – and he was only able to walk in slow, careful steps. The giant was keeping him full and horny at all times during the day, to satisfy him at night in every way he wished. Mark didn’t have to tell the giant anything that the giant wouldn’t have guessed. They spent their time together moaning and groaning, and burping, and Mark was just constantly amazed at the giant’s instincts. He would please him in ways Mark didn’t know how to express – he didn’t even know how much he would enjoy that...

  The young thief had no other friend in the world than this savage, blonde beast, but he wouldn’t dream of a better one ! Now that they were both fat, and getting much fatter, day after day, he was painfully aware of what harm everyone meant for his poor, unsuspecting giant.

“Now, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take good care of you too...” Mark told his sleepy lover, caressing the full, soft expanse of lovehandles and warm underbelly where he was resting...

  Stockytown was ready to attack. In the morning, no less than twenty-four ships left a discrete harbor, a few miles West of Stockytown, armed with troops and food so fattening and heavy that their main decks hardly stood over water. They had loaded those ships all night long, to sail under appropriate winds before dawn. It was their purpose to get to the Northern shore before the usual morning ships coming from Port-Lyfraim, in Kastel-Pancia. They operated well, and once all the food was displayed for Mark – or rather, the people hiding in their village – to cook for the giant, all troops swiftly proceeded to the caves. Finally they got their hands on all the weapons they had hidden there : guns and bullets, swords, pikes, canon balls and other equipment for combat, which had been waiting for months now, safely wrapped under water. It was still early, but they had not a moment to spare... With their ships almost so heavy on their way back, Stockytown’s Armada went South, almost West – so that the ships coming from Kastel-Pancia would only see them in the distance. Once they had crossed them, all the ships slowed down on the waters, to change sails : presenting the baron’s colours and arms with the dragon eating a grown man – to lure the authorities in Port-Lyfraim.

  The captain commanding the fleet from Kastel-Pancia had been surprised to see ships from Stockytown so far out of their way and schedule, but with no means to communicate with them, he could only move on and complete his mission... The port authorities, on the other hand, were amazed as watchmen announced that their ships were coming back so soon. But they didn’t identify for friend or foe, recognizing the sails in the morning fog... The docks were quiet at this hour, so the attack was all the more sudden, and Kastel-Pancia gave little resistance.

  After an hour or two of fighting, investigating the fortifications and taking over all strategic points, the commanding officer surrendered and was locked in prison with a few others. The captain still didn’t waste time to call for victory.

“All ships move on as requested to the following harbors. The whole coast will be ours by sundown !”

  When the other ships finally came back from the giant’s place, there was no sign of any disorder or violence in town. It looked like any other morning. The captain and crew were welcomed as usual – only to be made prisoners, a moment later. Stockytown’s victory was complete. By the end of the day, all harbors from Port-Lyfraim to the Southern border of Burgstijn were under their control !

  Such fast-paced military action, unprecedented in Stockytown’s history, caused enthusiastic celebrations all over the land. Those months of sacrifice and hunger, with only two desserts after a meal for the sons of noble families, had not been in vain : Their territories had doubled in size – they ruled over all the lands in the East ! They would take all the natural resources in the mountains for their own use, push their own products, raise new taxes, make those Northern peasants their servants... Everyone’s minds were running wild. It was the beginning of a new era of prosperity for them. The merchant’s guild was praised like no one had ever been praised ! On its first official session, all the new, young and proud members of the guild had been feasting so much that the thinnest among them had grown well over 350lbs... They established a few new rules for the future.

“Now that we have secured the coast, our armies will proceed from all harbors to the baron’s castle, so his treasure will be entirely ours !”

“Huh...”

“Ooof...”

“Motion’s passed !”

“What about the giant ?”

“What about him ? I thought we were done with this crazy business. And I’m not giving away third helpings again to feed that beast...”

“Hold your guns ! Everything has gone according to our plans, so far... But if the giant didn’t eat his fill, chances are that he would venture to the East again, looking for food. We don’t want to risk being in his way, like the baron’s army !”

“Huh... I guess you’re right.”

“We don’t want him to be in our way either ! That giant must stay where he is...”

“The giant must be fed more !”

“Motion’s passed !”

“Huh... Will that be enough ? I mean... Let the giant stay closer to Sacka-Graez, so we can attack the baron’s castle without being disturbed.”

“Yeah... The closer we get to that castle, the closer we get to him. Feeding him is good, but we should actually keep him busy eating !”

“All parties agree, then. The giant must be fattened up more !”

  As a result, Stockytown launched a new program to really forcefeed the giant. They started with a few drastic measures, only allowing Kastel-Pancia to provide more food to be sent to the Unknown Forest, while they used the same ships to send troops to Port-Lyfraim and march further into their lands. Soon, thousands of soldiers were attacking the peasants in the hills from both South and West. What little resistance they opposed was immediately crushed, although there were only few capital executions. Stockytown needed their peasants to keep on working. Within a few days, the whole Western regions of Pancia were occupied by Stockytown’s army, and military relays started to be established to lead the way to the baron’s castle.

  Everything was happening so fast as the merchants’ guild had hoped, and their project regarding the giant was immediately followed. Even their objectives were met at once : Every morning, fifteen ships overloaded with rich food would leave Port-Lyfraim, followed by fifteen more ships before noon. It had to be enough to keep that hungry giant busy, eating and drinking all day...

  Stockytown could focus on the progress of their troops in the hostile Northern lands, now, as the Fall was near – and it felt like Winter up there, which would probably make it more difficult to proceed... They had only overlooked a few problems with the populations in the South, their neighbours in what used to be Pancia – who suddenly discovered that Stockytown was not setting them free from the baron’s iron fist so much that they were taking their previous master’s place, with only new taxes, food shortage and slavery to look forward to...

  Those rash decisions had also made them lose all credibility in the Council... In Burgstijn-at-the-Seams, news regarding Stockytown never failed to make the Lord-Mayor and his council of noble sons angry. They protested, called for some sort of conference, but with no result. Sacka-Graez officially supported Burgstijn in its complaints, but open war was yet to be voted.

“What else can we do ?” a noble son asked, not wanting to get up from his chair – a comfortable recliner where he could sip on his favourite milk-shake.

“If we don’t lift a finger, we can at least pretend...”

  Burgstijn’s troops started gathering at the border, threatening to attack in the South, where Stockytown’s defenses would be low. Soon, thousands of soldiers could be seen camping by the river, hanging out in the sun, supposedly training or manoeuvering. To get through the day, they would go steal farmers from the enemy’s side, and bring back sacks of flour, grains or potatoes. Then they would always be on potato-peeling duty... After a few days, officers could see through their eye-glasses that troops from Stockytown were getting ready as well. But no order was given, no messenger sent to them. Soldiers went on with their games. Peasants reported other robberies – Stockytown’s retaliation, to be sure !

  Soldiers spent all day peeling, frying and stuffing themselves full of taters. This uneventful occurrence was notified to the press as the “Spud War”... Even the war correspondant had put on 15 pounds during his stay to interview Burgstijn’s new heroes and watch them in action !

  From the little number of soldiers positionned by the Zipper river, Stockytown didn’t seem too interested in facing Burgstijn troops, at the moment. They were only defending their position. The Lord-Mayor wondered if that was possibly a trap. Reinforcements could always come from small towns in the vicinity... The council of noble sons told their generals to wait, and not rush into any dangerous expedition. They would hide troops in the villages, ready to back them up in case of emergency.

  The youg council in Stockytown had not overlooked the menace to their border, but they were a lot more concerned with what was happening in Pancia – or, to be more accurate, why nothing was reported to them, after two weeks of military occupation.

  The population in Pancia was only using a clever technique to resist against Stockytown’s presence in their land. They called it the “stomach province”. When some barbarian people chose to burn the crops and food supplies, and destroy anything that might be useful to the enemy while advancing through fields and villages, they preferred to welcome the enemy with a huge feast, let the soldiers party and get drunk, offer them more food than they could consume, treat them like victors and masters until they all passed out. In the morning, they would all wake up with a hangover, stripped from their uniforms and trapped in a pigsty !

  Every peasant in Pancia would keep some special sty ready, just in case, to trap officers and troopers alike... When they would be sober again, all soldiers would be treated as prisoners – or rather, treated like pigs : always locked up in there, teased and baited through the bars, and fed large amounts of greasy pig slop to grow fat and out of shape, totally unfit for combat.

  In less than two weeks, Pancia had turned into the “stomach province” so well that it had swallowed, engulfed and digested hundreds and hundreds of soldiers of Stockytown, who were now lost with little hope of being set free. The council was appalled at the news...

“We can’t send more troops to break their resistance. They would get trapped in the “stomach province”, just like the previous ones... And I’m pretty sure that half of them would even be tempted to be defeated !”

“Ooof...”

“What can we do ?”

“We could...”

“Huh...”

“Nuh huh...”

“Hmmm... Huh ?”

“I said Nuh huh !”

“We... Huh... We’re screwed !”

  The first secretary broke that uneasy silence diplomatically – with a loud belch.

“We send them the boar !”

“The... what ?”

“The boar ! Rob the boar.”

“Dude...”

“Huh ?”

“Come on, not the boar...”

“Who’s the boar ?”

“Oh, he’s an M.D.”

  Rob “the Boar” Styson was an M.D. all right – a Major Douchebag. He was some sort of a legend among his friends, except he didn’t have any... The Boar had earned his nickname in high school, according to some of his classmates, after he had bullied his way up to get the lead in the musical Porky and Beth... Or maybe his horribly off-key singing was the reason ? No matter how it had started, Rob had established himself as "Alpha male bully" on campus. He would tease and hurt and harass anyone weaker than him – which soon proved to be everyone around him... Basically, he was a pain in the ass, until puberty kicked in.

  The Boar’s only good quality was that he had an insatiable appetite for food and sex, with special talents for both of them that were simply off the chart. The Boar should have been expelled from Stockytown University after his first term : With a school file so full of complaints and reports for bad behaviour that it looked like a turkey multilayered sandwich, grades so bad they were looking up to zero, the shoolmaster didn’t need to give it a second look. Then there was a rumour about him taking drunk students to his chamber, tying them to the bedpost and doing what he called the “tasty nasty” – which seemed to involve funnel-feeding his victim while having sex. That was new, in those days, actually unheard of. Even in “partner napping” classes, there was no mention of bondage or funnels...

  While the schoolmaster expected more complaints, he recieved letters from rich, influencial parents who advised him to let the Boar stay until the end of term... Knowing the students in Stockytown U. he didn’t need subtitles : The Boar could have been officially elected “favourite slut on campus”. He was only forbidden to participate in the pie-eating contest : It could be overlooked that he was helping sons of good families to grow fatter and happier, but he wouldn’t go stealing their thunder in their final exam !

  That decision was kept a secret from the Boar for three years. When he got the full picture, he was naturally enraged. To be honest, he was fatter than most of the guys he had fed, and he still had that incredible appetite... Unfortunately for him, he didn’t belong to the wealthy circle of cousins and nephews and parents that ruled over Stockytown – which made it too easy to call him a son-of-a-bitch – and after three years enjoying Life in the fat lane, the Boar was kicked out and left with a miserable job in the administration, stamping papers...

  Chances were that he would be resentful. Of course, he looked bitter when he was summoned by the council, but they explained that it would be his moment to shine – a real, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity ! He would command the next army ready to take over Pancia by land, and he would be fully in charge. No questions asked. No comment. They knew that would work, since it was pretty much the way of the Boar...

  The very next day, five hundred soldiers marched to the first villages in Pancia. A huge feast was ready for them, and the peasants didn’t oppose any resistance, only pretending that all the previous soldiers had moved on to another place up North... The Boar sat at the feast and told everyone that all the food was his. If his soldiers wanted to join him and eat, they would have to find their fellow prisoners first ! That was enough to make the soldiers angry and aggressive with the peasants. The Boar didn’t have to give further orders to threaten, gather, tie down, twist arms, burn houses and sack the whole village... Only an hour later, a dozen soldiers were set free.

  They were given warm blankets and covers. Those poor guys had some trouble standing up, after spending two weeks constantly on all fours. They were also fatter, much fatter. Even young troopers were now chubby-cheeked with sagging potbellies, looking more like prized hogs rather than soldiers !

  The Boar considered everything and had the farmers whipped for trapping his men like that. Then he announced that all fallen soldiers and prisoners would be sent back to Stockytown as heroes, and take a son or a daughter from the family with him in exchange, to be the soldier’s personal servant once he would be back in his home town. Another soldier would stay in his place, to make sure that the peasants behaved and followed orders. If anything happened to him, if there was just no news or letter from him in Sotckytown, the peasant’s children would be killed. News were to be expected on a weekly basis.

  The whole village protested, but they were reduced to silence. Finally, the Boar let everyone go to sleep, under strict surveillance. Early in the morning, he left with enough soldiers to crush the next village, using the same methods.

  When his policy of slavery and exchanges was known in Stockytown, it sounded really strange. Slavery was okay, but the Boar shouldn’t expect soldiers to write, when they barely knew how to read... Still, after only a week, the post office was swamped with letters to or from Pancia. Parents were too anxious about their children, whether they might be fighting in Pancia or working in Stockytown. The operation was a success : There were no more soldiers left in captivity or missed in action. Furthermore, the constant flow of messages going to Pancia and back was blurring the line around the border : Pancia was becoming effectively part of Stockytown.

  The Boar was also sending more food than ever to the giant, from the massive expropriation of lands and plundering villages. The whole loot would be brought to Stockytown, to be cooked into fattening meals and shipped to the Northern shores. Port-Lyfraim had remained under control, and was now a great harbor, of major importance. Every day, the giant could expect sixteen ships coming his way for breakfast and lunch !

  The news regarding Stockytown’s successful invasion of Pancia had just reached Burgstijn, where it caused much distress in the council of the noble sons. The Lord-Mayor had always expected that Stockytown would succeed in crushing such a rural state as Pancia. It was an easy prey, so he didn’t look surprised. While everyone was crying out loud, swearing and cursing around the table, he let them carry on without a word. It was hard to tell if he was bored or lost... The younger members, who were all coveting his position, had been whispering for some time about the first signs of senility in their well-respected Lord-Mayor. They were all the more surprised when he called for a young, chubby valet to bring certain long-prepared document to him, signed it and gave it back with a few sealed envelopes. Silence had come back inside the great hall, and when the lord-mayor was done, he announced with a solemn and authoritative voice :

“Gentlemen of Burgstijn, we are now at war with our neighbours from the other side of the Seams.”

  The first operation that needed to be carried out, in order to take Stockytown by surprise, was to get to the first toll towers by the river. There, a few chosen soldiers would kill or capture the night watchmen, so the nearest garrisons would only notice the presence of the enemy when it was too late.

  Being a watchman wasn’t the most exciting job in the world. Years and years of peace between Stockytown and Burgstijn had reduced its duty to such a formal administrative routine that no one really considered it as a career choice... Since the positions on the border were strategic nonetheless, it was one of the highest paid assignments in the army. Even so, Stockytown didn’t get any volunteers to take responsibility of their three bridges and toll towers...

  Watchmen were only required to play the trumpet – the bugle, to be precise – every morning, then at noon, and every evening. They would spend the rest of the day on top of the highest tower, looking out for any suspicious movement from the other side of the border. That was it, so it was most important that the guy in charge would have perfect eyesight. All watchmen were recruited among the youngest members of the Army. They were generally the ones with the lowest grades – or the worst bad luck... Their job was so notoriously annoying that the poor devils were allowed to snack, eat and drink while they would be on duty. It was also generally know, but voluntarily ignored, that the guys on watch would always be shirtless during Summer, if not entirely naked, sunbathing alone in their towers...

  Watchmen were also recruited among the thinnest young soldiers, in the hope that they would carry on their duty a bit longer. Long, dull hours on duty, going around in small circles, made the boys take their frustration out on food : plenty of snacks, great meals, drinks and more snacks ! With only a few steps to go up and down during the day, they were pretty much forced into being lazy asses, so it was considered “normal” that a newly appointed watchman would gain 60lbs during his first six months. It was actually part of the mission statement : “Quick weight-gain and premature obesity to be expected” – after two or three years as watchman, a boy would be already too out-of-shape for any other military job, except in headquarter’s office, dealing with papers and rubber-stamps...

  Spies from Burgstijn had been hired specifically to connect with those watchmen and make friends with them, crossing the border for some innocent business and offering the guy to join them when he wouldn’t be on duty. Of course, loneliness was the rampant curse for a watchman... How could he resist spending hours at the local tavern, drinking pint after pint of beer on those guys’ tab ?

  During the day, spies would still do their job if they succeeded in tempting the man with a few pastries, cookies and sweets. Their mission, in general, was to keep him lazy, overeating and bored to Death, at the top of his tower... In some cases, spies were even able to keep track of the weight and size of their victim !

  When the Lord-Mayor finally gave secret orders to take all the bugles away, all watchmen had been properly “prepared” for the occasion. More late-night binges, more food left for them to munch on – even spiked drinks and chocolate milk to keep those guards full and sleepy...

  One of them seemed to be the easiest prey, and he was in charge of the tower and toll bridge by the Seams River, in the South – a key position on the map, since it was one of the closest towers to Burgstijn, leaving Stockytown far behind in the country... The young guard currently on duty had been designated for it no less than three years before. His name was Mike, and he had always looked out of place in such a stern, stiff job : Cheerful, active, laid-back, trusting, polite, innocent... He was quite tall, and strong – and skinny as the army required – but that was it, and he would never get rewarded for anything he did there.

  Mike had responded well to his newfound friends’ invitations from the start. An impressive beanpole with wide shoulders and a thin waist, weighing a pitiful 140 pounds, the young watchman had proved to be quite the beer-drinker, with a solid appetite to make matters even better – or worse, considering what his “friends” had in store for him... They didn’t waste time to almost adopt him, spoiling him with loads of pastries and doughnuts filled with jam, Stockytown’s best products, leaving boxes of chocolates by the door when he would get up to observe, having whole meals delivered and offering him little snacks all day long. Mike appreciated all those attentions, so he always ate everything to the last bite – thinking that maybe his friends missed him just like he was missing them, just standing there for hours under the Sun...

  After six months, Mike had already put on the usual 60 pounds... except he had established a new record, at 80 pounds ! The 220 pound watchman only started to look plump, but after a whole year he was quite chubby, tipping the scales at 300 pounds. Of course, his inquisitive friends thought it was a perfect moment to celebrate, and proceeded to feed him full.

  After three years, the poor guard had not even learned his lesson : He was just so nice, cheerful and confident as ever. Gluttony had got the better of him too : He was massively overweight, and too large to get through some of the passage ways in his toll tower... At 550 pounds, Mike was probably the fattest watchman Stockytown had ever seen ! Burgstijn spies were rubbing their hands together, watching him take a nap right after a few minutes in his guard duty, huffing and puffing from walking up the small flight of stairs. Mission accomplished : There was a totally inefficient boy on duty...

  The attacks started in the North, by the Great Lake. By noon, Burgstijn recieved good news : All the watchmen’s bugles were sent to the council as trophies, and troops were already marching up to Stockytown. The Lord-Mayor was presented with three bugles after lunch, then with a fourth one in the afternoon. The last one was still to be seen by dinner time... A messenger was sent to the Southern tower, to know why Mike’s bugle was so strangely unaccounted for.

  That messenger stopped at once when he saw that the enemy was approaching, having crossed the Seams and reaching new positions closer to the Zipper river. He rushed back to Burgstijn to send in the infantry...

  Mike had been on duty all day, feeling bored out of his mind. He had finished all the boxes of doughnuts and chocolates hours ago, and he was feeling hungry for dinner by now ! It was such a quiet evening. Surely he could join his friends in the tavern by sundown ? The thirsty stud was thinking about it when he heard a soft, creaking noise. A ladder had been posted against the tower, from a lower level. Whoever that could be had no right to go up there. Holding on to his bugle, Mike stood still, remained silent and let those strangers come up.

“I’ll give them a proper welcome, Stockytown style !”

  When the first soldier from Burgstijn reached his level, Mike gave him a big belly bounce, which made the guy lose his balance and fall on top of the soldier coming after him, then those two fell on a third guy and they landed on the small troop of well-fed soldiers still waiting to climb...

“Don’t forget your ladder” Mike said, pushing it away with one foot. Then he blew his bugle and called forth all the garrisons within earshot. Burgstijn’s retreat was a mess, and most of their soldiers were caught in less than an hour !

  This heroic deed and single-handed victory caused much commotion on both sides of the Seams. It was revealed to the public that the Lord-Mayor’s plan had failed, and the “battle for the bugle” was developed to become the “battle for the bulge” – initially due to a mismatch in Stockytown and Burgstijn newspapers, but kept for historic purpose, considering the circumstances around Mike’s heroic resistance...

  The general situation was still more favourable to Burgstijn : Four towers taken meant four paths to Stockytown already secured by their army. Stockytown had reached the Zipper only to be forced into a halt. Their troops were outnumbered, and crossing over when the liaison with other armies was cut would be foolish... After a few days, all the troops stopped advancing to set up camp in the country.

  The council congratulated the Lord-Mayor. A man in his eighties, who was only waging his first war as head of the state, he had shown remarkable command. In the same realistic manner, the Lord-Mayor asked everyone to consider internal troubles as well as the conflict with their neighbour.

  An increasingly heavy and more wide-ranging burden of taxation had been recently applied, through three poll taxes levied between Spring and Summer, that were first spent on expeditions to feed the giant – an adventurous operation with little success so far, according to most noble sons... – now military expeditions against Stockytown. All this contributed to the general discontent. There was a deep-felt resentment against the governing class in the lower levels of Burgstijn society, which the Lord-Mayor didn’t totally ignore…

“And how are we doing with our affairs of the state regarding the Giant?”

“Everything is going on as it was first established and agreed...”

“Would you consider that the beast is fat enough by now ?”

“Your gracious honor, might I remind you that, for the last few months, we estimate that Burgstijn has been sending almost two tons of various foods every month ? With the other lands also sending food, this meant that the giant had to be forced to eat four to five tons of food every week. If we consider that he is a 100-foot tall creature, which would be in accordance with his cook’s testimony, it should still be more than enough to fatten him up. For a grown-up, 6-foot tall man, we have calculated that it would be like being force-fed 40 pounds of solid food every day... No matter how strong this giant used to be, no matter how unnatural his metabolism may be, he should be large and obese by now !”

  The council of the noble sons was right in their calculation. In the Mountains, the giant was still eating meal after meal, and munching on “snacks” all day long... With the food supplies increasing constantly, the huge beast was growing fatter and fatter – and faster in the process !

  The village had finally organised a long round of feeding spots, from the giant’s sleeping valley to various locations in the forest, in the mountain, by the streams and lakes, back to the village. All the food delivered on the shores would be divided in equal parts to be carried to each spot. That operation kept every man busy, and so the hungry walked from feeding place to feeding place for his breakfast, holding his empty, overhanging gut and rubbing it after each step – then they would follow the same round for his lunch and dinner...

  All that walking around and activity seemed to please the giant a lot : he looked happier than ever, and very healthy – much to Mark’s pleasure. Still, the giant was devouring so much more food than before, and with no apparent effort, that his walk was always paced and ponderous. No matter how much exercise he got, the giant was still growing large, round and obese... Mark and the others were a bit worried about it. The athlete inside the giant was clearly losing the battle against his glutton counterpart.

“Well, we can only hope that the harvest will be bad...” they would say in turns, when the weather seemed to indicate it would be a good year for crops, hops and grapes.

  In Burgstijn-at-the-Seams, the cooks were currently visited by the Lord-Mayor. It was no official visit, although the matter in hand was of the utmost importance – strikes in the kitchens !

  The lord-Mayor had been clever to keep his visit a secret, and discuss with the angry cooks who were facing impossible work hours, with increasing overtime and such high demand that they couldn’t possibly satisfy... Once they were done with their complaints, and whining about growing thin – definitely not what they had signed for, even when they would be requested to cook for the giant ! – they were asked a great number of questions, suggestions on how to improve their situation and so on... After two hours of such small talk, the atmosphere was a lot less tense. The Lord-Mayor had presented himself as a weary old man, who needed to be told everything slowly and softly, with great care for details. He was still very shrewd about all the “hidden benefits” and “privileges” cooks had always counted on, which used to be generously ignored but couldn’t be claimed so bluntly.

  For the last month or so, Burgstijn cooks had been overwhelmed by the great amounts of food, especially Burgstijn pies, to be sent to the giant. They admitted now that they had taken the easy way out : instead of cooking all the meats slowly and carefully, they fried everything in deep pans of oil or lard, and poured the greasy content into the cooking pot ! The result was barely acceptable, in everyone’s opinion, but if it was only meant to stuff the giant beast fatter...

  The Lord-Mayor approved of their methods : Efficiency had never been their strong point. This could be quite encouraging for Burgstijn. Before leaving them, the grand old man gave their head chef a thick envelope, containing pages and pages of secret documents. He persuaded them to open the envelope and follow the written instructions only when he would tell them specifically. The cooks were mostly reassured : their negotiation had been a success. There was work to do – and a certain giant to be overfed to immobility !

“I certainly hope that the harvest will be good, this year !” cooks would tell each other, hoping that they would get more than leftovers from their kitchen, to grow decent paunches again...

  The generals in command of Burgstijn and Stockytown’s armies agreed to meet on neutral ground, at the confluent of the Seams and the Zipper rivers, by night. They only had a small retinue with them. After the usual salutes, both men went on to examine the current situation at the border.

  Burgstijn’s attacks had been successful in the North, where they had established secured positions on the coast, and taking over a few strongholds in the land. At this moment, it would only take three days for regiments of their artillery to find Stockytown within cannon reach !

  On the other hand, Stockytown soldiers had proved more resistant in the South. The front corresponded pretty much to the initial lines at the border, where both generals were standing now. Then Burgstijn plans had failed, after the “battle for the bulge”, and this heroic act of resistance had boosted the soldiers’ morale. Almost all the land between Seams and Zipper was now occupied by Stockytown, who menaced Burgstijn-at-the-Seams just the same. All this looked like a lot of effort wasted for little results...

“What can we do now ? To defend our capitals, we will be forced to maneuver in circles and attack each other from our opponent’s initial position !”

“This would be ridiculous but I know how our council works. They only care about themselves...”

“Huh... Same here.”

  Both generals sighed, and took a good sip of beer. Young prisoners were serving them, thin boys from villages they had conquered. In fact, they looked skinny next to the ample, strong, well-fed bodies of such high-ranking officers. Burgstijn general wiped his bushy beard clean with a small towel. He was in a good mood. As it turned out, this secret meeting was more pleasant than mere negotiation : After years of politics and groveling at the feet of noble members of the council, he had found a valid interlocutor, on the same level as he was.

“May I speak to you frankly ? I don’t want to waste any more of my men’s lives.”

“I couldn’t agree more. My soldiers are just so precious to me as yours.”

“Huh... Besides, with the recent cuts in our budget, I couldn’t face another bill from the dry cleaners !”

“I know... Seriously, grass stains and blood ? Grease spots are hard enough to get rid of, as it is !”

  After a few more drinks, their conversation was a lot less formal, and bordering on real camaraderie. Even then, the matter at hand was not totally forgotten.

“Those idiots expect us to provide a good show, right ?”

“And in wide screen too ! Uurgh. Charges, pitched battles, pillow fights...”

“Hmmm, I guess they would suspect mock battle... We need something stronger than just skirmish and a few gunshots.”

“Strong, shmong ! We need something NEW... That’s all they ever notice.”

“Huh... What then ?”

  It was a good question. Taking a decision was already something of a challenge for generals, but to come up with actual ideas was beyond them. After a moment of uneasy silence, Stockytown general realized that his servant was sitting on his thigh, a Burgstijn boy that felt a bit out of place : he looked like such a twig next to him – like a sapling on the side of a hill... The general, a bit tousled and tipsy, took the boy’s cheek between his fingers.

“When you’re no longer a slave but a boy from Western Stockytown, you will be a much fatter, plump boy... You’ll see !”

“Hah ! Your peasant boys are just so underfed as ours. When Stockytown is only a village in Eastern Burgstijn, you’ll see those noble sons of your council will still get to keep all the good food for themselves...”

“You don’t say !”

“War changes names and properties, it doesn’t change men.”

“You and I know that war does change a man !”

“And not for the better, for sure... I guess I meant power play.”

“Oh, that always amounts to the same... Fat cats get fatter on different mice.”

“Why don’t we change something about it ?”

“Are you on to something ? I’m listening.”

“This will be our heroic stance. The battle to end all battles ! You go and find a skinny boy among your prisoners. A teenager. Tall one. Not too tall, though. And no more than 150lbs. We will do the same with a boy from your villages. Then we’ll see who gets to fatten them up faster, on our respective delicacies !”

“I will take you on that bet !”

  And they shook hands with great enthusiasm.

  It was decided that both parties would take care of feeding a thin peasant boy for the next two months, keeping them locked in heavily guarded tents in a camp that would later be considered their “battlefield”. Of course, the prisoners would be weighed in and carefully measured, for their resulting progress to decide the outcome of their fight. Feeding methods and encouragements were naturally left to the appreciation of each party, although prisoners should only eat and drink local products, a true testimony of the victorious country’s skills at getting people larger and fatter...

  Any piece of information regarding this matter was considered classified. Both councils in Burgstijn and Stockytown agreed to keep it a secret, for the time being, and allow full budget to the project. As a result, enormous loads of quality foods were delivered next to the appointed tents, only a few days later. There appeared to be more coming from Stockytown, which was closer. In Burgstijn-at-the-Seams, the Lord-Mayor sent secret orders to his chefs, who started cooking and delivering such unusual, tasty food that everyone’s interest was aroused...

  The boys had been chosen in the meantime, among the poorest prisoners – both standing around 5’10, weighing a miserable 148lbs and looking really shy, facing a crowd of boastful, loud, aggressive soldiers. They were only told about the bet and their personal “mission” for the next eight weeks as they were pushed into their private tents. The thought of finally eating a full, tasty meal soon vanished when the soldiers in charge started force-feeding them !

  Officers from Stockytown had resented Burgstijn’s self-proclaimed superiority for so many years that this boy they now held in a tight grip would become their pig and slave. They treated him accordingly, both spontaneously and following their commander’s orders. From the moment he sat on his stool in the tent, the young peasant from Burgstijn was brutally stuffed. Cakes and pies were crammed into his mouth, whole pancakes dripping with syrup and butter were rolled up and forced into his throat. And the boy was instructed to gulp down faster and open up again... He would get bloated on beer bongs and heavy cream-shakes every evening, and soldiers around him kept on teasing him, poking and baiting him to force-feed him more and more food. Guys would take turns to push pastries and cream cakes into the prisoner’s painfully stretched-out stomach, shoveling large spoons of chocolate mousse into his mouth, but the poor, overfed boy didn’t get a moment to rest. By the end of the day, he would be crying, his heart pounding in his chest and his belly almost ready to explode ! Even then, he was left under surveillance, and his guards would bully him to have him munch down cookies or suck butter toffee while he was lying on his back, on a soft mattress...

  This particularly heavy and forceful diet was very demanding. After only a few days, the prisoner looked exhausted – but he was also much fatter. He would still get sick sometimes, from hick-ups or dizziness, and he couldn’t help throwing up a bit when he was under too much pressure... It seemed to work anyway. After two weeks, the general came to visit him and was very pleased to see his stall-fed boy with a remarkably enlarged stomach, fuller cheeks, a thicker neck, broad back, wider butt and growing love handles.

“Carry on, officers. There should be a handsome reward for you, when this battle is won... I want that boy so round that he won’t see his own shadow when he stands with his back turned to sunset !”

  And so the guards were free to harass their young prisoner with name calling, slapping his body and feeding him increasing amounts of the most fattening foods Stockytown had to offer...

  The boy’s resistance had been crushed pretty early on. He was responding much better to being fed twelve whole meals every day, and he gulped down gallons of beer and cream without struggling so much... Of course, he had grown fatter and fatter, to the point where he was reduced to a soft ball of blubber by the end of his two months in captivity. Surely, victory was on their side !

  When the sun came up on the morning when both prisoners would be presented to be weighed in and compared, the camp was in such a state of excitement that it looked more like a market day or a big party for both armies than a battlefield where their fate would be decided...

  When all soldiers had gathered around the two prisoners’ tents, and judges had brought special scales to weigh them in, a drumroll announced the beginning of the “battle”. Both boys, chubby, shy and blushing, came out of their little prisons for a few heavy steps to the scales. There was a general whisper among the soldiers...

“Damn it ! They look just as fat...”

“No way ! Our prisoner was fattened up more !”

“Our prisoner was fattened even better !”

“Show us on the scales !”

“On the scales ! On the scales !”

  Stockytown’s prisoner stepped up, looking around and avoiding everyone’s look at the same time. He was completely naked, of course, after outgrowing all his clothes like Burgstijn’s prisoner... Small weights were moved in front of him, a long way past his initial 148lbs – 200... 250... 300...

“434 pounds !” the officers announced loudly to the assistance.

  That result was recieved with cheers and a jubilant war cry from Stockytown. All their efforts had paid off – and quite remarkably so : a weight gain of more than 280 pounds was really something !

“Your turn, boy.”

“Skinny, skinny, skinny...” soldiers hissed from Stockytown’s side.

“Shut up !” Burgstijn would shout back.

  The poor boy looked pretty much the same size as the first prisoner – or was he possibly just a bit rounder in the gut, just a bit chunkier in the butt and cheeks ? officers were proceding carefully to record his weight without suspicion. Weights were swiftly moved, and the numbers were going up – and up : 250... 300... 350... 400...

“Wait a minute...”

“Is there something wrong ?”

“No, no... It’s just... I mean...”

  There was a short silence before both judges read and announced

“448 pounds !”

“...What ?!!!”

  Burgstijn soldiers were so amazed that the results had to be given again to let them cheer and cry out for victory. A weight gain of exactly 300 pounds was just unheard of, in such circumstances ! To think that a peasant boy would even grow that much was simply insane. And now, they had a new young hero to celebrate, making Burgstijn-at-the-Seams effectively victorious for the first time...

  Again, the press made it very official. While Stockytown’s newspapers protested, wondering “how they even made it that big”, they didn’t deny the fact that they had lost the game. The rumour they started, however, was that maybe Burgstijn had come up with some secret “weapons of massive weight gain”...

  On the other hand, Burgstijn’s reporters were beaming with pride, writing for historical purpose how those brave soldiers had “adopted” a poor, underfed boy from Stockytown and turned him into a fully plump, round son of Burgstijn ! His enormous gain was merely a testimony of his wish to become their subject, and that event would be remembered in History books as the “Battle of the 300” !

  Diplomats would take over from here. The Lord-Mayor presided at a magnificent banquet, with all the noble families present to pay their respects to him. It was a really grand evening : a splendid buffet, a huge dinner, late-night drinking party games... Everyone was in a splendid mood, although the question

“But is it true that we have some sort of secret food that helped our boy grow so much fatter ?”

seemed to annoy the Lord-Mayor more than anything else. He would answer to it politely, but the subject certainly displeased him.

“Why, our cooks are simply more skilled than any others...”

“Burgstijn’s food is the best there is, and we make no secret of it !”

  After three in the morning, the Lord-Mayor left his guests discreetly to go back into his private chambers. When he was no longer in his formal gowns, he sat by the bed and opened a drawer. There was a miniature portrait, showing a young boy, around 12 years old, with promising good looks. The Lord-Mayor caressed the image with his thumb and whispered to himself

 “Matthias...”

  And that Fall, the harvest was the most abundant in the history of Mittel Earth.