Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

His mace and shield gleaming like new -- more due to the fact that they haven't actually been used yet, rather than anything he's done to them -- Bufer finally arrives at The Cat & The Fiddle, eager for a hearty second breakfast after the long walk through the snow. He's almost knocked aside as a fuming Tock Chandler slams open the door to the inn with a theatrical flourish.

"Constable Bridger! You dare send your flea-bitten retriever to fetch me?" the bard rounds on the older man, eyes blazing, his every gesture larger than life. "The seed counter wasn't feeling well, and rightfully didn't trust the Glittergoldian to heal him properly, so he told me he'd be heading to bed. He went ahead and gave me that tube so that it could be opened for all to see today."

Constable Bridger glares at the bard.

"I bet. Hopefully Tucker can find out what you've done with the bookkeeper."

"Bridger, am I to understand that you believe me guilty of some sort of non-carnal crime? Let's go straight to Kem House now. My honor cannot stand for such base accusations! The light of Lothian will surely show Renraw Kem there and recuperating from the wounds your deputy failed to prevent and the Glittergoldian failed to heal. Now, if you're done puffing your chest and speaking of that which you know little -- done for now, at least, for that last part may take a long while -- let us move on so that you might get on to something more useful, like telling your daughter she's too young to go to pubs late at night."

"No, you'll stay here. Tucker has orders to round you all up and bring you here for further questioning." The constable glances over at Milos, the party reflected behind him in the bar's mirror. "Something hot to get their brains working, barkeep."

"Further questioning?" Hazel gingerly takes a seat. "I thought you said Tucker gave you a full report last night. What do you think we can add?"

"Perhaps Constable Bridger needs help maintaining his reputation amongst the townsfolk, Haze," Tock says. "He let those awful, dastardly adventurers through, he was unaware of the danger of the burrow, and then we take care of it for him. So, clearly, something must be wrong with us."

Tock rolls his eyes and walks to the rest of the party.

"I brought the tube Kem kept. I dropped by his house this morning and he said to bring it to you all. He didn't have a chance to open it or see what's inside. Anyone care to take a look? Kem'll be sleeping or something all day, I guess."

"Anyone mind if I take a look at it?" Bufer asks, gesturing to Tock with an outstretched hand. "If it's that long skinny thing that robed kobold was carrying around -- which I suspect it might be -- it might answer the question of what those cysts were, and how they done got there."

"Fine with me," Tock says. "Just don't try stealing whatever it is."

As Tock hands over the tube, Bufer raises an eyebrow in response.

"Hello, Pot," the gnome says, "I don't believe we've met. I'm the Kettle."

Shaking his head, Bufer examines the tube carefully before he opens it to see if anyone has tampered with the wax seal or the tube's contents in any way.

"Pardon? I assumed you were talking to the other gnome, priest. I sing. I perform. I impress. I seduce. Look to others for thievery. Now what's the damned thing say already?"

"Hold your horses, hold your horses," Bufer mutters as he examines the tube.

Genuinely surprised to find the wax sealing the tube to be unbroken -- apparently neither Kem nor Chandler thought to open it, as the bard said -- Bufer makes to push his thumb through it to see what's inside. He pauses suddenly with his thumb hovering over the seal, and looks up at the bard with a suspicious frown.

"Wait, what's what say?" he asks. "I haven't even opened it, yet. What makes you think it says something?"

"Come now, Bufer. You've never seen a parchment tube before? Every time I've seen one of these, it held some documents or scrolls or what have you. Not exactly a giant leap of logic to think that this one is probably much like the others. If there's some ale in there, then I will surely be embarrassed by your gnomish wiles."

"There's ale in it?" Emus perks up. "Hand it over, here. I ain't had breakfast yet."

"Chandler, the day you're embarrassed by anything, I'll eat my nugget." Still eyeing the bard warily, Bufer breaks the seal and peers inside. Inside the tube is a single curled piece of parchment.

The constable makes an impatient noise, and the party becomes aware that Milos is watching them from behind the bar and his wife Jana leans against a post marking the beginning of the staircase to the second level. All is quiet, except for the creak of a floorboard on the second floor.

Tock looks around and pauses for a second.

"What?" he blurts out.

Oblivious, Bufer tugs the piece of parchment out of the tube and unrolls it on the table in front of them for all to see.

The constable looks down at the parchment and frowns.

"I can't read that."

"How surprising," Tock mutters. More loudly, "What language is it, oh learned constable?"

Constable Bridger holds up a hand to silence Tock and forestall the others from speaking.

"Since you all are so good at leaving out important information, I think it'd be best if an outsider translated that. Those look like Draconic runes. Jana, is the apothecary's boy upstairs?"

As the tavern keeper's wife heads upstairs to look, Hazel drums her fingers on the table.

"You keep implying that we're hiding something from you, but you won't say what you think it is. Surely you could give us some idea of what you're looking for, so we don't have to spend the entire day shut up inside these walls."

The constable turns towards Hazel, his peg leg thumping on the wooden timbers of the floor.

"Last night, after I sent off the messenger, he came tearing back a few hours later, with a message from the steward himself, asking if you lot had brought back mirrors. He was quite sure there were likely mirrors in that barrow, but strangely, none of you lot mentioned it."

"Would your curiosity have been aroused enough to ask what he was going on about?" Tosh asks. "Mirrors aren't exactly the kind of furnishings you'd find in a burial mound. Didn't it occur to you that it was an odd question?"

"I am the baron's man and the steward is the baron's right hand. If he wants to know something, I will find it out." Ward's eyes turn on the gnome rogue, his white scar particularly bright this morning. "Your people were wiped out here, when the dragon came, because you did not know the value of working together with your neighbors. This barony shall not pass into history like Treeline did."

"Racism is a horrible thing," Tock says in Gnomish.

Bufer looks up at the constable with an upturned eyebrow.

"A curious analogy, sir," he remarks. "These supposed mirrors pose a threat of dragon-sized proportions, do they?"

"You are not the first adventurers to explore a cairn in the barrow," the constable says. "If the steward is this concerned about them, I daresay there's reason. The baron is a powerful wizard, praise Lothian, and knows things none of us do or perhaps can.

"So no, I do not find the analogy curious, especially when your party still has not told all that you know about the mirrors."

He looks over at the stairway, wondering what's taking Jana and Leach's son so long.

Kem House is dark and silent as Tucker and Emmerson approach. But then, Kem House is almost always dark and silent. It's no coincidence that the house, one of the oldest in Maidensbridge, sits smack in between the homes of the constable and the town bailiff.

Emmerson watches the few remaining winter birds soar over the apple orchards to the north toward Green Mountain in the far west, wondering what kind of omen they bring. He is lost in thought when Tucker mutters something ugly about the house and snaps him out of it.

They knock the enormous clapper on the sturdy oak door, but there is no immediate response.

They wait for a few moments, frustrated. Tucker breathes a heavy sigh and grunts that they check should elsewhere in town. As the pair turn around, they are met by Rando Kem, a gangly child with messy hair, no shirt, missing teeth, and wild eyes.

"He says to say he's sick," the boy utters. "He says to say he's not to be bothered."

Tucker and Emmerson glance at one another, eyebrows raised.

"He says to say I'm to keep you 'otherwise occupied.' He says to say I'm to have a candy if'n I do it right."

The pair's eyes go wide.

* * *

Across town, at Kramer's General Store, Renraw drops some gold into the Lars Kramer's open hand.

"The rest when I return," the wizard says. "I may require the, uh, steed overnight."

"Steed, ha," Kramer laughs. "Right this way to the 'steed.'"

The stable is relatively neat, but there's enough straw that Renraw's fear of hay kicks in. Thus his eyes are clenched tightly when they reach the stall containing the shaggy dwarf pony he's just rented. Kramer's young son Rutiger gives the pony a couple of loving strokes with a brush before shooting Renraw a look that says she's all his and to bring her back none the worse for wear.

"His name is Applesauce," the small boy says.

Renraw peeks one eye open long enough to grab the reins and lead the pony out of the stable, flinching at the occasional crunch under his heel.

He clumsily throws a leg over the top of the animal that, despite being physically able to carry much more weight, seems to balk at her new passenger. Renraw still feels the ache in his bones with every movement.

"Beast!" Renraw cries as the pony wobbles, "Steady, beast!"

Rutiger shudders and worries for his friend, watching Renraw wide-eyed in horror.

"Forward, animal! Forward to the Baron's Road!"

It was in this way that Renraw and Applesauce left for Middleborough.

* * *

"Oh, for the love of Lothian! Emmerson, around the back, quickly!" Tucker orders, as he brushes past Rando and bursts through the unlocked front door.

"He says to say he's not to be bothered!" Rando calls out in protest.

The pair sweep through the rooms, both upstairs and down, but find no sign of the wayward wizard. Rando, a finger firmly entrenched in the upper reaches of his nose, still stands slack jawed on the front lawn when the two unwelcome guests emerge from the house.

"Kid, I'll give you two candies if you know where your cousin's gone. Three if we catch him before he gets there."

Rando offers no response, other than to offer his newly extracted finger to the pair. Declining this fine display of hospitality, they begin following the footprints in the snow. When they near the town proper, however, the track becomes too muddled to discern.

"It looks like he was headed toward the stable, but that has to be a feint. He'd never go there, not with his fear of hay."

Emmerson stops dead.

"Fear of hay? The stuff they put in mattresses? Who's afraid of hay?"

"Oh, Renraw is. Come on, let's get to the tavern; I'll tell you the story on the way.

"See, it all started when we were all kids ..."

Tucker finishes the story just as the two reach The Cat & The Fiddle.

"And thus," Tucker concludes, "His fear of hay. Simple."

"Amazing," Emmerson breathes, shaking his head in disbelief. The pair step inside. "Good morning, folks.

"Constable," he bows his head slightly in salute, "I'm afraid Renraw Kem is nowhere to be found."

"What? He told me he'd be recuperating today!" Tock squeaks, whipping his head around in shock.

The constable gives Tock a bland, skeptical look.

"Come in, gentlemen. These folks were just waiting for you to arrive to explain all about the mirrors you found in the barrow." He turns toward the stairway. "LEACH! GET DOWN HERE, BOY!"

Having been kicked out of Ella's room, Katadid is immersed in the task of touching each handle of the doors on the second floor of The Cat & The Fiddle when the constable bellows up the stairs after him. Jana Forman sticks her head up the stairs a moment later, jerking her head angrily down at the common room. Katadid blinks at her and races down the stairs, coming up short when he sees the mass of people waiting for him below.

"Did ... was ... you or I?" he asks, his mouth opening and closing like a trout in the bottom of a rowboat.

Tock is immediately angry.

"Why is my cousin here? He's done nothing, gods damn it! Why is he here?"

Katadid flinches, and runs one hand through his thinning hair while the other taps against the banister in patterns of five. The constable sighs, his body language suggesting that, even though it's not yet even 9 a.m., it's already been a very long day.

"Leach, come here and read this scroll, if you can."

Katadid taps five more times and slides his way past Jana, his eyes on the piece of parchment in the gnome's hand. Never taking his eyes off the paper, he twists his way past the dwarf at the table, between the deputy and paladin, takes a long step over the ranger's knee and reaches over to take the parchment from the gnome, navigating his way past the bodies seemingly without looking.

"Ella was simply having some feminine troubles. Father mixed some St. Ecaterina's Root and kinksberry bark. Should do the trick." His eyes shine as he scans the parchment hungrily.

"Come on, nerd," Tock says, "And tell the people what I can already read."

"What you can read? Ugh!" Grunting in frustration, Bufer leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and tucks his chin into his chest, muttering just loudly enough in Gnomish for the others to hear him. "I think we might as well be up front with him. No doubt the paladin and the deputy have already told them what they know, or will soon at any rate. Might as well look 'neighborly' and play along, I figure, at least initially. Any objections?"

"Sounds fine to me, I suppose," Tock replies. "The local rats will sell us out anyway. May as well find a way to get something out of this, even if it means giving something else to this ass. Sorry about not translating this document, but I feared retribution from Constable Dickweed. Rest assured it's not of much interest to anyone that can understand me now."

Bufer looks sharply up at Tock, his eyes flaring. Leaning forward, he slams both palms on the table and shouts at him angrily in Gnomish.

"No hard feelings! Besides, all may not be lost, yet! There may yet be an opportunity to keep the mirrors out of the constable's hands and make a tidy profit, besides! Play along for now, and I'll fill you in when we can talk more freely!"

As he shouts the last word, Bufer makes an exceedingly rude gesture at the bard, and flops back into his seat, glaring at him.

"Easy now, folks," Emmerson says soothingly. "No need to get all bent out of shape."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd understood what he just called your sister," Bufer mutters.

"They are just words, friend Bufer. I give them no power to harm me or mine," he smiles.

"I didn't mean no offense," Tock shrugs. "You've lived with her."

Bufer rolls his eyes and mutters in Gnomish again, almost under his breath.

"Tosh? Hazel? Does this sound amenable to you? Reckless and the dwarf will take some convincing, I reckon, but we can always fill them in later."

Katadid's hand stops twirling the tube and sets it on one of the tables. He looks up suddenly and turns toward the northern wall of the inn, his eyes narrowing.

"Seventy-nine. Plus one. Perhaps."

Katadid pushes his way past the crowd toward the entrance. He exits out into the bright winter morning and makes his way to the northern wall of the building. He speaks over his shoulder to those following as he begins taking measured paces toward the cemetery.

"Bring a shovel," he says.

The group follows Katadid outside, confused as to what the apothecary's boy is doing. Emmerson bounds off with long-legged strides to the Stone House to borrow a shovel.

"Wait, is that related to this scroll, or has he just gone all elfshot again?" Tucker asks, glad the constable doesn't have time to dwell on all the things his deputy had forgotten to mention in his report the night before. "You know, I'll never forget the night he was standing out in the center of town, trying to count raindrops as they fell. Took four of us just to drag the boy inside."

"Damn your eyes, Kat, don't go digging up the town! We don't even know what inn they're talking about!" Tock says, chasing after his cousin.

The constable races after the group, making surprisingly good time with a missing foot, although the effort is visibly straining.

"What did that note say, Leach?" he calls after the boy.

Hazel lags behind, holding one arm close to her body and places a hand on Bufer's shoulder.

"Say, Bufer, if you get a chance, I'd appreciate if you'd check the bandages again when all this 'excitement' is over. No sense getting an infection, eh?" She leans in closer, speaking more quietly in Gnomish. "Don't see the fuss over mirrors, myself, but you've been a friend to me. I'll follow your lead on this one, so long as it doesn't get me in trouble with my folks."

Bufer nods and the pair hustle after Tock, who spots them and slows just enough to be able to listen.

"We arranged for a cart from Wit's End to meet us at the barrow," Bufer says hurriedly. "We were going to tell y'all about it at the Cat, but with the Constable pokin' his nose in, I didn't get the chance. Rubik's a collector, always has been -- you should see the room he's filled with trophies from his own adventuring days -- and he's offered to pay handsomely for them. I doubt he even cares if they're magical or not. It might not be as much as we'd get on the open market, but it's a damn sight more than we'll see from Bridger and his sheriff, that's for sure."

Katadid stalks on at a feverish pace, eyes flickering between the parchment and the road. Emmerson rejoins the group, shovel over his shoulder. Katadid stops suddenly, having counted out the number of paces apparently described in the note.

"Here," he says quickly. His eyes manically dart across the page as the paladin begins to dig. "Constable, have there been any artifacts or relics missing from holy temples as of late? I realize it may be hard to notice a missing piece but apparently one has been stolen and buried two hundred strides away from an inn where the thieves met someone by the name of Tiberius. Any help or information as to who that name belongs to would be useful, of course."

Katadid's lips stop moving long enough to bring the parchment to his nose and inhale deeply.

"Less than a year old. Ink hasn't begun to flake yet. There may be some time. Where did you find this? We apparently have 11 days until someone comes to collect the hidden cache. The next step would be to find these 'Owlish Caverns,' of course, which sounds positively EXCITING!"

He looks up to find everyone but Emmerson staring at him.

"What?"

"You guys are all assuming that these thieving delvers met Tiberius or whoever at our inn," Tock says, getting increasingly agitated. "Constable, care to strain that mighty head of yours and try and remember someone named Tiberius?"

"No. And it's wonderfully convenient such an issue has arisen, instead of you all telling me of the mirrors you found in Fibber's cairn. But if you want to do it in the snow instead of a warm tavern, that's fine with me," the constable says. "Tell me, bard, since you can't seem to keep from talking, about the mirrors in the sarcophagus."

"Well, sir, since you put it so delicately, I can indeed tell you some things about those mirrors. They are reflective surfaces, which is to say that they give off such a sheen as to reflect the image of that which is placed afore it, producing an optical effect that would seem to be a duplicate of everything in front of the mirror. Now, scholars have debated for ages about the possibility of 'mirror dimensions' wherein these images we see are just as real as ourselves, but I frankly think that's poppycock, like Ella's so called 'fairies' -- when you and I both know the only fey folk in Maidensbridge reside under the Bailey roof, if you catch my meaning." Seeing the constable's temper about to boil over, Tock gets back on topic. "But we are not here in the snow to speak of buggery, we are here to speak of mirrors. Yes, there were some old mirrors hidden away in the caverns. They looked rather valuable so we intended to sell them for more transportable measures of wealth. Transportable being the very nature and crux of the problem here, as in, transporting heavy mirrors and transporting myself out of this gods-forsaken town. The mirrors, you see, are large and heavy. They also have some sort of carvings on them, avian-themed, owls to be specific.

"Now, before you ask why I didn't mention this before, the answer is really rather simple. First of all, you didn't ask me about any mirrors. Second, after your two bumbling lackeys Grant and Gallaway went and gave you their report, I stupidly assumed they would inform you of the sort of details that we are discussing right now. Surely, were I under your employ and guidance, and if I were the type to run and tell the constable every damn detail of everyone else's life, that's something I would have included in my report. Alas, for whatever reason, your boys didn't tell you. I assumed they did, and that I therefore had nothing of import to add. My mistake. We all make them, from time to time. Just some less often than others."

Katadid pauses and looks up.

"Mirrors?"

"Yes, Kat," Tock sighs, "Mirrors. Cousin Tock and some other folk found some big mirrors in a place not too far from here. We were going to bring them back and sell them, but Ward here seems dead-set on being scared of a bunch of inanimate objects with owls on them."

"Ah. Well, we'll have to have a look at them of course," Kat says sagely, now exhausted after his earlier mania. He walks over to the cemetery gate and taps it three times before walking back to watch if the dig reveals anything. The ground is frozen, as it's been a long winter, and the digging is slow and difficult.

"Can the rest of us please go do something else while you fools dig up the whole town on a hunch?" Tock asks.

"We should check with Ella," Hazel says. "No doubt she'd remember strangers in the tavern. At least that way we'd know if we're digging in the wrong place."

"Right, I'm going back to the pub," Tock says. "If anyone else needs me, that's where I'll be."

Emus ambles after the bard.

"Seems to me the main concern is why Bridger and his bosses are so concerned 'bout some mirrors that don't belong to none of us. We didn't take 'em from the barrow. They're still there if they want to go haul 'em outta there themselves."

"It's enough to make a fellow think about the virtues of a criminal career," Tosh says, walking along in the dwarf's shadow.

Hazel stands watching the digging a moment. Emmerson, to everyone's dismay, has begun to sing. She turns to the apothecary's son.

"Hey, Kat? What was it the parchment said about 'Owlish Caverns'?"

"What? Oh, right. Simply that there was to be a meeting there on the 15th of Birth to exchange the artifact. I would be rather interested to see that. Perhaps if we can procure an invisibility spell. Then, again..."

He trails off again.

Back at The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus sits near the fire and waits for his breakfast to arrive, confident his companions would have come and gotten him if anything important was going on.

A man taps on his shoulder. A look up at the man's face shows he hasn't had much sleep: It's the messenger who has gone from Maidensbridge to Middleborough, Middleborough to Maidensbridge, Maidensbridge to Middleborough and now Middleborough to Maidensbridge once more, all in the space of less than 12 hours.

"Where's the constable got to? Message from the steward."

He pats the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder, and Ragglus is sure he hears the clink of coins.

"Sworn t'secrecy, I was," Ragglus says, looking up at the man appraisingly. "You look like an' official sort, I suppose he won't mind me tellin'. I sure am hungry tho', feels likes I only ate dinner evening last! I'm sure i'd remember much better if one o' Milos' fine deluxe breakfasts was in my belly..."

* * *

Wincing at Emmerson's singing, Constable Ward Bridger leaves the graveyard, herding everyone but the paladin back to The Cat & The Fiddle. He seems unsurprised to see the messenger, who has collapsed into a chair, looking as though he's ready to lay his head down on the table and fall asleep right there. But instead, the messenger hands the constable a sealed note and the saddlebags, which jingle again.

The constable breaks the seal, eyes scanning it quickly, then glancing up at Ragglus and the other adventurers trickling into the room. He snorts and then shrugs.

"Just after dawn, the sheriff, the constable of Middleborough and several deputies visited Fibber's cairn and retrieved the mirrors, which they have taken to Midwood Hall for safe keeping."

He puts the saddlebag down on the table and opens it. Reaching inside, he pulls open the drawstring on one of the leather sacks inside.

"For your voluntary service to the baron, the steward has sent along a sum of 500 gold pieces to be distributed between you as a reward."

He hands the five leather sacks to Tucker to distribute.

"You take care of this. I can't handle any more of this in one day." He turns and faces the adventurers, clicking his heels together, the wooden peg knocking against his boot. He stiffens and shoots off a half-salute. "You have the thanks of the barony."

As the constable leaves the tavern, Bufer lowers his head and shuts his eyes tightly.

"Argh!" he mutters. "Rubik and Master Barennackle are not going to be happy."

Ragglus eyes the sacks and grunts.

"Anyone else feelin' like a blind whore kicked out of the barracks with a pouch full a coppers instead of silver?"

Tucker dumps the coins on the table and starts making nine piles.

Emus scoops up his share and goes back to eating his delicious breakfast of apple cider, applesauce, apple sausage, and an apple omelet with gusto.

* * *

Meanwhile, Renraw and Applesauce bounce along the Baron's Road toward Middleborough. Despite the discomfort of the journey and the terrifying smell of hay about the beast, the wizard is grinning from ear to ear.

He and Tock had done a masterful job peeling off the original wax seal from the scroll tube, taking the scroll of wizard spells from inside, faking up a note involving imaginary bandits and a nonexistent rendezvous and sealing it up once more. There was no point in having the scroll taken out of his share of the loot when he could get it for free. Selling the potions from the cairn at the House of the Transformed Toad would mean even more gold in his pocket he wouldn't have to share.

He was sorry he was missing seeing all the good little soldiers and crucifix-kissers whip themselves into a frenzy over the fiction Tock cooked up last night at Kem House, but he was sure the bard would be able to recount the joke in hilarious detail later.

"A fine joke indeed," Renraw laughed.

But it would prove to be much more than a simple joke.

Morning breaks on Birth 15. The spring thaw is not here yet, and the wind still blows icy and hard, but it's been snowing less and less. Dark patches of earth show through where there had only been snow two weeks before, although the ground is still frozen hard.

The gnomes' trading post on the slopes of Green Mountain has seen no customers recently, as the Wizard of Green Mountain has been away, presumably off in Kem. The kobolds have been little-seen, as the cold weather has kept them in their lairs except during the warmest days, when the little creatures wear broad-brimmed hats and scurry about their business quickly, the bright sunlight bouncing off patches of snow and ice dazzling their eyes.

In Wit's End, preparations have begun in earnest for this year's Tootenfest, and they have ordered a number of machine parts from Grail Keep, which now sit in Kramer's General Store, waiting for the gnomes to arrive and pick them up.

The Moss River is still frozen over, but the ice in the middle has gotten thin, and the water can be seen and heard rushing by beneath it. The residents of the Barony of Midwood have begun taking their tools out of winter's storage and oiling them for the new year and spring clothes have begun to have their moth holes darned in the hopes that soon, the heavy clothes of winter can be shed for another year.

The worshippers of Valarian, including Ella at the Cat & the Fiddle, have been leaving out small wooden cups full of milk or small sweet foods for the faeries, whom Ella says have been starving all winter. Certainly some residents of the Tulgey Wood have been enjoying the gifts: Sparrows and other birds have been seen picking the cups empty.

This morning, though, a cold wind blows from the southeast, and for the adventurers who entered Fibber's Cairn two weeks before, the wind brings a faint whiff of those ruins to mind.

* * *

Hazel Sawyer slips out of her house before her family wakes, snatching a cold breakfast from the remains of last night's supper and munches as she walks. Maidensbridge is still quiet as she passes through; she nods to a few early risers, but doesn't slow to chat. She enters the woods where the party began its journey to the barrow, and slows her steps to find the deer trail she followed then. She double-times it down the trail, delighted by the smell of the wet greenery and the fresh, cool air against her face. Eventually her enthusiasm settles into a more sedate contentment, and her pace follows suit. Once she reaches the hill leading up to the cairn, she begins to scout around for a concealed spot overlooking the entrance.

* * *

Katadid Leach didn't want to touch the moss on the tree, but he had to, no choice in the matter. But when he turned around he found himself lost. The fevered focus that had gripped him as he marched through the melting snow and frozen ground has dissolved and fragmented into spurts of coughing as he tries to orient himself. He is certain that the cairn must be close by, as well as those he was supposed to meet, but he now realizes he never asked if they should meet in town or at the cairn's entrance.

Renraw Kem approaches Katadid from behind, hoping not to startle him but unable to think of a way to prevent it.

"Er, hello!" he says, bracing for the other wizard's jump. "Did you know you're facing the wrong direction? And you're, well, about 300 yards away?"

Katadid's jump is a coughing fit by the time he returns to earth once more.

"Ah, yes, thank you." Katadid seems unsurprised at Renraw's appearance, despite his leap a moment ago. "So, this way? Meetings ... dates. Yes, well, I am perhaps interested."

He begins walking in the opposite direction.

"As am I, Leach," Renraw replies, smiling to himself, "As am I."

He follows Katadid deeper into the Tulgey Wood toward the barrow.

* * *

Emmerson Grant has been thoughtful since the Tulgey Barrow affair. He has had regular conversations with Constable Ward Bridger, regarding moral and upright behavior, and bringing the light of Lothian to those still lost in the dark.

Stepping outside in the morning air, he spots Deputy Tucker Gallaway bustling around Maidensbridge and hustles after him.

"Sorry, Grant, I'm not going," Tucker says as the paladin approaches. "Too much to be done here in town right now, and a vague note on a liar's body isn't enough to get Ward's dander up: With the weather turning warm, he's been up in his tower more frequently, keeping an eye on the slopes of Green Mountain. That leaves me down here on the ground to keep the peace.

"Right now I'm off to find Ella at the tavern; apparently she's got a complaint to swear out against someone. But best of luck. Shine in Lothian's light."

"I shall. I'll keep an eye on them and report my findings," Emmerson says. He turns and jingles off at a brisk pace toward Fibber's Cairn.

* * *

Hidden from view in the forest, Hazel hears Bufer long before he comes into sight over the crest of the hill, his boots crunching through the snow as he approaches the barrow from the general vicinity of Wit's End. In one hand he carries a pack, slung over his shoulder. Clutched in the other is some gnomish breakfast delicacy, looking for all the world like a flapjack wrapped around a sausage and a stick of butter. Wrinkling her nose, and ignoring her stomach's lurching, Hazel prepares to stand up and wave him over, and then realizes with a start that he's walking right to her.

"Morning," he says, once he's within a few feet of her. He offers the end of his gnomish concoction. "Want a bite? It's not all that hot, anymore, but at least there's no apples in it."

"How did you?" Hazel asks, incredulously. "How could you?"

Munching on his breakfast, Bufer points to a rabbit hole not five feet from where they stand.

"Got word from the underground," Bufer explains as he sets down his pack. "You might be invisible to the naked eye, but not to their noses. Don't worry, we're well hidden, otherwise."

"Rabbits." Hazel squints at the burrow, imagining she can see twitching noses. "I'll be darned. Good to know."

Reaching into his pack, he pulls out a largish jar of muddy brown liquid and hands it to Hazel. She finds it surprisingly warm to the touch.

"Here, I brought us something to drink, brewed from some kinda beans my pa brought back from the other side of the Whitewind. He swears by the stuff, got barrels of it stashed away back home. It's a bit on the bitter side, but it'll keep us warm and alert."

Hazel eyes the jar dubiously and passes for now as Bufer rummages around in his pack with his free hand.

"I've also got a pair of dice in here, somewhere, in case we get bored. We're like to be waiting awhile, I figure, and it's pretty entertaining the way Katadid always manages to guess," he breaks off suddenly and looks up at Hazel in alarm. "Oh bugger, where's Kat?"

"Haven't seen him yet. Didn't run into him on my way through town," Hazel says, peering through the branches toward the partially concealed mouth of the cairn.

* * *

The thorns rip into Katadid's clothing but he hardly seems to notice as the two wizards make their way to the side of the hill. He walks around a shrub twice and holds his chest while coughing. It's not until Renraw points toward some hastily piled brush across the opening that Katadid eyes lose their normal glaze.

"Ah, excellent," he says and begins walking toward the entrance.

Hazel bursts out of her hiding place, grabbing Katadid by his sleeve, checking his forward progress. She does a double-take at Renraw, surprised to see him here.

"You went to Middleborough?" she bursts out as she gently steers Katadid to the group's hiding place, carrying a fir bough to erase their tracks with afterwards. "What was it like?"

Tock wakes with a slight pain in both his back and at the base of his skull. The slight back pain is an improvement on the previous night spent "camping." Two days previously, he had decided not to call on Ella anymore. Physical needs of multiple varieties changed that decision quickly. He quietly sneaks a glance to the other side of her bed to find she was already gone. That makes the morning easier. Tock stretches and climbs out of the bed. On a plate and under a bowl is a breakfast she had made for him. One day, Ella would make a better man very happy.

Tock eats hungrily, washes himself off and headed downstairs to main room of The Cat & The Fiddle.

"What day's it?" he asks.

"Fifteenth of Birth," Milos Fordham says, glaring at him.

"Aw, hells," Tock sighed.

* * *

Ragglus loiters outside the entrance of the tavern, his face wrinkled in thought. He vaguely remembers someone mentioning something to him about Birth 15, but can't for the life of it remember what was said. Perhaps if he had been more attentive, perhaps if something bright and shiny hadn't brightened and shined to steal his attention, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Was it even Birth 15? Confused and hung over, Ragglus enters the tavern, intent on finding some answers.

"Ragless, my friend," Tock calls out happily. "Good to see someone I don't loathe! You're not joining the fools on their crusade are you?"

Crusade, Ragglus thinks to himself, until it finally hits him like a sack of rocks. The barrow!

"Yeah, promised ... one of 'em. They ain't left yet, have they?"

"Can't say as I know, Ragless, I've avoided any mention of it. I've got no interest in digging up moldy artifacts of that religion. As long as those others are around, there'll be no profit in it. Sit, have a breakfast ale. If you're lucky, Ella might make some of her delicious egg concoctions." Tock looks over to the bar and sees the barmaid distracted. "Ella, darlin? What's wrong?"

Tock and Ragglus follow Ella's disgusted gaze to Emus, who has just sauntered in while digging around in one nostril with a thick finger and a satisfied air. Realizing Ella's eyes on him, the dwarf grins broadly.

"Mornin', Ella! Whatever you got on tap for breakfast, and git me one of your egg doodads, too!" He wanders over to the table with Tock and Ragglus. "Mornin', ladies. What's new?"

"I heard those Druids taught you to read," Tock says. "Maybe they're not completely useless after all."

"Eh," Emus shrugs. "Book learning's nice and all, but it's not so great. You spend too much time with yer nose buried in a book and the rest of ya suffers. I mean, just look at Renraw and that cousin of yers. A stiff fart could knock the both of 'em over."

"Did the two stiffs go with 'em," Ragglus asks, through a mouthful of food, "Or are they plannin' on talkin' things to death?" Ragglus lifts his hands and waggles his fingers in poor imitation of spellcasting.

"What's this, now?" Emus says. "I thought we'd cleaned out that whole cairn. And those kids went back there by themselves? Dang it."

"Rags and I were just talking about the idiots going back to the barrow to catch the whoever stole whatever from that stupid church," Tock says. "I know my gods damned cousin was going with the Glittergoldian and Renraw was going, too. I thought better of him. I don't know about the others. Screw 'em, I say. What you say we figure out a better way to earn some coin?"

"I got as much use for coin as I do for books, as long as I have enough of it to put some food in my belly," says Emus. "I guess I'll head out there after MY BREAKFAST GETS HERE and see what sort of trouble they've gotten into. But if it's coin you're after, it seems ta me that if'n they do find anyone out there, they won't take too kindly to church-thieves. You've had pretty good luck with finding stuff off of corpses so far!"

Emus cackles at his own joke as his breakfast arrives.

After repeatedly stopping and reorienting himself, Emmerson finds himself approaching Fibber's Cairn at last. He's careful with his footprints, trying to step on protruding rocks and logs. He is also trying to walk silently, but with the armor and gear he carries, it's not working well.

He pauses near the barrow entrance, looking for the others.

"Damn you, paladin, we're trying to be clandestine, here!" Renraw hisses from nearby hedge. "Come back to the hiding spot with the rest of us, or you'll scare this Tiberius character off!"

"Hail, folks," Emmerson blushes as he carefully moves to the hiding spot. "Lothian willing, I did not break your cover. Anything to report so far?"

"Nothing but all of us making enough noise to wake the ..." Hazel stops suddenly. From the mouth of the cairn, there is a very quiet but distinct scraping sound audible over the sound of the wind. "Did you hear that?"

She eyes the Emmerson and his gear, which is still rattling softly, and points a finger at the group.

"Stay out of sight and be quiet while I check this out, yeah?" Hazel sidles up to the mouth of the cairn, peeking around to see if she can spot anything and listening intently, trying to get a better idea of the sound. It could be a sarcophagus lid opening, it could be a shovel clanging on valuable relics. She squints into the darkness, wishing she had Emus' cave-sharp eyes.

The wind has caught a crumpled piece of paper, which scrapes back and forth in the wind, and is partially hidden behind the shrubs by the entrance.

Surprised, Hazel reaches down and unfolds the paper, finding a note written in Imperial: "Tiberius, our contact at Wit's End has informed us that our meeting place has been compromised. Re-meet at the pub in Goblin Falls on the 21st. The item will be there, as will the sacrifice, thanks to the gnome."

Hazel carefully tucks the note into an interior pocket of her cloak, frowning.

Back at their hiding spot, Bufer looks at the crouching pair of wizards to his right and sighs. This is going to be a long day.

"Katadid," he says gently, placing a hand lightly on the wizard's arm, "What did you think that you saw in the cairn before Hazel led you away?"

"Something small, yes," Katadid says, craning his neck to watch Hazel's progress, "But light colored. It could be an animal, or something ... other. Or perhaps someone's familiar, in which case our mystery merchants may already be here, and aware of our presence. It would be prudent to investigate while others watch the entrance."

Hazel returns to the group, apparently frustrated.

"Whatever the sound was, it's gone now." She settles to the ground with a thump and stares out through the branches.

"Familiar," Bufer repeats sourly, then wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Which means a wizard. Terrific."

Watching the cairn entrance, the gnome heaves another sigh. I wish Tosh were here, he thinks to himself. A rogue who could move right silent-like and see in the darkest of darks would come in real handy, right about now.

"All right," he says aloud instead, "I reckon Hazel's the most able scout of us, here, but I'll be damned if we're sending her in alone. No offense, lass, but I just weren't raised that way. Why don't the rest of y'all wait here and keep watch, and the two of us will go in a ways, see what we can see?"

Katadid seems alarmed at the prospect of not being one of the group walking into the cairn.

"Wizard ... heplful with the ... er ..."

"Yes, you're very helpful with the stammering," Renraw scolds. "Now be a lad and keep quiet. Remember, we want to be able to hear their screams so that we'll know when to run."

Hazel nods at Bufer.

"Pop in and pop out at the first hint of anything suspicious. If anything gives chase, Emmerson and the boys can give it a whack and a zap after we run out," she says. "Probably need a light, though, and I don't fancy firing up a torch for a little look-see."

"Just one more thing," Emmerson says. "Hazel, do you see any prints leading into the cairn?"

"Ground's too cold," Hazel says. "Won't hold prints when the mud's frozen solid. Could be I'll be able to pick some out in the dust further in, but out here, no. If you hear us yell, be ready to give something a solid thrashing."

"Ready," Bufer nods, putting down his sack and accepting a lamp offered by Emmerson. "We'll be back in two shakes. And Kem's got the right idea, for once: You hear anything untoward comin' from that cairn, the lot of you bolt. No sense in all of us ... Anyway, let's go."

Hazel leads the cleric into the cairn, staying toward the wall to avoid scuffing any marks in the dust, but she doesn't hold out much hope of finding useful tracks: The cairn's a regular thoroughfare, what with kobolds and Fibber and the party and the baron's men collecting the mirrors.

She walks at half-speed, moving as silently as she's able, until she reaches the first set of alcoves. She keeps a firm grip on her battleaxe as a precaution, but her nerves are twanging like Tock's banjo.

As Bufer and Hazel move into the cairn, the gnome recognizes immediately that one of the reasons he had wanted to come back was missing: At the edge of his low-light vision, it's clear that the kobolds' bodies are gone.

"Garl's golden nuggets," Bufer hisses under his breath. He grabs Hazel's arm, drawing her to a halt, then holds up one finger to her as he strains his hearing, listening for any indication of movement.

Unsure why they've stopped, Hazel nonetheless heeds Bufer's warning, listening as well, but as the silence stretches, she opens her mouth to whisper to the cleric. Bufer shakes his head sharply as Hazel begins to whisper, and motions for Hazel to lean towards him.

"The corpses are gone," he explains, in a barely-audible whisper. "There may be kobolds afoot. Shhh!"

That said, he closes his eyes and listens intently for the telltale sound of clawtips clicking against stone. After a moment, Hazel drops to one knee beside him and begins whispering in fits and starts, her voice shaking slightly.

"So, these holy relics the thieves have taken, I figure it's not likely you'd care much about their religious significance, seeing as how your prayers aren't meant for Lothian's ears." She stares at the floor as she talks, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You an' Tosh are the only gnomes I know more than in passing, an' y'all are both right good sneaks. But I'm askin' ya for truth now: Did y'all tell anyone about today's meeting? About the note, an' the relics an' all?"

Bufer tears himself away from straining his ears for sounds of kobolds in the barrow and looks up at her with his pale blue eyes.

"Master Barennackle," he says in a barely audible whisper. "I told him, just as I tell him everything ... well, most everything. Though I doubt he cared overmuch: We don't, as you say, spare much thought for Lothian or his holy trinkets. He gave me leave to accompany you an' Kat, but I expect he considers it an affair for you big'uns, not really our concern. He might have mentioned it to Lord Rubik in passing, but so far as I know, it ain't gone beyond that."

"I think it has. Gone beyond that, I mean." Hazel reaches deep into her cloak and pulls out the crumpled sheet of paper, nervously smoothing it before tilting it for Bufer to read. "The noise near the entrance wasn't any folks inside the cairn, it was the wind whippin' this about in the undergrowth. Now, maybe I'm making a mistake, trusting you, maybe not, but I figure if there is some kind of spy running about your house, you need to know about it."

Bufer stares at the note in Hazel's hand in open-mouthed shock, looks up at her, then back down at the note. After a moment, all thought of caution plainly forgotten, he lets out a steady stream of gnomish invective which makes Hazel blush to the heels of her boots.

"Hazel, you have my word, as a gnome of the cloth, and as your friend, that I knew absolutely nothing about this!" He gestures uselessly at the note with his free hand. "I appreciate you've no reason to take that word. Like you said, both Tosh and I have demonstrated a certain propensity for, well, being gnomes, but I'm asking you to believe me. Of all who've partook of this damned fool adventure, you're the only one who I trust implicitly, save Tosh."

"The note says there's a sacrifice, but it doesn't say whether the gnome is bringing the sacrifice or is the sacrifice," Hazel says. "What if Tosh overheard something he shouldn't? Goblin Falls is a ways off for a backwoods Bridger like me. My dad's going to have a fit."

"It's not time to panic yet, lass. We've got time to decide what to do next. As it is, I think I'm going to have to present this to Master Barennackle and Lord Rubik, unless you object. I believe I can trust 'em -- they're both old friends of my pa -- and if we've got a snitch in the family, they'll want to know."

"That's your business -- gnomish business, I mean -- and you'd know better who you can trust than I," Hazel says, tight-lipped. "But if they're the only folks you told before, then maybe you ought to make sure ya don't have eavesdroppers when ya tell 'em, yeah?"

Bufer glances at the note in her hand again and shakes his head at it in disbelief.

"I'll leave it to you to decide whether or not we tell the others," he says, after a quiet moment. "I'd prefer to keep it between us, at least 'till I've hand a chance to talk with my people, but if it'll make you feel more secure ...

"Emmerson's OK, as servants of Lothian go, and hardly anyone takes a word Kat says seriously, anyway. But Kem I trust about as far as I could throw him uphill against the wind with my left arm. Granted, no one puts much stock in what he says, neither, but if he can see a way to profit by this, I reckon he'll take it."

"You're spot-on about Kem an' Kat, sure enough," she says, "But Kat'll babble in front o' Tock, and he's right clever. While we might want him along later, he might go haring off to the Falls on his own if he hears about this. And Emmerson, I like him well enough, but you know he'll feel obligated to tell the constable, and then we'll end up sitting on our duffs again while the baron's men have all the fun.

"I don't like keeping secrets, Bufer. This meeting's near a week away. If your folk can't turn up anything in four days, I think we should tell the others and see who'd be willing to go."

"Now, that said, if there's no bandits or kobolds about, we should probably get a move on and get back to the others," Bufer says. "If you've got the note, there's a good chance this Tiberius ain't seen it yet, which means he might still be on his way. If he does show up, well, maybe this whole expedition weren't for nothing, after all."

"Right. Let's check out those missing bodies and get out of here."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate a quick peek," Bufer says. "Let's get a move on, though. The suspense is like to be killin' the others by now."

Outside, Emmerson remains vigilant and Renraw is still at times and at others he fidgets. But Katadid, on the other hand, looks like a cauldron about to boil over. He has already counted the creaks of each branch on the tree in front of him by the time he speaks.

"You realize ... the message was in Draconic. If the people being met use that as their primary language then perhaps someone who understands them should walk in to overhear anything," he says, waiting for a response from the others, who seem to be ignoring him. "Just saying ..."

He taps out another pattern of five, then reaches over to touch Emmerson's nose. The paladin sighs and brushes the finger away. Katadid fidgets and turns toward Renraw.

"So, St. Feldin's," he says, trying out this "small talk" thing his cousin talks about. "Does that gnome still teach Divination there?"

"And so then," Tock continued, laughing, "We were both singing along, dancing, over there at that booth, right at the top of our lungs."

Something had gotten Tock nostalgic and he was regaling them with story after story. Ragglus was laughing along and so was Ella.

"So who was this lady love?" Ragglus finally asks.

Tock sighs and comes back to earth.

"Some local tramp," he said. "It's a metaphor. A symbol. Don't worry about it, it's song stuff."

But Tock's mood has turned, and he glowers into his drink.

* * *

Hazel smiles, leading Bufer deeper into the barrow.

"You think Kat's started counting the links in Emmerson's chain shirt yet?" She slows just before where she'd expect to see bodies, and begins searching the area for any signs of disturbance. "Maybe something dragged 'em off? It's not like they could just up and walk away, is it?"

Bufer freezes and stares at Hazel.

"Not usually," he says hesitantly. "I think this has been a wild goose chase, lass. Unless you're able to find some sign of how them corpses done disappeared, we'd best get back to the others."

Hazel gestures for the cleric to lead the way out; she throws the occasional glance back over her shoulder as she trails after him, but the barrow is silent and still.

The sunlight stings her eyes as they exit, and Hazel blinks rapidly to dispel the spots in her vision. A bit dispirited by her lack of discovery, Hazel is nonetheless determined to wait all day if she must.

"So, you said you had some dice in your bag?"

Relieved to see some activity, Kat practically pounces on the pair.

"Well? Anything? Describe to me exactly what is inside. Was anything different? How did it smell? Did you locate what may have made the sound? Was there any indication of activity? And those mirrors! When do we go in? Perhaps another trip is in order, yes?"

Hazel stares at the wizard with a dumbfounded expression before replying.

"Er, no. Stone and dust." She ticks off her fingers with each answer, her eyes darting upward as she works to remember each question. "Yes. Musty. No. Yes and no. Didn't see 'em. You don't. No?"

Her lips move soundlessly as she reviews each answer, then nods firmly.

"Yup, that's about it."

But upon hearing the words "you don't," Katadid had turned around and sat down in the snow in the previous hiding spot staring ahead angrily.

Bufer sighs heavily and rubs the bridge of his nose to forestall the headache threatening to build behind it.

"Kat, be reasonable, all right? We don't want to get caught with our pants down in the barrow if and when these people show up, do we? Let's be patient for the time being. The barrow ain't goin' nowhere."

"THAT'S-" Katadid blinks. His next breath turns into a coughing fit, leaving him red-faced and breathless. "Actually, that's ... a reasonable point."

He begins clearing a circle of snow in front of him and then separate the rocks beneath into discrete piles.

"Indeed, our vigil has not even started," Emmerson says, sitting on the ground, placing his sword to the side and locking his eyes on the cairn's entrance. "Barely a full day in contemplation, nothing to it."

"Well," Bufer says to no one in particular, "it seems like all we've got left to do is wait."

With that, he opens up his pack and pulls out his holy Glittergoldian tome of proverbs, psalms and knock-knock jokes. Opening it to a dog-eared page, he settles it in his lap and begins to read, chuckling softly to himself almost immediately.

Hazel sweeps away any tracks she and Bufer made going to and from the barrow, then settles down with the others to wait.

And so the group waits. As the day wears on, they hear some of the trees in the Tulgey shrug off their winter's coat of ice, which comes crashing down through the underbrush in the distance.

* * *

Having grown up hearing his father's tales of adventure with the Imperial Army, Tucker has long dreamt of a more exciting life than the one he had in Maidensbridge. And truly, that's all they had been -- idle dreams -- until he ventured into the Tulgey Barrow and fought the creatures there. Now that he's experienced real excitement, the weight of his ordinary life rests heavily upon him. With nothing of interest or import going on in town, he heads to the small chapel for late afternoon prayer before Lothian's altar.

A hand drops on Tucker's shoulder as his foot is on the first step leading into Maidensbridge Chapel.

"Warm weather," Constable Ward Bridger says. "There are kobolds moving on Green Mountain, heading east towards the forest north of us. Do you have any friends capable of shadowing them without being heard?"

* * *

Katadid was up to eight piles, one coughing fit, and counting.

"And the one-legged paladin says," Bufer reads aloud to the others from his book, "'Do not despair for me, sirrah, for I dost ride side-saddle!'"

Emmerson puts closes the leather-bound book with St. Chausle's portrait on the cover around a finger to hold his place. He's about to ask a question when Renraw interjects.

"I never had much use for women, myself," Renraw expounds. "Of course, I could scarcely keep them away from me at university ..."

Hazel pulls a piece of jerky from her pack and chews silently. With some difficulty, she tunes out the constant jabbering of her companions and listens for the crunch of feet on snow or the rustle of movement against branch.