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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Elsewhere in the woods, Bufer's group of kobolds mutters something, and then ducks under a knot of wood where multiple fallen trees have crashed together, forming a small shelter with an opening less than four feet high, but relatively deep. The kobolds do not seem happy to be in such a cold space, but as Bufer watches, they test its depth with their short spears, and seem satisfied anyone taller than themselves would have a great deal of trouble reaching them or their hostage.

Several hundred yards away, Emmerson continues to race through the forest, his armor jingling, and his breath coming in labored gasps -- his armor was not made for prolonged running. Pick has to clear her throat twice before he hears her, and he has to look up to find her, standing on the thick branch of a denuded tree. She has some strange small items in her hands. Although the paladin doesn't recognize them, he knows what they are: components for some spell. She fingers the holy symbol around her neck with one mitten-covered hand.

"What you think you doing?"

Emmerson carefully keeps his hands to his sides, palms open and facing upwards.

"I wanted to speak to you again." He works to control his voice and breathing "The gnome you hold as hostage saved my life in the cairn a few days ago. I am honor-bound to see that debt repaid. I've come here to offer myself as the hostage in his stead or, if that is not possible, to be held as he is, for until the time our debt is squared, his fate shall be my own."

He unhooks his sword from his belt and offers it up to Pick.

"From one honorable person to another, I surrender my weapon to you."

Pick gives a barking laugh.

"If I not back with my group in five minutes, they slit gnome's throat. We not make new deals now, alone in woods with no witnesses. You go back home to Apple Town and pray for forgiveness and mercy, boy knight. We don't need you making more noise and attracting your guards to us. You follow us again, and you will have broke deal we made with Hazel-like-tree and gnomey blood be on your hands. Now scat!"

Emmerson hooks his sword back to his belt.

"I pray that honorable beings can understand each other," he says. "There is no profit in death, kobold, gnome or human. Perhaps if I offered a gift in gold, to pay you for being Bufer's keepers, say, 50 gold coins?"

Pick snarls.

"You do not understand sticking to terms of deal, boy knight? You are KILLING the gnome!"

"I apologize. " Without another word, Emmerson turns on his heel and runs away.

Cruel barking laughter follows him through the forest.

* * *

Hazel doesn't waste time watching the deputy and his group leave; she's already busy brushing out tracks for what feels like the fiftieth time today. The forest floor is practically clean enough to eat off of by now.

Instead of entering the party's hiding spot again, she searches the perimeter of the clearing. Now that she's just hiding one person, she doesn't need such a large space. A trio of stunted evergreens provides just the room she needs.

She pulls her waterskin from her pack before tucking the bag beneath the boughs at the base of one of the trees. Then she settles in a prone position, hands resting beneath her chin. Her right hand is lightly clasping her hand axe's haft, and her waterskin lies near her left elbow.

All right, Tiberius. I know I'm at the right barrow. But where are you?

* * *

"It is curious you would ask a question to which you already know the answer, but I don't mind answering honestly regardless," Renraw says, waving a hand dismissively. "I hope you'll understand I require certain assurances before I do. If your tribe decides to act on any information I divulge, I need a guarantee that neither myself, nor my home, nor my possessions will come to any harm. Nor," he makes a face, "Nor any of my immediate family. In fact, not only do I want a guarantee that we won't be harmed, but in exchange for this vital defense intelligence, I would ask to fall under the aegis of your tribe's protection insofar as it is possible. If my person or my home were to be threatened by vengeful townspeople or by gnomes or anyone, I want to know that I could count on the aid of you and your tribe, again, insofar as is possible."

The wizard stops dead for a moment, holding a finger under his nose. At first it appears he is deep in thought, but it soon becomes clear that he is only stifling a sneeze.

"I realize, Wormy, that you may not have the authority to make this decision on behalf of your tribe, that you and Pick may have to consult with your queen. But I think you know exactly how valuable what I'm about to tell you is to your people, and you at least have an idea of the likelihood that they'd accept. So what say you?"

Wormy seems amused at something Renraw said towards the end of his offer.

"I cannot promise anything on behalf of ... the queen, especially since I do not know how we could identify you or your family. I was merely honoring the deal your fellow made and has backed out on. If you would like to make a new deal, I would first need the original one honored."

A shiver goes through Katadid at Wormy's words and he lets out a low whimper. His eyes bug out wider than even Renraw's and he begins running his hands through his hair and tapping patterns of five on each tree he passes, slowing the party's progress considerably. As he walks, his upper torso rocks as he mutters to himself.

"It's not even ... not even ... not even ... not even ..."

* * *

Emmerson stops running as soon as Pick's laughter ends, turns around and gazes at the horizon.

At a loss for what to do, he prays to Lothian.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Ducking beneath a stray root as he is led into the kobold's makeshift hidey-hole, Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins glances around the damp, gloomy depression, and realizes this is likely where he is going to die.

Surprisingly, the realization fills him not with fear, but bitter regret. He'll never get to see his sister, Ellyjojobell, grow up into the righteous paladin she longs to become. He hates the thought of High Priest Barennackle finding out his most promising apprentice allowed himself to be captured by 'kobold filth,' as he'd call them. The thought of the pain and grief his death will cause his mother makes Bufer's heart ache deeply.

Mostly, though, it's the failure of his mission that puts the taste of ashes in Bufer's mouth. Although he's never shared this with anyone, not even Elly or Master Barennackle, Bufer has long wished and prayed for an opportunity like this, to be this close to one of the kobolds of Green Mountain, to talk to them, listen to them. Learn from them, and hopefully, have them learn from him, to make the first tenuous steps towards understanding and, maybe someday, peace.

And now, here he was, closer to a kobold than any gnome he'd known had ever been, and he was blowing it! Making stupid jokes and "clever" remarks, the way he always did when he was frightened or nervous. All of his carefully planned, exhaustively-rehearsed-to-the-mirror speeches had abandoned him. Much to his disappointment, instinctual smart-ass remarks were about all he had left. It looked like his father had been right about him all along.

Sighing heavily, feeling the full burden of his failure settle firmly on his shoulders, Bufer looks up and around at his captors.

"All right, so maybe y'all don't understand Imperial," he says, "But I'm betting at least some of you have been taught to understand Gnomish, bastard language though you think it might be. I know some of our more militaristic types have learned Draconic, as a means towards ... well, you know."

Bufer shakes his head softly at the sheer idiocy of it all.

"Look, does anyone have some water, or something? I'm suddenly feeling a little parched, and I'd hate to die of thirst before you lot can think of a more clever way to off me."

The kobolds look at Bufer, surprised. One has his mouth open to say something when Pick returns, sticking her head back in.

"If your friends loved you any more, gnomey, you be dead right now."

She barks a short sentence in Draconic, and the group marches back out. Pick takes Bufer's rope in her hands and yanks him after her. The gnome cleric catches one of the kobold soldiers looking at him once, but that's all.

The group moves into the darker portion of the woods, and Bufer can feel the damp as they approach the Moss River. Bufer smiles despite himself, and glances over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his would-be rescuer.

"You can't blame them for trying, really. They're only humans, after all." He glances up at Pick curiously. "The girl, or the young man with the hammer? Garl knows it wasn't the wizard, that's for damn sure."

Pick says something in Draconic, and all the kobolds laugh unpleasantly. Bufer frowns.

"Oh sure, now you laugh?" He glances over at Pick. "Why do you hate us?"

He switches to Gnomish.

"Seriously, what have my people done to you to make you hate us so?"

Pick never breaks stride.

"Your god attempted wipe out infant kobold race because he jealous. He makes 'little joke' of collapsing great cavern of Darastrixhurthi and almost wipe us out, and only Io saved Kurtulmak and us. Necklace you wear symbolize golden keystone Garl Glittergold pulled from roof of Darastrixhurthi in attempt to wipe out kobolds." She turns, walking backwards a moment, and spits a sticky glob of spit onto Bufer's face, then turns around and keeps walking. "Your god start war. We finish it."

Bufer sputters, and attempts to wipe the spit off by rubbing his face awkwardly against his shoulders. He is only partially successful.

"PBBLLTT! Ugh! No, no, no! That's why kobolds hate gnomes," he says, shaking his head vigorously, trying to dislodge more saliva. "Forget all that for a second; aside from that, why do you, the people of Green Mountain, hate us, the people of Wit's End?"

He makes to raise his hand to tick off his fingers, grimaces as he remembers they're tied painfully behind his back, and has to settle for bobbing his nose back and forth on each point.

"Look, we've never fought, to my knowledge. We've lived in relative peace for years. We've even respected each other's borders, for the most part. I mean, sure, there's been the odd spy, an' some occasional saber rattlin', but that's just what kobolds and gnomes do with each other, it's practically sport. Ignore the whole ancient blood feud goin' on, an' to the untrained eye, we actually look to be pretty good neighbors, albeit really self-involved ones that never talk to each other, an' tend to glare over the hedges a bit." Bufer twists his head to the side a little, this last bit delivered to the kobolds behind him as much as to Pick. "But that can change! I mean the self-involved bit. Just because we've all been told since we were younglings that 'gnomes is bad!' and 'kobolds is bad!' don't mean that's the way things be, not in the here an' now. Why, if you stop and think about it, the humans are a bigger threat to both of us, if they ever decide to kick us out of 'their' barony. If anything we should be allied against them!"

Bufer takes a deep breath, some of his practiced-to-the-mirror oratory finally coming back to him.

"You see," he says passionately, "I have a dream ..."

The kobolds stop to gag Bufer.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Emmerson finishes his prayer, screaming into the air in despair.

"Lothian, if I can help Ebuferpaly, please send me a sign!"

"Hmph. Ye can start by telling me what the Hell is goin' on," Emus says, stepping out of the bushes.

The paladin almost chokes, unsure whether to scream, laugh or cry.

"Emus! Thank Lothian," he finally gasps. "The kobolds have Bufer. I'll explain as we follow."

* * *

"Your deal was with this one," Renraw nods to Katadid. "You asked a very simple question to which there is a very simple answer, one which he failed to provide. As far as I can see, that deal is off. I'm asking you for a new deal, a deal in which you would not only receive what he failed to give you, but so much more. You asked for one number. I can give you that number, I can give you locations, names, schedules, and anything else that you might be interested i-i-in -- oh, excuse me ..."

The wizard begins waving his hand frantically underneath his chin. The sneezes have nearly caught him before they subside again.

"I understand how important Maidensbridge is to your people, Worm. If you ever want to make your move on Wit's End, you'll either need the humans gone from there, or somehow sympathetic to you and your cause. Either way, having an agent there can only benefit you."

Renraw is trying to pace as he usually does during his speeches, but he's finding it quite difficult what with being chained and all.

"As for identifying me, if you've been watching our village as you say you've been, you know my dwelling and I can tell you which it is. Perhaps we could develop a special code or wear identifying items of some sort. We can solve any problem if we exercise a little imagination. Please, think it over and tell me what you think what I can give you might be worth to your tribe."

* * *

As Emmerson explains the situation, Emus' expression grows stormy, and his expression continues to darken until the dwarf finally explodes.

"SUNUVABITCH! IDJIT! DAGNABBIT!" Emus then lapses into Dwarvish, the meaning of which Emmerson can only guess. "You know they'll kill him, right? Even if the lil' bitch keeps her word, there is no way in Hells all them other kobolds is gonna let him walk outta there! And y'all just turned him over to 'em! He walked right up to the choppin' block! Stupid!"

Emus' face is redder than molten metal and his anger nearly as hot. He looks like he's about to hit something. But not yet.

"Let's go. We're gonna rescue the half-sized, half-wit piece o' crap. Take down the leader, first." Emus sets off at a trot, carrying his greatclub in both hands, mumbling to it.

With a nod and a grim smile, Emmerson sets off after him.

* * *

Katadid's anxiety increases, rocking back and forth as though he's being bounced between two invisible walls. He looks manically between Tucker, Renraw, and the kobold. His mantra has now changed.

"One and one. One and one. One and one. One and one. One and one ..."

Beside him, Deputy Tucker Gallaway looks at the sky.

"Hmmm, looks like a storm is coming."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The sound of the angry dwarf's and jingling paladin's approach makes one kobold turn around, and he barks something in Draconic. The other litter-bearers drop the bodies of their dead. Three of them grimly draw short swords and approach to meet the charge. The one who sounded the alarm backs up quickly, pulling out his light crossbow and trying to get a bolt loaded.

Pick, though, grabs Bufer by the hair and drags him behind three kobold warriors standing shoulder-to-shoulder, swords at the ready. She tugs back on the gnome's hair, exposing his throat and slashes it open with a wavy bladed dagger.

"YOU HAVE KILLED THE GNOMEY, BOY KNIGHT!"

The gnome collapses face-first in the snow, blood gushing from his throat into the snow.

Emus finishes his mumbling and his greatclub now seems somehow stronger, mightier, more oak-like than it was a moment before. As he begins another spell, Emmerson charges past him, his longsword glinting in the sun.

The paladin's slash misses the middle kobold, who snarls angrily. All three kobolds turn and attack the paladin.

A wolf appears beside Emus, shaking itself as though wet, but instantly turns towards the kobolds, bristling with anticipation of a fight. Emus, following the wolf's gaze, sees Pick finish casting a spell. She vanishes into thin air, her barking laugh echoing.

The kobolds slash at Emmerson, but their short swords bounce off his shield or are parried away by his sword. In the rear, the final kobold has his crossbow loaded and fires a bolt at Emmerson. The bolt flies past the shield, striking the paladin in the armpit, the bolt finding a gap in his armor and digging deep into flesh.

Hissing in pain, Emmerson looks at Bufer, and tries to fight his way to the gnome's side.

* * *

Meanwhile, several hundred yards away, Renraw continues his negotiation with Wormy, as they, Katadid and Tucker tromp towards home.

Kat's body is a mass of vibrations.

"Oneandoneandoneandoneandone," Kat rants, his body vibrating in his frenzy, "ANDoneANDONEANDONEANDONEANDONEAND ..."

"No new deal," Wormy snaps at Renraw, ignoring the other wizard. "You must honor the old deal before making a new one. Or do you think me stupid, softskin?"

Katadid grabs Wormy, whipping the kobold around to face him.

"ONE AND ONE!" he screams into Wormy's face. "ONE CONSTABLE! ONE DEPUTY! ONE AND ONE! THE DEAL IS DONE!"

Before anyone can reply, the group as one stops: In the distance, they can hear the unmistakable sound of combat.

"They're ruining everything," Katadid moans. "Kem, what spells do you have prepared? Never mind, tell me on the way. They'll have probably killed each other but maybe Pick will live long enough to talk to if she hasn't run off already.

"Deputy, come with us or unlock Kem from the kobold. He'll need his hands. Oh, and I gave important military information to the kobold. That'll have to be addressed at some point. HURRY!"

Kat runs off, leaving the others to blink in surprise at the young wizard's sudden shift from manic to lucid.

"I'll be damned," Renraw mutters, astonished. "Unfasten this shackle, Gallaway, unless you intend to keep me from helping."

* * *

The sounds of an invisible Pick casting a spell fill the air, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, and all the kobolds seem somehow emboldened for the combat.

Then, as one, the two adventurers and the wolf crash forward.

Emmerson hacks at a kobold between him and the fallen Bufer, and the creature screams in pain and rage as the paladin opens a huge gash across its chest.

Beside him, the enraged Emus swings his mighty club overhand. For a moment, it looks like the kobold will dance out of the way, and then the club comes down with a sickening crack, bones splintering loudly and the kobold collapses to the ground, neck snapped, skull fractured, compound fractures causing his blood to mingle in the snow with Bufer's blood.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Emus screams. He's as much of a wild animal now as the wolf beside him.

The wolf leaps forward at the third kobold on the front line, fangs going for its throat. But the kobold gets his short sword up, swatting at the beast's snout, turning it away and allowing the small humanoid to duck and attack.

Pick invisibly shouts something, and the two remaining front line kobolds both stab at Emmerson, ignoring the dwarf and the wolf, stepping over their fallen comrade. The paladin's shield turns one blade away, but he opens his defenses up too far in doing so, allowing the other kobold to sink his blade into Emmerson's unprotected ribs.

The crossbow bolt in his armpit does not dull Emmerson's senses, at least not yet, but the wound to his ribs causes spots to dance in front of his eyes a moment. He's not close enough to Bufer, not yet.

"You did not accept my sword in peace," he screams at Pick, "You will now feel it in the heat of battle!"

There is a twang of a crossbow string as the kobold beyond Bufer's body fires again, once again targeting Emmerson, but the bolt whistles by overhead.

Pick invisibly finishes casting another spell and then almost immediately screams something in Draconic, sounding panicked. The two kobold foot soldiers turn as one, clearly terrified, toward the berserk dwarf.

Emmerson swings his sword at the kobold who stabbed him, but his swing is wild, missing him.

"RAAAAGRHL!" Foam speckles Emus' black beard.

This time, the kobold Emus aims at does sidestep the club, sending a spray of snow, mud and gore spraying across all the combatants and the fallen. Likewise, the wolf's jaws snap on empty air.

Then the kobolds attack.

A crossbow bolt thuds into the thick meat of Emus' shoulder. He avoids a stab from one kobold, but the other gets him, but the weak kobold cannot thrust it far through thick dwarven flesh.

Emmerson, seeing his opening, plunges toward Bufer.

* * *

Tucker quickly unlocks Renraw's shackles. It's a moment before he realizes what Katadid has just confessed to.

"Wait, you what?"

But Katadid is gone, and Renraw is close on his heels. Before he follows suit, however, Tucker tosses the free end of Hazel's rope over a thick branch of a nearby tree, hoisting Wormy a few feet into the air and ties the rope off at the base of the trunk. He glares at the kobold, and hopes body language will be enough to get the message through to him.

"Stay!"

* * *
Emmerson almost isn't aware of the sound of Pick's spell casting as he drops to his knees and attempts to cut Bufer's bonds, a job more suited to a dagger than a sword. But he's snapped back to reality as a translucent pick lashes down through the air at him, biting into his thigh and then jerking back up, preparing to stab down again.

Emus, through the red haze of his rage, is vaguely aware that Pick has reappeared and is heading towards him, her namesake weapon gleaming in the sunlight as another crossbow bolt flies at him, whistling past his head. Then two kobolds stab him at once, driving in their short swords.

"NNNNGGAAAAAAAARRRH!"

He lashes sideways with the club, hitting a kobold squarely in the chest. The beast is stunned, and there's a trickle of blood leaking from between his scaly lips, but amazingly, he still stands. That is, until the wolf buries its jaws around the kobold's throat, which it tears free with a wet ripping sound. The body collapses into the snow a moment later, just as Emmerson manages to cut through Bufer's ropes.

Pick barks something to the crossbow-firing kobold, pointing at Bufer and Emmerson as she closes on Emus.

Emmerson whispers a desperate prayer to Lothian and St. Chausle as he cradles the gnome in one large hand. Light spreads through Bufer's pale form, and his throat wound heals, although the gnome is still soaked in his own blood, as is the snow all around him. Bufer gives Emmerson a grateful look as the paladin gets to his feet.

And then a crossbow bolt hits Bufer in the chest, knocking him backwards in the snow. The phantom pick stabs down at the paladin again, again stabbing him deeply in the thigh.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!"

The conjured wolf returns to wherever it came from at last. Emus rounds on the last of the kobold footman, swinging his mighty club. There is a crunch of ribs being shattered, followed by a soft noise of those same ribs tearing through internal organs and the burbling cough of blood filling kobold lungs. The last of the footmen lays still.

Pick steps over the body of her comrade, but instead of swinging with her weapon, she says a word in Draconic and touches Emus with her mitten-covered left hand. Black energy and a spike of pain flashes through the dwarf, and he feels something within him urging him to lay down and die, but he shakes off most of the effects of the spell.

A second crossbow bolt streaks across the snow, this time penetrating Emmerson's neck and flying on through. It has missed the major veins and arteries, but still, it was all his body could take, and he tumbles slowly backwards and lays still.

Bufer climbs to his feet and struggles with his gag, pulling it down around his still-tender throat.

"Emus! Look out!" he screams hoarsely.

The kobold cleric's hand glows with dark energy again and she swipes her mitten towards Emus. The gnome's warning was in time, though, and the magical spell dissipates before she can lay her hand on the dwarf berserker.

The payment for Bufer's warning comes with a sickening thud, though, as another crossbow bolt hits him, striking him in the gut.

The shimmering pick stabs down at Emmerson's unconscious body one more time with a wet sound before vanishing.

"CRAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Emus takes his momentum from twisting away from Pick's touch and spins, his massive club whistling through the air as it comes, but just as it seems about to strike the kobold, there's a flash and a shimmering field of energy flashes into visibility for just a second, and the club bounces back, sending a shockwave up Emus' mighty arms.

As Emus blinks away the bright spots dancing before his eyes, he sees Bufer laying back in the snow, a second crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.

"Just you and us now, dwarfy," Pick grins.

The kobold crossbowman barks something to Pick, who scurries to the side, giving the other kobold a clearer shot. It's enough: A crossbow bolt streaks at the dwarf, catching him in torso somewhere, buried beneath his beard. Through his haze of rage, Emus wonders if it struck bone somewhere, since it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it should.

Pick growls a prayer to her savage goddess and swings her gleaming pick, sinking it into the dwarf's meaty upper arm, poking it all the way through a moment before whisking it back out.

"NOOOOOOOORRRRAAAAAARRGGH!"

Everything goes red for Emus as he throws her back a half step, blood spurting from his bicep. His rough hands grip his blood-slicked club and he brings it up in a two-handed swing, but the blow goes wide, Pick dancing back out of range.

As she does, Emus sees something getting larger and larger in his field of vision. He suddenly realizes it's another crossbow bolt.

And then it all goes black.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tucker and Katadid can barely hear the sound of Renraw casting a spell as they run toward the sound of the fighting. A moment later, he sprints past them, his eyes watering, his feet spraying them both with mud and snow. The magic keeps him just as sure-footed as he would be normally, and he finds himself running through the Tulgey Wood alone, icy wind whipping past his face and then suddenly, he's bursting into a small clearing painted red with gore.

At the far end, he spots two kobolds stopped over the fallen bodies, the cleric Pick and a male. While Pick roughly searches Bufer, the male leaves off going through his fellows' belongings and stands. He points at Renraw hurtling toward them and Pick looks up. Renraw is too far away to hear their words, but the bottom line is plain: Pick makes an obscene gesture with one hand and the forearm of her other arm. And then both kobolds run.

Renraw could catch them, he knows he could, but when he arrives at the scene of the battle, all such thoughts leave him.

Emus and Bufer lay in the snow, surrounded by red slush, into which they continue to pump new steaming hot blood.

A look at Emmerson tells a different story: While he, too, is surrounded by red slush, no more blood pours from his body. His face is white and pale, his eyes colorless as they stare at the sky.

Renraw drops to his knees in the bloody snow and begins digging through Bufer's pack for his bundle of bandages, needle and thread.

He bandages Emus, yanking them tight around a thick dwarven bicep with a rough jerk.

"You can't die yet, you stupid dwarven bastard."

Over his shoulder, Bufer makes a wet gurgling noise.

"And you, chum," Renraw says, "You can seep mongrel ooze until you've no more to seep. I hope you're in agony."

He glances up, strangely surprised to see Kat and Tucker further off, still running his way. Renraw curses under his breath and moves to help Bufer.

"You don't know it now, gnome, but it won't be long before you're wishing I let you die this day."

A minute later Katadid runs up and collapses on the wet and bloody ground. His body wracked with coughs, he looks toward Renraw, whose hands are covered in blood as he gives a shaky nod.

Kat launches into a coughing fit that lasts a full minute. His clothes getting wet and bloody from the ground, he looks at the carnage around him. He's surprised by the dwarf's presence, but he's unsurprised to see Emmerson in this state. Kat surveys the gnome's barely breathing form and at the reptilian bones, organs, and shattered limbs around him.

"Idiots."

He mutters to himself softly as he searches the area and the kobolds' bodies, finding them picked clean of coins. Later, the group discovers the same has happened to Emus, Emmerson and Bufer. The gnome is also missing his weapons as well.

Kat is still breathing heavily as he turns one set of protective goggles worn by the kobolds over and over in his hands. He holds them up to his own eyes, finds himself barely able to see, and pulls them down. While Renraw finishes bandaging Bufer, Katadid looks to the cold paladin.

"Tombstones eighty. Everything's even, can't have ..." his voice drains away and his face turns back the way they came. "Any odds ..."

He leaps to his feet, only to slip on the blood and fall to the ground again, igniting a new coughing fit. He flails a pointing finger helplessly back in the direction they came from.

Renraw has no idea what has Katadid so agitated, nor does he care. He bundles up the healer's kit and shoves it into Kat's arms.

"You did this. Not a word."

He sprints off before the deputy arrives.

Katadid's coughing fit has finally subsided as Tucker arrives.

"Wormy," Kat gasps, his eyes running after the fit. He climbs to his feet and heads back the way in the other direction at a run, but he soon slows to a brisk walk. There's no reason to run: He already knows what he's going to find.

The ropes that tied the kobold now swing in the cold wind. Scraps of rope litter the ground. The tracks around the base of the tree are a mess of old and new footprints, and where they lead off to, Katadid cannot tell. But Wormy is gone.

He holds the scraps of rope and sighs. The ropes look like they've been both chewed and cut. Kat can picture Wormy twisting around frantically, pulling out a hidden dagger and cutting his way free.

One hand holds the goggles. The other holds torn ropes.

"Bodies," he mutters as he walks back to the cairn, tapping the goggles constantly and touching trees and branches as he walks. "Will need ..."

* * *

A sound. Another. Hazel listens keenly, her body tensing beneath the pines. Her eyes track the edge of the clearing.

C'mon, Tiberius, show yourself.

But the figure stepping into the clearing isn't a stranger. Hazel tries to peer past him, looking for Tucker and the shackled pair, ready to ask the deputy what the hell he's thinking, bringing them all back to the cairn.

And then the dangling rope and goggles catch her eye, and she sighs. Their captive escaped.

My fault. The knots must've been weak. Her hand tightens on the axe. Now we have nothing to trade for Bufer.

There's barely a trace of any of the party's tracks in the snow before the cairn, at least not to Kat's untrained eye. He's not sure where the ranger is either, so he simply stops in the middle of the clearing and speaks loudly.

"The paladin is dead."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Pine branches whip at Hazel as she jumps to her feet.

"He's what? Emmerson? How?" Frustrated, she snaps branches off left and right as she bats them away, forgetting her desire to not leave signs of her presence. "Kat, where? Show me."

She snags her pack strap with a boot and drags it out from under the pines, tossing the bag onto her back, ignoring the needles and sap smeared across the surface. The waterskin gets dropped inside, but the axe she keeps in her hand.

Hazel gestures for the young wizard to lead, her head full of questions.

* * *

In life, Emmerson was mild-spoken, quick to attempt to break up an argument, the first to dry a child's tears and sometimes a figure of fun for Tock Chandler and Renraw Kem for his tendency to help others by beating rugs, carrying water or gathering firewood for near-strangers.

In death, though, Emmerson is anything but peaceful.

One hand still holds his sword. His shield, caked with mud and freezing slush, is still held in the other. Crossbow bolts jut from his body and the raw open wounds in his thigh no longer steam in the crisp air. Soon, frost will form on them.

And his face is locked in an expression of rage, as though still fighting that last battle.

* * *

Katadid's mumblings are essentially inaudible as he accompanies Hazel toward the clearing.

He's mistaken, that's all, she thinks. Just Kat being Kat. He means something like dead, but not.

They pass a tree with more shredded rope lying near its trunk, but the wizard doesn't stop, and Hazel gives it only a passing glance.

Wormy got out of the rope, but what about Tucker's manacles? Is Renraw in kobold claws now, too? How did Wormy get past Tuck?

Hazel steps up her pace, slightly outdistancing the wizard. She breaks into a run at the first sight of blood on snow. The bones and viscera splashed across the ground look nothing like a hunter's kill; they're too messy, too wild and wasteful. Even in the cold, the smell is enough to make her gorge rise. And the bodies ...

The paladin, pale and still. Not a mistake, then. The dwarf, that was a surprise.

He wasn't even with us!

But it's Bufer that sends Hazel hurtling over shattered kobold bodies. She drops to her knees in the bloody snow at his side, noting the bandages hastily applied to his neck and the crossbow bolts rising and falling ever so slightly as he breathes.

Breathing. He's still breathing. Keep breathing, Bufer. I'll fix this, I promise.

She clasps his wrist, hoping to find a steady pulse. A boot appears in her peripheral vision, and her eyes track upward, finding not the wizard she expected but the deputy.

"What happened? Is Renraw their captive? How did Wormy get loose? Where were you?" Anger brings her voice to a near-shout, but it's not Tucker she blames.

"I don't know what happened. We were headed to the orchard when Kat and Renraw heard the sound of fighting. Katadid took off, and I unlocked Kem, who ran behind. I tied Wormy in a tree -- fat lot of good that did -- and followed. By the time I got here, Kat had patched these two up, Kem was nowhere to be seen and Emmerson," he kneels next to the fallen paladin and looks at his friend's seemingly enraged face. "Emmerson was already dead."

He stands up and kicks a kobold in frustration, flipping it from the awkward position in which it had been laying and onto its back, then spits on it and turns back toward Hazel, reacting to her angry tone.

"Of course, I can't follow the damn things. Maybe if someone who knew the woods had been more interested in keeping an eye on Bufer than laying in the mud all afternoon, this could have been prevented! And unless Tiberius showed up before you came over here, then you've really failed at two things this afternoon, haven't you?"

"And maybe if someone had disarmed those kobolds back at the cairn, your friend wouldn't be -" Hazel stops in mid-shout, shaking her head. "This isn't useful."

She shrugs out of her pack and unclasps her cloak, spreading it on the ground beside the gnome. With an arm under his knees and one cradling his neck and shoulders, she lifts him cautiously onto the thick fabric. The whistling of his breath seems unchanged, and she quickly tucks the cloak around his body, taking care not to jostle the bolts in his chest.

"Wait here." She doesn't bother to see if Tucker is listening. "I'll send someone back to help you bring Emus and ... and the body."

Leaving her pack in a heap beside the bloody snow, Hazel lifts the gnome and rises to her feet. She can't see the wizard, but assumes he's somewhere within shouting distance.

"Kat! I'm taking Bufer to town. You can come with me or stay here with Tucker, but don't wander off." Quietly, her voice grim, she adds, "We don't know who's still out here."

She moves off toward Maidensbridge at a hustle.

Katadid, hidden in the shadow of the trees, watches her go, mumbling in assent. He flips the kobold goggles over and over in his hands, staring out across the snow at the bodies, his entire demeanor one of profound disappointment.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Her hands full, Hazel throws The Cat & The Fiddle's door open wide with a solid kick, ducking inside before the door can slam back on her. She gives the tables a quick glance without stopping; her quarry isn't seated there. Striding past the bar, she calls out to Milos.

"I need some strong backs. Ragglus Chaplin? The constable? Smithy Glangirn? And a cart, maybe a wagon, long enough for a paladin." As she disappears up the stairs, her voice floats down to him. "And parchment and ink!"

She carries Bufer into the bedroom across the hall from the parlor and settles him into the oversized bed, stripping her bloody cloak from the gnome's small body and tossing it around her shoulders. Her arms and face are numb, though whether it's from the cold trek back to town or her fear for Bufer, she can't say.

As Hazel deposits Bufer on the bed, she feels a gentle tug on her elbow. Turning, she looks down to find the gnome minstrel Heda Littlelark looking up at her with large eyes.

"Is he dead?"

Beyond her, Hazel can see another of the inn's rooms open; Heda has clearly come back to town to get a jump-start on performing in the springtime various festivals.

Hazel blinks rapidly to clear her gaze; a thin smile on her lips.

"No, not dead," Hazel whispers hoarsely. "He went in my place."

The ranger fidgets a moment, thinking.

"I need ... Rags first. Can't leave them out there alone." She stares down at Bufer. "Wit's End second. Bring Master Barennackle. He'll fix you right up, I know it."

Heda's not sure who Hazel is speaking to, but she looks down at the younger gnome's face and nods.

"OK. The master will know what to do."

Hazel hears the gnome pull on her cloak, lace up her heavy boots and lock the room she's staying at in the inn. Heda all but tumbles down the stairs, yells something unintelligible to Milos and then the front door slams and she's gone.

* * *

Ragglus sits on the lower steps outside Maidensbridge Chapel, in what could only be called quiet contemplation (his serious face offset by an odd belch or a rumbling fart, disturbing more than one visitor as they pass in or out of the chapel). He could have sworn he'd seen Hazel rushing about in the direction of The Cat & The Fiddle, but he wasn't in the mood to follow or test Milos' patience.

* * *

Heda's departure registers in the back of Hazel's mind; she'll have to thank the minstrel later for the kindness.

"Help's on the way, Bufer." Hazel quickly checks his wounds to make sure nothing has re-opened on the trip into town. Reluctant to let him out of her sight, she backs step by step toward the door. "I need to get help for Emus now, Bufer, but I'll get somebody to sit with you until the cleric arrives."

She darts down the stairs, her brow furrowing in confusion as she realizes that the tavern owner has not assembled a collection of strapping young men to help. She stops at the bar, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Well have you seen them? Rags, at least? I was sure he'd be in here. Never mind the parchment, though, Heda's taking care of it. Can Ella or Jana sit with Bufer upstairs until she gets back?"

Hazel sags heavily on the bar; her hands leave bloody smears on the surface. Milos seems unmoved by Bufer's plight, but he makes eye contact with his wife and nods toward the stairs. Jana thumps up the steps, and a moment later, Hazel hears the sound of a chair scraping across the floor in the room she placed Bufer.

"Threw Rags out," is all of Milos' explanation as to the location of the rescue party he was asked to assemble.

"Thank you." Hazel stalks out without another word.

If I were a frequently drunk, lecherous sod banned from the tavern, where would I be?

She ignores the looks from the people she passes; if they aren't stronger than she is or toting a cart, they're useless to her. As she crosses in front of Kramer's General Store, she catches sight of the slumped figure on the chapel steps.

"Rags!" She calls, crossing to him and stopping at the bottom of the chapel stairs. "C'mon, I need your muscle."

As he smirks, Hazel hastily corrects herself.

"I mean, your arms, for carrying. Not me, for Emus, he's hurt."

"Saw hm this mornin'," Ragglus rises slowly, chuckling. "What'd he go an' do, trip on his beard?"

"Took on a pack of kobolds to save Bufer's life. I'll explain on the way. But we need to hurry. I don't know how bad he's hurt or if there are more kobolds coming." She turns and sets off at a run, Ragglus close behind. Hazel gasps out the story as they go.

Ragglus stays quiet, and when they arrive at the scene of the carnage, he stays focused on why he was brought here, even though ever fiber of his being wants to rip the head off whatever idiot decided to do this second expedition without him. They had clearly paid for their bad decisions with blood, and then some. Executing sound judgment he knew he'd never get credit for, Ragglus switches into good soldier mode and does what's been requested of him, kneeling to lift Emus into his arms.

With Bufer and Emus in relatively good hands, Hazel silently approaches Emmerson's body and examines his wounds.

How did everything go so wrong?

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

By the time the party returns to Maidensbridge, the sun is going down, but the hamlet's muddy streets are ablaze with light.

An expedition from Wit's End has arrived and the members are placing Bufer into a covered carriage decorated with painted forest creatures. Hazel hovers nearby, watching and chewing her bottom lip. The gnomes catch the human girl watching them, and murmur a comment quietly under their breath. Hazel notices a surprising number of small animals are also in the carriage, sniffing at Bufer and his wounds, but despite that, the interior of the gnome-scale carriage is immaculate.

The driver of the conveyance is bundled from head to toe in layer upon layer of clothing, so that not even an inch of skin is showing. Once all the gnomes are aboard, what appears to be a senior gnome reaches out, thumps the top of the carriage and says a word to the driver. Without looking back, he gives a precise snap of the reins and the shaggy pony pulling the carriage sets off at a trot for home, carriage wheels crunching through the mud and snow.

Meanwhile, the constable has found a cart of his own -- or rather, commissioned one in the baron's name from Lars Kramer -- and is putting together blankets in the back.

When he sees the party arrive, the constable stands up in the back of the wagon, steady despite his wooden leg, and begins barking orders.

"Get the dwarf inside. Mother Bridger and some of the Glangirn are waiting on Emus. They took over one of the rooms upstairs and are going to patch him up there." The constable's face is a stony mask when he looks down at Emmerson's body in Tucker's arms. "And put him in the cart, lad. We've got a spot of traveling to do."

Ragglus nods and enters The Cat & The Fiddle with Emus, intent on finding those mentioned by the constable.

"Make way, ya rabble," he calls as he hurries through the common room, not caring who is in his way as he makes his way to the stairs.

"You need to talk to Katadid Leach before we go," Tucker tells the constable. "Just before he ran off toward the fighting, he said something about giving away military secrets -- and this was none of his craziness."

"Find him," the constable replies. "We'll bring him and talk on the way."

Finding the young wizard isn't hard for Tucker to do: Although the streets are full of villagers, people tend to give the boy a wide berth. He's in the center of Maidensbridge, walking in a tight spiral, flipping the cracked goggles over and over in his hands, mumbling quietly to himself. Tucker has to put himself directly in the young wizard's path to get his attention.

"What? Oh."

"Kat, I have a question for you," Tucker says, putting a hand on Kat's thin shoulder. "Do you know how many times a single spoke on the wheel of an average-sized wagon -- like, oh, that one over there -- goes around when traveling a straight league? If it starts at the top, how many times does it go all the way around before the end of the distance?"

Kat looks toward the wagon, then back at Tucker. He opens his mouth wordlessly, then pauses, confused. He looks at the wagon again, then, with a frown, wanders over in that direction.

Tucker puts two fingers in his mouth and lets a shrill whistle, waving at the constable.

"Load up!"

Upstairs in The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus darts back and forth across the hallway of The Cat & The Fiddle's upper floor, shouldering his way through most of the doors as he looked for those awaiting Emus.

"Ma!" he calls out in frustration, tiring of the surprised and furious glances behind said doors, not to mention the dead weight in his arms. Seeing Mother Bridger's head pop out from a room further down, Ragglus charges down to the last room in the hall, boards creaking beneath the combined weight.

The Glangirn contingent peppers him with questions as he passes through the open doorway, laying Emus down on the pallet.

"Shut up!" he cries in return, rounding on them. He's been accustomed to dwarves in Maidensbridge for as long as he can remember, but never managed to pick up a word. "I don't speak rockmuncher!"

"Ragglus Chaplin!" Mother Bridger exclaims, outraged. She immediately tends to the gravely injured Emus, but that doesn't stop her from chewing out the fighter over her shoulder. "I was just done telling these fellows how nice it was for you to carry poor Emus all the way here to safety, don't make me regret my words, foolish boy!"

"Sorry," Ragglus offers instantly, flushing. Following her gaze, he rolls his eyes and faces the dwarves, mumbling a reply. "I'm sorry."

Downstairs, now that the carriage taking to Wit's End is finally out of sight, Hazel wanders into the tavern and drops into a chair. She thinks she saw Rags heading upstairs when she was dropping the gear, so she picks a spot where she can see both the main door and the stairs, and waits for news on Emus.

One weary hand dips into a pocket and pulls out a silver coin.

"Milos," she calls toward the bar. "Hard cider, if you please, and some for my friend when he's done upstairs."

After watching Rags carry Emus through the woods without complaint, Hazel's a bit more inclined to overlook his more unsavory habits.


* * *

The wagon rattles into the gathering dark of the Tulgey Wood, the Baron's Road visible by a pair of swinging lanterns mounted on poles at the front of the wagon.

The constable keeps the ponies going as fast as he dares. Without taking his eyes off the road, he clears his throat, a puff of warm air leaving his chapped lips.

"What's this about the kobolds and Kat, then?"

"Damned if I know," Tucker replies. "Damn lizard-speak sounds like a bunch of barks and gulps to me. Kat had been freaking out about something, then grabbed Wormy, screamed at him and told me he'd let secrets slip before running off to help the shorties."

"Kat, is this true?"

"Yes," Katadid says quietly.

There is a long pause before he speaks again.

"One," he says, his voice a little above a whisper, "And one. It was ... an agreement, a question for a question. He asked ... he asked how many people guarded the town."

Katadid's voice trails off, and he taps nervously on Emmerson's armor. The paladin doesn't complain.

"I had to answer. I tried ... not to, at first, but I had no ... I made a deal."

Kat stares straight ahead at the road.

"Wormy is Kem, the dangerous one, the one they wouldn't mind losing, the one who had nothing to lose."

Tucker is suddenly very conscious of the black silhouette of Green Mountain staring at his back as they ride through the forest.

"But he-he knew my answer before I gave it. Or said he did," Katadid says, turning and looking at Green Mountain himself, and then at Tucker. "They're watching us."

"Well," the constable says finally, "This appears to be the day of paladins being put to the test when it comes to honoring oaths. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with you, Kat."

"Neither am I."

* * *

Hours pass, but Emmerson is unaware of their passage. Later, he found it hard to recall what he was aware of during those dark hours, and could only recall figures walking him away from where he was, back to where he came from. The entire thing filled him with a degree of regret, but he understood his duty.

There is no dramatic transition. Emmerson merely finds himself laying on a cold stone slab, his body a mass of aches, which he would later realize were the sites of his various injuries, healed now, but still badly bruised. His face is even colder, though, and reaching up, he finds his face is wet.

"You're awake." The accented voice takes Emmerson a moment to place. Even after opening his eyes, his vision is a blur for a long moment before resolving itself to a heavy man holding a silver basin full of water. Holy water, Emmerson realizes.

"Yes, your holiness." The paladin tries to push himself off the altar and down to the floor to kneel, but in his weakened state, he succeeds only in falling to the floor in a heap. As he struggles to get back up, he hears Bishop Jurgen Lehmann put the basin down and feels strong hands stand him back up. "Thank you."

"Lothian is not done with you yet, son, and neither am I."

Lehmann inspects Emmerson, taking each hand and arm, inspecting them, rubbing the flesh with his thumbs and nodding as he feels warmth returning to formerly dead limbs.

"Maidensbridge is drifting away from the church and is home to all manner of pagans. Lothian has granted you a second life. You gave your first life as a paladin. You are born again as his instrument here in Midwood. You will study under me and become the priest of Maidensbridge and the church's agent in the shadow of Green Mountain."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

At about that same moment, back in Maidensbridge, the Widow Kellogg is occupied when she notices someone rattling her doorknob. With exasperation, she grabs a blanket from the bed, makes her way over to the door and yanks it open.

"No Kems allowed." She slams the door.

Renraw is startled, and it's a moment before he begins pounding on the door, leaning his face close to hiss through the wood without being heard by the rest of Maidensbridge.

"Chandler! Cease your endless fornicating and get out here! It's important."

"This is important, too," comes Tock's muffled response.

"It's about Tiberius!"

There is a pause and the muffled sound of a quiet argument. A moment later, the door opens and Tock hops out, pulling his pants on, glaring at the wizard.

"Don't throw that name around, idiot!"

"Fine, fine!" Renraw stalks into the woods a short way, Tock following as he dresses himself. The wizard whirls to face him. "I freed the kobold, cut him free! We're to meet at Treeline at midday on Wind 9. It's ... it's ... I need your help on this!"

Tock's face appears black in the darkness, and is only visible as a silhouette against Maidensbridge behind him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Military intelligence. Political capital. What I'm about may just save this town from the brink of annihilation. And think of the potential reward in that. My debt lifted ... my college tuition paid ... At the very least, it'll help us save our own skins when the time comes."

"Now that's more like it," Tock smiles. "But you'll need more than my help. Have you talked to Chaplin?"

"I did. He's out."

"He said no?"

"He said yes."

Tock suppresses the urge to throttle Renraw.

"If he said yes, why is he out?"

"Because," Renraw says, his tone suggesting that he's speaking to a small dull child, "Anyone who would agree to help us without knowing what he was agreeing to do is too stupid to be useful. In addition, I don't know that he wouldn't just turn us in to the constable when he did hear what we were about."

"What about that sneaky little bastard Bergin?"

"He'll be perfect, and my brother as well," Renraw says, nodding.

"Scim?" Tock perks up. "I haven't seen that no-good in months! Great idea."

"I'll need you to ask them," Renraw says quietly, searching his pockets for something.

"What? Your people skills aren't the greatest, but your own brother?"

"He won't do it for me. We aren't speaking," Renraw admits, embarrassed.

"OK, Ren," Tock says, placing his hand on the wizard's bony shoulder. "Back up and tell me everything."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The Tulgey Barrow is silent and unvisited for the next few hours.

The silence is disturbed several hours after dawn on the next day, Birth 16.

Hazel's eyes have dark circles under them, and yesterday's events seem to have left their mark on her. Beside her, Katadid lurches along, now seemingly untouched by Emmerson's death or the danger they all faced almost at this very spot.

As Hazel scans the brush for kobolds and bandits, the wizard speaks out loud in Draconic.

"Kat? You know I can't speak the language yet, right?" Hazel says finally. "If I could, I wouldn't need the lessons."

Katadid's eyes widen as he considers this thought. Finally, he switches to Imperial.

"Of course, yes, immersive perhaps not the best approach. Hmm, strange, quick ears for birdsong, yes, not languages, odd. Another approach," Kat nods violently, as though concluding a long vehement argument with an unseen and unheard contemporary. "I shall set you written lessons, beginning with the Draconic alphabet, and you will complete assignments on time, no laziness. Now, tell me again of the sarcophagus and the mirrors. Leave nothing out."

Clearing her throat, Hazel begins her story once more, lightly grasping the wizard's arm to keep him moving in the right direction, her axe bared in her other hand.

At last, they arrive at the entrance to Fibber's Cairn. After the last two trips, she no longer needs the boy's map to find her way here. She scouts the entrance for fresh tracks, finding nothing of interest, and pauses to light her lantern before continuing.

"Stay close, Kat. We don't know what else the kobolds were up to in here."

The pair enter the cairn, and a ripple of pleasure going through Katadid's frame.

"And try not to look with your hands," Hazel says as they reach the first set of alcoves and Katadid reaches toward a sarcophagus. "Not everything in here likes being disturbed."

The wizard pulls his hand back, nodding. He remembers the story of Renraw and the statute.

She waits silently at each alcove, alert for threats, as Kat, eyes shining, explores with rapt fascination.

They mount the stairs silently. Hazel pauses near the top, letting the lantern light spill out over the floor as she peers into the large room. A search turns up little more than the footprints of kobold scouts, a few days old.

Kat immediately begins circling the pillars. He directs Hazel to bring the light closer as he examines the writing and makes notes on his parchment. He's quite focused, his chatter much more intense and lucid than Hazel usually hears, although much of what he says mean little to her.

He casts a spell and then expectantly examines the pillars again. He sputters in frustration before finally explaining the spell has revealed that the bas-relief, carvings and hollows are not a written language.

"That's interesting," Hazel murmurs, turning from her latest scan of their surroundings. "Is it -- What are you doing?"

She pulls the wizard's arm back from the column. His fingers are coated with an oily residue, which he calmly cleans with a small cloth before folding it and tucking it away.

"Testing," he says shortly. "Please don't interfere with the testing."

Hazel drops his arm and grinds her teeth before responding, mimicking his tone.

"Please don't stick your hands inside the columns. For all we know, the walls in here have a zapping thing like the statue upstairs."

Kat jots more notes on his parchment.

"Yes, the statue. That room next, please."

"Just don't touch anything this time," Hazel mutters as she leads him up the stairs.

Kat peers very closely at each statue and inside the coffin, but keeps his hands well back, taking seemingly endless notes.

"Interesting. And you say only the one statue contains a defense mechanism?"

"I think I said only one went 'zap.' And then they all laughed. Maybe. It sounded like the statues were laughing. And Renraw's hands were frozen."

"So you didn't check the others for traps?"

"I didn't go near them. Did you hear the part about Renraw's hands? Being frozen and all? I like my hands nice and toasty, thank you very much."

Kat sighs and scribbles on his parchment.

"We'll have to test them, then."

"Fine." Hazel shrugs. "But neither of us are going anywhere near them to conduct these 'tests,' because I'm not explaining to your dad why you have blue hands when I carry ya home."

"Not a concern," Kat mutters as he tucks the parchment into his belt and pulls bits of string and wood from his pack. "I will test them magically."

Still, Hazel pulls the young wizard toward the stairs and positions him behind her crouched form before allowing him to complete the spell.

Hazel cannot see any effect produced by Kat's spell, but the boy concentrates and grunts for a protracted period. After several minutes, she clears her throat.

"Well, did it work?"

"No effect." Kat unrolls his parchment again, pressing on Hazel's back as he writes. "Hold still, you're mussing my letters."

Rolling her eyes, Hazel complies. When Kat's finished, they move on to the other rooms, turning up nothing of interest. It takes several hours and more parchment before Kat is satisfied with his findings.

As they depart, Hazel again scans the entrance for tracks, but finds no evidence of Tiberius or anyone else.

The young wizard is unusually animated and lucid on the walk home, tossing out theories and responding to them himself as Hazel attempts to decipher the magical terminology with little success. By the time they reach Maidensbridge, his talk has turned to mumbling and he taps complicated patterns with his feet as he walks. Hazel drops him off at his father's shop before heading home herself.