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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

There is a thunder of hooves in Maidensbridge and people scatter away from the panting pair of horses, heat radiating from their bodies. On the back of one, Constable Ward Bridger looks around wildly, taking in the scene quickly, doubt etched across his face.

"Emmerson! Come here!"

Emmerson races over, confusion writ large on his face.

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't see a riot here," the constable says, eyes sweeping the drinking, listening to the sounds of Argus Glangirn, singing a song that mostly seems to be about gold, which even the Farrins seem excited to sing along to, coming from inside The Cat & The Fiddle. "Tock and the other were lying, then."

He glances at Emmerson, clearly hoping to hear that he's wrong and that a huge riot has just been put down moments ago.

"No riot here, sir. We suspect we may be attacked by the kobolds any day from now, but so far tonight we've only dealt with a fire -- and a small fire at that -- but everyone helped extinguish it. Even Fiddler lent a hand."

Over at the stable, Hazel taps Bufer's shoulder.

"Heads up, Bufer. The constable just rode in." She surveys the wreckage. "At least we know where the horses are, now. But I'd sure like to find out how the constable got 'em, and where Kat and the others are."

"Constable!" Bufer stumbles to his feet and hurries out of the stable's remains into the street. "Why are you back already? What's happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm afraid I may have left Tucker in terrible danger. Is Swifty around? I might need help from Wit's End or Foxton."

"I already sent Swifty to Wit's End, shortly after you left," Bufer replies, "On suspicion that there might be a kobold attack in the offing, so I expect help may already be on its way. So far we ain't seen nothing but the fire, though."

"Tucker's in danger? Did something happen to the cart, sir?" Hazel considers the possibilities - a broken axle could have left the deputy stranded on the road, his shackled prisoners little help against a band of kobolds or a pack of wolves. She almost asks after Kat, but figures the constable's not likely to be in a charitable mood toward the boy. "Is ... I mean, are the prisoners in danger?"

The constable shakes his head, indicating that he does not know.

"Saddle up and come with me," he says, wheeling his panting horse around, back toward the Baron's Road.

Emmerson mounts the spare horse.

"Hold on, sir: Tock? He warned you?" Emmerson looks at Bufer and then at Hazel, genuinely puzzled. "I told him to keep an eye on Fiddler."

"Chandler?" Bufer goes pale beneath his coating of black soot as he looks at the horses Emmerson and the constable sit astride, then over his shoulder at the burnt-out husk of the stable. "Garl's golden balls, I should have known."

He looks up at the constable.

"You'd better bring me with you, constable, in case there's healing that needs doing," he says, holding out his hand so that Bridger can pull him up and onto the horse. "And it might not be a bad idea for Hazel to tag along, neither. We just might have need for a tracker, as I expect you've already guessed."

"Tock? You think he did this?" Hazel breathes, dumbfounded. Under her breath, she mutters, "There must be a woman involved. There always is, with Tock."

She swipes her hands on her cloak, getting the worst of the ash off her fingers, and reaches up to grasp Emmerson's left arm.

"Give a girl a lift, Em?"

"Certainly," Emmerson says, pulling her up behind him. "We could use your keen eyes."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

For reasons known only to him, Katadid Leach, covered in dirt and his face streaked with tears, tugs the lifeless ankle of Tock Chandler, dragging the bard's body toward the cart.

"I-I'm sorry," he tells Tucker, still chained and glaring. "I didn't ... I have to. .. Tock needs to live ..."

"If you say so," Tock groans, yanking his ankle back, then wincing and gripping the back of his head. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow."

The bard opens his eyes, and looks at the blood and dirt on his hands, taken from the back of his head.

"Ow." He winks at his dumbfounded cousin, then winces in pain. "Cousin, we leave. Now."

Katadid squeals with joy, blinking away tears and grinning broadly. He helps Tock to his feet and they climb into the cart.

"When you've got thousands of ladies praying for your crotch, that's a lot of divine intervention," Tock says, slapping Katadid on the shoulder, then turns back to Tucker. "Gallaway, I didn't want you dead, I just didn't want my cousin dead. We're leaving now. Maidensbridge will never be troubled by the likes of us again. Go in peace -- and utter humiliation -- and live to shackle troublemakers another day. Give your sister my best."

Tock climbs past a grinning Renraw and reaches for the reins.

"Remember who bested you, Gallaway!" Renraw thumbs his nose at the shackled deputy as they pull away.

Once Tucker has vanished in the darkness, Renraw clears his throat and climbs onto the seat beside Tock.

"Er, your things are there in the back," he says, motioning to the cart. "I was going to keep them as momentos. And, you know, to sell."

Renraw looks reluctant to continue speaking, but ultimately does so, in a kind of a mumble.

"Also, the whole head-kicking thing. Sorry about that. Had I known you weren't dead ..."

Katadid thrusts his head in between Renraw's and Tock's, his exprssion wild.

"I-I thought I heard Apep on the wind. I couldn't quite hear ..."

"Shaddup and sit down, Kat!" Tock snaps.

"Okay," Kat shrugs and sits back down on the cart. After a moment, his eyes grow large, and he stage-whispers loudly in Gnomish. "I just figured out what spell Apep cast. It was a dimensional door. It may have been the Redhurst shunt technique, I'm not so sure. But at most he can only move less than a thousand feet from where he left, so there's a good chance he may still be nearby. I just hope he doesn't speak Gnomish if he can hear us."

"He's got no quarrel with you nor I," Tock says, not sparing a glance for the dark Tulgey Wood on either side of the moving cart. "Not as far as I can tell. We ride."

Renraw peers back at Katadid and fishes in his pocket, then pulls out the key he lifted off of Tucker and shakes it over his shoulder.

"I'll unlock those shackles if you promise not to speak Gnomish anymore, Kat. Come on. One for one, an even exchange."

Tock looks over and glares at Renraw.

"You'll unlock him right now if you know what's good for you."

"Settle down, Chandler," Renraw grouses. "I was going to give it to him anyway.

"I can't tell you how satisfying it was binding that clod," he says as he watches Kat unlock himself eagerly. "We showed him for picking on you all those years, didn't we, Kat?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tucker waits in darkness for what seems like forever before the two horses return, bearing the constable, Emmerson, Bufer and Hazel.

Bridger says nothing about Tucker's predicament, but tosses his keys to his deputy.

"They took the wagon towards Foxton, then?"

"Don't plan on catching up with them," Tucker says. After unlocking himself, he tosses something small to the constable. It flickers in the torchlight as it flips through the air.

Bridger snatches the item in mid-flight, but reacts with a small wince of pain. He looks at the piece Tucker threw him. It's a four-pronged piece of steel, with each end sharpened. Caltrops.

"Damned if I know where he was keeping them, but Tock was pitching these all over the road as they went. It's too dark to effectively clear them out, and if we just ride through it'll cripple the horses."

Sitting astride the constable's horse, wedged between Bridger and the saddle's pommel, Bufer sneezes violently and rubs his watering eyes.

"Dambed allergies," he mutters. "I albays fergid how buch I habe ribing horbsback. Ugggh."

He sneezes again, twice, then wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve as he looks down at the deputy.

"Whab'd Khenebet-Abeb say before 'e disabbeared, Ducker? Anyding imbordand?"

"Nothing to me," Tucker says. "He'd run off before I could see the cart again."

Emmerson sits in silence on his horse, fuming with rage. He says a prayer under his breath to calm himself, then dismounts carefully, trying not to dislodge Hazel.

"If we're not chasing, we need to remove the caltrops from the road. I don't want anything else going wrong tonight."

"Goob ibea, lab," Bufer snuffles from the back of the constable's horse. Raising his hands and muttering in Gnomish -- and struggling to enunciate -- he summons three bobbing globes of light, one each for Emmerson, Bufer and Hazel, which circle their charges in a slow, lazy orbit.

That done, Bufer half-hops, half-falls off the horse, then moves forward to help Emmerson pick the caltrops up off the road.

He pauses in the act of bending over to pick up the first one, and casts his gaze down the road into the darkness, in the general direction of Foxton on Moss.

"Garlspeed, lads," he mutters quietly with a smile. "May the wind be at your backs."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The cart rolls down the Baron's Road as fast as Tock judges that it can do so safely.

"Just a little while longer and then we'll ditch," Tock tells his companions. "We want to keep as low a profile as possible through Foxton. An apple cart ... Hold on, what's this?"

A strange floating light grows larger as the cart nears. Whatever it is, a cloaked figure shambles along underneath. It's a man, carrying an enormous, apparently heavy, load. Renraw glances at Tock, one eyebrow raised. Tock shrugs.

As they approach, Renraw realizes the lamp is actually fixed to the top of the man's staff. And it isn't a lamp at all.

"I-isn't that?" Katadid stutters.

"Hold on. Stop the cart, Chandler!" Renraw begs an annoyed Tock. "You there, halt!"

The hooded man stops moving and drops his burden. Though the group cannot see the man's face, he appears relieved to have a moment's rest, stretching his back and stepping closer to the cart, using the staff to prop himself up.

Renraw is more than mildly annoyed.

"Where did you get that staff?"

"Well, that is," the stranger stalls, clearing his throat.

"Speak, damn you!" demands Renraw.

"Hi, Renraw," the man says, pulling down his hood, revealing a weather-worn face, long straight brown hair, and and a pair of wild eyes quite similar to, but older than, the pair staring back at him.

"Roebello!" cries a shocked Renraw.

Tock is visibly gladdened.

"Scim! Scimitar Kem, you reprobate! It's the middle of the night! What do you out here, on the way to Foxton on Moss?"

"To Goblin Falls, actually, eventually. It's a long way, though, without a horse or a ..." he says, leaving a pregnant pause as he gives the party's conveyance a wistful going-over.

"Why do have you my staff?" Renraw insists of his older brother.

"Oh, this?" Scim asks, holding out the magic staff Renraw and company found in the Fibber's Cairn. "I found this."

"In my house! You found that in my house! I left it in my house! What else are you carrying? What's in that bag?"

"That bag? That's nothing," he answers innocently.

Renraw is shaking with rage as he clambers down off the front seat of the cart. Tock grins and shakes his head.

"Did you rob my house during the festival?"

Roebello "Scimitar" Kem is, for some reason, wounded.

"Not JUST yours," he says petulantly.

"That's your house, too!" Renraw shouts, exasperated. "You grew up there! You robbed your own home!"

"That's not my house. That's never been my house."

Tock is amused for a moment until the creeping sense of urgency returns.

"Fellas, let's continue this on the move. Scim, let's load your booty up in the cart. We can take you as far as Foxton. We've got quite a tale to tell you."

"Fair enough!" Scim smiles as he throws his bag onto the back. "I wasn't really enjoying skulking about in the night like some kind of criminal, anyway!"

"You ARE a criminal!" snaps Renraw, having reclaimed the shotgun position, clutching his beloved staff in a white-knuckle grip.

Katadid peers into the sack as Scim jumps up next to him.

"Oh, I see you brought all my things, as well."

"Not JUST yours," Scim insists as the cart rolls on.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Meanwhile, back at The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus Chaplin is polishing off another mug of green ale, listening to the competing bards perform.

Emus Graymullet suddenly crashes into the bar, covered in leaves and mud, scratches and sap, having taken a more direct route back to town than the Baron's Road.

"Ragglus!" Emus begins in a near-panic, "Why isn't everyone up in arms? What's the emergency? Where's Argus?"

Ragglus' thick eyebrows go further up and up his forehead with each question spat at him. Eyes wide, he looks off to his left at Argus Glangirn, still picking at his banjo, and jerks his head in that direction.

Emus darts around the table and runs up to Argus. Ragglus can't hear the conversation, but he sees Argus bark a mocking laugh before berating Emus. Emus stands motionless but gets visibly redder. With a final glare at Emus, Argus starts picking at his banjo, again. Emus turns on his heel and stomps towards the exit.

He stops to point an accusatory finger at Ragglus.

"I reckon your two new buddies have probably done something right stupid. Finish your damn ale and come with me, although I expect it's probably too late."

Ragglus looks down at his ale to find it empty. Sitting right next his seat, Skeeter gives the plainative whine all dogs use at the table. Ragglus' eyes narrow as he sees the suds on the dog's muzzle.

He's about to protest Emus' accusation, but just shrugs.

"They ain't buddies of mine; I didn't know the other one except to say he looked like a right sneaky bastard. Tock told me your chief's song was gonna make them Farrins mad, tha's all I know."

Emus sneers and waves a dismissive hand before heading toward the door.

Skeeter thumps his tail on the floor once, still looking up at Ragglus.

"Fine," Ragglus says, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. "You owe me an ale, mutt."

* * *

Katadid watches Scimitar with uncertainty, but the arrival of his spellbooks comforts him somewhat.

"Heath!" he says with a start. "The dwarven riot! We have to-"

Renraw snorts with disdain as Tock shakes his head.

"Ah, Kat," Tock says with bemusement, in the tone he always uses to explain things to his cousin, "I kind of made that up."

"Ah," Kat says, still somewhat confused. "Oh, well ... "

He sits quietly in the darkness as they trundle along. After a while, he searches in his bag and pulls out a piece of parchment and quill and begins writing. The ink spills over his hands often. He looks back to the road behind him and sighs.

The cart rattles into Foxton on Moss. If the fugitives had been expecting resistance here, they're disappointed. All they meet are dark houses and a sleepy community smelling faintly of sheep settling in for the night. The shops are closed and the only sign of life in most buildings is a bit of light peeking through the shutters.

"Tock," Katadid says, with obvious embarassment. "How well do you remember my mother?"

"I remember her hair, Kat," Tock says as he unhitches the horse from the cart. "It was always longer than Ma's or any other Chandler's. Honestly, she seemed a good sort, even if she was kin and even if she was from our town. She laughed good and hard when I'd do something to make her laugh. How come?"

"Our mother was blind," Scimitar Kem interjects as he unloads his festival swag from the back of the cart. "Oh, the tricks I used to play on her."

Renraw glares at his brother and forcefully grabs his staff and other items from him.

"Good luck on your journey," Renraw growls as he extracts the belongings of his that his brother is still trying to make off with. "If you head back to Maidensbridge, see that Rando is looked after."

"I already looked after him more than you ever did," Scim answers. "Did you even notice he wasn't there most nights?"

"Just look after him," Renraw mutters.

"I appreciate the ride, y'all," Scim says as he hefts his bag over his shoulder again. "Keep your noses clean and perhaps we'll meet again someday. Of course, dirty noses may have our paths crossing, too."

Katadid whimpers a little as Scimitar turns to walk away. He points a finger at the other's back and begins to say something.

Tock touches his cousin on the shoulder.

"What is it, Kat?"

Renraw stops his brother.

"Come back here and give him back his things!"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

This time, when Emus sets out from Maidensbridge, he and Skeeter do it at a brisk walk. Between running from town after the cart and from the cart back through the woods, he and the dog are both panting a bit. He and Ragglus talk as they walk down the Baron's Road in the dark, relying on Emus' cavern-ready eyes to guide them.

"So now I'm thinkin' they've gone and done somethin' dumb," Emus continues. "Tock and Renraw never liked it here, and sure as a bear craps in the woods, I can't blame 'em. They never really got a fair shake from the constable or the town priest or nobody. I think they're planning on makin' a clean break with the town. And I can't blame 'em one bit."

* * *

Frustrated at the prospect of picking up Tock's caltrops in the dark, Emmerson does the only thing he can: He prays.

After a moment, Hazel pokes the kneeling paladin with her knee, displaying a double handful of caltrops.

"Thank you, Lord," Emmerson whispers before rising. "Constable? I think we're ready to proceed."

"No offense, Bufer, but I'm gonna need more light," Hazel says, walking over to the gnome, "And it's gonna need to last longer if I'm gonna track anything, especially if they've hightailed it into the woods. Besides, I can't do it from horseback, and riding double will slow our pursuit anyway.

"I reckon somebody ought to ride ahead and see if the cart's been ditched. If not, it should be simple enough to follow the road into Foxton. If you see the cart by the roadside, y'all can swing back to get me and I'll sweep the area for tracks.

"I'm still gonna need a light, though."

"Hmm," Bufer mutters, stroking his chin as he considers. "Why don't the constable and I push on ahead, and you two follow? I ain't heavy enough to slow him down much -- hell, the two of us together probably weigh less than the armored beanpole, here. If we find the cart, hopefully at least one of the torches will still be on her. If not, we can go on ahead to Foxton to grab one, then double back to find ye."

Bufer glances up at the wry expression on Bridger's face, and has the good grace to look sheepish as he realizes he may be overstepping his bounds just a tad.

"Er, assuming that's all to yer liking, of course, sir."

Constable Bridger is only half-listening, however.

"They won't stay in the barony," he murmurs. "They know we'd catch them. North is Rivenoak, they'd be fools to go that way. West is the mountains, and they're too soft for that. The duchy, then, but which way? Kem is a wasteland with no foolish girls for Tock to manipulate. East is only the sea and barbarian lands. And north towards Grail Keep puts them along the heliograph route ..."

He breaks off, nodding to Bufer in agreement before the sound of others approaching stops him short and he turns in the saddle to see who is coming.

Emus, Ragglus and Skeeter jog-run up to the group, nodding to all assembled.

Hazel takes advantage of their arrival to pull Bufer aside.

"Kem might be a wasteland to Tock, but it's a safe bet Renraw's itching to go there, and we both know Kat will go anywhere if there's something to study."

"What happened?" Emus asks Tucker, looking perplexed and a little frustrated.

Bufer sneezes twice dramatically, then winces and brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Uh," he mutters under his breath, barely audible. "No profit in it for the bard though, lass, and make no mistake, he's the one callin' the shots now. If I were him, I'd be doing the exact opposite of what old hoppy here would expect, and frankly I think the bard's a lot smarter than me."

Hazel nods slightly, then turns back to the group.

"I'm always late to the party," she says. "Tucker's got the details, but basically, Kat's missing, and Tock and Renraw, too, and the apple cart they was riding in. Oh, and I'm not real clear on what happened to the other fellow going to the baron."

She digs in a pocket, winces, and carefully displays the metal to the dwarf.

"But we did get some nice shiny caltrops to play with."

"If we're all here," Emmerson says, clearing his throat, "Who is watching Maidensbridge?"

"Fifty-odd dwarves who are a might disappointed that there ain't no kobold attack on the town tonight," Emus says. He looks back at Tucker, jabbing him with one thick finger. "So, what happened?"

"You and your dog both suck, that's what," Tucker snaps.

"Ah," Emus says, turning to Ragglus. "It's my fault."

"After y'all are-you-en-en-oh-eff-tee, the horse thief Tock had with him tried to skewer me, and the oily wizard kicked me off the wagon. Now the whole lot of them done lit out while you were apparently rolling around in a pile of brambles."

"Wait," Emus says, holding up a hand, "Which oily wizard?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

In Foxton on Moss, Renraw and his brother argue in angry whispers in the darkened street. Katadid takes advantage of the situation to continue pressing Tock.

"Heath told me a story once," Katadid says, referring to his father. "It was the first Frost's Leaving after they had been married. I wouldn't be born for another three years.

"There were ... bets about my mother. Most of them had her cheating on Heath within a year. Some of the townsmen even put themselves up as the ones to do it. By the time Frost's Leaving came, many people were beginning to get nervous that their money would be lost.

"Heath was away at Foxton on Moss and for the first time since being wed. Helga didn't go with him, she wouldn't miss Frost's Leaving. She drank more green ale then most of the townsmen combined and hung on men and women alike as she always did. But this time, she seemed to be paying special attentions to one man in particular. I think it was Richard Crippin, who was one of the frontrunners in the betting pool apparently. Well, my mother was well drunk and stumbling and Richard was matching her. She apparently danced on tables and flashed anyone who came by, saying that Richard would get a more intimate demonstration later.

"The day wore on. The music contest had just finished and most of the town started to filter back to their homes. My mother was leading Richard Crippin down the middle of street toward my parents' bed. She turned around and ... apparently kissed Crippin deeply for the entire town to see. Money started to exchange hands outside The Cat & The Fiddle. Crippin apparently smiled, thinking about all his winnings and the night ahead.

"And then my mother broke his nose with her forehead.

"There she was, standing over an unconscious Crippin in the mud with his blood running into her eyes and glaring at every townsperson she could see and obviously having been sober all along. She then hiked up her skirt, squated over Richard's face ... and defecated into his mouth."

"The rest of the night apparently entailed of my mother knocking down every door in town and screaming at people to mind their own business from then on out." Kat looks blandly over at Tock, who has his fist stuffed into his mouth, to keep from laughing out loud. "Frost's Leaving, it's always eventful for our family, isn't it?"

Tock and Katadid unpack the cart in silence outside Foxton a moment. Renraw comes marching back to the group, after firing off an obscene gesture to his brother, who returns it twice-over.

"Here's the thing," Tock says, getting something sharp out of Scim's loot bag. "Folks will be lookin for us, without a doubt. So we got to be someone else. Which includes shavin' off our beautiful locks, in me and Kat's case, as they're a bit distinctive, and me shedding some of my flashier clothes. Story is as this: We're travelin members of a religious order. You two took vows of silence. Understand that? We're in town, you two don't say a gods damned word to no one. I do the talkin here; it's what I'm good at. You got somethin to tell me, tap my shoulder three times for a warnin and we'll find a spot. You two are on one horse and I'm your guide. Let's get to shaving."

Kat opens his mouth to say something and then quickly closes it, already doing his best to get into character. He folds the parchment he was writing on into his pocket and eyes the knife in Tock's hands warily before sitting down for his haircut.

"Now, Chandler," a mildly agitated Renraw begins, "I don't really think there's any need for a 'vow of silence.' I can answer for myself if someone asks something of me."

"Ooo!" Kat looks excited. "Was talking a needed part of the geas? Because ... right, sorry, cutting hair ..."

"Just till we get out of town, Ren," Tock says, working on Katadid. "Foxton's another small town. We stick out enough just entering at this hour. Break character and the game is over, we all swing. Nobody bothers with religious types because they don't want to be bothered with. And you can't lie any better than Emmerson can stay alive."

"I can lie just fine," Renraw mutters.

"Soon enough I'll start teaching you the ropes," Tock says, beginning to quickly shave his own scalp with his knife. "It's my favorite pasttime. Or second favorite. It's hard to decide."

The trio climbs onto their horses and ride into town, toward the Way Inn. Katadid cranes his neck, taking it all in, his eyes settling on the unusually ornate fountain in the middle of town.

Envying Middleborough’s famous glockenspiel, a previous bailiff of Foxton on Moss decided to build a spectacular fountain 30 years ago in a bid for regional fame for his town.

It did, but not in the way he foresaw: In a village on a river, a fountain is only decorative, and the bailiff’s project was seen as an impractical waste of money by Baron Abidah Midwood, the father of the present baron. The bailiff was dismissed and the fountain was never completed. Today, it is vaguely embarrassing to residents, whose simple homes face an elaborate gilded fountain that would fit more naturally into Tarsis than Foxton on Moss.

"This place is too clean," Katadid mutters.

Tock motions for Kat to shut it.

"Right, shutting up," he mumbles, almost inaudibly. "I hope they aren't still chasing us ..."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Let's press on," Constable Ward Bridger says, bringing an end to the recounting of the incidents of the evening. "Those on foot, assist Hazel and then follow as best you can. I need to alert the constables in Foxton and Middleborough."

He digs in his heels and Bufer squeals in fear and clutches the saddle pommel as they set out down the dark road, leaving the others standing on the Baron's Road in the midst of the Tulgey Wood.

"Either of y'all think to bring a light?" Hazel looks at Emus and Rags skeptically. "Otherwise, we might hafta rely on your eyes to find tracks, Emus. You find 'em, I'll follow 'em. Assuming there's any ta find, that is."

"Shame we put out the fire in town; we'd be able t'see from here to Foxton like it was day," Ragglus chuckles with forced humor.

Emus blinks in surprise, not having remembered how dark the woods must look to human eyes at this hour. He slips one of his two torches out of his ever-present backpack, ignoring Skeeter as the dog perks up, thinking a game of fetch is about to start. He lights the torch with his flint and tinder and passes it to Hazel.

"Thanks," Hazel says, accepting the torch with a smile. She begins scanning the road for signs of the fugitives. "Stay sharp, gents. We dunno where the Green Mountain wizard's gotten to, and no doubt he'd be able to do a lot more damage to us than Tock and Ren."

Skeeter continues to look expectantly at Hazel and Emus for a few minutes before getting distracted by smells and sounds, and he wanders off to mark as many trees as he can before his bladder fails him.

Hazel moves slowly forward, her eyes fixed on the road as she crosses from one side to the other more times than she can count. She finds little more than the expected hoofprints and wheel ruts the cart left behind, but continues her methodical search toward Foxton.

Suddenly, there's a crashing noise in the brush, followed by the sound of someone swearing and cursing. After a moment, a figure stumbles out of the brush, his threadbare robe covered spiky seedpods, his skin scratched by thorns.

He raises a pair of shackled wrists towards the surprised group.

"Hello. I've come to turn myself in for questioning," says Khenemet-Apep.

Hazel takes two quick steps back and motions Tucker forward.

"I think that's more your area of expertise than mine, Tuck," she says, eyeing the wizard nervously.

"We've got a bit of a mystery that you could maybe shed some light on. These tracks here," she gestures with the torch toward the edge of the road, "Tell me somebody popped out of the woods and maybe hopped into a cart. See how they disappear here, by the cart track?"

She crouches down for a closer look.

"Deep, too, but not too large: I'd guess a human carrying something heavy." Hazel stares at the wizard's chest, not willing to meet his eyes. "You see anybody join the fugitives?"

"No," the wizard says, as his cat detaches itself from the darkness and rubs against his ankle. "I was, perhaps, a little overly enthusiastic with my dimension door in my haste to escape the murderers who set upon the good deputy -- I am pleased to see you alive, sir, and only wish I could have been able to help you myself -- and ended up in what appeared to be a vacant bear's den. Such was my haste to escape it before the bears returned, I did not see or hear anyone else on the road."

Tucker approaches the wizard, who offers his bound hands expectantly. Rather than taking the shackles, however, Tucker delivers a swift punch to the gut, driving the air from Khenemet-Apep's lungs.

"I may have fallen on my head when you kicked me off the cart, but I'm too dumb for it to have done any damage," he spits, patting the wizard down for any potentially dangerous items. Which, being a wizard, would pretty much be anything at all in his possession.

"You could have just as easily poofed yourself out of harm's way without that little feat," Tuck says, indicating to the footprint on his leather armor. "So the spell you cast on a citizen of the Empire? It pretty much pales before aiding and abetting a criminal and attempted murder of an agent of law, no matter who you went to school with."

"Emmerson, you have your sword?" The paladin nods, drawing his steel. "Press it here, against his chest. Ragglus, you want in on this, too? He moves his hands or opens his lips even slightly -- at all -- skewer him."

Ibliss hisses angrily as he melts in and out of the darkness.

"And Skeeter, eat that hell-spawned cat."

The wizard raises his eyebrow quizically, clearly wanting to speak, but weighing the odds that he'd be run through if he spoke up.

Emmerson keeps his sword-hand steady and his eyes meet the wizard's.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Ragglus asks, drawing his sword and chuckling.

The wizard very deliberately clears his throat, his eyes moving between Tucker and Emmerson.

"No. If I intended to harm you, deputy, I would have done so from the cover of the forest instead of surrendering myself. And that kick was intended to get you off a cart full of fleeing fugitives. If you wish to execute me for attempting to save your life, I can only hope this young servant of Lothian will say a prayer over me as you bury me in some unmarked grave."

Tucker shoves the wizard, harder than might be necessary.

"Don't care, don't care, don't care." He jerks his head down the road toward Foxton. "Less talk, more walk."

Emus curls his bearded lip up in annoyed disbelief. He looks at Tucker, Emmerson, and Ragglus and then at their swords. Hoisting his greatclub to its usual resting place on his shoulder, he heads on down the path towards their destination, taking a lead position, even in front of the torch he gave Hazel.

"No wonder the others skipped town," he mumbles just loud enough to be heard.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Meanwhile, back in Foxton on Moss, Renraw shifts from one foot to the other, looking nervously at the quiet town.

"I'm still unsure about staying the night here. It seems we're too close."

"Trust me," Tock says with a wink, heading toward the Way Inn.

As the fugitives continue their discussion, they hear the unmistakable sound of someone relieving himself into against a wall of the inn. As they come around a corner, they see it's the back of a deputy, wearing the baron's colors. His partner, around the corner, holds a lantern with a bored look on his face.

The deputy with the lantern looks up as Tock approaches, expression shifting from boredom to excitement at the prospect of something to do.

"Papers, please."

"Yes, sir," Tock says, offering his identification papers papers. "My name is Tock, and this is Renraw and Katadid. Just looking for lodging for the night on our way elsewhere. Is there a good pub around here? I could use a drink!"

"No good pubs," the deputy says, inspecting everyone's papers. "Just this place. Have a good evening."

Impatient, Katadid brushes past them and on into the inn's common room before anyone can stop him. Once inside and away from the deputy's eyes, his hands begin shaking and tapping the nearest table. After a pattern is knocked out, his hands ball into fists and his vibrations settle slightly. He nods toward the bouncer lurking by the door. He opens his mouth, and closes it as he looks questioningly toward Tock when he walks in.

Ignoring the bouncer, Tock heads toward the wide counter where the innkeeper handles the merchant traffic in and out of Foxton on Moss, which produces much of the wool in the southern half of the Prustan Peninsula.

"We'd like a room, please," he smiles. "And where would we stable our horses for the night? Katadid's horse gets nervous when alone."

The pinch-faced woman behind the counter looks him up and down with distaste, clearly calculating how much he'll be able to spend in her head.

"Stables are outside. Pay the stablehand for that. Five silvers for a room."

She picks at a scab on her face with one fingernail as she holds the other hand out, palm upwards, waiting.

Tock hands her two gold pieces.

"We don't want to be bothered. Is that understood, ma'am?"

She grunts and whistles. A small boy with bright orange hair dressed all in wool appears and shows the fugitives to a well-appointed room. The room has shutters that lock on the inside and a stout lock on the door.

He hands the key to Tock, his other hand levitating upwards, palm outstretched.

"Just let me know if y'all need anything, sirs. Just ask for Dieter."

"In fact, maybe there is, Dieter," Tock smiles.

A little while later, Tock heads out of the Way Inn past the guards and tips his head pleasantly. He walks to the cart and grabs the supplies Roebello gave them and takes them back to the room, where he deposits the bundle before heading back out.

"Having an all right night, boys?" he says to the guards.

Whistling a happy tune, he heads back to the cart and takes the horses to the stable. He walks up to the stableboy and hands him the reins.

"Hey, kid ..."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"... amb de one-leggeb paladin says, 'Do nob desbair for be, sirrahb, for I dobst ribe sibe-sabble!'" Bufer grins and wipes the back of his hand across his runny nose as he twists around in the saddle to see the constable's reaction. "I cab'd beleib dobody's eber tolb you dad one beforb!" he exclaims. "Ah, id's fuddy 'cause id's drue ..."

"I will take it as a blessing that I could not understand the joke," the constable says, riding hard for Foxton on Moss.

The journey causes Bufer no end of alarm as he holds on to the saddle pommel for dear life, wincing against the sores that are already forming on his loins. Combined with the number his allergy to horsehair is already doing on his sinuses, it's not turning out to be his best night ever.

"Nnngh!" he says through a firmly clenched jaw. "Coulb we slow dowm a bid, sir? Id cam'd be safeb d'ribe dis fasd in d'darg!"

Bufer blinks and frowns at the unfamiliar trees that rush past him on either side of the road.

"Howb clode are be, abyway?"

The constable says nothing. Having one leg wrenched off below the knee in his youth by a vicious half-dragon has inured Ward Bridger to what he considers minor complaints.

He points with a raised chin at the lights of Foxton on Moss ahead.

"We'll stop at the watch tower by the inn first and tell them to be on the lookout."

When the duo arrives, however, they find only one deputy in the tower, the other saying there had been commotion at the inn.

With a growl, Bridger spurs the horse and soon spots one of the causes of the commotion: A partially torn rope made of bedsheets dangles from one window, above the inn's small attached stable. (A larger stable for carthorses is separate from the inn, as is a field for merchants' carts.)

"They're gone," the constable says with certainty.

"Hmm," Bufer sighs knowingly. "Thad's Tog's worg, alrighd. See how th'sheeds are double-knodded, so they don'd come apard? Thad's his sigdature, thad is ... Oh, hod fire below!"

Bufer hisses through his teeth as his squirms uncomfortably in the constable's saddle, then sneezes twice.

"Ugh," he groans miserably. "Whad dow, sir? Asg around? See if'd adyone saw which way they wend? I'm up for adythig, so log as id geds me off thid damb horse, sir."

The constable's posture suggests he's aware gnomish snot is making its way down his forearms in a sticky snail's trail.

"Yes. Down is good." He turns the horse back towards the guard tower after Bufer slides off. "I don't have much hope they saw anything, though."

Walking slightly bowlegged, and constantly wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, Bufer questions every deputy he can find about the fugitives, furnishing a description of all three men in hopes of discovering which way they were headed.

He then wanders into the inn. Looking around to make sure the constable is out of earshot, Bufer questions the innkeeper and every member of her staff he can. Some things the constable doesn't need to know about.