LSS: Total Party Kill

Vanessa

So far, the meeting with Isolde had gone better – much better – than Vanessa had even imagined. She got Isolde to agree to limit her spending! Isolde agreed to implement tax cuts! Better yet, Isolde said they were actively looking for where the former money of the realm that King Reginald had hidden.

All of this meant that there would be money soon, both in the realm and in people’s pockets, and Vanessa couldn’t feel happier. Just days ago, she had felt completely overwhelmed in her new role as Minister of Commerce. But now? Not only did she feel like she had a better understanding of her role, but she also felt like she had made a difference for the people that she served.

The thought thrilled her. One of the things that she had loved the most about healing people was that, even though it was hard work that left her exhausted by the end of the day, she knew that she was really making a difference in people’s lives. More than that, she was actively making people feel better and really helping them out.

For a while, she was afraid that she wouldn’t feel this kind of job satisfaction as the Minister of Commerce… as if she would be bogged down in the financials forever and lose herself in numbers and figures. But now, as she looked at Isolde’s calm face, she had decided that, not only had she helped people but she helped many people.

And this made her happy.

Still, hearing Isolde refer to the assassin as her personal assistant made her nervous. From the way that Isolde’s face had hardened when she had mentioned this, Vanessa knew that she didn’t want to discuss this. And, quite frankly, Vanessa understood. After all, if she had nearly been killed by her personal assistant, had she had a personal assistant, she would probably be tempted to hire someone who could also serve as a bodyguard and sniper to her – just in case.

Still, Vanessa was worried. Where would have Isolde eve found an assassin? And how could Isolde have found someone that she could trust? After all, Isolde had been away for three hundred years! She hadn’t had any time to build any connections with anyone new, unless she had somehow found her connection through Neirin or one of their party… and somehow Vanessa doubted that.

And so Vanessa took a deep breath. In a hesitant voice, she said, “One more thing, my queen. This assassin that you hired…”

Vanessa couldn’t tell whether Isolde looked more annoyed or uncomfortable. Still, Isolde said in a calm, collected manner, “Yes?”

“Are you sure we can trust this person?’

Vanessa asked the question as gently as she could, but even then, Isolde definitely looked annoyed. “Of course we can!” Isolde snapped, a little bit too harshly. “The person I hired as my personal assistant is a consummate professional and should be trusted.”

Vanessa grimaced. “But assassins are shady, aren’t they? Not that I know too much about them, of course! But my brother knew a couple of assassins. And he said once that you couldn’t trust them since they could be bought and sold by the highest bidder.”

Isolde looked, if possible, even more annoyed. “Assassins have codes and conducts of honor. They will not betray those they are entrusted with lightly.”

“Perhaps that might have been the way it once was,” Vanessa said gently. “But isn’t it possible that perhaps things have changed in the last three hundred years and, furthermore, this might have been one of the ways it changed?”

Isolde’s face had grown cold. “I know very well that things have changed in the last three hundred years. You don’t need to remind me. As far as your duties, you are my Minister of Commerce and not involved with the Royal Guard at all. I would advise you to stay out of my business.”

Vanessa grimaced. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Then, feeling a little more defeated, Vanessa left the room with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Cyril

He was a proud man?

Even the very idea made Cyril angry. He had come to that witch helpless and asked to sit by the fire and drink tea after being invited by her strange goose to join them. That was all! He hadn’t threatened her or hurt her or the goose in any way. Sure, he might have lied about his name… but only after she had literally threatened him after the Grassy Hand comment had fallen flat. Still, even if he had lied about his name, she had no right to offer to feed him, then promptly drug him and tie him up, as if he were a mere animal. And then, after all that, she had the audacity of accuse him of pride? When Cyril had woken up – that is, really woken up from his drugged stupor – he had not felt any sort of pride at all. He had only felt pure humiliation.

And then this witch had the audacity of accusing him of being too proud? The insult left a sour taste in his mouth.

Even when he considered the events that led up to the accusation, he couldn’t understand why the witch had called him proud. The only “proud” thing he had done was to walk away from someone who drugged him without warning, bound him up, and assaulted him. But he didn’t think of that as anything to be proud of. He had simply left a toxic situation with a toxic witch who had shown him quite clearly that she didn’t respect him and only viewed him as a body that she could torture whenever she felt the inclination to torture him.

Again, his mind went back to when he had accused her of poisoning him. Her response told him everything he needed to know: she had menacingly told him that she hadn’t poisoned him and only drugged him. As if he had known, when he was falling unconscious, that he had only been drugged and not poisoned! The idea made him seethe.

And he knew she didn’t respect him. She hadn’t even had the basic decency to apologize for treating him this way. If she had, perhaps Cyril would have forgiven her. He had been in tough situations too with no easy way out and no way of knowing who to trust. If the witch had apologized to him and explained that she had been threatened by his presence at first, before she fully understood the situation, and that’s why she had drugged him, he would have understood. Would have been happy about what had happened? Well, no. But at least he would have understood and forgiven her.

But no. She didn’t apologize. What’s more, she woke him up painfully by making her goose bite his face, and accused him of being a liar – all while ignoring her deceit in deliberately putting something in his food that she knew would harm him while intending to take advantage of his helplessness and hurt him. Then, when Cyril point out that she had poisoned him, she had threatened him further and called him a liar over and over again. All this while he was bound with his head still spinning from being drugged up. Then, she had the audacity of lecturing him about the evils of lying, all while painting herself as a bastion of trustworthiness. As if Cyril had any reason to trust her after she had drugged him, bound him up, had her goose attack him – his nose still throbbed from the attack – and repeatedly insulted him, all while he was bound and helpless! Even in prison, he would have not been treated so poorly as that. It was only until Cyril begged her to just kill him that she stopped threatening him violence – but even then, she didn’t release the ropes that bound him, nor had she stopped insulting him.

Worse, she did all of this all while knowing Cyril was innocent! Yes, he might have lied at first, but all of his lies were white lies that hadn’t directly hurt the witch in any way. Not like her own deceptions! Then, when she found out that he was innocent and woken him up, she still had treated him as if she were guilty, just because he had lied about his name.. even though his lie had done nothing to harm her. At one point, the witch had even reluctantly acknowledged his reasons for lying as being valid later. And yet, she continued to blast him as a liar, all while justifying her reasons for physically hurting and humiliating him.

The witch had appointed herself as judge, jury, and executioner.

Not that Cyril was surprised. He knew her type. The witch was a hypocrite to the core. If he had bothered to confront her about her own lie he would justify her own lying as “necessary for her survival” all the while discounting his lies, even though he had the very same excuse as she did – he only wanted to survive as well.

And sure, she said that she wouldn’t hurt him if she had only told him the truth at first – but Cyril didn’t believe that one bit. She had been suspicious of him as soon as he had shown up with her goose and had threatened him with violence when he introduced himself as Grassy Hand, even though her goose – Cyril guessed that he was her familiar – was clearly happy with his introduction. If Cyril had introduced himself truthfully, he doubted that she would become less suspicious. If anything, she had every reason to be more suspicious of Cyril. After all, why would she trust a former convict who claimed that he had run away from an accident involving a fireblast that he was wholly innocent of? The witch would have listened to his insane story, chosen to believe that he was liar, and killed him without a thought! At least with his lies, she hesitated and had only assaulted and imprisoned him.

But the most ridiculous part about that meeting was that she seemed to think that he actually would want to go with her and help her once she had freed him. The idea infuriated him. After everything that she had done to him, why would he want to help her with anything? He would sooner go alone than go with a woman who had literally imprisoned, assaulted, and humiliated him when he was in her mercy – even though she knew well that he was innocent of all wrongdoing, aside from a couple of tiny lies that he made out of desperation.

And she thought he would agree to continue in her company? She was mad!

The stupid thing was, had the witch been nicer, Cyril might have grudgingly led her to Vanessa. After all, they both wanted similar things. She wanted to bring Marlon to a decent healer and he wanted to meet with Vanessa. Both of their motives lined up nicely enough. They could have worked together and maybe had a strange alliance of sorts while they traveled to see Vanessa. Then Vanessa would have healed Marlon, Cyril would be reunited with his sister, and all would be well. The job that the witch had promised him would have only been an added bonus on top of everything else.

But no. He would not work with her ever. Not after what she did to him.


Cyril thought of this while walking through the forest, still bothered by everything that happened. His nose still ached – Cyril guessed that it was broken – and he still felt a little woozy and nauseous after being drugged. Still, at least he was free, his belly felt a tiny bit fuller despite the nausea, and there was a jingle of gems in his pocket.

Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “Witches be crazy.” Then he turned his attention to his immediate surroundings.

Finally, he seemed to finally be entering into what he could only describe as civilization. The forest was thinning out and the trees – all of them oak – seemed unnaturally big, as if somebody was tending to them and growing them for lumber. The ground was harder here and Cyril guessed that it was an active path through the forest though he could see no one around. Nor was it swampy anymore. The birds seemed to be singing as cheerfully as ever and, even though the trees were large here, there was a dapple of light coming through which cheered him up. Cyril had no idea what time or even what day it was – after being drugged, he had lost all sense of time. For all he knew, he had been imprisoned by that blasted witch for years. Still, it was a pretty day and it seemed even prettier now that he was out of the swamp.

And then suddenly he was out of the forest and in the countryside instead. Fields of purple green cabbage lay before him and he blinked, marveling at how many cabbages there were, growing. Perhaps he might have been tempted to snag one to eat when he saw a family – he knew that they were a family because there was a man and a woman with their children working alongside them, with the dogs frolicking through the fields – stooped over near a horse and a wagon, cutting cabbages off their plants with machetes in their hands.

Deciding that maybe he had a chance of getting a cabbage for free if he begged – after all, there were a lot of cabbages in that field – he waved his arms at the family and yelled, “Help, please! I’ve been robbed!”

Technically, it was true. That blasted witch had stolen the Rod of Wonder from him. Not that he had ever wanted to have that stupid rod in the first place. He had been planning to pawn it off as soon as he could. However, in his haste to leave the witch, he had left some of his other things there, like his flint rock and his kettle from the camp. The only thing he still had were the gems in his pocket – and even those weren’t very valuable.

At his words, the dogs and the father of the family ran over quickly, while the children flocked around their mother and eyed Cyril curiously. When the man came closer to Cyril, his machete still in his hand, he winced as he saw Cyril’s face and held his machete up higher, looking around nervously.

“Are they still around?”

“No, a witch robbed me deep in the forest,” Cyril said. “She poisoned me with something – I’m not sure what. I’m still not sure how I made it out alive.” Everything that he said was perfectly true – Cyril thought of this bitterly, still stinging from that blasted witch’s nasty accusation. Hoping to sell his story with dramatics, he tried to step forward, trying to pretend to be woozy, as if he had been beaten up, realized too late that he really was that woozy, and promptly fell to his face.

The farmer swore. A moment later, he pulled Cyril up. Cyril leaned on the farmer heavily and panted.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment?” the farmer suggested, helping him down. Cyril obeyed him instantly. “Now, tell me, what did she steal?” the farmer said.

“My weapon,” Cyril stammered. “She was a witch and used her magic on me when I wouldn’t give her my real name. I couldn’t fight back, even if I wanted to. Then she poisoned me!”

“She did more than that,” the farmer said grimly. “What happened to your face?”

“Her familiar did that,” Cyril admitted. Then he added, “I’ve been walking all day. I don’t think she followed me. I think she mistook me for someone else and that’s why she attacked me, but then let me go. But I’m not sure. Perhaps I am mistaken. She was mad at me for lying to her and giving her a false name, so maybe she assumed that I was someone else.”

The farmer looked grim. “King Reginald used to ban witches from practicing their magic, but that ban’s been recently lifted by the new ruler. Strange things have been happening ever since. Perhaps the witches have been getting bolder.”

Cyril laughed harshly. “Is that what is happening?” He glanced back at the forest and thought of what the witch said. She claimed she was the new queen’s court magician.

And she said that the new economic minister was Vanessa Cooper…

“Why were you in the forest?” the farmer said, shaking Cyril out of his thoughts.

“I was traveling to see my sister,” Cyril admitted truthfully. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her. I’ve lived far away from here for several years and only recently came back. The last time I was here, it would have been unheard of to be robbed in the forest. I didn’t expect to be robbed this time.”

“I see,” the farmer said, grimacing. “Here, let me help you up.”

Leaning heavily on the man, Cyril managed to get up. Again, it struck Cyril how weak he really was. He guessed that the only thing that had been powering him out of the forest had been spite toward the witch. Now that Cyril was out of the forest, he felt fatigued. “Thank you,” he murmured to the farmer, suddenly remembering his manners.

“Is your sister nearby?” the farmer asked.

Cyril shook her head, thinking of the name Vanessa Cooper. When the farmer frowned, he added, “She’s in the capital city. Though, I’ve lost her address, I’m afraid. Still, I think I remember where she is.”

The farmer nodded. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” Cyril said promptly.

“Cooper,” the farmer said thoughtfully. “My name is Rocky.”

Cyril nodded his head politely.

Rocky looked over him thoughtfully and at once Cyril held his breath. When he had first called out to the farmer, he had merely hoped for a cabbage or two. But, seeing the farmer look at him, it looked like the farmer was considering being even more generous with him – a fact that thrilled Cyril just as much as it terrified him – after the last time he had accepted any sort of hospitality, who could blame him for his hesitation?

Still, Rocky seemed to be a solid man and there didn’t seem any funny about their encounter. Not like last time, where he had first been confronted with that strange goose at the very beginning, then promptly threatened by that witch as soon as she met him. But here? He had been treated with respect. And, while Cyril was still nervous, he also felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time:

Hope.

“If you want, you can stay with us tonight,” Rocky finally said. He nodded to his children, who watched them talk with grave looks on his face. “The house is full, but we have a barn you can sleep in for tonight. And we can slice up a cabbage for your face.” He nodded to Cyril’s face, adding, “You have a nasty bruise on your nose.”

Cyril winced and thought of the goose. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he murmured, touching his nose self-consciously.

“Tomorrow, we have more harvesting to do, but the next day, I’ll be traveling to the capital city. If you can wait, you can travel with me then. I doubt we’ll encounter much trouble that way.”

Cyril only grinned and nodded.

Florian sat on his horse as it trotted down the path through the forest. He wore a ugly purple cloak to signify his role as a royal messenger. Queen Isolde had sent him on this mission immediately after he had finished his list. Florian was to convince all the required lords and nobles to attend and support Queen Isolde's coronation. He had sent out plenty of other messengers to other lords, but Florian was out to persuade three lords to attend Isolde's coronation and form a long-lasting alliance to solidify her power.

Florian glanced at his old friend on a second horse trotting beside him. "Dave, how far do you think we have traveled?" Florian asked, waving his hand in the air.

Sir Dave was a knight who visited Florian's home often. He had fair skin and short, blond, curly hair. His perching hazel always gave him a menacing glare. He had almost 3 times the amount of muscle as Florian and stood a solid half foot above him as well. They had grown a trusting friendship with each other over the years and Florian viewed Sir Dave as a great adviser and idol. When Reginald fled, Sir Dave had been stationed less than 200 miles from the castle. Upon learning this information from attending a mostly boring meeting, Florian had requested a messenger to be sent to call Sir Dave to the castle. The day before, Florian had spent an hour catching up with his friend after finishing a large part of the list. When he had been told about this mission, Florian asked Sir Dave to attend alongside him. And so here he was, traveling with Florian, on a mission which was about to get a whole lot worse than they could have imagined.

Dave glanced around at the forest and behind them at the path. "That is Sir Dave while the boy is around." He gestured at a boy behind him. "And to answer your question, I'd estimate around 200 yards, Florian. We set out less than a minute ago. I knew you were known for losing track of time, but wow, I never thought it would be like this. Let's talk to pass the time for now."

Florian buried his face in his hands. He had been distracted building his perfect little world into more. The lake was filled with swans and ducks. The clouds provide periodic shade over the perfect water. Vines covering a small brick cottage in a forest of maple. 500 feet from the cottage stood a tree of gold. Its leaves are made of many precious stones and gems. Silver vines snaked their ways up its trunk. It was the most beautiful thing in his world. As he stared up at it, Florian felt like an eternity had passed, when in reality, Florian had been traveling for less than a minute.

Florian focused on the countless trees around him. Their green leaves flutter in the wind. Florian drew his attention back to his friend, who was now ordering the young boy, his squire Florian guessed, to speed up. The boy was one Florian had never seen before, he was shorter with longer black hair and brown eyes that shown with curiosity and wonder.

"Who is the squire, [i]Sir[\i] Dave?" Florian motioned to the boy with his hand and making a point to call him Sir Dave.

"That, my friend, is Jeffrey. Though, you can call him Jeff. He is from Gor Chasten." Sir Dave replied.

As the day wore on, Florian and Sir Dave talked animatedly about falconry, something both men were greatly interested in.
"I'm telling you Florian, merlins are the way to go! Your goshawks are way too stubborn and wild! Merlins are much calmer and a hundred times more obedient!" Sir Dave lectured, his arms waving wildly,

"You don't get it Dave! Goshawks are swift and masters of the sky! So they may take more time to train but the reward is worth the effort! Your merlins can barely catch a mouse, let alone a hare!" Florian retorted with equal enthusiasm. "When I get my goshawk, I'll show you!"

Sir Dave glanced behind him. "Jeff! What do you know about falconry?" Dave called.

"Nothing, Sir Dave." Jeffery responded.

"Come up here!" Sir Dave commanded, motioning to Jeffery to move forward. "Let Lord Florian and I teach you about falconry and hunting!" Sir Dave leaned towards Florian and whispered, "Wow, Florian, I am not used to calling you that, my friend."

As Jeffery spurred his horse forward, Sir Dave moved to the far side of the road to make room for Jeffery and his horse. Sir Dave began a conversation about falconry and Jeffery listened in awe.

"My squire, falconry is a unique way of hunting. Instead of personal skill being put to the test, it is your patience, your teaching ability, and the trust of your animal being put to the test in real-life, ever changing situations. Falconry begins by taking a chick or egg from a nest. Honorable falcon owners climb trees and pick the egg or chick themselves. Lord Florian and I have been arguing for years over the perfect hunting bird. And we agreed earlier today that if we cannot meet an agreement we both like, we will pick different birds to compare as they grow and learn. Now depending on what type of hunting you want to do, many would suggest different types of hawks, falcons, and eagles for each type. Falcons are best for smaller prey, like rodents and the such. Hawks are better for hares and larger animals. Eagles hunt even larger animals, but don't expect the prey to come back in one piece." Sir Dave ranted in an excited manner, waving his arms, making all sorts of gestures.

Florian could barely get a word in otherwise, but when he could, he mostly made comments on the type of environment to find the prey and the birds themselves.

Sir Dave paused to glance up at the sky above them and pointed at two flying creatures above them. "Those are red-tailed hawks, my squire. Known for their beautiful red tails and unworldly hunting skill. They do tend to fight with other birds though."

Florian gestured to a similarly sized bird circling above the hawks. "Those are vultures. They usually just stea..." Florian was saying before an arrow flew past his face.

The arrow flew past Florian's face and thudded into a tree. From all sides, hooded figures surrounded Florian's party with weapons drawn. There were six in total. One held a bow while the others carried an assortment of daggers and swords.

Sir Dave flew into action. He hopped of his horse and drew his sword and shield. Florian also slid off his horse and drew his rapier. Jeff slid off his horse and drew a dagger. The remainder of the party either froze up, drew arms, or fled in fear. Sir Dave attacked with ferocity, his sword swinging at a bandit and cleaving off his non dominant hand. The bandit screamed in pain and promptly ran away. Florian leapt at another bandit and thrust his rapier at the mans chest. The bandit jumped to the side and returned a swing with his sword. Florian barely pared the swing and stabbed the rapier into the man's chest. Jeff fought bravely with a man with a dagger and managed to place a hit on the man's leg. The man fled, his leg spilling blood as he ran. The servants who had stayed to fight had killed one of the bandits but were evenly matched with the remaining two bandits. Florian, Sir Dave, and Jeff rejoined the fray and quickly disposed of the remaining enemies. As the party rejoined, Florian decided it was best to keep going at twice the speed they had been going before.

No one had been hurt, so they continued at twice the speed and rushed to reach the first stop of the night. As they set up camp, Florian and Sir Dave conversed about what had happened. They agreed to get to the palace of before the end of the next day.

Lorelei waited for half an hour before she began packing things up. She had taken one of the cots and lashed it to the broom. She then transferred Marlon to the broom and was pleased to see that it floated even with the additional weight. She then snapped her fingers and the magical tent broke itself down into the size of a small handbag, which Lorelei put on her pack. Then Lorelei walked ahead of the broom, dragging it along behind her while Honkers followed along behind them both.

They walked until they reached the spot where Marlon’s party had fallen. Their blasted remains were scattered in a clearing. Lorelei looked at Marlon and saw a mixture of sadness and grief upon his face. Lorelei frowned, she was already behind schedule and Marlon did need a healer. But the look on Marlon’s face broke her heart.

“Let’s give them a proper send-off,” she said to Marlon. Marlon nodded silently in response, his eyes fixed upon the bodies. She carefully took him off the broom and sat him against a tree in the shade. Then she went around gathering fallen branches and logs, drying them with prestidigitation as she went. She moved quickly, dragging them into the clearing and then erected a funeral pyre, taking care to arrange the wood into a structure that would hold the bodies and burn evenly. Then she began the grim task of gathering the bodies and placing them on the pyre. Some bodies were intact, but not all of them.

As she did these things, she would periodically glance at Marlon. His hands covered his eyes and his body shook in what she thought were sobs. She couldn’t bear to watch him cry. And seeing the bodies of those that had fought the pirates bravely on her behalf also filled her with an intense sorrow that had been suspended from the previous night.

Finally, the pyre was finished and she went to Marlon.

“It’s ready,” she said softly.

“Help me to my feet,” he replied. She pulled him up and he wobbled unsteadily. Lorelei put his arm around her and walked him over to the pyre.

“You should say something,” she said, then waited for Marlon to compose himself.

“They were my friends,” he said. “Cindy was clever, she could read me like a book and always had a backup plan. Barim was a dwarf of few words that saved our lives many times over from wounds that would have killed us all. Aerin was an exceptional shot with a bow and could always be counted on for wise counsel. Butters may have only been a halfling, but his spirit and sense of humor was full sized. Nolan was a good fighter and although he had only just joined the party, he impressed me with his work ethic and his impressive fighting techniques. Tarvaan was a pretentious pointy-eared prick, and he owed me one hundred gold pieces. Still, he knew his alchemy and I’ve never seen someone whip up a mixture that quickly,” Marlon said, his voice cracking towards the end.

“Marlon…” Lorelei said kindly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good at saying goodbye.”

“It’s okay,” she said, patting his back. He started sobbing again and Lorelei just stood strong and made sure Marlon didn’t fall over. Gradually, Marlon began to regain his composure.

“They were my friends,” he repeated. “And they saw me through many dangers safely. Right before they died, they were drinking together, singing, and joking. I am glad that their final moments were spent together. I will miss them terribly,” Marlon said. Then he turned towards Lorelei, and nodded.

Lorelei extended her hand and cast a burning hands spell. Fire leapt from her fingertips and flew towards the pyre, which quickly ignited and began to burn. Together they watched the fire burn. Marlon sobbed quietly, while Lorelei watched on stoically. The fire lasted for over an hour and when it was over, nothing but ashes remained of Marlon’s party. Lorelei helped Marlon back to the broom and once he was settled, they continued on.

“Thank you Lorelei,” Marlon said finally.

“You’d have done the same for me if it had been my party,” Lorelei said. “Let’s get you back on the broom and we’ll find you a healer.” Lorelei helped him limp back to the broom and once he was secured, they continued moving down the road. Neither of them spoke for a long time as they walked down the road. Trees covered the road in shade and the road was easy. Finally, Marlon spoke.

“Lorelei, what are you doing up here?” Marlon asked.

“I’m taking you to a healer,” she said.

“I meant before you found me,” Marlon persisted. “Somehow I don’t think you were looking to find me and apologize for stealing our horses.”

“I am sorry about that,” Lorelei said. “I had a conflicting job in Gor Chasten and I couldn’t have you getting there and killing my client. It wasn’t anything personal and the horses are probably still around.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Marlon said. “It would be nice to see my horse Charlie again. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“A lot has happened,” Lorelei said. “Do you remember my party?”

“I think I met a couple of them. They seemed to be pretty decent chaps, if a little inexperienced. Did you lose them?”

“Not exactly,” Lorelei said. “We kind of overthrew King Reginald’s regime.”

“You’re joking?” Marlon asked.

“Nope. We attacked the citadel head on, overwhelmed King Reginald’s personal bodyguards, and he fled.”

“Just the five of you?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, we had help. A bunch of magical creatures joined our assault, including several gryphon eyries, a bunch of unicorns, and even a dragon,” Lorelei said, not sure that even she would have believed herself.

“Well, that makes sense,” Marlon said, surprising Lorelei. “When you took our horses, we tried to get some gryphons to take us on to Gor Chasten, but instead they flew us up here in the middle of nowhere. We were trying to make our way back there, when…” Marlon’s words trailed off.

“Anyway,” Lorelei said. “Once we took the city, things got a little chaotic. And since one of our party members used to be a member of Gor Nathal’s nobility, she decided to take control of the realm. So now she is Queen Isolde and our party has become key parts of the government.”

“Oh my,” Marlon said, sounding genuinely surprised.

“It gets better,” Lorelei said, pleased to have someone to talk with. “When I looked through the finances, we found a sizable portion of the country’s finances were being diverted to an organization known as the Hand of Golux. A lot of spell reagents were being bought in Gor Lobos and I’m trying to figure out what those reagents are in order to guess at what spell or spells they are trying to make. I was on my way up there when I came across you and Cyril.”

“Do you need an extra hand?” Marlon asked. “It seems like my last job fell through and I don’t like the idea of traveling alone right now.”

“Let’s get you to a healer first,” Lorelei suggested. She looked ahead and was pleased to see signs of civilization. Fields and fencing started to appear along the roadside. A few minutes later, they walked into a town. The people looked on curiously, and scampered out of the way when they saw the floating broom. Lorelei ignored them for now and found her way to a sign.

Hera Mercleau, Healer

Lorelei pushed open the door and found herself in a waiting area. A bored looking receptionist looked up and started at the sight of Lorelei and Marlon.

“Is the healer in?” Lorelei asked.

“Miss Hera!” the receptionist yelled. There was a noise and then the sound of running as a woman turned the corner. She was wearing purple robes and a name tag that said “Hello, my name is Hera.” When she saw them, she slowed down to a walking pace.

“What seems to be the problem?” Hera asked, moving closer to the body.

“He got blasted by a fireball and got pierced by a tree branch. I used a healing potion on him to stabilize him, but he’s still got burns on his body,” Lorelei said quickly. Hera examined the bandages.

“You did a good job with these bandages,” Hera said, examining them. “You’ve spent some time with a healer?”

“How’d you know?” Lorelei asked.

“I know my trade well,” she said. “What’s the hurry? He’s going to be fine in a few weeks.”

“He’s my bodyguard and I need him back on his feet,” Lorelei said.

“That’ll cost you 5 gp,” Hera said.

“Fine,” Lorelei said. She pulled out her purse and opened it. It was empty.

“Cyril…” Lorelei growled.

“Is there a problem?” Hera asked.

“A jerk ripped me off,” she said. “I can make some hangover cures for you.”

“I don’t need any, I can make them myself,” Hera replied, raising an eyebrow. “But perhaps there is something else you can help me with.”

Cyril

Cyril woke up when someone threw something at his face.

At first, Cyril was so out of it that he thought that someone must have thrown a rock at him. After all, it had landed next to him hard. He was tired – the barn that he had slept in was comfortable, but too dark and it was only when he heard the farmer quietly shuffle into the barn and begin to milk the lowing cows that Cyril finally drifted off to sleep.

And his dreams! They had been strange dreams, chaotic dreams of dancing flames, cows, and cabbages.

And so, when Cyril woke up after being hit in the face, he jumped up and grabbed the closest thing that he could find – a pitchfork – and turned to his assumed adversary, ready to kill him if necessary.

Then Cyril froze.

The person who had struck him was a child, probably about eight years old, at the most. Cyril guessed by his clothes and appearance that he was one of the farmer’s sons. When the boy saw Cyril with the pitchfork in his hands, as if ready to strike, his mouth gaped open in horror and his pants suddenly were soaked.

Cyril’s face grew red. Quickly he dropped the pitchfork, feeling ridiculous to have almost attacked a child. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean–”

But the boy didn’t stick around to hear his apology. Wailing, he raced out of barn, screaming, “MAMAAAAAAAAA!”

Cyril watched the boy run away, paling. The last thing that he wanted to do was to make yet another enemy, especially with the family that had so far been so generous with him. But what could he do? His best hope was to run away. Still, he had no idea where he could go. And even if he did run, there was a chance that this family would chase after him after he threatened their son!

It was a bad situation where there was really no way out, Cyril decided. He swore and looked around, hoping desperately to find something that would help him decide his next path forward.

Before he could figure out what to do, he heard a giggle behind a haystack. A girl, about six, came out. There was real delight in her face, which made Cyril feel even more ashamed by his actions. “I told him he shouldn’t do that,” the girl said to Cyril, giggling more. “I told him so! But he wouldn’t listen to me.” Then she nodded to Cyril, grinning wickedly. “You just said a bad word.”

“I did,” Cyril stammered, feeling lost.

The girl nodded proudly. “I could tell because of the way you said it. If Mama heard us say it, she would put soap in our mouths, but she won’t put soap in your mouth because you’re our guest and we must be nice to our guests!”

The girl said the last part of the sentence in a sing-song voice, as if she was parroting it from her mother, and for the first time, Cyril began to hope. “Your mother said that about guests?” he asked hopefully.

The girl nodded solemnly. Then, in a lower voice, she said, “Don’t tell Mama this, but I heard Robert saying that same word that you just said a couple of months ago. Though, he gave me a candy so I wouldn’t tell Mama. So you shouldn’t tell Mama either.”

Cyril blinked. “I won’t,” he promised, quite truthfully. Then, before the girl spoke again, he gestured outside, “Was Robert the one that just left?”

“Oh, no, that was Jason,” the girl said happily. “He’s my brother and he’s two years older than me. Robert is ten years older than me. But he treats me better than Jason, so I like him better. Though, Jason treats us all awfully. Mama tells him that he shouldn’t be so troublesome or else one day he’ll find trouble. And now he did!”

Faintly, Cyril asked, “Did you see what happened?”

The girl grinned, nodding eagerly. “See, Mama told him that he needed to tell you that you could come to the house for breakfast if you wanted,” the girl said happily in one breath, as if engaging in fascinating gossip. “But Jason said no, he wouldn’t do it. So then Mama got mad and she told him that he better go and wake you up or else that he wouldn’t get any pancakes, which made him really mad and he started to whine, which made Mama even more mad. So then I said that I could go get you instead, but Mama said that Jason had to do it, or else because otherwise she was going to show him the true meaning of pain. So then Jason said he wouldn’t again, but Mama got angry and grabbed the broom, and that’s when he ran out to the barn. But he still didn’t want to wake you up and whined about it. So, I told him that he had to because otherwise Mama would sweep him out of the house, but then he told me, ‘Shut up Leona!’ And I told him Mama said he shouldn’t say that to me because it wasn’t nice and he told me to shut up again, Then he called me dumb and told me that I wasn’t the boss of him and that he could do whatever he wanted. So I told him that he couldn’t do anything that he wanted because Mama was the boss of him and Mama told him to wake you up. Then Jason said that Mama never told him how to wake you up, so then he took the dirt clod and I told him that he would be sorry if he threw it, but he told me to shut up again and he called me dumb again, then he threw it at you – AND NOW HE’S A PEE-PEE PANTS.”

Then the girl – Leona, Cyril guessed – burst into hysterical laughter and fell to the floor giggling.

Cyril stared at her. The entire story had been told on one, maybe two breaths at most, and Cyril’s brain still hadn’t entirely caught up with the story. Though, at the same time, he understood at once what the story was about – the girl was happy to see her brother get his comeuppance.

And Cyril felt torn. On one hand, he had been in the brother’s position too many times before to not feel sympathy for the poor boy. After all, he had been the troublesome child as well. On the other hand, the boy had thrown something at his nose and Cyril could still feel the pain throbbing from it. He touched his nose gingerly and frowned. Then, remembering what she said about dirt clods, he glanced around. Then he saw it! Some of it had shattered off, but there was still a part of the dirt clod held together by a clump of grass. He picked it up and frowned. “Was this what he threw?” he asked, holding it up so the girl could see.

Leona paused and looked at the dirt clod. Then she nodded, adding with glee, “Mama is going to be soooo mad! Jason will definitely get laundry duty for a week, at least, when she hears what happened!” Laughing again she sprang up and grabbed Cyril’s hand. “Come on! Let’s go and tell Mama. Besides, Mama says you can have pancakes, if you want, and Mama’s pancakes are the best!”

Then, before Cyril could argue, Leona pulled him toward the house.

***

The first words that came into his head when Cyril entered the house were: utter chaos.

There were children EVERYWHERE. Cyril had noticed that they were a big family when he had first spied the family in the field, of course, and yet in the confines of the house it quickly became overwhelming.

Jason – the boy that Cyril had startled, Cyril thought guiltily – was in the corner crying. When Cyril stepped in, still holding Leona’s hand, he cried even harder. But he was far from the only one who was crying. Their mother – a matronly woman – was holding a crying baby in one arm while another child, only a toddler, cried and clung to her leg, begging her in a babyish cry, “Up! Up! Up!” But their mother ignored both the toddler and Jason and instead focused on the stovetop, where a cast iron pan was sizzling.

When Cyril peeked inside the pan, he saw something green sizzling in the pan that didn’t remotely look like any pancake he had ever seen, beyond its round shape. Then, when he sniffed the room, he realized it didn’t smell like any pancakes he had ever smelled either, prison food included. Immediately, Cyril began to worry.

“Jason, stop crying!” their mother snapped, her voice loud enough to carry over above all the crying. “You know the rules! Only one child is allowed to cry at a time, and right now it’s the baby’s turn!”

As if to agree with her words, the baby screamed even louder.

“But Maaaaaaaama,” Jason moaned.

“Enough!” their mother said firmly. “If you’re not bleeding, I don’t want to hear anything more!” Then she lifted her leg and tried to wiggle off the toddler. In a more gentle voice, she said, “Not now, sweetie. Mama needs to make breakfast.”

The toddler only screamed harder. “Up! Up! Up!” he cried, tugging at her apron strings.

“I said, not now!” the mother snapped more firmly. She tried to gently push the toddler away from her leg, but the toddler only screamed and threw himself on the floor, screaming and kicking out his legs in a full tantrum.

“Mama!” Leona yelled – though not out of rudeness, Cyril realized, but out of sheer necessity, otherwise she would never be heard. “Look at me!” she yelled more, holding up Cyril’s hand, as if Cyril was a prize that she was showing off to her mother.

“That’s nice, dear!” her mother said, almost reflexively, not looking at either of them at all.

Leona suddenly scowled. “Mama! You’re not even looking!”

“Yes, I am,” the mother said, tilting her head in Leona’s direction. But, just as she did, the toddler, who had been twisting himself as he flung himself on the floor, kicked her knee. The mother instantly doubled over and swore the same word that Cyril had used several minutes before.

“Mama! You said a bad word!” Leona said, sounding excited. “You said a bad word! I know that word!”

Another child – Cyril guessed he was about four, who had been sitting on the floor playing with jars – began to sing out, “Mama said bad word! Mama said bad word.”

The two-year-old immediately stood up, as if he’d realized he had gone too far, and yelled the bad word that their mother had just said.

It was at this point, kneeling on the floor in pain, the mother looked up and saw Cyril.

Instantly, her face turned bright red.

“I brought the strange man over, just like you told me!” Leona announced proudly, pushing Cyril toward her mother. “See? It’s him!”

The room instantly became silent as they recognized Cyril, almost as if he were an intruder to their chaos. Even the two year old paused, his fist firmly in his mouth, and examined Cyril gravely.

Feeling nervous, Cyril gave her a polite bow. “It’s good to see you again!”

“It’s good to see you too,” the mother said politely, as if nothing crazy was happening, though Cyril could tell that the politeness was forced and she was much too frazzled to be relaxed. “Cooper, isn’t it? My name is Margie!” Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she frowned and turned to Leona. “Wasn’t your brother supposed to get the man?”

Jason began to cry harder. “The man scaaaaaared me!” he wept, pointing to Cyril with an accusing finger while Cyril squirmed and felt guilty.

Margie frowned and glanced at Cyril suspiciously. “The man scared you?”

“Well, Jason threw a dirt clod at his face while the man was still asleep,” Leona said brightly. “That woke up the man right away and when he got up, Jason got scared and ran away. And then Jason PEED IN HIS PANTS.”

Margie’s eyes glinted dangerously. She turned to Jason furiously. In a low and dangerous voice that throbbed with fury, she said, “Did you really throw a dirt clod at our guest’s face while he was sleeping?”

Jason stopped crying immediately, his eyes growing wide in fear.

“It’s fine,” Cyril said quickly, smiling at Jason and Margie in what he hoped was a disarming manner. Then he gestured to the skillet. “Leona told me you wanted to invite me to breakfast! She also told me that you made the best pancakes ever. It smells wonderful!”

It was a lie. The pancakes smelled awful. And yet, it did the trick.

Margie suddenly blushed, looking pleased. “Oh, that? That’s just something I whipped up this morning. Cabbage pancakes! My specialty.”

Cyril raised his eyebrows. “Cabbage pancakes?”

Margie nodded happily, going to the skillet. She took a stack of pancakes off the skillet, stacked them up on a plate, and handed the plate to Cyril.

Cyril frowned at the pancakes. He decided that they weren’t poisoned – Margie didn’t seem to have any time to even consider poisoning a small portion of food, since that would take too much work. So he decided that it was, at least, safe.

But really? Cabbage pancakes? The mere idea made his stomach curdle. Worse, when he looked at Margie, she was smiling eagerly at him, waiting for him to eat. He gritted his teeth and returned her smile. Then he began cutting up his pancakes slowly.

It was at that moment that Rocky, the farmer that he met earlier, came around, carrying two large pails of milk. He grinned at the family and set them down. “I brought in the milk, just in time for breakfast!” he announced. Then looked at the skillet and smacked his lips. “Cabbage pancakes? What a treat!”

Margie, blushing even more, gave Rocky an even bigger stack of cabbage pancakes while Rocky dived into the food happily.

For a moment, Cyril watched Rocky eat. Then, deciding that if Rocky enjoyed the cabbage pancakes that much, then he would at least try it. Hesitantly, he took a bite – and chewed.

It was not, Cyril was surprised to admit, the worst thing he had ever eaten. It was crunchy and savory and, considering everything, he decided it was the best cabbage pancake he had ever eaten – though admittedly he had never eaten one before. All of this was to say that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be… though he doubted he would jump up and beg to try more in the future. He swallowed the bite and tried to smile at Margie.

Margie beamed at him.

“So, what are you doing today?” Rocky said in between bites. “Do you have anything planned?”

Cyril shook his head, feeling silly. “You said you would let me join you to go to the capital tomorrow?” he asked, taking another bite.

Rocky nodded. “Of course, but what are you doing today?”

Cyril shook his head. “I have nothing planned.”

Rocky grinned at him. “Would you like to learn how to harvest a cabbage?”


***

And that’s how Cyril found himself in the cabbage field with a machete in his hand.

All around him were rows and rows of cabbage plants. Cyril marveled at them. The cabbage plants were not merely spherical balls that were sold in the marketplace. They were giant, leafy plants about two feet in diameter that spread out its leafs like a giant flower. And, in the middle of that flower was an almost spherical ball – the cabbage.

Cyril never thought of how pretty cabbage plants were, but seeing their purple green leafs spread out in a field like giant flowers made him keenly aware of this fact. That and seeing the clear blue sky spread out above made it feel like he had entered heaven.

All around him he heard the older children scamper about. The older children had picked their own row and were working on them, some with more dedication than others. Cyril noticed with amusement that, when Jason thought nobody was watching, he waved his machete around like a sword, making swishing noises as he did. It reminded Cyril of his own boyhood when anything could be a sword. Though, he had never had a chance to have a machete of his own – unfortunately. Still, watching Jason play made him decide that it would have been fun to be a boy that lived on a cabbage farm.

The younger children were also on the field there, scampering around and grabbing harvested cabbages from their older siblings and racing to throw them into the cart. Even the two-year-old toddled about happily, yelling out the new word that he had learned earlier from his mother with eagerness, much to the mortification of his mother, who was also in the field – and the amusement of rest of the children

“It’s beautiful here,” Cyril remarked.

“Isn’t it?” Rocky said, grinning and looking around. Then he gestured to a cabbage. “Well? Do you want to learn how to harvest a cabbage?”

“Of course,” Cyril agreed.

Rocky grinned and crouched near the cabbage and pulled away the big leaves to reveal the little ball. “This little ball of leaves that is tightly packed is called the heart,” Rocky explained. “It is the heart of the cabbage! When you harvest the cabbage, you must only take out the heart!”

Cyril suddenly laughed, raising his eyebrow. “So you want me to rip out its heart?” he asked incredulously, as if it were a joke.

But Rocky only nodded seriously. “You see, you don't want to uproot the cabbage entirely,” he added eagerly. “You have to leave the larger plant behind! If you uproot it entirely, then you’ll have to regrow it all over again and it’ll take a long time to regrow. You must only take out the heart.”

“How?” Cyril asked.

“With a knife,” Rocky said, pulling out his machete. Pulling back the outer leaves firmly, he began to saw into the inner part of the plant where the heart of the cabbage was until it finally came loose in his hands. Rocky pulled it out and held it up like a ball.

Cyril frowned at the cabbage in Rocky’s hands and turned back to the plant, which looked like it had an empty spot in the middle of its leaves now that its heart had been taken out. It almost looked like it were an empty nest. Cyril gestured to the plant. “What do you do with the rest of the plant?”

“Just leave it be,” Rocky said, grinning.

“Leave it be?” Cyril asked, raising his eyebrow.

Rocky nodded, grinning more. “See, it all grows back. If you leave the outer leaves intact like that, the cabbage plant will see that it’s missing its heart and try to grow a new one. And then that one will be ready in a matter of weeks instead of having to regrow the entire plant.”

“I see,” Cyril said, staring at the cabbage. Without the heart inside, it looked strangely empty and incomplete.

“Cabbages are a lot like people,” Rocky said, standing up while holding the cabbage heart. He nodded to it knowingly. “When they grow big enough, they have to give up something that’s always been a part of them. A sacrifice, if you will. They have to give away their heart, otherwise the whole plant will die. And sometimes their heart is cut out by force and it’s painful when it's taken out. But eventually, the heart grows back. It takes time, but the heart grows back.”

Cyril stared at the cabbage plant with the empty space inside. As he looked at the cabbage plant, he decided that he felt very much like that plant. He had been a child once – and then that had been cut away. Then he had been a criminal. But that part of him had been cut away. Then, for the last couple years, he had been in prison. And finally that part had been cut away.

And now, it was time for a new heart to grow.

Still, Cyril felt nervous. Looking at the gaping hole in the plant and seeing the white milky liquid that seeped from the cut part, he couldn’t help but wonder if the heart would grow back at all.

“Are you sure the heart grows back?” Cyril asked, swallowing hard.

“Of course,” Rocky promised kindly. “Just as long as you don’t uproot it, the heart will grow back and be even better than before.”

Lorelei followed behind Hera. The healer walked at a brisk pace and Lorelei had to stride quickly to keep up. Marlon followed behind closely. Hera had touched him for only a few moments and the burns had quickly healed up. Then she told them to follow her in order to learn more about how they would repay her. Marlon moved energetically, eager to test his strength after being off his feet for a couple days.

They had barely left town when Hera took them down a small path. As they went down it, they would hear the occasional loud thud. When it got loud enough, Hera gestured for them to go off the path, to stay low, and follow her. They slowly crept up over a small mound and there they saw a man. He was tall with brown hair. His white shirt was draped over a nearby cart. He carried an axe in one hand and positioned a log with his other. As Lorelei watched, he heft the axe above his head and dropped it down upon the log, cleaving it nicely in two. His muscles rippled as he replaced the firewood with a fresh log and his skin seemed to glisten with sweat.

“So, who’s the target?” Marlon asked in a hushed tone.

“His name is Gavin Rhodes,” Hera said admiringly, “And he is the man I want to marry.” There was a pause as they watched Gavin split another log with a loud THWACK.

“Unfortunately,” Hera continued, “He is about as dense as the logs he cuts. I’ve dropped hint after hint that I want him to take me on a date, but he appears to be oblivious to them all.”

“Are you sure he’s interested in women?” Marlon asked. Lorelei gave Marlon a glare for that.

“I’ve caught him staring at me a time or two,” Hera said, smiling at the memory. “But he has never been brave enough to approach me.” Lorelei took a good look at Hera. Her face was hawkish, her hair a raven black. Her outward appearance might seem plain, but her robes concealed a woman made strong by walks to harvest medicinal herbs. There was determination in her tone when she spoke of marrying Gavin and Lorelei knew better than to question it. Still…

“I don’t make love potions,” Lorelei said cautiously.

“I wouldn’t want him to pick me because he was under the influence of a potion,” Hera said.

“So what is it that you do want?” Lorelei persisted.

“Tonight there is a dance at the meeting hall,” Hera said. “If you can get him to dance with me there tonight, you will have repaid your debt to me.”

“I can’t guarantee that-” Loerelei began

“We’ll do it,” Marlon agreed, cutting Lorelei off. Lorelei turned to look at Marlon, surprised. He stared back at her in amusement.

“What makes you think you can get him to dance with her?” Lorelei said, arching an eyebrow at him. Marlon gave her a silly grin in reply.

“Because he already wants to,” Marlon said, turning to Hera. “Forgive me if I’m being too bold, Miss Mercleau, but I can see that you are a beautiful woman. If the man hasn’t approached you yet, it is most likely because he can not fathom how someone so superior to him in every way could have the slightest interest in him. It is the sort of paralyzing self-doubt that only a beautiful woman can arouse in a man.”

“So what do I do? Make myself less beautiful to make him less afraid?” Hera asked skeptically.

“On the contrary,” Marlon said. “I think Lorelei should help you prepare for the dance and make you more beautiful than you’ve ever been before. To the point where he would feel that if he doesn’t dance with you tonight, then someone else will steal you away.”

“So, I help Hera and you will be doing what exactly?” Lorelei asked.

“While you’re working on her, I’ll be working on him,” Marlon said, gesturing to Gavin. “Now let’s get out of here before he spots us.” They withdrew from their hiding spot and made their way back to the road. Marlon took the path towards Gavin, while Lorelei and Hera returned back to town.

“How much do you trust Marlon?” Hera asked Lorelei as they walked. Lorelei thought for a moment.

“He’s always kept his word to me,” Lorelei said. “And he has a reputation for cunning and resourcefulness. If he says he’ll do something, he will do it.”

“Good,” Hera said. “He seemed to be very sure of himself and I wasn’t sure if that confidence was deserved.” Lorelei laughed, then trailed off as she saw a sign above a shop.

“Is everything okay?” Hera asked. Lorelei just pointed at the sign.

Alice’s Alchemical Supply Shop

Lorelei pulled out a receipt from her pocket. The name of the shop matched that on her receipt.

“I have some business with the shop. It shouldn’t take long,” Lorelei said.

“Fine, meet me back at my place when you finish,” Hera said, moving on. Lorelei waved goodbye, then turned back to the wooden shop. Various plants hung from the windows. Lorelei went to the door and pushed on it. It swung open and a little bell rang a greeting.

“Be right with you,” a woman’s voice came from the back. Lorelei waited a moment, then went about examining the shop’s wares. The items appeared mundane to the casual observer, but Lorelei could recognize the various powders, vials, and raw ingredients for all sorts of different spells and items.

A woman appeared from the backroom. She was young and short in stature. Lorelei recognized her robes as being similar to her own in their appearance. Their eyes flashed in surprise as both of them recognized the other as a witch. But where Lorelei was solidly a Matron Witch, Alice was decidedly a Maiden Witch.

“Oh, hello,” she said nervously.

“Alice I presume?” Lorelei said sweetly.

“Yes,” she stammered. Lorelei took the bill out of her pocket and unfolded it onto the counter.

“I come from Queen Isolde. Her Majesty would like to know everything about this bill, what items were paid for and how many were delivered. I trust you keep copies of your orders?” Lorelei said with as much authority as she could put in her tone. Alice seemed to be trembling.

“Yes… of course. Let me write down the order number” she stammered, writing the number down on a piece of paper with a quill. She disappeared into the backroom once again. Lorelei thought about it, then went to the window and switched the “Open” sign to “Closed.” Then on a hunch she walked into the backroom.

She found Alice in the back room. When Lorelei entered the room, Alice was climbing on top of a chair with one leg out the window. Lorelei advanced, grabbed her arm, and then yanked her back inside in a single powerful movement. Alice yelped out in terror as she crashed onto the floor at Lorelei’s feet.

“Do I look like a fool to you?” Lorelei asked angrily.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” Alice cried out. Lorelei snapped her fingers twice and the door and window closed with a click.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning,” Lorelei commanded.

"I-" Alice said, before fainting. Lorelei stood over her unconscious body.

"Great, just great," Lorelei grumbled.

Marlon left Hera and Lorelei and made his way towards Gavin’s place. He had seen it from the hiding spot, a quiet log cabin surrounded by a grove of trees. As he got closer he noted that there was a mule and a path through the forest, probably for the mule to drag trees back to where they could be worked on. Marlon also noticed a number of wood carvings that decorated the outside of the house and suggested that the woodcutter that resided there was well versed in his craft.

When Marlon got close enough, he enacted the first phase of his plan.

“Hello!” Marlon called out. Gavin turned to see Marlon. “You wouldn’t happen to be Gavin Rhodes, would you?”

“Who’s asking?” Gavin replied, eyeing Marlon suspiciously. Marlon took stock of the man in front of him. He was young, in his early twenties. He had a muscular build, was almost six feet tall, and knew how to handle himself, judging by the way he held his axe.

“My name is Marlon Grey,” Marlon said, “Hera Mercleau sent me.” It was a gamble to use Hera’s name, but Marlon perceived the slightest change in Gavin’s tone at the mention of Hera’s name that gave him a reason to press further on that front.

“Did she?” Gavin said, surprised.

“I was injured and needed medical attention. She healed me, but I didn’t have any money to pay her. So she told me to come and give you a message and to ask you for work. She told me that you were a good man, strong, and honorable. That you worked hard and would pay a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work.” Marlon held Gavin’s gaze and smiled.

“Your injury was recent?”

“Yes. She healed me only an hour ago.”

“Have you fully recovered your strength?” Gavin asked.

“There is only one way to find out,” Marlon replied. Gavin grinned before tossing Marlon the axe. Marlon caught it with ease, then moved it around in order to expect the blade’s sharpness. After a moment’s inspection, he put the axe to one side and took off his shirt. Marlon’s own build was as muscular as Gavin’s, the only difference being that Marlon’s was covered in faint scars from old battle wounds. Gavin had placed a log down on a stump for Marlon and had stepped back to observe Marlon. Marlon had used an axe before and knew how to handle it. He took the axe in both hands, brought it up above his head, and brought it down, cutting the log into pieces with a satisfying THWACK.

“You’re a soldier,” Gavin said, observing the scars on Marlon.

“A mercenary,” Marlon corrected him. “I got blasted with a fireball a couple days ago, lost my team in the process. If I hadn’t met Lorelei when I did, I would have probably died as well.”

“Who’s Lorelei?” Gavin asked.

“A powerful witch and the woman of my dreams,” Marlon said, placing another log down. “You’d recognize her anywhere. Just look for the lady with the goose following her. She found me mangled and dying, but she stabilized me, dressed my wounds, and then took care of me. She then took me to Hera for some proper healing. I owe Lorelei my life and Hera some gold.”

“You said Hera spoke to you about me?” Gavin said.

“At length,” Marlon grunted, bringing the axe down and splitting the log with another loud THWACK.

“What did she say?” Gavin asked.

“She gave me a message for you,” Marlon said, “But she also told me to wait until you had hired me before I gave it to you.” Gavin looked at Marlon and then at the growing pile of split logs.

“I reckon you’ve earned the job,” Gavin said. “I pay three silver pieces a day. Do we have a deal?”

“It’s a deal,” Marlon said, offering his hand. Gavin took it and they shook hands firmly.

“What was her message?” Gavin asked seriously.

“She told me to tell you that she’s going to be at the dance tonight and if you don’t ask her to dance, that she would be very disappointed with you,” Marlon said, putting another log on the chopping block.

“She said all that?” Gavin asked in stunned surprise.

“She did,” Marlon said, splitting the log. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask her tonight when you dance with her.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she be interested in someone like me?” Gavin said furrowing his brow hard.

“Perhaps because she believes you to be a good man, strong and honorable,” Marlon said, placing another log. “Humility seems to be another one of your qualities.”

“I never would have guessed it,” Gavin said, holding his head in his hands.

“Are you displeased to have her attention?” Marlon said, splitting the log.

“No, it’s not that,” Gavin said hurriedly.

“What then?” Marlon asked.

“It’s just… I don’t know what to do next,” Gavin said.

“She told you to come to the dance so that she could dance with you. It seems to me that this is a pretty straight-forward instruction.”

“But what do I say to her while we’re dancing? What am I going to wear? I’m covered in grime from work and the dance is only a few hours away,” Gavin said.

“I wish I could advise you,” Marlon said wistfully. “Unfortunately, this wood won’t chop itself.”

“Nonsense! You will help me prepare for this dance,” Gavin said.

“As you wish,” Marlon said, placing the axe down.

Vanessa


“I want you to announce the tax cuts to the people in an official proclamation,” Isolde said calmly between spoonfuls of soup.

Vanessa stared at Isolde, feeling uncomfortable that they were meeting in the dining halls, like Isolde insisted, for two reasons.

The first reason why Vanessa found it hard to concentrate, oddly enough, was because Isolde was eating cold soup. That is, it was a soup deliberately served chilled. If it was a formerly hot soup that had turned cold, Vanessa would have understood that better. After all, even a queen could not overturn the laws of thermodynamics. With everyone bustling around her, asking questions, she would have been sympathetic to Isolde having to eat cold soup.

But the soup was cold. Literally. When it had come out to Isolde, there had been crushed ice on top to keep it chilled. It looked like it was kind of concoction that had cucumbers and chives, which might have sounded tasty to Vanessa if it were served in any way other than soup – a fresh salad, for instance. That would have been delicious! However… cold soup? Had Vanessa not known that Isolde was from a different time, she might have been tempted to think of Isolde as a psychopath.

Then there was… the other reason why Vanessa was uncomfortable.

All around them, people were laughing and mulling around the dinner tables. It was, Vanessa decided, not a very safe space. With several assassination attempts already on Isolde, Vanessa couldn’t help but feel unnerved. Lee was dealing with the main threat, of course. However, Vanessa was keenly aware that, somewhere in the dining room – Isolde refused to point him out – there was Isolde’s assassin bodyguard…

And, even though it looked like things had calmed down a bit – reluctantly, Vanessa admitted that the secret assassin had seemed to calm things down with his presence. And yet, Vanessa was still worried.

And then there was her brother…

Idly, Vanessa remembered that her brother had said he would be coming to her soon and wondered when he would realize that she wasn’t at the same hospital anymore and was instead the new economic minister. And when he did – for it was when, not if with her brother – she guessed that he would come straight over to see her. And, knowing him, he would come inside the castle walls, because that was the sort of person he was.

Unstoppable.

Vanessa kept glancing over the people milling about, jumping at any person who even vaguely reminded him of her brother. The shape of his nose, his rusty brown hair, his pale gray eyes… she even jumped when she saw someone with the same long fingers that he used to have.

It was ridiculous and she knew it was ridiculous. None of these people were her brother and it was folly for her to be so jumpy after she received a letter. And yet she couldn’t help but worry.

Not that she was particularly worried about her brother being mean to her… she knew that he was still her brother, and her brother had always been affectionate toward her. How could he not be? When their parents died when she was sixteen and Cyril was twelve, it was Vanessa who had made sure that everything would be all right. She quickly got a job at a hospital and worked long hours while Cyril stayed at home.

And yet, she had left him alone for too long. One day, when Cyril was about thirteen, maybe fourteen, Cyril had come home and proudly announced that he had found a job and would be providing for them soon enough. At that point in time, Vanessa, who was spending long hours at the hospital to provide for them both, only muttered, “That’s nice,” complained about her headache, then left to go to bed.

Nor had Vanessa asked Cyril more about the job – a fact that still made her guilty. If she had only asked about it, she might have realized that his “job,” if you could call it that, was in a secret criminal gang and he had been recruited into. Nor had she been interested in hearing about the minute details about his job. In her mind, first jobs were always boring things and the last thing she wanted to hear about was his boring job while she was carrying most of the weight and providing for them both.

Frankly, she was slightly resentful that Cyril seemed excited about his job, whereas she spent most of her days in a hospital working with the more hopeless cases… a dismal job that sapped all the energy from her. And so, she happily ignored Cyril’s new job.

That was, until Cyril blew up a building.

She knew that the building was destroyed before she knew Cyril was involved. All that day, Vanessa and the other healers had been swamped with work after being inundated by all the injured people that had come from the building. The injuries had been grisly – truly grisly – and Vanessa had been thoroughly horrified. She had worked long hours that day, trying to help out everyone else. Only to come home with police swarming her home and the news that Cyril had been arrested and charged with felony arson for blowing up the building that she had been taking patients from all day.

And Vanessa couldn’t believe it at first. Cyril had only been sixteen at the time – a mere kid in her eyes. While Vanessa knew Cyril had a tendency of getting in trouble, it was usually the only mischievous kind that was based on childish mischief. Not anything terrible! But blowing up a building? The Cyril she had known would have never done that!

She was convinced that Cyril must have been the fall guy. The scapegoat. The one which everyone else would blame. After all, he was the only one who was found at the scene of the crime, since the explosion had been so great that it had knocked him backwards. Vanessa guessed that perhaps he must have been watching someone else do it, only to get the blame for it later.

But, while the police determined that Cyril had probably been working for a larger criminal group – something about the hand of the golux, though Vanessa didn’t understand what that might mean – and perhaps had been working alongside other people (though Cyril never admitted who might be working with him), Cyril definitely had a major role in blowing up the building.

The news shattered Vanessa. She had gone to the trial, seen the police present the evidence, and seen the victims speak, all while Cyril looked away, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Then finally, after all of that, she watched Cyril mutter out his guilty plea, watched the judge pronounce Cyril as guilty, and sentence him to twenty years of prison.

The sentence, Vanessa knew, was a light sentence that left many of the victim’s families angry. Because of Cyril’s young age, the judge chose a more lenient sentence than a public hanging, which would have been the normal verdict.

Still, Vanessa felt like Cyril had died that day. She left the court building feeling utterly numb. When she had been sitting in the court, she felt as if she were watching the trial of a stranger, not her brother or the boy she had stepped in as a surrogate mother for the past four years. The whole thing seemed surreal and for many weeks after that, she kept on coming home from the hospital, expecting to see Cyril greet her, only to realize that Cyril was in prison and she might never see him again.

What’s more, after watching him admit his guilt, Vanessa didn’t even know if she wanted to see him again. Not after everything that had happened!

Perhaps, if he had seemed remorseful, she might have been more willing to meet up with him. But, while he never gloated about his criminal record in his letters, they had never seemed particularly remorseful. His letters to her, his writing had been rambling at best, and incoherent at worst which mainly consisted of telling her vague stories about prison life. Nor did he ever mention why he had gotten into prison in the first place.

And now he was coming to her again? The thought made her sick.

Isolde coughed.

Startled, Vanessa glanced at Isolde’s face, only to find that Isolde looked annoyed at her, as if she were waiting expectantly for an answer from her that hadn’t come yet. Vanessa swallowed hard and tried to remember what Isolde had said, only to decide that she didn’t remember. Feeling very silly, she said, “I’m sorry. What did you want me to do again?”

Isolde looked even more annoyed with Vanessa. However, in a calm, but firm voice that Vanessa decided was very measured and queenlike, Isolde said, “I want you to announce the tax cuts to the people in an official proclamation.”

Vanessa balked. All thoughts of her brother or of the strange assassin hiding in the dining hall disappeared. She stared at Isolde in horror. “You want me to make an official proclamation?”

Isolde frowned. “Do I need to repeat myself a third time?”

Feeling even more ridiculous, Vanessa glanced at the mountain of books in front of her. When Isolde had sent for her, she had been alarmed, thinking that maybe Isolde might have reconsidered the whole idea of tax cuts and decided against them. And so, she had brought with her books and notes to reexplain the tax cuts, just in case.

But no… Isolde wanted her to speak publicly? Worse, she wanted Vanessa to make an official proclamation? Even the thought of it made her stomach churn. She glanced at her books, wishing that Isolde had only wanted another economic policy.

“By official proclamation, what do you mean?” Vanessa asked nervously. “Do you mean you want me to speak… to the entire kingdom?”

“I mean, I want you to go right to the capital plaza and announce your new order as an official proclamation from the crown,” Isolde calmly. “It’s the proper thing to do, after all. That way, everyone will know that the changes to tax law come into effect immediately. I’ll have my messengers transcribe your proclamation, of course, and we’ll distribute the proclamation throughout the land, of course. But you should make the first proclamation. It will be well-received, I think.”

Vanessa swallowed hard. “Are you sure you want me to do that?” Her voice was barely a squeak.

“Of course,” Isolde said calmly. “You are my economic minister, after all. It seems proper for an economic minister to make an official proclamation for those types of public things, don’t you think?”

“But, with all the safety concerns out there, do you think it is really safe?” Vanessa asked.

Isolde raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think someone will attack you for saying that you want to lower their tax rate?”

Instantly, Vanessa blushed. “Of course not! I think everyone will like it, save for the tax collectors, though I don’t care about them. That’s not my worry. But what if some crazy person tries to assassinate me?”

Isolde waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I do,” Isolde said firmly.

Vanessa only groaned.

Isolde looked around the dining hall expectantly. “Perhaps some wine may help make the task seem more pleasant,” Isolde said cheerfully. Then she clapped. “Winebearer? Please, can we have some more wine?”

“I don't drink,” Vanessa said quickly, glancing at the stacks of books in front of her. “Besides, there isn’t room for a wine glass…”

Isolde impatiently grabbed a book and shoved it aside. Then she clapped again. More impatiently, she yelled out, “Winebearer! Don’t forget a glass!”

Vanessa was about to protest again… and then she saw Cyril.

He was dressed as a waiter and held a bottle of wine and a glass. When he saw Isolde, he bowed politely without spilling a single drop of wine, and called out with a loud, “Your majesty!”

And he looked just like Cyril! He had the same rusty brown hair and gray eyes, the same long fingers that almost looked like spider legs, and the same aquiline nose. The only thing that didn’t look like Cyril was his kept-up appearance. Cyril always had dirty fingernails that he chewed to a nub whenever he was nervous, whereas this man looked like he had kept his fingernails immaculately manicured – which seemed strange to Vanessa. Why would Cyril, fresh out of prison, have a manicure, of all things? Vanessa knew that a man could change after prison, and yet that still seemed a strange transformation to take place.

And yet, other than that strange detail, everything else about the man looked like Cyril!

Except he couldn’t be Cyril! Why would Cyril be a winebearer? It made no sense! Vanessa stared at him, feeling like she was trapped in some sort of bizarre dream. She stared at the man, feeling her pulse quicken and her body sweat. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, Cyril? Is that you?”

The man didn’t respond at first. He didn’t even look at her. Then, as he realized that Vanessa was addressing him, his eyebrows furrowed. “My… lady?” he asked hesitantly.

“Lady minister,” Isolde corrected him, folding her hands properly in front of her on the table. “Again, I want all my servants to call all my cabinet members titles properly!”

“It’s fine,” Vanessa muttered, blushing. Then she leaned forward, staring at the man intensely. “What is your name?”

The man looked even more uncomfortable. “My… name?” He looked at Vanessa uncomfortably, then gave her the look over, as if he was deciding whether or not he should be happy whether this strange woman’s attention. Evidently, Vanessa didn’t pass his standards because his brow furrowed more.

Isolde shot Vanessa a curious glance, but obliged Vanessa anyway. “What is your name, my good man?” she asked firmly.

The man looked even more confused. “James?” he asked, his answer like a question. Then, while Vanessa continued to stare at him, he scowled and said, “What’s wrong with you?”

At the name, Vanessa felt foolish. “Are you sure you’re not…” Then she swallowed hard. “Have you ever, by chance, spent any time in prison?”

The man, who had so far looked confused and slightly looked uncomfortable, suddenly grew angry. “Of course not!” he snapped in a sharp voice. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

At his offended question, Vanessa thought to herself, The sort of man that looks like my brother. But even she knew better than to say that aloud. Instead, she allowed herself to mutter, “I’m sorry. You looked like someone I once knew a long time ago.”

The man hardly looked comfortable by that response. He snorted loudly and strode away, taking both the goblet and the bottle of wine with him.

“Hallo!” Isolde suddenly yelled angrily, clapping loudly. “The lady needs a drink!”

“It’s okay,” Vanessa muttered, slinking back into her seat and feeling thoroughly ridiculous. “I’ve made enough of a fool of myself already.”

Isolde ignored her. “Winebearer! Please come back.”

At Isolde’s order, James came back reluctantly, though Vanessa guessed that he would have rather not gone anywhere near her. “Yes, your majesty?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

“I called you for a reason,” she said, glaring imperiously at him. Then she gestured in front of her. “First, fill up my cup, then the lady minister’s cup.”

James glanced at Vanessa reluctantly, then poured Isolde a glass. Then, stiffly, he poured Vanessa a drink and gave it to her with a contemptuous look on his face.

Watching him pour the wine made Vanessa realized that his dominant hand was different. The man was right-handed whereas Cyril had always been left-handed. Even years of harsh training from schoolmasters did nothing to break Cyril from the habit.

Which meant the man could not be Cyril.

Though, when Vanessa thought about it more, she decided that there were other reasons why the man could not be Cyril. The voice, the mannerisms… all of that was not Cyril. And, though Vanessa readily admitted that the man might have looked like Cyril – If she had found out that James was Cyril’s long lost identical twin, she wouldn’t have been surprised – there was too many dissimilarities between them.

With shaking hands, Vanessa took the goblet. James watched her, annoyed.

“Don’t drink it too fast,” he said dryly when Vanessa wrapped her hands around the goblet. “It would be a pity for the wine to get more in your head.” Then, just as Vanessa blushed and Isolde’s brow furrowed, he stalked away.

“The staff is getting too bold,” Isolde said calmly, frowning in James’s direction. Then she gestured to Vanessa. “Well? Aren't you going to drink it? It hasn't been poisoned.”

Vanessa didn't even want to know how Isolde might know how it wasn't poisoned. Reluctantly, she swirled the wine so that it frothed. The smell of tannins struck her. “Even if it isn't poisoned, alcohol is a poison,” Vanessa muttered. “If you drink too much, it’ll kill you! It’s just a socially acceptable poison.” But she took a sip anyway. Immediately, she regretted it. The wine tasted sour.

Isolde drank, looking thoughtful, then set her cup down. “This Cyril that you spoke of just now,” Isolde said, drumming her fingers and looking at Vanessa with a furrowed brow. “Is he a threat?”

Vanessa thought of Cyril. There were two Cyrils, she thought bitterly. There was her brother and the criminal, and she couldn’t tell which one was which. Sighing, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Why did you think James was Cyril?” Isolde probed.

“Because he looked just like him,” Vanessa admitted, taking another sip.

“And who is Cyril?” Isolde asked.

“Someone I used to know,” Vanessa said bitterly.

Isolde nodded understandably, even though Vanessa didn’t know how Isolde could understand anything about the vague information that Vanessa had given her. Then she raised her eyebrow. “Is he your… beau?”

Vanessa actually spat out her drink. “What? Me? Cyril? No!”

Isolde nodded sympathetically, clearly not believing a word that she said. “I see.”

Vanessa grew bright red.

For a mad moment, Vanessa nearly told Isolde everything there and then, just so that nobody would ever suggest such a gross pairing ever again.

But then Vanessa hesitated.

If Vanessa explained her relationship with Cyril, this would only invite more questions. Questions that Vanessa wasn’t ready to explain… at least, not yet. She needed some more time to process everything still. Everything was too fresh. And besides, if Isolde wouldn’t bother telling her about her strange assassin bodyguard, then why couldn’t Vanessa keep this one secret, if only for a little while longer?

And so, Vanessa gulped down the rest of the wine in the goblet, hoping desperately that it might give her the liquid courage that she needed at the moment. Turning to Isolde, she nodded and changed the subject, saying, “You want me to make an official proclamation?”

Isolde looked bemused. “Do you want me to order you again?”

“No need,” Vanessa said. “I understand.” She stood up, feeling dizzy at the motion. The wine, Vanessa thought grumpily, privately deciding that she would never touch the stuff again, if she could help it. “And you say I don’t have to worry about my safety?”

Isolde nodded. “Everything will be prepared,” she said simply.

Vanessa thought about how calm – perhaps suspiciously calm – for the last couple of days and decided that Isolde was probably right. Vanessa was probably overthinking things. After all, hadn’t she just thought she had seen Cyril act as a winebearer, even though it was a completely different man? These suspicions were paranoid, not based in any reason. Vanessa was clearly not thinking properly about anything.

Scooping up her books and putting them in her satchel, she nodded to Isolde, grinning stupidly. “If I am to make an official proclamation soon, I guess I better get ready then!” Vanessa said, feeling strangely light-headed.

Isolde only nodded and ate another spoonful of her cold soup.

It took a while before Lorelei could get any words from Alice. The woman had apparently suffered a panic attack and had caused herself to faint from the excitement. Fortunately, in a shop full of alchemical components, it hadn’t taken long for Lorelei to locate some smelling salts to revive Alice. She also had time to put together a pot of camomile tea. She put the smelling salts under Alice’s nose, and slowly she came around. She woke, saw Lorelei, then froze.

“Relax, you’re safe,” Lorelei said calmly, pouring tea into the teacup. Alice fumbled for words before settling on:

“You shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be talking to you. I can get into a lot of trouble,” Alice said.

“It seems to me that you were in a lot of trouble before I entered your store Alice,” Lorelei said calmly, pouring herself a cup of tea as well. “And I think I am the best chance you have at eliminating that trouble. I presume you are talking about the Hand of Golux?” Lorelei said. Alice flinched at the name.

“You see, I already know about them, Alice. All I need from you is a little information about your orders. You don’t have to tell me anything, just point to a drawer and I’ll do the rest,” Lorelei said.

“They said that they would be watching me,” Alice pleaded anxiously. “They said they had someone in the town.”

“If so, then they may already know that I am here and that I am talking with you,” Lorelei said. “But if you tell me what you know, I will make sure you are protected until I can locate the cultist. Would that suffice?” Lorelei asked. Alice drank her tea for a few moments, then pointed at a drawer. Lorelei went over to the drawer, and within she found a little black ledger. She opened it and read for a bit, then let out a low whistle.

“That is a lot of spell reagents,” Lorelei said, looking at the list.

“I told them I couldn’t fill that many orders right away, but they insisted!” she said with a half sob.

“When will the last shipment go out?” Lorelei asked.

“Tomorrow,” Alice said. Lorelei smiled weakly.

“You are fortunate that I am here then,” Lorelei said, closing the ledger and putting it into her bag. “Because once you send that last shipment, they will no longer have a use for you and they will probably kill you to prevent you from speaking ever again.” This didn’t comfort Alice at all and she began to cry again.

“Stay here tonight,” Lorelei said. “I’ll have Honkers watch over your place. If a dragon came to harm you, Honkers would obliterate them without a second thought.” Lorelei wasn’t sure if Honkers was quite that strong, but at this point she wasn’t sure if there was something that he couldn’t handle. It would probably be enough in any event.

“What are you going to do?” Alice asked.

“Me? I’m going to go to a dance and make myself a big target. If things go well, they will try to take me out, in which case I can destroy them before they get to you. And if they go for you first, Honkers will take them out,” Lorelei said, feeling supremely confident. “Just make sure you close and lock all the doors and windows and stay out of sight.” Honkers waddled into the room.

“Did you hear all that Honkers?” Lorelei asked. Honkers pressed a button on his armor.

“YES. I REQUIRE BREAD,” Honkers replied. Alice looked at Honkers, surprised. Honkers turned to look at Alice.

“YOU WILL GIVE ME BREAD,” Honkers told Alice. She looked at Lorelei and Lorelei nodded to her in reply.

“I have some bread,” Alice said hesitantly as she got up. “The kitchen is this way.”

“EXCELLENT. YOU HAVE SERVED ME WELL AND YOU SHALL BE SPARED,” Honkers intoned, waddling after Alice.

“I’m going now,” Lorelei said. “Lock up after me. Don’t open the door unless you hear me honk like a goose.” With that, Lorelei left and closed the door behind her. She turned and headed towards Hera’s residence. It was about 3:45 pm when she arrived. She found no sign of Marlon when she arrived, but the secretary was present and ushered her back to Hera’s residence.

“How did your business with the shop go?” Hera asked.

“I could write a book about it,” Lorelei said, thinking of the ledger.

“That’s nice,” Hera said absent-mindedly. “Help me pick out a dress.”

Lorelei looked over at the bed where a pile of dresses had been laid out. She examined a few, before selecting a blue dress from the pile.

“Put this on,” Lorelei said, handing it to her. Hera stood behind a screen and slipped into the dress. She emerged a minute later and Lorelei considered it thoughtfully.

“What do you think?” Hera asked her, spinning to show it off.

“You tell me,” Lorelei said, reversing the question. Now Hera took a moment to consider it.

“I mean, it’s just a bit too plain for a dance isn’t it?” she said with a frown.

“Blue is a good color on you,” Lorelei said. “But you’re right, we can make it a bit more interesting to see. Hold still,” Lorelei added as she began an incantation. The dress began to change color, from a pale blue to a rich royal blue. An invisible hand began to sew a silver thread rapidly into an embroidery, carefully avoiding Hera with the needle. Soon, small stars of silver embroidery decorated the dress, mimicking the night sky.

Next, the neckline shifted to a graceful, off-the-shoulder style that was promptly adorned in the same silver embroidery, in the style of rushing waves. The sleeves transformed next into a sheer flowing gossamer that seemed to sparkle in the light.

“What do you think?” Lorelei asked.

Hera looked into the mirror and gasped. She twirled in front of the mirror and the dress shone as it caught the light.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed before giving Lorelei a big hug.

“I think Gavin is going to notice this,” Lorelei said.

“He’d better!” Hera said, grinning from ear to ear. “I think this dress is going to outshine any potential competition.”

“You have nothing to worry about, I think every eye will be on you,” Lorelei said.

“Not every eye,” Hera said slyly.

“What do you mean?” Lorelei asked, confused by Hera’s tone.

“Well, I’ve noticed that Marlon looks at you often,” Hera said.

“Marlon? No, he’s just- well, I did save his life, but that’s nothing special,” Lorelei said.

“Nothing?” Hera said, raising an eyebrow at Lorelei. “I doubt it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and there is definitely something there.” Lorelei raised her voice to object, but couldn’t find any words. The truth was that Marlon had always been polite and honest in his dealings with her, and Lorelei couldn’t remember a single cross word towards her, even after her party had stolen their horses.

“Let’s stay focused,” Lorelei said, shoving those thoughts to the background for later. “We still need to get cleaned up.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Hera said. Lorelei busied herself with calling forth water from her hands into two basins, one for her and the other for Hera.

Lorelei scrubbed her face vigorously. It didn’t make sense, when had he exhibited any interest in her. Hera must have been wrong, it couldn’t be.

”If the man hasn’t approached you yet, it is most likely because he can not fathom how someone so superior to him in every way could have the slightest interest in him. It is the sort of paralyzing self-doubt that only a beautiful woman can arouse in a man.”

Marlon’s words came back to her now, had he been looking at her when he had said that? Lorelei had been busy looking at Gavin, but perhaps Hera had been examining Marlon’s reaction to Gavin and had instead seen his reaction to Lorelei instead?

Lorelei finished washing at around the same time as Hera, and then applied some perfume to them both, a subtle scent of lavender and jasmine came from them. Lorelei worked on Hera’s hair and put her black hair into a braid.

“Much better,” Lorelei said, inspecting her handiwork. Hera’s appearance had been transformed.

”I think Lorelei should help you prepare for the dance and make you more beautiful than you’ve ever been before. To the point where he would feel that if he doesn’t dance with you tonight, then someone else will steal you away.”

Marlon’s words returned again. He had been right to trust in her abilities. Perhaps he was also right that increasing Hera’s beauty would increase the odds of Gavin noticing her. If so…

Lorelei smiled. It seemed ridiculous that Marlon would be interested in her. But perhaps the best way of testing that theory was for her to do something she hadn’t done since… well, Alejandro.

Lorelei stood in front of the mirror and began to work on her own appearance as Hera looked on in awe. Lorelei would try to look her best and when Marlon failed to notice her, she could go back to focusing on the mission at hand without any further disruptions.

Cyril


By the time it was midday break, Cyril was exhausted and had a new appreciation for cabbage farmers. His back hurt from leaning over so much, his body was covered in sweat, and he was ravenously hungry.

Margie, the girls, and the other children too young to work, and went in for the break while Rocky and some of the boys went back to tend to the animals. Which left Cyril alone with the other boys.

At first, Cyril sat down heavily on the ground, panting. After staying up too long the night before and cutting out cabbage hearts for half the day, the last thing he wanted to do was every move again.

And then he spotted Jason.

Jason, only eight years old, was still happily playing with his machete alone, pretending to slash into the empty air with all the energy in the world. Once more, Cyril watched him and remembered his own boyhood.

And then Cyril had an idea.

Getting up from sitting, Cyril walked to the forest nearby and found two long, promising branches. He broke off the twigs that covered them and ran back to Jason.

While Jason was lost in his own world, pretending to slash his sword, Cyril poked one of the sticks lightly in his shoulder. Then, when Jason spun around in surprise, Cyril tapped his hand so that Jason dropped the machete to the ground.

“You need help on your form!” Cyril said cheerfully, smiling as Jason gaped at him. Then he handed him the other stick. “Here! Take your weapon! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

Jason took the stick hesitantly and looked at Cyril suspiciously without saying a word.

“Now hold up your sword like this and keep your wrist loose!” Cyril ordered, holding it lightly to demonstrate. “A sword is not a machete. Its main purpose is not to hack or slash. If you need to do that, you’re already too close! It is better to use it only to poke them with the tip to stab… does that make sense?”

From the way that Jason looked, Cyril could tell that he had overwhelmed the poor boy. But Jason puffed out his chest and nodded anyway.

“Now here!” Cyril stepped up to Jason and began to position the boy. “Keep your knees bent and ready to move. You need to be able to jump in and out as you need. And hold out your arm as far as you can! You want to keep your attacker as far away from you as you can! Swordplay is like a dance between you and your opponent, except you must never touch.”

As Cyril spoke, he grabbed Jason’s hand and pointed it out while simultaneously nudging his feet in place with his own feet. Stumbling, Jason assumed a proper fighting stance.

“Good, now bend your knees!” Cyril encouraged, beaming at him.

Jason bent his knees, but when he did, he moved his arm closer and grabbed the sword tighter in a fist so that it looked more like a knife.

Cyril laughed. “No, you have to bend your knees and hold out your arms at the same time!”

Jason held out the sword. As soon as he did, he stood up straight.

“Try again,” Cyril urged. “The point of bending your knees and holding out your arms is so that you can be as big as possible. By bending your knees, you’re increasing the amount you can jump so that you’re not merely stepping forward – you’re leaping! By holding your arms out like that, you’re stretching yourself out as big as you possibly can. Everything about your position is about making yourself as big as you can. Again, you want to make sure that you are keeping them as far away from you as you can. And, since you’re still tiny, you want to make sure you’re as big as you can! If you can only get the stance right, you might even win a match with your brother, Robert, so long as you’re quick and agile!”

At the mention of Robert, Jason perked up. He quickly bent his knees and held out his stick properly.

“Very good,” Cyril said, laughing, amused at how quickly his new student was motivated to assume the pose based on competition from his older brother. “Now hold your sword like this, keeping your wrist loose!”

Cyril demonstrated the pose again. Jason eagerly imitated him, stretching out his hand and keeping his wrist loose. But… his knees straightened.

“Bend your knees!” Cyril ordered.

At the command, Jason’s face grew red. “This is boring!” Jason whined. “I just want to fight.”

“Is it now?” Cyril laughed. “Very well! If the basics are too boring, then let’s go straight into the fighting!” He held out his hands, his fingers still loosely holding the stick. “Attack me with your sword,” Cyril said, nodding to the stick Jason held. “I promise not to strike back. Only defend!”

Cyril stood up straight and held up the stick.

Jason scowled at Cyril. “Shouldn’t you bend your knees too?”

Cyril laughed. “Very good at noticing! Though, I don’t need to bend my knees now. Again, the reason why you bend your knees is to increase your range for attacking. As I won’t be attacking you, only defending, I won’t need to have that range.”

Jason’s scowl deepened. “And what about holding out the sword? Shouldn’t you hold out the sword?”

“When I know what direction you’re attacking me in, I’ll hold out my sword,” Cyril promised. “For now, I’ll keep it aloft.”

Jason nodded and narrowed his eyes, looking even more suspicious. Slowly, he bent his knees and stretched out his sword. Then, very slowly, he reached out his stick to give Cyril a little poke.

Cyril grinned and parried the poke gently.

Feeling bolder, Jason grinned. He pulled back his sword. Then, with a giant jump, he stretched out his arm as if to slash Cyril directly.

But Jason didn’t have any solid footing!

Without even moving his stick to parry, Cyril stepped back. Immediately, instead of striking Cyril, Jason thrust into empty air and tumbled to the ground.

“I should have told you that the other reason why it’s important to bend your knees is that it is your fighting stance and it’s harder for you to be knocked down,” Cyril said, laughing as Jason sat up, looking confused. “You do need to jump and leap… but also, jumping and leaping around in an uncontrolled manner makes you exposed! So you need to be controlled. And that’s why you need to bend your knees!”

Some of Jason’s brothers who were nearby gathered around Cyril to watch Jason get beaten. A teenager – Cyril guessed that this was Robert – laughed. “Good job attacking the air, pipsqueak.”

Jason scrambled up furiously. But Cyril grabbed Jason’s shoulder before he could attack him. “Not now!” Cyril said. “Let me show you how to fight first!”

“If you can teach him!” Robert laughed.

Jason looked even angrier.

“Never mind him,” Cyril said kindly as Jason’s face grew red. “The calmer you are, the better you will be able to attack. Now! Assume your fighting position. You know that you should bend your knees and hold out your arms. You will do better now! Attack me.”

This time, Jason made sure to keep his knees bent when he thrust forward. Cyril still parried the blow easily… and yet, Jason still remained standing. Cyril grinned at Jason. “Very good!”

“Break’s over!” Rocky called suddenly, and Cyril realized that the whole family had gathered together again and surrounded them curiously. Margie looked at the scene with disapproval while Rocky looked at them, frowning.

Jason groaned and threw down his stick, frustrated. “But I was just getting good!”

“It’s fine,” Cyril promised, picking up Jason’s stick, glancing at Rocky. “Maybe we can practice later.”

Rocky frowned. “But aren’t you leaving tomorrow for the capital?”

Cyril hesitated and glanced at Jason guiltily.

“You can practice,” Rocky said after a moment, glancing at Cyril strangely. “But, please, have some water first.” Rocky held out a waterskin for them both.

“Thank you,” Cyril said, bowing politely while Jason grinned and snatched his stick from Cyril’s hands.


***


By the time late afternoon struck and everyone started to pack up to go back home, Jason was much improved. He could keep his fighting stance and even landed a couple of blows on Cyril’s hands.

Cyril was proud.

When Jason saw his father, he ran up to him waving his stick excitedly. “Papa! Papa!” he yelled. “I landed hits on Mister Cooper four times! He couldn’t parry them away! He told me that himself. See? His hands still have the marks!”

Cyril flinched at the name “Mister Cooper.” That was the name of his father, not him. Had he known that the children would have called him that particular name, he might have rethought which name he wanted to go by. Still, watching Jason’s excited face, Cyril decided that he probably seemed ancient to Jason, so he didn’t correct him.

At Jason’s excitement, Rocky glanced at Cyril, as if to check with Cyril if this was all right that Jason hit him. So Cyril grinned and held up his hands to show Rocky.

“It’s true! Jason got me four times!” Cyril said, pointing out the marks. “He’s a quick one, that boy.”

“I see,” Rocky said slowly, frowning. “That’s nice?”

But Robert, Jason's sixteen year old brother who was standing next to Rocky, scoffed. “You only did that because Mister Cooper didn’t attack you. He was just playing easy on you since you're just a boy.”

Cyril laughed and held up his hands again. “I might have been easy on him, but trust me, I had no intention to be hit! I have enough scars as it is! I wasn’t trying to gain any more today.”

“Yes, but you didn’t attack him,” Robert said impatiently. “If you attacked him, you would beat him easily.”

Cyril laughed more. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, handing Robert his stick. “If you think I’ve been too soft with him and that’s the only reason why he struck me four times, then why don't you go against him and see how he does? I'm sure you'll be able to teach him a lesson!”

Robert grinned. “Deal!”

Jason balked and glanced at his older brother in alarm. “But Mister Cooper–”

“You’ll be fine,” Cyril said, waving his hand dismissively. “If you do everything that I taught you, you’ll be able to stand your ground in a match against your brother.”

“But Mister Cooper–” Jason said.

Cyril leaned over to Jason. In his ear, he whispered, “Trust me, I’ve fought people like your brother. He is a hack and slasher. I’m sure his legwork is terrible. If you do everything that I’ve taught you, you’ll be fine.”

Jason suddenly smiled mischievously.

“Let’s do this!” Robert cheered. He took the stick and held it in his hands in exactly the manner that Cyril thought he would – like a machete. Then, when he saw Jason hold up the stick hesitantly, he leapt out at him, his stick wildly waving in front.

Jason stepped away.

Just as Jason had done hours before when he had faced Cyril, Robert tumbled into the dirt – though harder than Jason had done. When he got up, mud streaked his mouth.

And Cyril couldn’t help himself – he giggled madly.

Jason blinked in surprise as he saw his brother splayed out on the ground in front of him. And then he began to grin as he realized that what he had done actually worked. He glanced at Cyrul, smiling happily, too happy to say anything. But Cyril

“Proud of you, boy,” Cyril said, nodding his head.

Robert spat out the dirt and scrambled up. “That was a fluke!” he yelled, looking mad. “I want a rematch – and no cheating this time!”

“He didn’t cheat,” Cyril said. “He didn’t even touch you. If anything, you were the one who cheated since you charged him. He only stood his ground.”

“Well, that didn’t feel fair,” Robert rejoined. He clambered to his knees and grabbed the stick again, holding it with two hands this time. Cyril saw how hard he clutched the stick – his veins practically bulged out. “A rematch!”

“Perhaps it might be better if we did this later, after you calmed down,” Cyril suggested, putting a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t want you murdering the boy, after all.”

“No, let them,” Rocky said, eying them with interest. “Let’s see what the boy can do!”

Cyril sighed and turned to Jason. “Well? What would you like to do?”

“I’ll be happy to beat him again!” Jason said, puffing up his chest proudly.

This isn’t going to end well, Cyril thought. But he nodded his head anyway. “All right! Let’s start this again. Though, this time, no charging, please! Ready? Set? Go!”

But Robert didn’t listen to Cyril. As soon as Cyril said, “Go!” Robert leapt forward, holding his stick like a machete, and charged just as Cyril had feared.

But Jason stood his ground. As Robert rushed forward, he squatted down – his knees properly bent, Cyril noticed with pride – pivoted on one leg and struck Robert’s legs.

Once again, Robert fell.

“There!” Jason yelled, laughing. “Do you want to eat dirt again or will you stop calling me pipsqueak?

“No fair!” Robert cried, spitting out more dirt. “It’s not my fault! Besides, You had training from a master swordsman! If I had the same training, I would beat you!”

Cyril laughed. “If you’re referring to me, then I am hardly a master swordsman! Many years ago, I had perhaps three years of training with the sword, at most. Though, I must admit I’m very rusty. Still, I like to think I’m not that bad.”

Jason looked at him excitedly. “Are you a soldier?”

Cyril shook his head and made a face, adding, “Currently, I’m unemployed.”

Jason looked even more excited. He grabbed Cyril’s arm and pulled him to Rocky. “ Could he work for us at the farm? Please, Papa? Pretty please? Pretty, pretty please?”

Cyril laughed, shaking off Jason’s hand. “You realize that if I worked for your father, I would be harvesting cabbages, not playing around with sticks! You would not have as many sword lessons as you would like.”

“But you would teach me anyway, wouldn’t you?” Jason asked, looking up at him hopefully.

Cyril looked into the boy’s eyes and hesitated. For a moment, he wondered what it might be like to stay here instead. Cabbage harvesting was difficult, but honest work. Perhaps he could arrange to work for room and board while he got himself settled. Then, after harvest time, perhaps then he could visit his sister – if she even wanted to be visited.

But before Cyril could respond, Rocky coughed. “Leave him alone,” Rocky said sternly. “He’s a man. He needs to make his own path in the world.”

“But Papa!” Jason cried.

Before anyone could respond to Jason, the sound of someone hitting a spoon on a cast iron pan echoed across the field. Then, a faint woman’s voice yelled out, “Dinner’s ready!”

Jason made a face. “I hope it’s not cabbage soup again.”

Robert laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if you had been harvesting them all day! I’m starving!” He snapped the stick in half and turned to Cyril. “Well? Are you a good runner? Would you be up for a race?”

Cyril shook his head and thought of how weak he felt after being outside all day in the sun. “You would win.”

“Good!” Robert declared. “I like winning!”

Then, without another word, Robert raced off, leaving Cyril in his dust.


***


The dinner, as Jason feared, was cabbage soup, though it was not as bad as Cyril thought it would be, along with a bread roll – slathered in sauerkraut – of course – and a side of coleslaw. Margie even made dessert – a pastry with a sweet cabbage filling inside – which Cyril surprisingly loved to the point of asking for seconds, much to Margie's delight.

Frankly, Cyril was impressed. If someone had told him that Margie was a magician who could turn cabbage into a meal that at least tasted somewhat decent, he would have no trouble believing it. In all his life, he would have never guessed that cabbage could be such a versatile food. From soups to sauerkraut to pancakes to dessert, he was astonished how many variations of cabbage dishes there were. What's more, the meal actually was palatable! That was the astounding part. In prison, Cyril also had to gag down cabbage. But here? It was edible. While Cyril decided he would probably not go out of his way to eat any of these dishes again, it was nice to belong to a family – at least for a short time that he was here, anyway – with a woman such as Margie who would happily do the impossible and turn even cabbage into a treat.

After a hectic dinner, followed by an even more hectic bedtime routine, finally the house became quiet. Cyril sat by the fire with a dog at his feet, not willing to move just yet into the dark barn for another sleepless night.

Margie collected the plates “Would you like a little wine before bed?” she asked politely.

Cyril grinned wickedly. “Only if it’s made from cabbages.”

Margie frowned at him, as if she was not sure whether he was joking or not, and took out the flask. Cyril was both pleased and amused to see that it was a deep green color. “Here you go,” she said, pouring out three mugs.

“Thank you,” Cyril said politely, taking a swig of it before he lost his nerve. It tasted… just as he expected, which is to say awful, and he almost spat it out before gulping it down. The taste was like an unholy combination of vodka, green tea, and sauerkraut except much, much worse. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Do you actually drink this?”

Margie shrugged, giving an embarrassed smile. “It might not taste good, but it works the same as the usual stuff. And it’s an excellent fire starter, if all else fails.”

Cyril considered the wine and laughed. “I bet it makes an excellent fire starter!”

Margie grinned and sat down, her baby in arms, and began rocking the baby. It was the first time that Cyril had seen her sit down all day and somehow the sight made him feel exhausted. Still, even though she had finally sat down, she quickly grabbed her knitting from a basket and began to knit frantically while rocking the baby to sleep. Cyril wondered if she ever had the chance to ever rest.

Watching Margie reminded Cyril of his sister. She was always busy doing something too. Somehow, the thought made him sad.

Rocky cleared his throat. “So you’ll be going with me to the capital tomorrow?” he asked, lighting his pipe and puffing into it deeply. By the smell, Cyril guessed that Rocky was using dried cabbage leafs to light his pipe – which surprised him as much as it impressed him, given how wet the leaves seemed.

“That’s the plan,” Cyril agreed.

“Where did you say you were going again?” Rocky asked in a strained voice. Cyril had a distinct impression that Rocky still remembered his answer from the day before and wanted to catch him stumbling… though, Cyril didn’t think that Rocky intended any harm to him. Still, there was a careful look on his face, as if he were judging Cyril.

And why wouldn’t he be careful? Cyril thought grimly. After all, he had just spent half the day teaching his son how to wield a sword enough that the boy was able to beat his older brother in a match – even when his older brother had unfairly charged him! Why wouldn’t be Cyril suspicious after all that? Looking back, Cyril decided that it would have probably been easier if he had simply stuck with harvesting cabbages and hadn’t stopped to teach Jason anything.

Cyril squirmed nervously under Rocky’s gaze. “I need to go to the capital and see my sister,” he said, quite truthfully.

“Your sister?” Rocky asked hesitantly.

Cyril only nodded.

“You sure you don’t want to stay at the farm?” Rocky asked, half-seriously, though Cyril could see that he wasn’t entirely joking as well. “We could use an experienced farmhand.”

Cyril laughed, despite himself. “I’ve only picked cabbages for a half day! And, for that matter, I picked only a quarter of the cabbages as you did, if I’m being generous. I hardly think that qualifies me as being an experienced farmhand.”

“But would you like to work for me anyway?” Rocky asked. “We could use the help for the harvest season. I couldn’t pay you much. Maybe two coppers a day. But you could stay in my barn and we would feed you.”

“The thought has occurred to me,” Cyril said wistfully. “It is peaceful there! I like it very much. Though, I also want to see my sister. It's been a long time since we've talked.”

“Are you sure?” Rocky said, frowning.

Again, there was that hesitation.

“Are you afraid my sister might be a bad influence for me?” Cyril asked, raising his eyebrow teasingly. “Because I assure you she isn’t!”

Rocky shrugged noncommittally. “It just seems like you’re trying to run away from something. Or someone.” He nodded to Cyril. “Your story doesn’t line up. You’re a good enough fighter that you were able to train my son pretty decently with a stick. And yet, a witch attacked you and stole your weapon and you didn’t hold your ground? Why?”

Cyril winced. “I know it looks like I know a lot of swordsmanship based on how much your son learned, but I assure you he’s just an eager and quick learner. Besides, I only taught him the very basics, like how to hold his ground and what a fighting stance ought to look like. If he wanted to get farther and become an actual swordmaster, he would need someone else to teach him. I could not.”

“But you know how to fight?” Rocky asked.

Cyril shrugged. “A little.”

Rocky frowned. “Then why didn’t you fight the witch?”

“Because she drugged me,” Cyril said impatiently. “She invited me for some tea and stew, then poisoned me so that I fell asleep. It’s very hard to attack anyone when they do that! That’s why I was so wobbly when I first met you.”

“But why did the witch invite you for some tea and stew?” Rocky pressed. “Are you alone?” When Cyril hesitated, Rocky added, “You said you weren’t a soldier, which makes sense. A soldier wouldn’t be caught alone. But you are alone. What’s more, there is a prison in that forest. Could you have come from there?”

Cyril grimaced and looked around. Rocky looked as if he was holding his breath, but he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Even the clacking of Margie’s knitting needles paused as she watched Cyril with frightened eyes. Somehow, Margie reminded Cyril even more of Vanessa, which made him feel ashamed.

More than that, he felt stupid. He had assumed that he could lie to them about his origins and they would take his lies, being only simple cabbage farmers. It never occurred to him that they would see through his lies and take him in anyway.

Still, the very fact that they had invited him into their home and fed him, even while suspecting he might be an escaped convict, only spoke more about how generous they had treated him. Most people wouldn’t. And then the fact that they were so gentle with their questioning – Cyril remembered the witch’s question with a scowl – spoke to how they were good people.

Cyril took another swig of cabbage wine and sighed. “All right, I’ll come clean,” he muttered reluctantly, rubbing his head. “It’s the least I can do, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” He took a deep breath. “When I was younger, I got caught up with the wrong crowd and made some mistakes. I landed in prison because of them. I was supposed to serve my time for twenty years, but not too long ago, I got an official pardon from King Reginald before he was deposed. The official document is in the barn, if you want me to grab it, though I assure you that it’s signed and sealed.”

“Why did you get a pardon?” Rocky asked, frowning.

“No idea,” Cyril admitted. “Though, I know it wasn’t for anything that I did or didn’t do, that’s for certain. I think Kind Reginald pardoned everyone from the gang that I used to belong to because everyone left at the same time. They invited me to join them too, but I told them that I wanted to go back home to my family, so they let me since I was only a boy when I was imprisoned and I guess they felt sorry for me or whatever. I don’t know. I was never very high up in their group, so maybe they didn’t even care about me.”

“I see,” Rocky said slowly, considering his words thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you go with them when they asked you to join them?”

Cyril scowled. “Why would I?”

Rocky frowned.

Cyril leaned forward angrily. “They sent me on a mission, promising that I wouldn’t have to face any severe consequences. That’s exactly what they told me! So I did what they told me to do. But the judge sentenced me to twenty years in prison. Twenty years! And then, when the gang visited me after sentencing, they had the gall to tell me that this was a light consequence and I should be grateful to them for not being hanged? They can all rot below, as far as I’m concerned!”

“What did they have you do?” Rocky asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Cyril suddenly said, ashamed. “Just know that it was bad. Really bad. If an adult did it, they probably would be hung. That’s why they made me do it, since I was just a stupid boy, probably only about Robert’s age, if that. And I was stupid enough to follow orders without question.”

Rocky frowned. “So does this mean you’re alone?”

Cyril nodded, swallowing hard.

“And that story with the witch?” Rocky pressed. “Was that true?”

Cyril snorted. “That was unfortunately true. She drugged, attacked me, and stole some of the things I had, including a weapon that some adventurers in the forest lent me. Though, honestly, what I had wasn't very much and the weapon was a strange weapon that I couldn’t really control. Frankly, if she had just asked nicely, I would have given her it freely. Nobody really trusts an ex-convict with a weapon anyway, so I was planning on ditching it after I made it out of the forest. Still, I didn't appreciate her breaking my nose and drugging me.”

Rocky nodded, looking grim. “So what’s your plan now?”

“Go see my sister,” Cyril said firmly. “Just like I said before.”

“Your sister?” Rocky said, frowning.

Cyril nodded. Then, when he saw Rocky frown more, he added, “I know I have a bad past, but please, my sister is a good woman. If you met her, you would like her right away. Margie reminds me very much of her!”

Margie, who had been quietly rocking the baby while knitting glanced up. “Your sister reminds you of me?” she asked curiously, furrowing her brow.

“She is not as good of a cook as you,” Cyril said, grinning. “She cannot turn cabbage into anything good like you can. But yes you remind me of her very much! She has a good heart and is never afraid to take care of anyone, even when it is hard. When our parents died, she stepped up to take care of me without complaint. I didn't appreciate it at the time, I'm afraid. I'm afraid our last meeting was less than pleasant and I said some bad things and did some even worse things that made her turn away from me – and for good reason! Because of these things, it’s been years since I’ve seen her. But I’ve come back and want to see her again, if only to apologize.”

Rocky nodded knowingly. “After you meet up with your sister, what is your plan afterward?”

Cyril shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping I could stay with her while I got back on my feet and found a job.”

“What job do you want?” When Cyril hesitated, Rocky said, “Will you be a soldier?”

Cyril shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.” Then he grinned. “Who knows? If you’ll still take me, maybe I’ll come back and help you harvest cabbages.”

Margie suddenly laughed. “If my boys will let you harvest cabbages!” she teased when Cyril glanced at her questioningly. “Knowing them, they’ll want you to train them how to sword fight.”

“Leona would do well with a sword too,” Cyril said, grinning. “She would happily beat up her brothers while they would be too nervous to hit her!”

“Don’t remind me!” Margie said, groaning.

“So you want to go to the capital?” Rocky said firmly. “Are you sure?”

Cyril nodded.

Rocky puffed on his pipe and sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Then you best be going to bed. It’ll be a long ride tomorrow.”

“Gold?” Lee sighed and leaned back in his chair. “She wants me to find a stash of hidden gold? What evidence of gold is there around here?”
It was a rough day, and Lee found addressing his empty office helpful. There was no need to tell Vanessa that he was going to spend zero minutes searching for some non-existent stash of gold – that would only invite the wrath and indignation of their fair queen. Better to just, ah, let other priorities take over.
And there were endless other things that needed finding; new recruits, a decent secretary, better weaponry, Lord Reginald’s current location, spies, the Fey, assassins, and a decent bottle of booze. Lee hadn’t had a drop to drink in days now, and it was getting on his nerves. He kept meaning to go off and find a bar – but most of the local bars would be filled with the local drunks, many of whom would be his men off duty, and many of whom would talk about it should they find him drinking. Too much stuffy responsibility was clouding his mind, Lee decided.
A rap on the door, and one of First Section’s lieutenants came in. “Permission to enter?”
“Granted.” Lee growled.
“About the weaponry we’re getting, sir, well, isn’t it a bit… strange, sir?”
Lee knew the lieutenant expected a response, but said nothing, just motioning with his hand for the man to go on.
“Well, sir, I can see well enough how some smoke makers and the loud poppers can be used to signal and distract, like we practiced with the other day sir. But,” the lieutenant stopped to pull out a large glass vial, “What on earth is a giant glass jar of glitter supposed to do?”
Lee frowned, leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. “Lieutenant, have you ever tried to get glitter off of yourself?”
“No sir, well, not recently sir.”
“It’s impossible. Paint washes off, ink blots out, but glitter is forever.” Lee looked up. “Mark your man in a large crowd where you can’t shoot. Then you just follow the sparkle brick road. Follow, follow, follow the sparkle brick road!”
“I can see that.” The lieutenant said, thinking this through.
“Also is great for confusing some magical creatures, often their eyes get overwhelmed” Lee continued. “And say you were suddenly confronted by hundreds of jackalopes, almost all of which were illusions… You could fill the air with glitter and the sparkling would show you the true fiend!”
“Just, ah, unconventional, sir.”
“We can’t keep the kingdom safe just by waving swords around. Not when we’re up against witches and all sorts of magical creatures.” Lee stood and paced behind his desk. “Lord Reginald was against all magic. Queen Isolde is for magic. Either way doesn’t stop the magic being everywhere. Witches aren’t necessarily bad. But years and years of always being able to get what you want – makes most of them selfish, self centered, self important, aloof, unfeeling and uncaring… ah, eh, hm. Point being – we can’t keep the peace without pushing the boundaries. “
“Sir. I will bring that back to my men, sir.”
“Good, good.” Lee said. But a stray thought crossed his mind. “Now, if you were Lord Reginald, a paranoid old bat who hated magic and loved gold… where would you hide your gold?”
“I don’t know sir – well, sir, there have been rumors sir?” The Lieutenant perked up a the mention of gold.
“Rumors? Like what?”
The lieutenant started chattering excitedly and suddenly, Lee started reconsidering. Maybe it was time to get some gold from this adventure after all!

Vanessa


“Take a deep breath!” Boba commanded. “Visualize what you’re going to say! Imagine saying it! And, whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK DOWN.”

“She can look down if she wants,” Isolde said calmly. “Frankly, I love seeing the crowd before I speak.”

Vanessa took a deep breath and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to make an official proclamation about tax cut implementation to an entire plaza outside the royal balcony. She wore her finest clothes, just in case – even though she privately admitted to herself that it probably didn’t matter what she wore since most people could see any of the fine details. Taking another deep breath, she murmured, “This is just about tax cuts. I’m just explaining tax cuts.”

Boba wiggled his nose and jumped up. “Exactly! You’re just going to explain tax cuts – just to a bigger crowd than usual.”

Vanessa took another deep breath. “I’m just explaining tax cuts to a bigger crowd than usual,” she repeated. Then she frowned. “How much bigger?”

“A lot bigger,” Isolde said smugly. “After all, it’s an official proclamation!”

Vanessa audibly sucked in air.

Boba shot a look at Isolde, then turned to Vanessa gently. “Don’t worry about it,” Boba said. “Just DON’T LOOK DOWN.”

“Don't look down?” Vanessa asked, frowning.

Boba nodded seriously. Then, without attempting to explain, he repeated, “Don't look down.”

“All right,” Vanessa said, hardly comforted by this repeated advice. “Don’t look down.” Then she frowned. “What about security?” she asked worriedly. “Should we worry about that at all?”

“It’ll be fine,” Boba said. “You have to force most people to attend finance meetings anyway. Why should this be any different?”

Isolde looked annoyed. “This is an official proclamation! There are plenty of people milling around the plaza.”

“Whatever,” Boba said, scratching his ear with his hind leg. “It’s still boring to most people. Even if there are a bunch of people milling about, they’re probably not going to pay attention to you, beyond being excited that a queen is speaking.”

Isolde rolled her eyes and walked out on the balcony. Being a musician, Vanessa guessed that she never was afraid of public speaking… a fact that made Vanessa feel cross. As Isolde came to the balcony, she heard a blast of trumpets. At the sound, the crowd roared loudly, saying, “Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”

Vanessa paled at the roar. It was deafening.

Isolde beamed and waved. The crowd only became, if possible, even louder.

In a loud voice, Isolde called out, “For my first official proclamation, I would like to introduce… my Economic Minister, Vanessa Cooper!” She gestured for Vanessa to stand next to her while the chess reverberated the entire castle.

“All right,” Vanessa muttered to herself, taking another deep breath. “Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look–”

And that’s when she looked down and saw the crowd.