LSS: Total Party Kill

Vanessa

Vanessa approached the meeting with every apprehension. Truth be told, she didn’t feel very good in her new role as a Minister of Commerce. Though Boba hopped happily beside her, she couldn’t help but think she was very much a fraud. She was a nurse. She healed people. Not designed economic theory! And though she was happy to have Boba’s help, she couldn’t help but wonder whether it would be better for him to entirely take the reins in this particular case.

Not that he would, Vanessa thought grimly. Neirin had been very clear in his intentions. The various forest creatures were there, not to take over, but to peacefully allow for the transition to happen without too much of a fuss. Boba Bojangles would refuse any appointment given to him, even if Vanessa begged him.

However, she couldn’t help but feel grumpy about it anyway.

Shaking her thoughts away from the strange mess that she found herself in, Vanessa tried to focus on the matter at hand. “This Cassandra person,” she said hesitantly walking quickly, wishing that her skirts were more flowing and official-looking. Mentally, she made a note to ask Queen Isolde if she could have a dressmaker make some better looking clothes, considering that she had to go to official meetings. “Did you say she was a prophetess of sorts?”

“That’s what she said,” Boba agreed cheerfully.

Vanessa frowned. “Do you know her at all?”

“Nope,” Boba said, still infuriatingly cheerful. “Not at all.”

Vaness’s frown deepened. “Is she actually a prophetess?”

Boba laughed. “I have no idea.”

Nessa frowned more and tried to remember something – anything – about prophecies or prophets, but nothing clear came to mind. The only thing that she remembered clearly was going to the carnival and watching Madame Housini make strange fortunes – for a price, of course.

Though, Vanessa might not have even remembered Madame Housini, of course, had it but been for Cyril, her brother.

Cyril, for whatever reason, had found Madame Housini’s fortunes hilariously laughable and wildly inaccurate. But, unwilling to just laugh about her and leave it alone, Cyril made it his special mission in exposing her as the carnie fraud that she was. Though Madame Housini, ever the consummate professional, ignored his attempts to expose her and just continued on with her fortune telling, Cyril hounded her with a persistence that would have been terrifying, had he not only been thirteen at the time. Vanessa found her brother’s obsession with the woman a bit odd, but nothing too alarming, given how awkward and gangling he was at the time.

Still, everything changed when Madame Housini took a brief break.

When Cyril found out that Madame Housini was gone for an hour at her usual post at the carnival to host a special seance for the carnival managers and their friends, he couldn’t resist. Taking Vanessa to serve as a guard to watch this insane prank – Cyril even lent her his giant hunting knife, just in case, though Vanessa thoroughly insisted she didn’t need it – Cyril snuck into her tent and put on some of her extra clothes so that he looked like a tall Madame Housini. Then he went out where she usually sat and pretended to be her.

For about twenty minutes, Cyril was happy to pose as Madame Housini in all her carnie corniness and mislead all the poor souls that came to her tent for advice as a mere prank. Vanessa even started to relax, thinking that this was a mere harmless stunt that her brother had engaged in – a rarity even then. But then Cyril got bored. So, still dressed up as Madame Housini, he made his way to the tent where the real Madame Housini and all the carnival managers were.

And how to explain the scene? Madame Housini had just gotten everyone in the tent to calm down and take deep breaths so that they were in a trance-like state. The candles on the table had melted low and there was a eerie sense in the room, as if something special were about to happen. Even Vanessa, peering from behind the tent flap, could feel a profound, palpable sense of … something. Impending doom, perhaps? She couldn’t explain it. She felt as if there had been a curtain drawn back and that perhaps tere was magic – real magic – coming. If she closed her eyes, she could even imagine the whispers and moans of hundreds of corpses, stirring in the ground.

But then her brother – why did it always have to be her brother – jumped into the tent, dressed as Madame Housini. Throwing his voice so that it was eerily like Madame Housini, Cyril leapt onto the table and pointed to Madame Housini, yelling, “I have seen your future, and your future spells D-O-O-M!!!”

Then he kicked the candles on the table, which promptly lit the tablecloth on fire.

What happened then was utter chaos. As soon as the tablecloth burst into flames, Vanessa – who had been hiding near the curtain, watching the entire scene unfold, gave a bloodcurdling scream. Madame Housini, upon seeing her likeness yell at her about her doom and hearing a bloodcurdling scream in the background, promptly panicked and ran around screaming. The carnival managers, upon waking up from their trance and seeing everything on fire while two Madame Housinis were staring at each other, panicked more.

Already, there was trouble. But then – just as he always did – Cyril made it worse.

As soon as he saw how much chaos he had created, he guessed that, if he were caught, he would be in a lot of trouble. So he decided that he would keep up his pretense of Madame Housini more, until he could figure out a way to escape. So he began running around, screaming like Madame Housini. Which meant that there were two Madame Housinis running around screaming. This was already bad enough. But what Cyril didn’t know at the time was that, when he kicked the candle over, not only had he lit the tablecloth on fire, but he also had lit one of the petticoats he wore while he was impersonating Madame Housini.

Which meant that his entire skirt became to flame brilliantly.

Now, most normal people would think, “Oh no, my dress is on fire! I should put it out!”

But not Cyril.

According to him – and Vanessa knew this was his line of reasoning because he sheepishly told her this after the entire event took place – he panicked upon seeing the dress on fire, not because the skirt was on fire, but rather because, if his skirt was on fire, that meant he would be easily recognizable as the Madame Housini imposter. And so, what was her brilliant brother’s absolutely brilliant solution to the entire problem?

He threw a lit candle at the real Madame Housini’s skirt so that her skirt caught on fire too.

At this point, Vanessa didn’t think that things could get worse, but then they did because Madame Housini, realizing that her dress was on fire, decided to put out the fire… by throwing herself on the floor and rolling on the floor until the fire went away.

Normally, this probably would have been an effective way to put out a fire. After all, when Vanessa was a child, she had been taught to stop, drop, and roll if ever her clothes caught on fire. Had Madame Housini been on a tile floor… or a brick floor… or even a dirt floor… the crisis might have been entirely averted.

But this meeting was held in a large tent that had been previously used to house elephants in… and the floor was lined with straw.

To this day, Vanessa was still amazed how quickly everything lit up in flames. In her mind, she knew that a tent with a straw floor was probably not the safest idea and that it would probably burst into flames fairly quickly if everything else were to burst into flames. And yet, even she was overwhelmed by how fast everything was set aflame.

And, seeing everything in flames, that’s when Vanessa stepped in. Using Cyril’s hunting knife that he gave her in the beginning, she ripped holes in the flaming tent so that everyone could escape. Then, finding Cyril, still acting the part of Madame Housini in the chaos, she grabbed his arm and hissed in his ear, “Get out now!”

Cyril, happy to have an excuse to flee the scene, left quickly, while Vanessa grabbed everyone else and pulled them out, along with other bystanders who saw the scene and began to help. As a fire brigade began to form, Vanessa cleared her throat and yelled, “Please! I am a healer! Does anyone need any healing assistance?”

And that was when Vanessa’s healing career officially began. Though, surprisingly, it was not when Cyril’s prison career began. That happened later, for different reasons.

Still, when Vanessa thought about prophets and reflected back on that crazy day, she couldn’t help but smile. At the time, it didn't seem at all funny, but now? The more she thought about it, the more amused she was.

Still, Madame Housini was a clear fraud. Vanessa had no doubt about that. And, while Madame Housini posed as a prophetess, she clearly had no way of knowing the future. Otherwise, Cyril would not have caught her off-guard as he had.

Walking with Boba hopping at her heels, she wondered about this new prophetess that came. Cassandra. Boba had no idea whether Cassandra was the genuine thing or not, and his lack of certainty concerned her. After all, if there was really someone who could foretell the future, wouldn’t everyone know about her?

The thought made her head hurt.

“Here we are!” Boba finally said, hopping excitedly. “All we have to do is walk through this set of doors and our future will be revealed!”

Vanessa frowned. “And what is our future?”

Boba laughed, wiggling his ears. “This meeting, of course!”

Lorelei woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Golden light streamed through the window and Lorelei could hear birds chirping in the distance. She could also hear the sound of creaking floorboards, a sign that people were up and moving about in the din. She went over to the mirror and took a glance. Her hair was disheveled from sleep, a problem she sorted out with a quick spell. Her hair magically untangled, she proceeded to tie it up in a bun to keep it out of the way. She then splashed some water into her face to dispel the last remnants of sleep while Honkers looked on.

“Good morning Honkers, how did you sleep?” Lorelei asked, now that she was feeling more aware.

“HONK,” Honkers replied cheerfully.

“Excellent,” Lorelei said. “Why don’t you use the translation system in your armor?”

“HONK,” Honkers said tersely.

“Let me guess, why should you use the translation thingy if I don’t cast speak with animals?”

“HONK,” Honkers said smugly.

“Okay, fair point. I just wanted to check up on you to see how things are going,” Lorelei said apologetically.

“HONK.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get breakfast in a moment,” Lorelei said, as she changed clothes. When she was finished, she checked her appearance. She wore red robes and the hat of disguise looked smart atop her head. She twirled in front of the mirror and smiled, satisfied with her appearance. She quickly packed her things away, then opened the door. The smell of fresh baked bread met her nose and her stomach growled with as much hunger as anticipation.

Lorelei went downstairs and there among the tables, serving customers, was Schmerple. When they met yesterday, Schmerple’s demeanor was cold and suspicious. Now though, Lorelei got a chance to see Schmerple in a more relaxed state. She moved easily from one table to the next, chatting up patrons and writing down their orders with tireless efficiency. Lorelei knew at that moment was no mere waitress, but a master waitress. Every movement was fluid and graceful, with no wasted effort. Lorelei knew there was no magic at play, but there was still something mesmerizing about watching the master waitress work.

Lorelei didn’t wait on the stairs long, she knew she wanted to be a part of the proceedings rather than observing them. Lorelei quickly found a table of her own and Schmerple came over as soon as she spotted her.

“Good morning, Miss Lorelei. You look refreshed! Did you sleep well?” Schmerple said.

“I slept fine, thank you. Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

“I just finished brewing it. Would you like it now or with breakfast?”

“I’ll take it with breakfast. What’s that intoxicating smell?”

“That’s the chef’s special. We have fresh baked bread, sausage, eggs in whatever style you like, some roasted tomatoes, and a fresh baked cinnamon roll. Say the word and I can have it over to you in a matter of minutes.”

“It sounds wonderful, let’s do it,” Lorelei said.

“How would you like the eggs?” Schmerple asked.

“Over easy,” Lorelei replied.

“HONK” Honkers said insistently.

“Sure thing, can I get some bread and water for Honkers?” Lorelei asked.

“Sure thing,” Schmerple said with a laugh before heading off to place the order. Lorelei waited patiently with Honkers. The place was busy this morning, apparently it was popular not just with the travelers but also with locals. Just as she was waiting, she caught sight of a familiar face. Derek had appeared and walked up to Lorelei.

“Good morning Derek,” Lorelei said. “I hope you have been staying out of trouble?”

“Yes Miss Lorelei. Miss Lorelei, may I ask you a question?”

“What about?” Lorelei asked curiously. Derek leaned in closer.

“My mom says that you’re a witch, is that true?” he whispered, fidgeting nervously. Lorelei smiled, and nodded with a wink. Derek’s eyes widened a bit at the revelation.

“Is it true,” he continued in a whisper, “that witches have a familiar?”

“I do,” she said, leaning in and matching his whisper. She nodded to Honkers. “His name is Honkers, and I’ve never met a more fascinating goose in all my life.”

“He looks dangerous,” Derek said.

“He’s very dangerous,” Lorelei agreed. “But he is also very smart and loyal, even if he is sometimes stubborn. He has seen me safely through many dangers and we make a good team. Once he even destroyed an iceberg.”

“Derek, don’t bother Miss Lorelei while she is eating. Or, for that matter, when she isn’t eating.” Schmerple said as she returned with hot coffee and warm food. The food looked delicious. Schmerple skillfully placed a plate for Honkers, who immediately began to peck at the warm bread.

“I’m not bothering her!” Derek said loudly as Lorelei grabbed the mug of coffee and took a sip. The warmth of the coffee spread quickly and she felt reinvigorated.

“Schmerple, you’re a miracle worker,” Lorelei said, putting the coffee down. “This coffee is incredible.”

“Wait until you taste the food Miss Lorelei,” Schmerple said with a wink. “Come along Derek, let the lady eat in peace. Miss Lorelei, if you need anything, just holler” Schmerple said as she escorted the boy away as he protested. Lorelei barely registered it, food had taken all of her attention. Everything had been cooked to perfection. She devoured it all within a few minutes, but although it had lasted only a short while, Lorelei would think about that breakfast often in the days to come.

Lorelei finished her coffee and paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. After saying goodbye to Derek and Schmerple, she left the inn. She made a note of the inn, it was called “Nate’s Great Tavern.” She hadn’t come from the road and so hadn’t noticed the name before then.

From there, Lorelei hiked off into the nearby meadow. She checked to make sure everything was secured, and when she was satisfied, she whispered the magic words “Julie Andrews” before kicking off from the ground and soaring high into the sky. She continued heading North with Honkers in tow.

She made good progress until late in the afternoon. As the hours passed, dark clouds appeared on the horizon as the storm approached. Strong winds started to howl around them. Her hair bun came undone in the strong winds and even Honkers seemed to be struggling.

“We need to land now!” Lorelei yelled to Honkers. Lightning flashed above her revealing a clearing below her in between forests and something… odd. She didn’t have time to think about it as she felt static electricity building in the air. She raced down to the ground and landed in the clearing. Her boots sank into the mud as she dismounted her broom, she smelled something, then froze as she recognized the smell of burnt flesh. Seconds later, she spotted the bodies.

Six bodies were present in the clearing, the majority scorched beyond recognition. Honkers looked over and started honking loudly. There, perched against a tree, was another body. Lorelei advanced and Honkers followed closely. Lorelei cast light, and gasped. The body was barely recognizable, but Lorelei recognized him as Marlon Grey, the leader of the mercenary group that had bought her a drink only weeks before. He was hunched over, and she saw a piece of a tree limb coming from his armor. Blood slowly oozed from the wound. She reached down to check his pulse and was surprised to find one, albeit weak.

Lorelei pulled a healing potion from her belt, then pulled Marlon from the tree. Blood gushed forth as the wound opened. Lorelei quickly administered the healing potion and was pleased to see the wounds close, although he was definitely still badly injured. His eyes opened and flashed with recognition.

“Lorelei?” Marlon gasped as he recognized her.

“Don’t speak,” she said sternly. “Save your strength for when you need it.”

“The others-” Marlon asked.

“They didn’t make it,” Lorelei said. Marlon’s face fell, so she added: “I’ve given you a healing potion.”

“Thank you,” Marlon said weakly. “We were traveling with a guy named Cyril. He wasn’t armed and he was traveling alone, so we decided to accompany him. He seemed okay. I was scouting ahead when we were hit with a blast, I don’t remember anything else,” Marlon said.

“Drink this,” Lorelei said, handing him a different potion. “It will help with the pain.” Marlon took it and downed it. Within moments his eyes rolled back as he fell unconscious and Lorelei began the next phase of her plan.

It was clear that Marlon wouldn’t last very long without her, nor would there be any progress to be made in the storm. She needed to set up a shelter, but first she had to get Marlon out of the mud. With great effort, she lifted Marlon up onto the broom and floated him away from the bodies of his comrades. She set him down near a tree one hundred yards away, before taking out a tent from her backpack. She whispered a command word and the tent began to assemble itself in front of her. Within moments, the tent was ready and Lorelei brough Marlon inside the tent.

The magic tent was well equipped. Sensing the two occupants, it had created two rooms with cots, pillows, and blankets. The roof kept the rain out and a lit brazier occupied the center of the tent, providing heat and light. Two chairs and a small table were adjacent to the brazier, as well as a comfortable nesting area for Honkers to lay in.

“Honkers, can you go back to the bodies and bring back any personal effects? I need to attend to Marlon,” Lorelei said.

“HONK,” Honkers replied, wiggling his tail feathers before trotting off into the rain. Water effortlessly rolled off his back.

Lorelei took Marlon into one of the rooms and carefully removed the little that remained of his clothes to examine the full extent of his injuries. His face, arms, hands, legs, and torso were all badly burned. She then applied healing salves to treat Marlon’s burns, using what she remembered of what Vanessa had done when Lorelei had been burned by a fire spell. It took a few hours to apply them all, but fortunately Marlon slept through it.

When Lorelei emerged from Marlon’s side of the tent, she discovered Honkers waiting patiently with all the gear he had managed to salvage. There wasn’t much, most of the ordinary items had been destroyed immediately. Other than six matching sets of damaged armor and weapons, there was nothing left to salvage.

Lorelei left the tent and returned to where she had found Marlon’s team. She cast dancing lights and spread them over the scene. She saw the bodies again, but now she began to notice details that she had previously missed. At the center of the bodies was a blast crater, and at the center the dirt had been turned to glass, the calling card of an extremely powerful fireball spell. Marlon had been found further from the blast, perhaps he had been further away when it had exploded.

The rain had obscured any chance of finding footprints, much less tracking them. They had been on a side path though. Lorelei surveyed the area, but found no other bodies or signs of bodies. Lorelei frowned, if they had been hit by bandits, she would have expected Marlon to have been finished off. Using a fireball didn’t make sense either for bandits, it had the tendency to destroy anything of value your victims would have.

Frustrated, Lorelei turned to return to the camp. Perhaps they had hit a fireball trap? But who would put a fireball trap on a side path? If it was an attack by a magical creature, then why were there stab marks instead of puncture wounds from teeth?

Lorelei entered the tent and closed it behind her. Her patient was still asleep and Lorelei set to work making some supper. There was nothing left for her to do but wait impatiently for Marlon to wake up.

It struck her then: there weren’t seven people, but eight. Marlon, his dead comrades, and the man named Cyril. And with six sets of matching armor, that implied that the bodies she had found were Marlon’s comrades. So where was Cyril? And why was that name so familiar somehow?

The third section of the Guard stood around the dusty field which was the ‘Official Parade Ground’. Section one was off duty, section two was supposedly at their stations – or at a local bar, or asleep somewhere near their stations, it was hard to tell – and Section four didn’t have enough men to do anything other than sub in for the no-shows. It was the kind of thing that made officers flog their men – which can work of course, but Lee suspected it would overly tax their limp loyalty.

Isolde wasn’t helping much. Other than his reports that everyone and everything seemed to be trying to kill her – his last report was from a guardsman saying something about her being threatened by a Fey – she seemed to be doing a whole lot of nothing. No decrees, no official proclamations, no rolling back of the arduous tax rates and schemes of the evil mastermind who was her predecessor. Just lolling about and whining about music and fashion. Honestly, Lee was starting to think her assassins could use some help.

But enough about the worthless politicians.

Lee had the section’s Captain, a thin rugged looking fellow who was missing an ear, walk him through the ‘standard exercises’, which were mostly physical exercise in an overly choreographed way. At one point, the guards had to twirl their fake swords, and Lee had enough.

“Officer! Oy!”

The Captain called “Halt” and turned about to Lee, who strode up to him shaking his head in wonder. “What’s all this then? Why’re this lot twirlin the swords like a bunch of preformin’ clowns? Are we a circus troop, eh?”

“You asked for the usual training sir.” The officer responded a bit too harsh for Lee’s liking.

“And you. Do you think this is useful?” Lee spat

“Its teamwork. The guard must work as a unit, sir.”

Lee laughed. “This makes a mockery of teamwork. This is rote performance. Teamwork means knowing what the man next to you will be doing in the middle of a fight.”

The Captain looked about then cocked his head. “Of course sir. Perhaps you could provide a demonstration?”

Lee grinned. He liked that he was getting under the thin skin of the skinny fellow.

“Pick your best three with a sword, then let me see this teamwork firsthand!”

The guard barked out names and Lee retrieved a pair of wooden practice swords from some of the men in formation.

“You’re the Ref, Captain.” Lee said, and went over to the three men. “Right. You’re here to subdue me, or kill me. Killing blows are any to the torso and the head, strikes to an arm or a leg mean you can’t use it anymore.”

Lee stepped back, and the Captain stepped to the middle. “On the Ready!” He called, eyeing back and forth. “Fight!”

Lee didn’t wait for them. He wasn’t the waiting type, really. Three on one could tire him out if he played defense, and all three of the men were younger than him besides. He ran forward and to the right, setting the tall fellow on the right in between him and the other two. The fellow came towards him as well, which, Lee would have to tell them, made for poor teamwork. Better to wait for his comrads to flank, or better yet to step back and give them more time.

Lee didn’t believe in giving time either though, and he flew at the fellow. The wooden swords clunked in parries and thrusts. Not as nice a sound as ringing steel, but there was no need to kill anyone today. He feigned an overhead blow and as the fellow raised his own sword to block he whipped the sword around and thrust it into the fellow’s shoulder.

Cheers and groans came up from the assemble guardsmen, who had somewhat abandoned their twirling positions and now edged their way into a half circle about the fighters. The officer called his man out, and the other two, looking more skittish now, played defense.

Now with a bit more strategy, these two tried to come up from either side of Lee, but he ran hard every time they moved to flank him. He engaged one hard, trying to keep an eye on the other, but they always fell back, nearly running each time he came close. The assembled guards laughed at this, but Lee wasn’t laughing. He hated running. Finally, he let the slower fellow flank him, as he tried to pin down the other. Lee waited until the one fellow jumped and ran back again, and just in time to turn and launch at his flanking attacker, who thinking he was about to strike was closing on him. Lee parried away both swords coming at him, and raised his second. The man’s eyes opened wide as he tried to stop, but he had fully committed to his charge on Lee, and his speed flung him stomach first into Lee’s offhand sword.

Lee turned to the last man and bowed. He dropped his swords and turned to the men watching in rapt attention.

“Our lesson today will be teamwork in fighting!” He hollered. The officer and the third man seemed a bit perplexed that the fight was suddenly over, but Lee had their attention, and that was fine. “Every man in this unit should have two others with whom you practice regularly. You don’t have to be friends, and you don’t have to be nice. But you need to know HOW they fight. What they will do in a pinch. Which way they dodge. Whether they will fall back, or move out front. You need to watch their back so they can watch yours.”

He motioned for the men who had been fighting him to come over.

Turning to the first fellow, he asked “So how is it I could take you? What made three on one possible?”

“Sir, you were too fast, sir!”

“Wrong! You should have known where your allies were. If they had been all around me, I would have been too distracted to focus on you. You went for the kill!” Lee smiled, “I always go for the kill. No waiting around. I like the initiative. But! My friends who fight with me know this. They use this.”

Lee turned to the nearby guard who he hadn’t managed to get during the fight. “What could you have been doing?”

“Flanking you, Sir!”

“Possible,” Lee said. He paced up the line and turned. “But PREDICTABLE.” He let that word simmer for a few moments. “Surprise wins every battle it fights!” He hefted one of the practice swords and threw it over the guards head – the guard ducked. “How about a distraction?”

“The Magical folk – Wizards and Witches – They excel at this! Flashing lights have killed as many soldiers as fireballs! They play and sing their magic, and illusion takes over! Never forget that you too can distract, you can throw firecrackers instead of fire spells. You can use smoke and darkness. It must be said that no method of fighting is unknown to you.”

“Now!” Lee barked. “Split up in groups of three! You’re going to practice moving as a unit!”

An hour later, Section Three of the Guard was dismissed from drill. They were sweaty, and tired, but to Lee they seemed a darn bit happier then when they’d all been doing their group dance moves.

Mallin

Watching the goose put on armor that made him look like a freakish armored black swan was hard enough – was his name Bonkers? That sounded about right. But what bothered Mallin the most was that no one – not even Neirin! – seemed interested in her presence. At all. Mallin puffed up her feathers, watching the dictatorial goose prance around and demand bread while thinking to herself:

When are they going to ask about me?

If she hadn’t had an interesting story to tell, that would have been slightly off-putting, but this time she actually had an interesting story!

Yes, her side trip with Marlon had been a tedious adventure full of confusion and awkwardness. In the end, Mallin and her crew decided that they didn't actually want to fly seven people in full body armor with all their gear one thousand miles away. And so they settled on a place nearby a high security prison… something with a Gor in the front of the name, though Mallin couldn’t remember the name. Not that it mattered. Everything in this bizarre country seemed to have a Gor in its name. Mallin couldn’t understand it… was the prefix Gor for a city really that necessary?

Marlon had been mad when they first arrived. After riding on a grypon – which was never the most comfortable way for anyone to ride – he looked around and immediately grew angry. “This isn’t Gor Chastem!” Marlon shouted at Mallin. “This is Gor Lobos!”

At the time, Mallin only flipped her tail in a noncommitted way. In the most cattish voice she could muster, she said, “Gor Chastem, Gor Lobos, what’s the difference? They’re both as gory as the other.”

Still, Marlon didn’t seem to be comforted by Mallin’s words. “We wanted to go to the mines! This place is where the high-security prison is!”

“So what?” Mallin said, swishing her tail in a bored manner. “Are you scared that some scary-wary prisoner is going to walk out of the high security prison and say hi to you?”

Marlon looked frustrated and puffed out his chest, drawing out his blade. “Of course not! And, even if there is a prison escape, my group and I can handle them easily. We’re not weak! But we need to go to Gor Chastem, not this place!”

Mallin glanced at his blade, then stared at him with her beady, expressionless eagle eyes. “Why?”

Marlon looked even more frustrated. “Because we’re not going to be paid if we don’t go to Gor Chastem, of course!”

Mallin hissed, annoyed. “You’re not going to be paid for this anyway,” Mallin said. “King Reginald doesn’t pay his debts. Not anymore, at least. You’ll be lucky if he gives you a thank you and a handshake.”

Marlon glowered at Mallin. “Oh, he’ll pay us. Or else he’ll regret it!”

Mallin only laughed. “Well, we better get going,” she said, nodding to the gryphons beside her, who had just finished unloading all of the gear. “We have a long way to fly – and we really should be going soon!”

“Not until you bring us back to where we should be!” Marlon declared. “Take us back to Gor Chastem… or else!”

“Are you threatening us now?” Mallin asked, her feathers fluffing up. She curled up her claws and stared at Marlon while the other gryphons joined her.

Marlon glanced at the gryphons, saw how annoyed they looked, and decided to back down immediately. “Of course not!” he said quickly. “But what am I supposed to here? I need to go to the mines, not hang around a prison!”

Mallin remained unfazed. “King Reginald put just as many of his prisoners in the mines as he did in the prisoners. I fail to see the difference.”

“Well, just because you’re too stupid to see the difference doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Marlon muttered under his breath.

It was clear that Marlon was only grumbling and that he never intended for Mallin to understand what he had said. Had Mallin been a human, she probably would have only heard him mutter indistinguishably. Then, if Mallin had asked him to clarify, he would have denied saying anything at all. Mallin had seen enough human interactions to know that is exactly what would have happened, had Mallin been a human.

But Mallin was not a human. She was a gryphon. And she had large, feathery ears that could catch even the slightest rustle of the wind – and every single one of his rude words.

And so Mallin laughed loudly. “If I’m too stupid to know the difference, then I clearly can’t help you anymore.” Then she whistled. “Come on, gryphons! Let’s go!”

An alarmed expression entered Marlon’s face. “Wait!” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

But Mallin didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. She and all her compatriots had taken off and left Marlon and his group. The last time she had seen them, they had been staring at them with gaping mouths with unhappy expressions on their faces.

No, that wasn’t a very interesting story, Mallin decided. It was amusing to Mallin, of course, and she and her gryphons had gathered around and laughed about it later. But it wasn’t an important story to share with the court, and she recognized it immediately.

But the return trip! That had been something special!

Shortly after he learned that Marlon’s crew never made it to Gor Chastem, King Reginald had sent a letter saying that he was very disappointed in the delivery skills of the gryphons. And so she took that letter and brought it to the eyrie and read to everyone, including the Matron.

And it was like an epiphany set off the eyrie. It was a wondrous event. Mallin could still feel her feathers tingling in excitement from hearing the fine speeches that her fellow gryphons spoke – speeches of freedom and liberty. They had even drafted a document called The Declaration of Independence – an exciting and completely new document that was so completely original that the very name sent goosebumps down her spine.

Imagine! Gryphons writing such an important document! Mallin guessed that bards would be singing about it for all time. Perhaps they would be even celebrating it with fireworks every year – a fact that tickled her fancy. Even though she knew fireworks were dangerous, she always liked flying around them and watching the pretty colors light up the sky – even if her tail was occasionally singed.

And she wanted to proclaim the gryphons’ resolution to the rooftops! Even before this strange coup, if you could call it that, was initiated, the gryphons had decided to be free of King Reginald’s tyranny. In fact, the whole reason why Mallin was there was to personally deliver the document – that is, The Declaration of Independence, Mallin thought proudly – to King Reginald and thus officially declare their independence.

But no. King Reginald had been overthrown without the gryphons’ help. And now Mallin was watching Bonkers get some new clothes and honk around maniacally for bread.

Worse, Mallin had no idea who these new overlords were. King Reginald had many enemies, of course, and the gryphons knew of some of them, but Queen Isolde was a newcomer. Besides, she didn’t even know of anyone of noble descent named Isolde. It was considered to be a bad name to give to your daughter – after all, there had been a noble girl named Isolde that lived three hundred years ago who had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Ever since, nobody had dared named their daughter that, lest the same fate would happen to their daughter.

And now Queen Isolde was sitting on the throne? It didn’t make sense!

Nor could she seem to find Queen Isolde or anyone who seemed to be able to connect Mallin with Queen Isolde. At first, Mallin had been hopeful that Neirin would potentially connect her with Queen Isolde – after all, Mallin was almost certain that Neirin was behind this coup of sorts. Except Neirin seemed to be more interested in this crazy goose named Bonkers.

The idea was infuriating.

Still, she looked around hopefully for a friendly face. Puffing up her feathers proudly and lifting her tail in a friendly gesture, she asked, “Does anyone want to hear about what is currently going on with the gryphons?”

Neirin looked bored. “Not particularly,” he said, yawning. “What would you tell us? Your favorite postal route?”

Mallin glared at Neirin. “No! We've declared our independence from the human overlords!” she said, grabbing the Declaration of Independence with her talons and offering it to Neirin.

Neirin glanced at the document and shrugged his shoulders, blowing smoke circles out of his nose. “Big deal. We dragons have been independent for years, and you don't see us prattling around with fancy documents stating the obvious.” Neirin hesitated. “Though, come to think of it, we've never allowed ourselves to be enslaved like you.”

Mallin gritted her beak and remembered how much she hated dragons. “Well, is there way of gaining an audience to speak with the queen?”

Neirin frowned. “That’s the problem. She keeps wandering off, and her keepers don’t seem to know where she is.”

Mallin clicked her beak with annoyance. “So what do you want me to do about it?” Mallin snapped. “Babysit your queen?”

Neirin slowly blinked in a way that made it clear that he was considering Mallin’s words seriously. “Perhaps that would be for the best…”

Vanessa


Boba bounced up and kicked the door open with his back legs. Then, wiggling his nose, he nodded to Vanessa and said, “Ladies first!”

Vanessa quickly rushed into the conference room.

Then she saw Cassandra and blinked.

For some reason, Vanessa was expecting to see Madame Housini II when she opened the door, complete with long velvet robes in deep purple, along with gaudy costume jewelry so big that it made her whole body sag with its weight. Also, the make up! She expected Cassandra to be so made up that her face looked like it were draped under a perpetual shadow.

And Vanessa knew that the whole look of Madame Housini was utterly contrived. Otherwise, her brother wouldn’t have looked so thoroughly like Madame Housini! All it took was a change of clothes, a wig, and a little bit of a make up and her brother had essentially turned into Madame Housini. (It was the make up part that amused Vanessa the most when her brother had disguised himself as Madame Housini… to see her brother, with his fresh youthful face, turn into an old woman with a couple of cleverly placed strokes of charcoal around his eyes made her burst out in laughter.) So, intellectually, she knew that what she expected to see was completely unrealistic.

Still, when Vanessa first laid eyes on Cassandra, she couldn’t help but think that Cassandra looked… normal. Too normal, in fact. Suspiciously normal to the point that Vanessa had a hard time imagining that this woman could be a prophetess at all.

Not that she looked bad! Cassandra was a homely looking woman in her mid forties with slightly brownish, slightly grayish hair braided tightly together. She wore peasant’s clothes and had a pleasant, round face that was slightly plump and red. Had Vanessa seen her at the healing wing, she would have struck up a pleasant conversation with her and probably become her best friend within minutes of talking with her.

But there was nothing about her that made it look like she could be anything more than a simple peasant woman, and definitely nothing about her that suggested she could hold any valuable prophetic ability. She looked… too plain and simple. After all, surely a prophetess of any value would not just be a peasant? Why, if Vanessa were a prophetess, she would at the very least gamble enough to get rich enough that she would be able to afford nice dresses with a flow to them which would make her look impressive whenever she walked into the meeting.

The meeting, Vanessa reminded herself sternly. She looked over Cassandra critically and frowned. “You’re… the prophetess?” she asked slowly, not sure what else to say. Then, when Cassandra turned bright red, she realized that perhaps she started off the meeting all wrong. Frantically, she tried to remember what a courtly official might say to begin a meeting… then realized that she didn’t know anything about courtly officials conducting any meetings because the only courtly things she had read up to now had been courtly romances that definitely did not prepare herself for anything like this.

As Vanessa watched, Cassandra turned bright red. “I am,” she admitted, nervously smoothing out her rough skirts. She glanced at Vanessa, frowning. “And are you the Minister of Commerce?”

“Of course,” Vanessa said quickly, realizing that she probably looked just as out of place as Cassandra. She glanced around the room, saw a heavy wooden table with solid chairs, and gestured to it. “Sit down!” she said in what she hoped was an authoritative – but not too mean – way of speaking. Cassandra curtsied in an unsure manner and sat down in the chair while Boba, as cheerful as ever, hopped on the table to watch the whole exchange.

Vanessa glanced at Boba, hoping desperately that he might start off the meeting. After all, Boba seemed to be better at her job than she was. However, he just wiggled his nose. So Vanessa sighed and turned back to Cassandra reluctantly. “So… will you tell me why a prophetess wants to meet up with the Minister of Commerce?”

“I want to warn you about something,” Cassandra began slowly, watching Vanessa’s face anxiously. Every word of hers was slow but weighty, as if every word of hers was important. The way she spoke only made Vanessa more nervous.

In the back of her mind, Vanessa wondered if perhaps Cassandra wanted to warn her about Toileandra’s future economic collapse… though, when Vanessa thought about it, she gloomily decided that it would be obvious to anyone with two eyes. After all, how many of King Reginald’s subjects had been promised pay without receiving anything? And now, they were all inheriting that mess! It made Vanessa mad that they even took over this ruinous country. Things might have been bad under King Reginald’s command, but at least if King Reginald had stayed king, he would have probably eventually come to justice when a more organic uprising occurred.

The thought irritated Vanessa.

“I didn’t want to see you at first,” Cassandra admitted suddenly, turning, if possible, even redder. “I tried to see the Queen. But she wasn’t around. Then, I suggested that it was a matter of national security and tried to turn to the defense, but I was turned away from that because the commander was still in flux. And the other magical beasts didn’t seem to care. So after going through several other posts, I was finally brought into your department and promised an audience.”

Vanessa stared at her, frowning. “Is this prophecy about a future economic problem?” she asked slowly, wondering if this matter was something that she could even handle.

Cassandra nodded quickly. “Oh, yes! It will definitely pose a problem to the economy, if nobody does anything about it.”

Vanessa frowned more. “But is there an economic solution to this problem?”

Cassandra shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! But I figured I had to tell somebody, because it is the utmost importance that we prepare for this problem before it happens!”

Vanessa nodded knowingly, though she still had no idea what Cassandra was talking about. She leaned forward, doing her best to look professional. Clearing her throat, she said, “Very well, proceed. What have you prophesised?”

Cassandra hesitated. “First, I need to say something important. You see, I’m a very good prophet. Everything that I see always comes true. Everything! Except, I’m also cursed.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrow. “You’re… cursed?”

Cassandra nodded miserably. “You see, if I give out a prophecy, nobody ever believes me that it will happen, even though what I prophesies always happens! It is a curse.”

Vanessa glanced at Boba to see what his reaction was, but Boba looked as calm as ever. Still, Vanessa couldn’t help but feel unsettled. Cassandra… cursed? Honestly, Vanessa was skeptical at that. The idea of nobody listening to her because of a curse seemed crazy. It was far more likely that everyone wouldn’t believe that she was uttering a prophecy because she didn’t look the part. Now, if she looked like Madame Housini, people would take her seriously! Maybe not everyone – Vanessa winced inwardly as she thought of Cyril – but enough people would take her seriously enough.

Vanessa sighed. “All right, thanks for the warning,” she said, trying to sound professional and upbeat. “I promise I will listen to you seriously as you utter your prophecy. Now, what is your prophecy?”

Cassandra looked relieved. She leaned forward and whispered, “There’s going to be a tsunami soon!”

Vanessa blinked in surprise. “A… what?”

“A tsunami,” Cassandra said again, her voice louder and more urgent.

Vanessa frowned. “Like, are you saying that a giant tidal wave is going to come and kill us all?”

Cassandra nodded eagerly. “Exactly!”

Vanessa stared at her. “You’re joking.”

Suddenly, Cassandra’s cheeks flushed deep red. “You don’t believe me.”

Vanessa winced. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she began slowly. “It’s just…”

“No, you don’t believe me,” Cassandra said sadly. “Nobody ever believes me. But it’s coming! You must listen to me.”

Vanessa bit her lip and tried not to look annoyed by Cassandra’s accusation. “And how am I, the Minister of Commerce, supposed to do something about this coming tsunami?”

“Something! Anything!” Cassandra leaned forward eagerly. “I told you before, I tried to reach several people about this prophecy! First, I told King Reginald, but he dismissed my prophecy as simply a hysterical fear from a crazy woman. Then, when Queen Isolde ascended to the throne, I tried to tell her, but I couldn’t reach her. Then I tried to tell the leader of the army, but I couldn’t reach him. And I tried to tell other people, but nobody but you would listen. But now you can tell everyone and save the world!”

“Er…” Vanessa said, glancing at Boba for guidance.

Boba looked at Cassandra with a tilted head. “You had this vision of the tsunami when King Reginald was in power?” he asked.

Cassandra only nodded her head.

“How long have you had this vision of a tsunami?” Boba asked.

“For about two years now,” Cassandra said. “But I can feel it coming!”

“And when, pray tell, is it going to come, do you know?” Boba asked calmly.

“I’m not sure,” Cassandra admitted. “But it will come soon! In the meantime, we need to prepare! If we can have sandbags ready and build walls all along the coast that can withstand a giant tidal wave. Also, we can have public safety meetings where we inform the general public the basic signs of an impending tsunami and also have evacuation routes set up for the people along the coasts about potential meeting places…”

Cassandra’s voice was getting faster and more excited as she talked and Vanessa decided that she was crazy. Still, at least Cassandra was crazy in a innocent way. Still, Vanessa was definitely not thrilled about having to deal with telling a crazy person no, especially since she

Then, as Vanessa listened to Cassandra talk, a crazy idea came to her. She didn’t have the heart to tell Cassandra no… but she knew who did.

Lee.

Raising one hand, she interrupted Cassandra. “We don’t have a public safety coordinator yet in our administration,” she said. “Though, it’s a wonderful idea! Why don’t I connect you with Lee? He is working on that aspect right now.”

Cassandra perked up. “Really?”

“Really,” Vanessa said eagerly. “I’ll go write a letter for him right now and let him know your contact information!” Then she took out a piece of paper and a pen. “Can you write out your information so that I can contact you later?”

“Of course,” Cassandra agreed, writing something quickly down. “Thanks!”

When Cassandra left, Boba turned to her with a disapproving look. “You’re going to hand her off to Lee?”

Vanessa grinned. “What was that you were telling me about delegation again?”

Lee was in his unofficial ‘office’ when Vanessa arrived. It was somewhat centrally located between the parade ground, the barracks and the armory. He had been checking in earlier today and was going over the preliminary inventory of the guard’s armory which was being handled personally by the ex-chief of the guard. Lee grinned as she slid through the door with her bouncing sidekick.

“Ah, and how goes the commerce of the realm?” Lee quipped

“Oh, Lee, it’s so good to see you again,” Vanessa gushed, then paused looking around, “Couldn’t you find some nicer accommodations? There’s a whole castle here you know! Why there are some very nice rooms not too far from the throneroom which are just classey.”

It was true. The office was a unfurnished and unfinished room – one part of the castle that was build in the zeal of some King’s desire for a giant fortress with no real thought on what it would be used for. The room had been a storage room for broken furniture no one wanted when Lee acquired it. It lacked windows which meant the candles burned continually – which gave everything a bit of a smokey glaze. Still, Lee wasn’t interested in being too close to the machinations of Queens and nobles.

“I need to be one with the guard until they see me as one of their own. None of these fellows could have told you one thing about Lord Reginald, they trust in their officers and fight for their homeland. I keep in touch with the Queen, don’t worry.” That last part, Lee figured was a small enough lie to go unquestioned.

“Yeah, well, this room, it’s just horrid. Anyway, I came to tell you about a threat to our security! I just got back from talking with a very important prophetess Cassandra, and she says that she has a very urgent warning to us! Anyway, I figured that was your wheelhouse, so I wanted to let you know how to contact her and,” Lee cut her short

“She knows where ‘ol Reginald is, eh?”

“Well, no, I mean, not that I know of anyway. Who cares about him anyway?”

Lee was gobsmacked. Surely it was obvious that Reginald was going to try and retake the throne at some point! “I dun know what you’re on! What threat?”

Vanessa sighed. “Fine, I’ll play the messenger. Apparently, a massive tsunami is going to hit us soon.”

Lee tried to think. Last he could recall looking from the keep, it was a fair distance down to the harbor. “How massive?”

“I don’t know, I figured you could work out the details and,”

“Aren’t there earthquakes first?”

“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, somewhat exasperated now, “You’ll have to ask her-“

“Okay. So when?”

“Soon. Definitely soon.”

“What the dead cow’s uncle does that mean?” Lee pounded the table in front of him. It wavered about a bit. Vanessa looked apologetic.

“Would you like to ask her about it?”

“No, no,” Lee sighed. “Thanks for let’n me know. I’m good.”

“Well, okay! I should probably be getting back to business.” Vanessa chirped.

It was Lee’s turn to return the favor though. “Not just yet. We need to discuss piracy and tax evasion.”

Vanessa glanced over at Boba who shrugged. “With the highest tax rate in the known world, pretty much every business is evading taxes or is propped up by the crown! Not much business would happen if people actually paid full rate.”

Lee nodded. He didn’t like such things as tax cheats and liars, but then again, the kingdom was pretty much run into the ground by despots at this point. “So I should ignore them, eh? Let everything slide?”

Boba let his head bob back and forth. “Probably need to make a few heads roll… Just the worst offenders… keep everybody pretending…”

“Maybe, you can get our Majesty the Queen to see the wisdom in a more reasonable policy?”

Vanessa sighed. “You know, there’s a lot of pressure on her right now. People keep trying to kill her! I think she needs some time to grow into the role, you know?”

Lee was unimpressed, “And does she have time to grow into the role before we all get run out of town on a rail? We’re not exactly the most liked, ya know.”

Boba, as always, was more direct. “But can you stop the attacks? Isn’t that the guard’s job?”

“Partly.” Lee said, evenly, “I will note that she’s not dead yet. I have heard the reports of the attempts on her life.”

“Why isn’t this important to you?” Vanessa asked, “You avoid her, you barely do anything to protect her…”

Lee sighed. There had been at least a dozen attempts on the Queen, of which, he figured, the Queen was aware of at least two, maybe three. Vanessa should only know of one attempt as best as he could figure. But she wasn’t wrong either. The one girl had showed no signs of anything until the incident, and the Fey, well, he had three dead guardsmen to deal with, and no perfect answers on how to get rid of them. Now if Lorelei was around maybe he would have a dependable witch to deal with the magic. He figured that without magic it would take fifty men to take down the Fey… and that could go sideways fast.

He wasn’t going to admit it, but rebuilding the spy network was one of his chief priorities, and also one where he kept hitting dead ends. Good spies are hard to find and most of the ones he had were double agents; some for other nobles and some for the guilds. Still, beggers can’t be choosers, and he needed information even if it was coming through tinted glasses. But that wasn’t for the commerce secretary to deal with.

“I promise to keep the guard focused on keeping her safe.” Lee said, “But there are a million possible threats right now, and nothing in my power will keep her queen if everyone hates her. She don’t care what I say, but you know I’m talking sense. Get her to see it! We need this, or we will be runnin’ out of here for our lives.

Isolde rang the bell and a young man of about average height appeared behind the counter, although in Isolde’s eyes everyone in Gor Chasten seemed to be unusually tall. He had curly, shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, right where the collar of his brown jacket began. The white shirt underneath was pulled into a frilly shape below his chin—or was it a separate piece? Regardless, his dress was unlike anything else Isolde had seen in the past weeks.

“Hello, I’m Nathaniel,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”

“Could I inquire as to the price of that stuffed bear on the tall shelf?”

Instantly Nathaniel perked up like a cat. “Your Majesty, you do know that we have been offered quite the sum to place a bounty on your head?” he replied.

“I expected nothing less,” Isolde replied almost cheerily. “If I recall correctly, however, it has been considered proper that a bounty may not be placed upon the king or queen’s head in order to protect the larger community.”

“That is correct,” Nathaniel stated, his tone flat. But Isolde smiled. Clearly she had passed some sort of test.

“Now, are you able to enter into a personal contract with me?” she asked. The price, of course, would likely be a problem, but she would cross that ford when she came to it. She watched Nathaniel’s face closely. His response came quickly, but Isolde noted the way he glanced over the shop.

“Name your price.”



Isolde rearranged her skirts as she made herself comfortable in her chair. She was in the great hall, which was a sad sight to see so empty. Places like this should be bustling with activity, Isolde thought to herself. She could almost hear the clinking of dinnerware, the rowdy laughter, and the drunken singing that had characterized her home. Here there was nothing but empty chairs at empty tables. The people here must be miserable, she decided.

Just then, a griffin entered the hall by way of one of the side doors, interrupting Isolde’s thoughts. She was a beautiful golden colour, with brown flecks along the edges of her wings. She spotted Isolde and immediately bounded up to her.

“Queen Isolde! Queen Isolde! I’m so happy to have found you!” she said.

“Oh,” said Isolde. “I didn’t know you were looking… Who are you, again?” The griffin was speaking so familiarly, as if she knew Isolde, but Isolde was certain she had never seen this griffin before.

“I’m Mallin! I need to speak to you about the state of gryphon-human relations!”

“Shall we discuss the matter over dinner, then?” asked Isolde. “After all, that is what dining halls are for. The servants should arrive soon with our dishes.” She threw a significant glance at a maid standing against the wall, who immediately hurried out, presumably to relay the news that there would be one more at table this evening.

“Now, what is it that I need to know?”

An hour later Isolde was idly tapping her fingers against her clean plate. “I thought King Reginald was keeping you from accessing gold.”

“That’s true,” Mallin replied. “Didn’t I say that earlier?”

“So if you don’t have the gold to maintain a large and healthy population, how are you going to create an independent griffin society?”

“We were originally going to claim it when we rebelled against King Reginald, but clearly things have moved faster than we anticipated.”

“King Reginald technically remains the ruler of Toileandra until I defeat him in hand to hand combat or he abdicates the throne… What if you helped us remove Reginald permanently and establish our new government and we reward you with sufficient gold?”

“You have a deal!” Mallin replied.

“Perfect,” Isolde replied. “And you can tell Lee, Neirin and the others that I’ll almost always be here for dinner. Although Lee told me not to keep a predictable schedule. For some reason he seems to think I can’t defend myself.”

Cyril

Cyril couldn’t start a fire.

The awful irony of the situation didn’t escape him. Him? Not being able to start a fire after literally setting his last camp in flames and killing everyone – except for him, of course – in the process? Ha! If there was a god or gods out there, he was certain that they were all laughing at him. He could imagine them sitting around in their comfy chairs – would gods even have comfy chairs? – looking down on him from the heavens and chortling over the ridiculous events of his life.

And why wouldn’t they laugh? Cyril thought, glancing around at the forest clearing that he called his home tonight. It was right next to a bog with frogs who were singing… if one could call that cacophony of sound singing. Still, it was better than the cicadas who were screaming now that it had started getting dark. When he set up camp there, he was already unsure of getting any sleep since it was too noisy. Still, he was tired and the idea of walking alone during the darkest part of the night bothered him more than he wanted to admit. After living in the high security prison where everything was lit up at all times, save for solitary confinement, being immersed in darkness was a special torture unto itself, even without the screams of the cicadas in the background. So he decided to set up camp there.

Except everything was wet! The wood that he gathered for the firewood, while being rotten, was still hopelessly soaked and even the air felt oppressively muggy. He was thoroughly soaked with sweat, and yet he still didn’t feel cool. All the food that he had packed out to eat from the prison had long since spoiled. He hadn’t had any camping equipment and his clothes that he wore – his old clothes that he had before he came to prison were, fortunately enough, returned to him – were hardly suitable for any sort of camping endeavor. Worse, he had lost weight since prison, which meant that his clothes were hopelessly loose. Which meant that the insects that didn’t scream at him bit him and he was thoroughly miserable to the point of wondering whether prison might actually be better than this place.

And now he couldn’t light a stupid fire, even to make himself a simple cup of relaxing tea.

Still, Cyril couldn’t complain too much. Last night had been much worse, even if he had sat by a fire for most of it. After getting out of prison – he couldn’t help but smirk at that brief memory – he had stumbled across a group of what could only be described as tough guys. Perhaps an adventuring group? Cyril didn’t know, though it checked out. After all, why would such a such a strange, diverse group ever get together like that other than an adventuring group?

Cyril had never belonged to any adventuring group because, frankly, when he was younger, he couldn’t stand them. A bunch of random people all getting together and having adventures together? No, thank you! Most of the people there were adventurers for a reason – because they wanted to escape life because they were so odious to live with that everyone who knew them even tangentially thought that it was better that they use their talents elsewhere instead of work alongside them in a trade or in the fields. So they encouraged them to leave and rejoiced when they finally did. The townsfolk had a private nickname for them – murder hobos. Where they were around, there was bound to be blood.

In the past, Cyril had avoided them like the plague. However, he had met quite a few of these adventurers in prison and decided that they weren’t all so bad. So when he had seen this group, sitting by a fire, singing bawdy, insulting songs about gryphons, and drinking their tankards full of rum, he had approached them hesitantly and asked them if he could sit by their fire for the night.

It was a simple request – one which Cyril thought they would accept, unless they found him threatening. After all, he hadn’t asked for any of their food or rations. Not that he would take them anyway! They might poison him if they recognized him at all. Nor did he want their alcohol – after so many years in prison without a single drop of even beer, Cyril knew that if he drank anything, he was more likely to get drunk – and he was an angry drunk. But a spot by the fire from what looked to be a harmless young man? Only a monster would refuse a request like that.

Nor did Cyril look like a threat. When they saw Cyril, dressed in baggy clothes that didn’t quite fit him and were four years out of fashion, their leader introduced himself as Marlon and invited him to their fire. Then they introduced themselves as working for King Reginald – a fact that alarmed Cyril, though he tried not to show it. He had given them his name, Cyril, and while it was only his first name, it was an infamous name and he cursed himself for not thinking of anything better.

Still, the adventuring group seemed nonplussed at the time about his name – perhaps he looked so pathetic that even they weren’t too concerned about him at all. In any case, they weren’t going to stop their drinking for a ragged person such as him.

After finishing their ballad about the rude gryphon named Mallin and her crew, they started bringing out their weapons and showing them off to Cyril. Cyril, who had nothing, not even a pocket knife, nodded politely and complimented them, hoping this wasn’t a prelude to them murdering him, while the adventurer group progressively got more and more drunk.

And then they brought out the Rod of Wonder.

It was an underwhelming weapon. A strange staff that they called the Rod of Wonder that they had picked up from a bar when some other group had decided to discard it – a story that Cyril quietly doubted was true, though he didn’t say anything about it at the time. When Cyril had asked why the rod was wondrous, since it only looked like a simple staff to him, Marlon gave him a wide grin and said obliquely that the rod did many things. All you needed to do was to point the rod to its intended target and press the button and something magical would happen.

“What sort of magical thing?” Cyril asked, staring at the rod skeptically. He was no stranger to magic – his sister had been born a healer, so he knew that it could be good, technically. Still, he distrusted most magic on principle. Magic usually made a man so powerful that he began to believe that thinking was only an optional thing to do – and Cyril detested stupidity.

“Here, I’ll show you!” Marlon said, grinning. Then, before Cyril could protest, Marlon pointed the rod at Cyril and pressed the button. Then, before Cyril could protest, hundreds of butterflies came out of the rod. For a moment, Cyril couldn’t see – the butterflies were so brilliant that when he turned away from them, all he could see were spots on his eyes that seemed to move strangely like butterflies.

They are going to murder me with stupid butterflies, Cyril realized, blinking his eyes in a desperate attempt to regain his sight. He swore and lurched up, rubbing his eyes and trying to listen desperately if anyone would rush him and try to kill him.

“A good one!” a dwarf yelled out, laughing hard while Cyril frantically tried to rub his eyes, hoping to regain his sight. “Let me try!”

There was a whoosh and then more laughter rang out. After a moment, Cyril was finally able to see vaguely. Though, when he looked toward where everyone else was looking at, he didn’t trust his sight because the hobbit in the group was standing taller than he was – and Cyril was tall! Cyril stared up at the hobbit in astonishment. “Are you… up there?” he blurted out stupidly.

The hobbit gave him a little bow and laughed. “The Rod of Wonder is wondrous, isn’t it?”

Cyril grinned and finally allowed himself to relax. So far, he hadn’t been murdered and everything seemed fine. The adventuring group, albeit completely drunk, seemed to be in a good mood and this rod seemed to be more of a novelty magical item for amusement instead of anything very serious – otherwise, why would Marlon point it directly toward him. The only thing that had happened which was vaguely unsettling was that Cyril had been blinded. But it was only a temporary blindness and nobody had actually hurt him while he was blinded. “It’s a very wondrous rod!” Cyril agreed, laughing.

“Here, let me try!” the healer said – Cyril knew it was the healer by the way his clothes smelled like healing herbs. It reminded him of his sister, Vanessa. He grabbed the rod and pressed the button. A moment later, he was invisible. The man laughed in delight. “Look! I’m invisible! You can’t see me!”

Marlon laughed. “Good one, John Cena!” Marlon said, laughing. Then he took the rod and handed it to Cyril. “See? You press it!”

Cyril was never a fan of using anything magical. He just distrusted magic on principle, even if it was only for tame party tricks like now. However, he didn’t want to spoil the fun, and especially didn’t want to somehow insult his new guests. Feeling nervous about the rod, Cyril pointed the rod away from his companions – just in case – and pressed the rod’s button. Instantly, a bunch of gems shot out. Cyril stared in surprise. “Is that… real?” Cyril stammered, grabbing a gem.

The dwarf picked him a gem and shrugged. “Only semiprecious. Nothing big. I bet a single gem is only worth one gold coin.”

Cyril glanced at a stone that looked like it might be a ruby, realized that it was only a garnet, and nodded with disappointment. Still, there were about forty gems that came out of the rod! And Cyril didn’t have any money at all. He stared at the gems in disbelief, then turned to his companions. “Are those… mine since I pressed the button? Or should we split them up?”

Marlon gave a dry smile. “Split them up, of course.” He waved his hand toward everyone. “After all, we need to be fair. Though, don’t worry. We’ll let you have a share too.”

Cyril gritted his teeth and nodded. “It’s important to be fair,” he said, glancing at everyone surrounding him, who looked at him with greedy, glinting eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was to make his companions mad. So, feeling very self-conscious, he stooped over and counted seven shiny gems for himself – a week’s worth of wages for a decent job. Then he gestured to the rest of the gems shining in the dirt. “Here! You can have the rest.”

Everyone frowned at him, as if he were mad, and that made Cyril nervous. Any sort of wealth changed people – Cyril knew that well – and a sudden windfall, however small it was, brought out people’s true selves faster than Cyril would like. There were some people that were genuinely good people – like his sister, he thought with regret – who would look at any windfall that you might have and celebrate with you without expecting a single penny. And then there were people who would murder you for the spare change in your pocket.

Judging by the look that they gave him, Cyril guessed they were in between both extremes. The trouble was, he couldn’t decide whether they would murder him for taking a week’s worth of wages or not. Worse, Cyril needed the money. Had Cyril been in a better position, he might have given it all away just to gain the goodwill of his strange, new companions. But so far, his companions hadn’t offered him any food or drink, even to be polite. The only things they gave him were a spot by a fire – which is what he directly asked for just minutes before – and a chance with the rod, which he still held in his hand. But nothing else. Had they been more generous with them, perhaps Cyril might have been generous with them, but Cyril needed the money – if only to buy himself food and some other gear so he could survive.

Marlon coughed loudly and stretched out his hand. “Well?” he asked.

Cyril immediately drew back, afraid that Marlon would demand the gems. He slipped the gems into his pocket and tried not to look guilty. “What? I’m just taking my portion, just like you said.”.

Marlon looked annoyed. “No, not that. Can I have the rod back?” he said, nodding to the rod that Cyril held. There was a dangerous look in Marlon’s eye – a look that Cyril immediately recognized as a look that Cyril ought to do whatever Marlon would say, otherwise Cyril would be killed.

Murder hobos, Cyril thought to himself.

Still, the look made Cyril nervous. It occurred to Cyril that he had no weapons to defend himself, in case everyone there decided to rob him of the gems. The only thing that was keeping Marlon from hurting Cyril now was the strange rod in his hands – the Rod of Wonder, he remembered – and suddenly he was reluctant to part with it.

Still, what could he do? The rod wasn’t his. The gems weren’t even his! It had just been his luck that the rod had produced anything at all. His new companions might allow him some of the gems, but he could not claim the rod for himself. Grinning in what he hoped was a disarming manner, Cyril slowly handed the rod to Marlon. “Here!” he said, “Take it!”

And that’s where everything bad happened at once.

Cyril had handed the rod to Marlon slowly.

But Marlon was too impatient. When Cyril didn’t pass the rod quickly enough for Marlon’s tastes, Marlon snatched the rod from Cyril’s hands… and accidentally pressed the button.

A giant fireball blasted out.

For a moment, Cyril only stared. The Rod of Wonder had been pointing away from Cyril, but it was tilted towards Marlon and pointed directly at Marlon’s men. And everything seemed like it was moving in slow motion. When Marlon pressed the button – or had Cyril pressed the button? – his face contorted in horror as he realized what he did and also there was a giant fireball coming towards him. Cyril felt the heat of the flame pressing against him.

Then everything turned black.

The next time Cyril woke up, everything was dark again, save for several smoldering bushes nearby. In the moonlight, it was hard to see anything – but perhaps that was a small mercy in itself because what Cyril saw was horrifying. The most intact body was Marlon’s. When Cyril pressed his hand against Marlon’s chest to see if he was still alive, he thought he heard a little wheeze. Still, Cyril was no healer and Marlon was clearly dying. If Marlon did survive the blast, Cyril guessed he wouldn’t last much longer.

And everyone else was dea charred beyond recognition. The forest that they had been staying in was more of a swamp and so too wet to burn effectively. And yet, Cyril still saw the blast marks on the trees and several smoldering bushes.

Even Cyril wasn’t completely unscathed… his scruffy beard was singed. his clothes were ashy, and he kept sneezing out black boogers. Though, after seeing what everyone else looked like, he felt bad for complaining.

The only thing that was completely unscathed was the Rod of Wonder, which laid on the ground, weirdly shiny in its charred surroundings.

The whole thing had been an accident, of course. Cyril hadn’t intended to press the button and he seriously doubted that Marlon had intended to send a fireball directly at his crew, especially since he got injured so badly as well. The whole thing was so ridiculous that Cyril could scarcely believe what happened. The whole incident shook him up.

Not that he cared for the new companions – just a couple rounds before, Marlon had pointed the rod directly at Cyril and pushed the button. Back then, Cyril had only assumed it was a party trick, but seeing everything smolder in flames, he realized clearly that Marlon could have murdered him first. It had only been pure chance that the rod hadn’t sent out a fireblast and killed Cyril instead. Besides, Marlon’s impatience was the reason why they were so hurt. Why should Cyril feel guilt over other’s poor decisions? He had enough to worry about with his own life choices!

Still, Cyril was no fool. Already, he had several counts of arson on his rap sheet. If he was found now, he already happened: he would be blamed, charged with not only arson but also murder. Nor would anyone believe his story. Why would they? Cyril could hardly believe the story himself, even after living it! Then, once they convicted him, he would be locked into prison forever and be left to rot without anyone who would care for him. Even Vanessa, his sister, who had bailed him out on many occasions, had grown tired of constantly having to bail him out.

Cyril was completely alone.

And so he did the only intelligent thing he could think of and ran, taking the gems, a copper kettle, a flint rock, and the Rod of Wonder with him.

The Rod of Wonder was still with him now, though he hadn’t used it yet. He was still sitting on a damp log in front of a damp firepit and wondering how he was going to start a fire to make himself a calming cup of tea with his stolen kettle so that he could calm down and think about his next step.

The whole scene was ridiculous.

He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to concentrate.

His best bet would be to see about selling the Rod of Wonder anonymously to some sort of rare arms dealer. Clearly, the Rod of Wonder was valuable. Had Cyril not been so desperate to get rid of it, he might have haggled for it. But he decided that the easiest way to get rid of it would be to pawn it off for a ridiculously low price – to the point that the dealer would accept it happily without asking any questions – and leave it. That way, the murder weapon would be off his hands without leading anything to him.

And it would be hard to trace the Rod of Wonder to the crime scene, Cyril thought grimly. From the looks of it, a seasoned wizard had made the fireblast. Since there were no witnesses besides Cyril, that meant that if the Rod of Wonder weren’t there, there would be nothing to make people guess that the blast came from the Rod of Wonder at all! Most likely, people would assume that two sets of murder hobos had met, one murder hobos had been a powerful wizard, and an altercation had happened. That's what Cyril would have thought if he hadn't directly witnessed the event! Then there would be a fruitless search for a nonexistent wizard which would eventually lead to nothing, since there was not enough evidence for anything.

Cyril would be free.

Cyril grinned at the thought. Then he tried to think of his next step after. The best thing he could do after that was go find Vanessa and see if she might consider helping him. After their last meeting – he cringed as he remembered their last meeting – he dreaded meeting with her again. Still, the last time he had seen her, she had a respectable job as a healer and perhaps he could use that respectability and hide better. If he asked her for a spot on the floor by the fire, along with a hot bowl of soup, he doubted that she would mind. She had a nurturing soul. He could trust her with that, at least.

Though, before he could get a bowl of hot soup, he needed to get out of this swamp...

He glanced at his pitiful attempt at a fire and took a deep breath. For a moment, he only listened to his surroundings – he heard the croaking of the frogs, the screaming of cicadas, and the… honking? squawking? – of birds nearby.

Nobody else was around.

Then he grabbed the Rod of Wonder and turned to the fire pit. Feeling ridiculous for using such an unpredictable weapon, he pointed it to the fire pit… and pressed the button.

Everywhere around him, grass began to rapidly grow. Then, when it rose to his hip, it stopped.

Another stupid party trick.

Cyril sighed and slumped down. The grass was even wetter than before and Cyril decided that, if a fire was improbable before, it was impossible now with all the grass.

“Well, at least it can't get much worse,” he muttered, sighing.

Then he heard a stick crack.

He bolted up only to see what could only be described as a goose covered in black battle armor with glowing red night vision goggles.

For a moment, Cyril stared at the goose in alarm. Nothing in his life had prepared for such an odd meeting. Though, Cyril thought of everything that had happened since he left prison and decided that an armored goose with night vision goggles was not the strangest thing he had ever seen so far. He propped himself up on his elbow. In a nervous voice, he said, “Hello?”

The goose tilted his head to look at him curiously. Then the goose pushed a button on his armor. A crackling voice from the armor said, “Do you have bread?”

“Bread?” Cyril stammered, staring at the goose. He stared at the goose and wondered if the goose was crazy. Then he thought about what he was thinking and decided that maybe he had a psychotic break and perhaps he was the one who was really going crazy. Or perhaps this was a strange nightmare that he was having after the fireball and maybe he was still unconscious. Or, perhaps the fireball had killed him and he found himself in hell… after all, if hell existed, then he was sure it would have an armored talking goose in it, begging for bread.

The goose nodded importantly. “My head servant was too busy and forgot to give me bread. You must give me bread now.”

Cyril stared at the goose in disbelief. “Am I your servant too?”

The goose nodded gravely before adding, “Everyone is my servant.”

Cyril blinked. In a slow voice, he said, “I see.”

The goose honked in irritation. Again, he asked, “Do you have bread?”

Cyril got the impression that, if he didn’t respond to the question soon the goose would rob him. Perhaps murder him. And, while Cyril had no idea how powerful an armored talking goose could be, he remembered how annoying the geese had been at the lakes he had visited and decided not to mess with him. So Cyril sighed and emptied his pockets. The gems fell out… along with a piece of moldy bread. Cyril offered it to the goose. “This is all the bread I have.”

The goose lowered his head and hissed at the bread.

“If you want, you can eat the grass around me,” Cyril said, gesturing to the tall grass. “It probably tastes nice and tender.”

The goose eyed around him, took a bite of grass, and nodded. “It is an acceptable alternative. Very tender.”

“Wonderful,” Cyril muttered. He scooped up all the gems in his pocket and laid back. Vaguely, he wondered if he could make some green tea from the grass. Then he remembered that he still didn’t have a fire and groaned. “Master Goose?” he asked feeling ridiculous for the strange address. “Do you happen to have a fire going, along with a pot of tea?”

The goose honked and wiggled his tail feathers importantly. “My name is not Master Goose, though I shall look past the improper name, given that this is the first time I have met you. You may address me as Master Stormagedden, Lord of the Universe. And, as far as your question about the fire, the answer is yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a fire!” he said, honking importantly and wiggling his tail feathers again. “My servant, Giver of Bread, made one over yonder. Follow me, my servant, Grassy Hand, and I shall take you there.”

Cyril raised his eyebrow. Grassy Hand? It was a strange alias. Though, when he thought about it, it would probably be better if he assumed an alias. Why not pose as Grassy Hand, the servant of this strange goose? People might think that he was insane – indeed, Cyril was starting to believe he might actually be insane – but they wouldn’t think of him as a murderer. And, even if they did find out about those… bodies… if he were insane, they couldn’t convict him of murder. Not when he was insane.

So, feeling very silly, Cyril got up, grabbed the Rod of Wonder and his stolen copper kettle – just in case – and bowed politely to the armored goose. In his most polite voice, he said, “Thank you, Master Stormagedden, Lord of the Universe. If you could lead me to a fire so that I may have a cup of tea, I would be honored by your kindness and generosity.

Then, looking very pleased with himself, the goose – that is, Cyril corrected himself, Master Stormagedden, Lord of the Universe – wiggled his tail feathers, took another bite of grass, and waddled away, with Cyril following him.

Lorelei woke up with a start. She had closed her eyes for what had only seemed like a moment, but she suspected that it had been a few hours. She could hear the storm still blowing outside and the sound of rain impacting against the roof of the magical tent.

She went to check on Marlon. He was still asleep, which was a relief. The sleeping potion was set to work for between 12 and 14 hours, which meant that Lorelei hadn’t been asleep too long. His breathing was normal and he remained covered in the healing salves that Lorelei had applied.

Lorelei looked around and frowned when she noticed that Honkers was missing. Usually Honkers was around when she was up. She went to check on her supplies and noticed that she was almost out of bread. Ever since Honkers had put on that armor, he had been acting… different. Honkers had always been aggressive, but he was eating way more food than usual, and the little bread she had brought with her had already been expended.

There was a commotion outside and Honkers came inside the tent, followed closely by a stranger man. The stranger was thin, wore tattered loose fitting clothes and was soaked to the bone.

“Who are you?” Lorelei asked the man suspiciously.

“I’m… Grassy Hand??” the man said weakly. “It’s what Master Stormageddon, Lord of the Universe named me anyway.”

“He is correct,” Honkers said, pushing a button on his armor. Lorelei stared incredulously.

“Honkers, what the heck is going on? I fall asleep for a couple minutes and you convince a stranger to call you Stormageddon? Who the heck is this guy?”

“He is my servant, he gave me grass to eat when I was hungry and now he will do my bidding,” Honkers replied, wiggling his tail with excitement at the memory of eating the delicious grass.

“You’re a silly goose,” Lorelei said before staring at the stranger. “Are you going to tell me your real name or what?”

“I’m actually afraid of provoking the Lord of the Universe, Master Stormageddon,” the stranger said.

“He’s not the only one that can be scary. If you are going to be afraid of provoking anyone in this tent, it is me that you should fear,” Lorelei said, retrieving a piece of bread. She turned to Honkers and gave it to him, and he wiggled his tail feathers excitedly.

“There there, that’s a good silly goose,” Lorelei cooed at Honkers as he ate the bread. Her voice turned cold as she turned it on the stranger. “Last chance stranger,” she warned.

“The name is Bond,” the stranger said quickly.

“Bond? What kind of a dumb name is that?” Lorelei said with a frown.

“No, that’s my last name. The name is Bond, James Bond,” James said.

“Why didn’t you just say your name was James Bond?” Lorelei asked.

“I just thought it would sound more dramatic if I did it the other way,” James said weakly, looking at the brazier with the fire and then at the bread crumbs around Honkers. Lorelei started to feel bad about giving him such a hard time, he was obviously scared, tired, wet, and hungry, anyone would pity him.

“Well James, do you have a healing potion underneath those rags of yours or are otherwise trained in the healing arts?” Lorelei asked.

“I’m afraid not,” he said, looking more closely at Lorelei. “Are you injured?”

“I’m not,” Lorelei said. “But the guy in the other room isn’t so lucky. He got badly burned and got impaled on a tree, while the rest of his group was vaporized. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe he encountered an evil wizard that blasted him?” James volunteered with a squeak. Lorelei looked at him and spied a kettle on his back.

“Pass me your kettle,” she said. James handed it over. It was a nice copper kettle. Lorelei cast create water and filled the kettle, then put it over the brazier.

“Did you see anyone on the road named Cyril?” Lorelei asked James. He shook his head.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. The man I rescued said that he was traveling with a party of people and a guy named Cyril. I found the remains of the party, but no signs of Cyril,” Lorelei said.

“Maybe he was vaporized?” James said, before trembling uncontrollably.

“Are you okay?” Lorelei asked.

“It’s just really cold,” he said. Lorelei looked at the wet rags and frowned.

“Hold still,” she said, casting prestidigitation. Water fell from the rags as they were dried with magic. She then took a blanket and draped it over his shoulders.

“There, that’s better isn’t it?” Lorelei asked and pulled him closer to the fire in the brazier. The kettle began to whistle and Lorelei took it off the brazier, before pulling out a bag of leaves from her pocket. “Want some tea?” Lorelei asked sweetly. James nodded and Lorelei put the leaves into the pot.

“We’ll need to wait a few minutes for the tea leaves to settle,” Lorelei said. “When did you last eat?” Lorelei asked. Jame’s stomach growled loudly in response.

“Stay right there, I’ll make some stew,” Lorelei said. She went to her pack while quietly keeping track of his movements. His circumstances were clearly desperate, and Lorelei knew enough about desperation to know that desperate people will do desperate things. So she did her best to lower Jame’s desperation, while also taking care not to turn her back on him for even a moment. Honkers was undoubtedly keeping tabs on him as well.

Lorelei retrieved some vegetables and cut them with a knife. She then put a pan over the fire and added some oil. She tossed the freshly chopped vegetables into the pan, then added some seasoning, working the pan to mix the vegetables. A few minutes later, she cast create water to add more water to the pan, then dropped in some jerky from her trail rations.

“It needs a few more minutes to cook,” Lorelei said. She could see Jame’s drool and the smell of the cooking filled the tent. Lorelei grabbed the kettle.

“Here, this should keep you warm in the meantime,” she said, pouring James a cup of tea, before handing it to him. He cupped it in both hands absorbing the warmth, before taking a sip.

“You must be magic,” he said. “What is your name?”

“My name is Lorelei Black,” Lorelei said. “I’m Queen Isolde’s Court Magician.” It wasn’t technically true, but Lorelei thought she could probably make that promotion official when she made it back. In the short term it was important to impress upon her visitor how bad an idea it would be for him to try anything untoward. Her visitor, for his part, appeared to be suitably impressed.

“Queen Isolde? What happened to King Reginald?” James asked.

“It’s a long story,” Lorelei said, wondering how much she wanted to admit to. “But the short version is that King Reginald has fled Gor Nathal and Queen Isolde has replaced him. She is looking for men to rally to her banner and support her rule.”

“Sounds like she’s in a desperate spot,” he said.

“Not so desperate,” Lorelei said, thinking of the imminent economic collapse, the battles to come between rebels and loyalists, and the shadowy organization she was in the process of tracking down. “She has some good help.”

“Really? Like who?” James asked skeptically.

“Well, there’s me obviously. But there is also Florian, he’s the Queen’s advisor. Lee is the General of the Queen’s Forces, and then there is Vanessa Cooper, the Queen’s Economic Minister,” Lorelei listed off, hoping that he wouldn’t think about it too hard. Fortunately, James began to choke violently, which Lorelei thought was convenient for hiding her embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” Lorelei asked.

“Just a bit of tea went down the wrong pipe,” James wheezed. His face was white.

“Let’s get you some stew,” Lorelei said. She ladled some stew into a cup for James. He tasted it and moaned in approval.

“This is fantastic stew,” he said and for the first time since Lorelei had met James, there was a spark in his eyes, an energy that Lorelei could only assume was due to the miraculous stew she had given him, instead of any information that could possibly be of value to him.

“Eat up,” Lorelei commanded. This he did with enthusiasm and Lorelei took that opportunity to take stock of the situation. Marlon still needed a healer, her mission was still days away, and she still didn’t fully trust James yet. However, once the sleeping agent she slipped into the tea took effect, she would have an opportunity to conduct a more thorough search of his personal effects and find out more about who James was and whether or not he was telling her the truth.

"I'm feeling sleepy," James said, his speech began to slur.

"I won't cast you out into the storm! You can rest here tonight," Lorelei said with a laugh.

"That's... very... kind... oh no," James said, struggling to maintain his balance before collapsing onto one of the rugs that lined the floor of the tent. Lorelei walked over and examined him. He was out cold. Lorelei kicked him in the knee, but it didn’t react. Satisfied, she proceeded to search his body.

There wasn’t much to find. He carried a letter, the copper kettle, a flint rock, and… gems?

“How strange,” Lorelei said, looking at the gems. While the gems themselves weren’t very valuable, what struck Lorelei was how perfectly formed even the semi-precious gems were. She set them aside and pulled out a rod with a button on it. Lorelei reached out to touch the button, but decided against it, instead casting detect magic. Her vision changed to show magic, and a powerful aura of enchantment magic surrounded the magical rod.

“This clearly doesn’t match your attire,” Lorelei said, setting the rod aside. She reached for the letter and opened it. The paper was soaked through. Lorelei used prestidigitation to dry it, but the ink was smudged.

“Official Pardon” Lorelei read aloud the letter head. The letter indicated it was from Ticklemoor Penitentiary, which Lorelei recalled was a maximum security prison that King Reginald had sent many prisoners to.

“This letter indicates that…” Lorelei stopped. While the ink of the form letter had survived, the ink used by the warden to fill in the prisoners name had washed away. A wax seal with the prison’s stamp made the pardon official though.

Lorelei looked down at James and thought about what she had found. Clearly she was dealing with an ex-convict. Since he was still carrying around his pardon, it was very likely that he had just come from the prison itself. But he almost certainly didn’t get the gemstones from the prison, those would have been stolen by the guards almost immediately after they had gotten their hands on it. And the rod? James was many things, but a magician he most certainly wasn’t. Perhaps he had stolen it from a body? Lorelei pursed her lips as she considered that she had just seen the bodies of six highly skilled mercenaries. Who knows what sort of loot they were carrying around with them?

Lorelei considered the possibilities. Perhaps James had come across the bodies, briefly looted them, and then ran off. Or perhaps he had seen the ambush, waited for the ambushers to leave, then came in to scoop up the scraps. But why would the ambushers leave gemstones behind?

No, James had clearly been the first on the scene. Or was it… Cyril? She had no proof and his documentation certainly didn’t indicate his name. But it also didn’t identify him as James Bond either and his pardon made clear that at one point he had been a serious criminal, serious enough to do serious time at a serious place. It also meant that the odds were very good that James Bond could be an alias. Lorelei certainly regretted not giving him an alias of her own, but there was no point in dwelling on it now.

One person would definitely know though, and when Marlon woke up he would be able to tell if James was really Cyril. That would be several hours yet.

So, Lorelei took out her rope and began tying up “James.” She also vowed that when “James” woke up, she would try calling him “Cyril” just to see if he slipped up while he was groggy.

She finished tying him up and examined her handywork when there came from behind her a click and a popping noise. She whirled around and saw a very surprised Honkers, looking down at the Rod. He had clicked the activation button and the result was that Honkers white feathers were now a baby blue color.

“Oh boy,” Lorelei breathed.

“HONK?” Honkers asked.

Vanessa


They needed to cut taxes.

The more she read about it, the more convinced Vanessa was about the necessity of cutting taxes for everyone in the realm. It seemed obvious! The less people were taxed, the more money they had. The more money they had, the more they would spend it in their local economy. The more money that was being passed through their local economy, the more money the government would collect through taxes. And so, even though they would initially decrease the government revenue by cutting taxes, after a little bit it would end up increasing the overall government revenue by a significant amount!

Better still, by letting people keep their own money, they were actually incentivizing their subjects to earn more money for themselves. After all, with their current system, they were taking so much money from their subjects that the little they had, they saved for a rainy day, which meant that it didn’t move around in the economy. But this way, they would allow their subjects to keep more money, which meant that hopefully the people would want to save for a rainy day – but also wanted to buy other things. So the economy would be more fluid.

Not only that, but it would ease the burden on the class structure. The monarchy would not be the only one who had discretional income – everyone else would have something to spend for themselves and their families. It was fair in a way that Vanessa had never even considered it to be, and she loved it for that.

As she considered the realm’s economic policy, she thought of herself and her own twisted path. One of the reasons why she had moved into healing, other than the fact that she was born with innate healing magic, of course – was because it would be a way to support herself without marrying. Not that she hated marriage! In fact, she thought it might be very nice to marry. Still, she was an orphan with a delinquent brother who always ruined everything he touched. She didn’t have the family connections for any nice marriage and the mere fact that she was related to her brother made her a walking liability to any man with anything at all. It was important for Vanessa to be able to support herself, alone, until she found someone – if she found someone? – who was willing to overlook the baggage that she came with. And, by working as a healer – when she worked as a healer, that is, before she joined this crazy group, she thought with a smile – she had a steady income with a little extra to spend for herself.

But she was only able to pursue that path because she had healing abilities! Most people wouldn’t be able to do what she had done to create a stable economic path for herself. And what would they do? The economy unfairly favored magic folks while consigning other people with no magical abilities a lesser role where they would have to work even harder to even maintain the same economic level as those with magic.

But this way, it would be fairer. By taking less in taxes, it would allow everyone to have discretionary income of their own – not just the magical people or the monarchy.

The thought thrilled her.

It was an amazing idea and the more Vanessa pored over economic texts – especially her favorite text, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations – the more certain she felt that this was the way forward.

But how to convince Queen Isolde? That was the problem. Queen Isolde, in her excitement of being queen, was directing the realm into what Vanessa could only describe as a positively feudal direction. Instead of private meetings with advisors, the queen was happy about having free-for-all meetings while feasting. The whole thing was bewildering.

Besides, the realm had no money! They hadn’t even had money when they came into power since King Reginald had nothing. And, now that they were in power, they still didn’t have money! How could they afford to cut taxes now when they desperately needed money to come in right now? Especially since Queen Isolde seemed content to feast and buy dresses when there was no money to pay for such things, other than credit?

Also, the other problem was the whole economics of the monarchy. The whole economic system of the monarchy was a kind of trickle down economics where everyone gave their money to the monarchy and then the wealth would trickle down to them – hopefully. Frankly, to Vanessa, it seemed more like a pyramid scheme than anything, though she admitted that it was a legitimate, valid economic theory. However, how was she was supposed to convince an actual monarch that the economic system of monarchy was flawed and that it would be better to switch to another system – which might possibly reduce her ability to rule effectively? The thought made her head hurt.

More urgently, how could Vanessa convince Queen Isolde to tighten the belt and reduce her spending? Even if they didn’t implement tax cuts for everyone, they still didn’t have the money to be feasting every day or buying dresses whenever Isolde had the whim. It was a stupid way to incur debt, especially when their realm was so tenuous. They needed as much money as they could so that they could be an intimidating force and strike back if an enemy of theirs decided to attack the new realm. And, while Vanessa knew that Queen Isolde would point out that posturing was important too, Vanessa was intent on pointing out that posturing without the effective means of defending their nation was nothing short of fraud.

The first plan of action, Vanessa decided, was to convince Queen Isolde that they had to reduce spending. Then, if she could successfully convince the queen of that, Vanessa could bring up tax cuts and see what Queen Isolde’s thoughts were.

But if Vanessa had any hope of convincing Queen Isolde, she needed to be thorough. Sighing, she took out a paper and ink. Then she cracked open her book and began to separately outline the arguments within for both cutting expenses and tax cuts.

It was at that point when a messenger came by. “A message for you, Lady Minister of Commerce,” the messenger said, bowing politely. “The hospital that you formerly worked for forwarded it to you. They said you would want it.”

The title and the way the messenger addressed her was yet another insistence of Queen Isolde. Though Vanessa didn’t mind it if the messenger addressed her by her first name, Queen Isolde insisted that proper manners led to a more behaved and less belligerent staff and insisted that all formal addresses be started up. Also, the messenger was dressed in colorful clothes the same colors of Isolde’s house that Isolde had insisted on giving her royal servants as an indication of her heraldry. Another crazy expense of Isolde.

The sight of the uniform once more reminded Vanessa of the impossibility of talking with Queen Isolde. She sighed heavily. Then, trying to remember her manners – after all, she didn’t want the messenger to think that she was exasperated with him – she smiled at the messenger. “Thank you,” she said.

The messenger smiled back at her and left.

She was about to discard the letter when she noticed the handwriting. There was no return address, however she could pick out her brother’s scrawl from anywhere.

At the sight, she froze.

Normally, he sent a yearly letter to her. It was usually a giant letter – as Cyril explained it, he was allowed time off to write letters, so he took as much as time as he possibly could to write and that’s why it was so huge. Most of the letters were vague and rambling and didn’t quite make sense. Sometimes, he would attempt to tell her a story that he thought was hilarious, but he would omit half the details because of Vanessa’s “sensitivities” and when she read it it would fall flat. Other times, it was just random musings of food. From what she picked up, prison food was awful and so Cyril would ramble on about various foods that he would like to try, if he ever got out. Though, it was written in a more confusing way than that often Vanessa had no idea what he was talking about.

She never wrote back – frankly, she wasn’t sure what she could say. Still, she read through the letters anyway. By the time she ended, she usually had a headache and needed to take a nap.

But this letter was different. For one, it had no return address. Usually, the prison would stamp on their return address on each envelope as a matter of course. Nothing went out of that high security prison without being labeled and counted. So why had they not put their return stamp on this one? The whole thing bewildered her.

The next thing she noticed was that it was thin. Suspiciously thin.

Nor was the timing right! The last letter she had gotten was two months ago. After that, she decided she needed a break from the hospital, hung up her healing apron, and gone on an adventure with Lorelei… which culminated into her becoming the Minister of Commerce. A crazy twist of events that even she had a hard time thinking about.

And now Cyril gave her an unscheduled letter?

Her first thought was maybe Cyril had found out that she was the Minister of Commerce and was trying to get her to vouch for him. The very thought mortified her. Already, Vanessa was finding it difficult to go to Queen Isolde and talk about changing economic policy within the realm – even though Queen Isolde had personally appointed her as the Minister of Commerce! And now Cyril wanted her to vouch for him as well? The idea made her mad.

Though, when she glanced at the unopened letter, she realized that she was getting angry for potentially no reason. She had no idea what the letter said, nor would she know… until she opened it.

Gritting her teeth, she tore the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

The letter said:

Dear Vanessa,

Hi, it’s me. There’s been a little bit of excitement at the prison – honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on. Something about King Reginald. Anyway, I’m out again for some reason. Don’t worry – nothing bad. I have official release papers and everything is legitimate. I just want to let you know that I’ll be coming your way soon, I guess.

Hope to see you soon.

There was no signature, though honestly, Cyril didn’t need to write his name for Vanessa to know who he was.

Vanessa knew his handwriting by heart.

Feeling her heart beat rapidly, Vanessa read his letter several times. Then she put down the letter and closed her eyes tightly.

Cyril said that he was coming her way. But the last address that he had of hers was when she was working at the hospital. He had no idea where she was now or what her new position in the government was. Somehow, that made her feel better – he wasn’t contacting her, asking for her for any big favor with her new government position. It sounded like he only wanted a place to stay.

Though, the thought of that made her nervous. Cyril might not want anything from her now beyond a place to stay, but later once he found out what her new position was – and why wouldn’t he find out? – he might be more demanding in the future.

The thought made her nervous.

She needed to tell someone about this new development – she knew that well. And yet, when she looked at her partial notes about tax cuts and budgeting, she became frustrated.

When her brother had finally been caught and put into prison, Vanessa had only felt relief. Because he was gone away in a high security prison with no chance to escape, it had given Vanessa a chance to reinvent herself without being tied with her troublesome brother. She had developed a good reputation for herself, away from his influence to the point that she would even be nominated as Minister of Commerce. The only one in her current circle of friends who knew about Cyril was Lorelei – and even then, Vanessa hadn’t told Lorelei much beyond that her brother was an idiot and several random stories about her brother that she thought Lorelei might find amusing. But she hadn’t said much about him.

And now Cyril was coming back? Worse, he was coming back with the intention of staying with her! How would she explain that to everyone?

And she knew why he would come back to her. After all, who else did Cyril have? Their parents were dead and their extended family had drifted apart from them. All of Cyril’s friends were bad news and had abandoned him long ago after being convicted and sent to prison. It made sense that Cyril would come to stay with Vanessa – at least until he got back on his feet again.

Worse, Vanessa wanted to help him get back on his feet again. After all, if he was released this early, there must be a reasonable explanation for that. They must have decided that he was ready to be released. Perhaps he was a changed man! Besides, if she was there to help him out, then he was less likely to relapse again into his criminal ways. Maybe this time, he would become something better.

And yet, Vanessa still felt resentful that he was out this early, just when Vanessa was starting off as the Minister of Commerce for this burgeoning nation. By stabilizing Cyril’s life, Vanessa would be essentially upending hers. After all, why would you trust a Minister of Commerce who had direct ties with a convicted criminal?

The thought made her head hurt.

She glanced at her notes and gritted her teeth. There was no date on the letter, however she guessed that he was still heading toward the hospital to find Vanessa. What’s more, it would probably take him a couple of days to reach the hospital in an attempt to find Vanessa. Then, when he did, she would probably get another letter from him. Until she got that letter, she decided to do nothing.

And so she glared at Cyril’s letter. “I’ll deal with you later,” she told the letter sternly, as if she were speaking to Cyril directly. “For now, it’s time for budgets and tax cuts.”

Then she slipped the letter into her purse and prepared fo her finance meeting with Queen Isolde.

Mallin


Normally, Mallin didn't like to follow requests made by humans.

The reason was simple enough: humans were dumb. They lived for a fairly short time, they were shallow and selfish, and they couldn't fly or fight without having to rely on machinery. Honestly, they were pretty pathetic creatures, overall. That's why Mallin found it so frustrating when Gryphon Leadership decided that they were going to bow down to King Reginald without too much hassle.

So Mallin really had no intention of becoming anyone’s stooge. She hadn’t cared for King Reginald and she most certainly wouldn’t be bending over backwards to help out Queen Isolde, especially not after she had prompted the entire gryphon clan to officially declare their independence. Such would be a ridiculous idea. She had no intention of ever helping humans again if it were ever against her own interest.

But Queen Isolde's request was too good not to follow.

Queen Isolde... asked Mallin to find King Reginald? So she could fight with him in a match using hand-to-hand combat so that she could officially usurp him from the throne?

How was Mallin supposed to refuse a request like that?

Honestly, the thought was hilarious. Most despots, after removing the prevailing leader so that they ran away, would go back and look for the leader again and offer them a chance for hand-to-hand combat, especially if that meant there was a chance – however small – that they might lose power. Mallin knew with an almost certainty that, had he usurped the throne so that the former king fled into exile, Reginald would have happily sent a squad of assassins after the former king, just to finish the job. There would be no question to anyone that he would ever engage in hand-to-hand combat with the former king.

And Queen Isolde was willing to challenge King Reginald in hand-to-hand combat anyway?

The whole thing confused Mallin, just as much as it delighted her.

And that didn’t even take into consideration of who Queen Isolde was! She was a petite slender woman with soft hands who had clearly not seen much conflict in her life, save for perhaps a musical instrument which wasn’t properly tuned. Privately, Mallin wondered if she had ever been trained in combat at all. And here she was, suggesting that she would not mind going against King Reginald? The thought was hilarious!

Not that King Reginald was particularly well versed in combat methods either. He had always been strong, but he was not particularly endowed with any extreme physical strength. He was a brute without being brutish; he was combative without engaging in physical combat. He let other people do his work for him and indulged himself in the niceties of the court.

However, with all his flaws, he had at least one major strength against Isolde: he was not naive like her. He would not deliberately put himself into a position in which he had no hope of winning because he had to follow proper protocol. King Reginald, for all his worthlessness, was an opportunistic vulture. The only reason why this ragtag team of humans had actually overthrown him was through surprise!

But, what if King Reginald was challenged in a hand-to-hand combat by Queen Isolde? Would King Reginald, now that he was unsurprised and knew exactly who he was facing, be able to overpower the young Isolde? Or would Isolde, despite her demure voice and slender figure, be able to topple the former tyrant and surprise everyone with an unexpected victory?

Mallin didn’t know. All she knew was she couldn’t wait to find out.

And that meant she had to find King Reginald.

Cyril


As soon as Cyril tasted the stew, he knew that Lorelei was a powerful witch.

He had known, of course, that she had at least a couple magical tricks to her when she dried the water with just a flick of her hand. But the stew? That was powerful magic.

There was no other way that she could make a pot of stew that quickly. Cyril was no cook, but even he knew that stew took a long time to make. Stew took at least an hour of cooking to make, if you wanted to have a weak, watery substance where the vegetables were slightly softened and the meat was still the consistency of jerky. Even an hour’s worth of cooking would make everything edible, but nothing would taste good. It would just taste like boiled vegetables with chewy, salted meat. And yes, he knew that she had tossed the vegetables in the skillet beforehand. But, it didn’t explain why the jerky would suddenly taste good only minutes after throwing in.

But this stew was incredible. The meat was so tender that it melted in his mouth as soon as it hit his tongue. The vegetables also were wonderfully rich and salty, thanks to the meat. Nor was the soup a watery, salty liquid that tasted more like water than actual broth. The soup was rich and hearty, like it had been cooked over the fire for hours.

Clearly the work of magic.

Not only that, but she seemed unbothered by making it, despite how much magic it took. Some people who could use magic had to concentrate even to do the tiniest spell, and when they were doing a spell they had to show off as much as possible and brag about their magic. That’s how you knew who wasn’t really that powerful – how much they bragged about their magic.

Cyril remembered one guy at prison – his name was Stephen – knew a spell that could heat up a mug. That was all. Cyril used to come to him and ask him to reheat his tea for him, since, not only did the prison make the worst tea ever but they also served it lukewarm. A truly heinous crime, in his opinion. Anyway, whenever Stephen ever heated up anything, he would make a show of it. He would take the mug and examine it, as if he needed to fully inspect it. Then he would take a deep breath and mutter some affirmations to himself. And then – and only then – would he heat it up with his magic. But even then, the tea was never hot. Only slightly warm. Honestly, Cyril couldn’t stand it. If it weren’t for his dislike of lukewarm tea, he wouldn’t even bother the guy.

Now his sister? She barely bragged about anything. You wouldn’t think that she was really good at healing, just by looking at her. But she was! One time, he had broken his leg really bad to the point where you could actually see the bone popping out. It was the most pain he had ever been in — and that was saying something. But Vanessa just glanced at the leg, took a deep breath, touch it, and then it was healed. That was all. And yeah, Vanessa took a deep breath like Stephen, but it wasn’t for show or because she needed to or anything like that. She just needed to collect herself for a moment because Cyril’s bone was literally poking out and she was a little overwhelmed.

And so the fact that Lorelei was so blase about making a whole potful of soup only made Cyril nervous. She was a powerful witch – so powerful that she took her powers for granted.

Not that Cyril was complaining! After being imprisoned for several years and not eating anything but berries for the last couple of days, the smell was intoxicating.

Besides, even though he generally, as a rule, distrusted magic, he knew that not all magic was bad. For instance, his sister had helped him with her magic. Who knows? Perhaps Lorelei wanted to help him too. She didn’t seem like the sort of person that would deliberately hurt anyone. After all, she had picked Marlon out of the wilderness and was tending to him. The last time Cyril had seen Marlon, he was sure that he would die soon. And yet, he was alive and it was all because of Lorelei’s care. That was the kind of thing Vanessa would do. Besides, from what it sounded like, Lorelei might even know Vanessa. Perhaps Lorelei was actually nice. After all, weirder things had happened today. (Idly, his gaze drifted to Honkers.)

Still, Cyril was nervous. According to Lorelei’s strange story, she was the new official magician of the realm. Which meant that she was a government official. Which meant that she couldn’t be trusted.

Or maybe she could be trusted? Cyril frowned and thought of the list of names that Lorelei had spouted off as being part of the new government – including the name of Vanessa Cooper, the economic minister. His sister had the same name, though when Cyril thought of the possibility of his sister being appointed as anything other than a healer, he couldn’t believe it. Still, he only knew of one Vanessa Cooper. What if she could be the economic minister?

The thought seemed absurd.

All of this made is so that when Lorelei finally scooped out some soup and gave it to him in a bowl, he stared at it for just a moment before taking a bite.

Briefly, it occurred to him before he took a bite that perhaps he shouldn’t eat whatever this witch gave him. That perhaps she might poison him. After all, most women didn’t take kindly to a strange man coming into their camp, even under better circumstances. Though he knew that there were plenty of dime novels about women encountering strangers and falling in love with them, he doubted that Lorelei was the type of woman who would do something crazy like that. If anything, he thought it was more probable that she would fall for Marlon – Cyril was still surprised that the man was still alive, honestly.

But then he smelled the soup and saw how good it looked. Already, he was having a hard time not drooling over himself.

Besides, why not take a chance with this delicious soup? It wasn’t as if he had anything to look forward to in his life. Currently, his plan was to go over to Vanessa and see if he could stay with her for a little bit. But he didn’t know where she was or how to get there from this prison. He had no map. His hope had been that if he wandered around enough, perhaps he would find a stranger that might direct him to the appropriate place. But even that wasn’t guaranteed. Nor was he certain that Vanessa would even want to see him. She hadn’t replied to any of his letters for years. She might have moved on from now. If he showed up where she had lived before, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had packed up and left.

In short: he had nothing to lose.

And the soup tasted so good.

And so he ate it and drank as much tea as he could fill up with. His belly, which had been empty for days, stopped its complaining. And then he felt a deep sense of drowsiness hit him.

At first, he thought that he might simply be sleepy. After all, he hadn’t had a good sleep in… well, years, really. He hadn’t eaten a good meal for years. Perhaps he was finally relaxed and settled in and everything caught up with him at once.

But then the room began to spin. Once more, bright butterflies showed up in his vision. And he felt very, very ill.

The witch had poisoned him!

He turned to Lorelei when he realized the betrayal, but she only looked calm. Collected. As if she knew what was about to happen and was simply waiting for the inevitable.

It occurred to him briefly, while the world was spinning, that perhaps he ought to say something epic or meaningful for his last words. Or maybe he could at least give her the woman his real name, just in case she was willing to at least give his body over to Vanessa so she could at least bury him. After all, it seemed like she might know Vanessa somewhat… or at least knew her name enough to name drop her. Maybe during his last moments, she would pity him.

But then he decided that this woman probably didn’t care about him, just like most people didn’t care about him. She had probably poisoned him, hoping to rob him. Then, once she found out that he had nothing, she would be disappointed and throw his body in a marsh where no one was likely to find him. And, even if his body was found by someone and someone recognized who he was, most people would not mourn the loss of a convicted criminal.

And so he closed his eyes and said nothing at all.


***

What followed was the strangest dream that he had ever had… perhaps not strange in its subject, since Cyril had had weirder dreams before. But it was the intensity that surprised him. While he dreamt, he didn’t

Cyril was standing on a cliff with the ocean before him. Except the ocean wasn’t before him… there was no ocean around. All around him, there were sea birds flying about, squawking and yet there was no ocean. For miles around, all he could see was sand and kelpbeds, which had once been submerged, but now were lying out on the wet sand, drying.

Covering the sand were clams, except not the dying clams that lned the shore but living clams that kept trying to burrow into the sand. He could see them digging in with a ferociousness that surprised him. Even from far away, for he stood on a tall cliff, he saw them moving and digging. Occasionally, he would see a fountain of water issue from the holes that they made.

And all he could think was, “Where is the ocean?” From afar, he thought he could hear the rush of a wave, but everything looked like he was part of a desert.

Then, all at once, he saw a giant wall of water heading towards him…


***

“Cyril? Cyril? Are you there? Cyril?”

Cyril winced at the words, still unwilling to open his eyes. Everything felt foggy. The voice that had spoken to him was a woman’s voice, but not Vanessa’s voice. Which meant it had to be his mother’s voice. But his mother was dead. She had been dead for a long time.

Which meant that Cyril must be dead too.

The idea of being dead was a strange thought to Cyril. He had come close to death many times, of course. But he had always been able to avoid it through his cleverness and sheer lucky timing. He would have never guessed that a bowl of soup would have been the one thing that would have killed him.

At least it had been a good bowl of soup, he decided.

Then, as he lay there, unable to move, it suddenly occurred to Cyril how mortifying this whole afterlife situation really was. He had thought that, when he died, he would find himself at the pearly gates and have his whole life judged for him. That scenario would have been humiliating in itself. But he hadn’t particularly cared about that scenario. He had been judged and convicted enough times in court that he didn’t fear anybody at the pearly gates yelling at him. In fact, he even looked forward to being confronted, because then Cyril could confront whatever god or gods put him through such a terrible existence in the first place. After all, if they could condemn him for his actions, why couldn’t he condemn them for theirs? It seemed only fair!

But… his mother? That was something new. If he had known that, when he had died, he would be greeted by his mother, he probably would have tried to be a better person in his life. After all, she would have probably beaten him soundly, had she lived long enough to see some of the things that he had eventually done…

The thought thoroughly mortified him.

The only good thing about his mother being with him was that, if she were there, that meant that he probably went into the good place in the afterlife and not the bad place. After all, his mother had been a kind and gentle woman. More like Vanessa than Cyril. If she were with him, then everything must have turned out all right. And, while Cyril had no idea why he ended up in the good place, he was happy that he was with his mother again.

He tried to open his eyes to see her, but everything felt too heavy to do anything, so he gave up on that. Then, realizing that his mother probably deserved more of an explanation than just that he couldn’t move, he muttered, “Stew.”

His intention was to tell his mother that he had been poisoned by the stew and that’s why he was here when he was still so young, but as soon as breathed out the word, he realized how hard it was to say anything and so he decided not to say anything more. He could talk to his mother about this whole kerfluffle later, after he was able to move.

His mother sighed irritably. Then she said, “James? James? Are you awake?”

Somehow, the idea of his mother calling him by another name made him giggle. This time, he forced himself to open his eyes.

He saw a goose with baby blue feathers staring at him.

“Mama?” he gasped in surprise. Though, he regretted speaking a moment later. Everything hurt.

And that was when Cyril decided that maybe he might have ended up in the bad place after all. After all, what other possible explanation was there that his mother had turned into a baby blue goose?

Not that he believed that his mother would ever be in the bad place. Still, he could believe that in the bad place, the memory of his mother would be replaced by a goose. Even now, the thought seemed too horrible to bear.

Then another horrifying thought came to his mind… what if the bad place was where he would be helpless and just be subjected to nightmare after nightmare of horrors? First, he dreamt of a tsunami. Now, he dreamt of his mother being a blue goose.

What would the next nightmare be like?

So he closed his eyes and shuddered. Then, taking a deep breath, he fell back to sleep

King Reginald was not nearly as confident in his position as he had been mere days ago. He had expected the attack on Gor Nathal by the party of rat-catchers that he had been trying to eliminate. And if it had only been them, he would have surely defeated them!

But then reports of magical creatures surging through their defenses reached him and even when the trap closed around the party, he was surprised at the sudden and visceral pace that the combat had taken. With his own eyes he had seen a single goose take down a dozen guards. King Reginald saw the wave of panic rising in the guards and knew that effort was doomed. He had fled, not even having time to take Joana with him.

He had taken a boat away from the Citadel, but the boat rapidly made landfall near a cave network a short distance away. Anyone that attempted to follow them would have to navigate a maze of deadly traps, dead ends, and monsters that had been allowed to thrive inside. It wouldn’t necessarily stop anyone from following them conventionally, but it would slow them down long enough to make good their escape.

Another boat had taken his elite guard and him to Gor Tarban, a major city on the western coast. It was governed by Lord Harold, the man was approaching him even now.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Harold said, kneeling before him. King Reginald looked at the pompous little toady. King Reginald couldn't believe that he had to rely on him for aid, but such was his desperation that even this worm would do.

“Rise Lord Harold,” King Reginald said. “I’m afraid we have little time for pleasantries. Savage creatures have seized Gor Nathal and installed a usurper. I need you to send riders to the other lords to rally their support, otherwise our realm will fall under the usurper,” King Reginald said, watching Lord Harold closely for any signs of disloyalty.

“Your Majesty, I am your loyal servant. I will dispatch riders to the other Lords and my bannermen. Together we will defeat the rebellion and make them rue the day that they tried to divide our great nation. My steward will see to your lodging and personal needs. Is there anything else that you require?”

“Yes. I would like you to send a message to the Priest of Golux and have him meet me here,” King Reginald said.

“You want the Hand of Golux to come… here?” Lord Harold said, hesitatingly.

“What of it?” King Reginald asked sharply. He was pleased to see Lord Harold cower under his gaze.

“Nothing, Your Majesty, I shall send for him at once,” Lord Harold said looking downward. “Will there be anything more?”

“No, go and do as you have promised,” King Reginald said. Lord Harold kneeled once again and withdrew, leaving King Reginald alone with his guards.

Isolde was just getting bored when Vanessa scurried into the room with a pile of paper in her arms and set them on the table.

"What are all these?" Isolde asked, picking up the top sheet by a corner to examine it.

"Don't get them out of order!" Vanessa snatched the sheet out of Isolde's hand and replaced it in the pile. "We need to talk about the financial state of the country."

"I thought you already said we were bankrupt," Isolde said.

"Yes, that is why we need to make a plan for how to remedy it," Vanessa sighed. "I still haven't tracked down where King Reginald's store of gold is and Lorelei is still working on the Hand of Golux lead. As far as I can tell, the only reason this country has been managing to stay afloat is because of the unpaid labour and gold at the Gor Chasten mines."

"The mines that are currently out of operation as Boba works on writing new workplace safety legislation?"

"One and the same. So we are going to have to enact some strict reforms until either the mines resume operation or we find King Reginald's personal hoard. To start with, I suggest you cut back on spending in every area possible."

"Okay... I can do that."

"This means you can't be commissioning new dresses, feasting on meat every day, or really be spending on anything frivolous."

"I only bought three dresses and the kitchens have a month's supply of meat. Most of it dried, of course, but plenty to go around."

Isolde watched as Vanessa frowned. "Where have you been spending all that gold, then?"

Isolde sighed. She didn't really want to reveal this, but she was quite certain that Vanessa would murder her in her sleep if she didn't. "I hired an assassin."

"You what?"

"I hired an assassin to be my personal assistant. Now, what other suggestions do you have for me?" Isolde tried as hard as possible to be authoritative, then watched as Vanessa processed this revelation.

"Well... My next suggestion is that we lower the tax rate."

Now it was Isolde's turn to be surprised.

"Lower it?" she exclaimed. "Wouldn't that reduce our available funds even further?"

"Only temporarily. The current tax rate is so high that most commoners are barely able to afford even basic necessities. That means that they don't have any money to spend on other items." Vanessa stopped to examine Isolde's reaction. Her lips were pursed in a funny way, but she didn't seem to dislike the idea.

"If we reduce the tax rate, not only would that reduce the financial strain on, but eventually that additional money would go towards other items. Merchants would be motivated to sell more and better products to compete against one another for this new source of sales."

Isolde tried to think this through. "So... What does that mean for us?"

"We will profit off taxing a thriving economy rather than a faltering one, and the people will be more satisfied."

Isolde frowned. "I don't understand it, but if you think it will work, we can try."

Vanessa smiled. "Great! Now, you'll also have to inform all the nobles that they'll have to lower the local taxes as well. They're just as high, and I have a feeling that they might try to raise it if they see that their subjects have more left over after our tax."

"I'll have Florian do it," Isolde sighed. "I still haven't met them all yet and it is not looking good for our relations right now. However I will ask Lee about where he thinks Reginald hid the gold. I have a feeling he might have some ideas."

The storm had ended and Lorelei was glad, her evening had been just a bit too eventful, first with the discovery of Marlon, tending to his injuries, and now the appearance of a possibly pardoned convict. She still hadn’t even made it to Gor Lobos yet.

She sat beside Marlon’s cot and she must have fallen asleep, because she woke up to Marlon grabbing her arm. She started at the touch and easily pulled herself from Marlon’s hand. She sat up and examined her patient. He was still covered in bandages, but his breathing was easier.

“Lorelei,” he said.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Hungry,” he said.

“I’ll get you some rations,” she volunteered. She moved a curtain, revealing the stranger to Marlon.

“Recognize him?” Lorelei asked.

“That’s Cyril,” Marlon confirmed. “How did you find him?”

“He came to me, looking for food and shelter. He didn’t give me his name though, so I got suspicious and drugged him. Good thing I tied him up,” Lorelei said, moving to get the rations. “Honkers has been keeping an eye on him too.” Lorelei retrieved the magic rod and some rations. The latter she placed in front of Marlon, while she raised the former in her hands.”

“Do you know what this is?” she asked Marlon.

“It’s a rod of wonder,” Marlon said. “I thought it was harmless. Everytime we pressed the button, a different spell would come out. It made grass grow tall, caused sudden localized downpours, and then it shot out some valuable gems. I even shot a bunch of butterflies out of it,” Marlon said, wincing in pain as he shifted to get some food.

“So where does Cyril come into this?” Lorelei asked.

“We met him on the road, he seemed harmless enough and we had been drinking a fair amount of rum, so we invited him to join our gathering. We then started passing the rod around using it. Then we gave the rod to Cyril.”

“And then he fireballed you?”

“What?! No, he shot some gems out of it. We split the gems up amongst the party and then I asked for the Rod of Wonder back,” Marlon said frowning. “I think it must have been activated by accident, because the next thing I knew, I was flying through the air and then everything went black.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Lorelei said sharply. She turned away and looked at Honkers.

“Wake him,” Lorelei commanded Honkers, pointing to Cyril. Honkers responded by gently biting Cyril’s nose.

“OW!” Cyril yelled with a start. “AH! IT’S BLUE!” he exclaimed as he noticed Honkers. He tried to move away only to notice the bindings holding him.

“Good morning Cyril,” she said menacingly. Cyril whirled around to look at Lorelei.

“You! You crazy witch! You poisoned me! What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded angrily.

“No Cyril,” Lorelei said menacingly, before squatting down to look him in the eye. “Poison is a substance that can cause illness or death. What I did was drug you after you lied to me. After I offered you food and shelter from the storm, you repaid me with lie after lie after lie. You gave me a fake name, denied knowing anything about what had happened to Marlon and his party, even inventing a wizard to cover up your part in what had happened. You didn’t mention that you were recently pardoned and you certainly didn’t mention this…” she said, leveling the rod of wonder at him. Cyril struggled in vain to get away from the rod’s line of fire, then went limp.

“I give up,” he said. “What’s the point? You’re just going to kill me anyway.” Cyril shut his eyes and prepared for the end.

“The point is this Cyril: if you had told me the truth, then you would likely not be tied up on the ground,” Lorelei said, then put the rod of wonder away. Cyril opened his eyes a fraction.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“When Marlon woke up, he told me about the rod of wonder, how you and his party had been playing with it, and how you had accidentally discharged it while handing it back to him,” Lorelei said evenly. She stood up and addressed both of them.

“Gentlemen, magical items are not toys. Those that treat them like toys will inevitably suffer dire consequences for reasons that must be obvious at this point. And since neither of you two treated this rod of wonder with respect, I am going to keep it in my possession where it will go safely unused,” she declared.

“Fine, take it,” Cyril said with a growl. Marlon nodded, but said nothing. Lorelei turned back to Cyril.

“You just got out of prison and I can understand how you might have become scared and panicked. And if you had known what you were doing, then maybe I would send you back to jail. But this was an accident and Marlon agrees. So, I’m going to let you go with a warning: don’t lie to me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, fine, whatever. Let me go and I hope I never see you again,” Cyril grumbled. With that, Lorelei hauled him to his feet, then undid the knots. Afterwards, Cyril rubbed his hands over his wrists and glared at Lorelei.

“Where will you go now?” Lorelei asked.

“None of your business,” Cyril said.

“I asked because I could use some help with Marlon. If you help me get him to a healer, I can get you some fresh supplies and a job.” Lorelei offered.

“A job?” he asked suspiciously.

“You seem like you are fairly resourceful, if a bit unlucky. If you help me get Marlon to a proper healer, then I will write you a letter of recommendation. If you present that letter to Vanessa Cooper in Gor Nathal, she will do her best to find a job for you that is unique to your talents,” Lorelei said, hoping that Vanessa would be able to find some way of making those words come true.

“And if I refuse?” he said curtly. Lorelei gave him an appraising look. He looked angry enough to want to strike her, but if he did, he knew enough not to try.

“You’re a proud man,” she conceded. “And if your pride demands that you storm out of here and try to make your own way through the world, then you are welcome to give that a try and see how far it gets you. But if you truly want a fresh start in life, you will not find a better or more timely opportunity than what I’ve just offered you,” Lorelei said.

Cyril stared at her, then retrieved his possessions and left the tent.