Eight

            Thistlepouch first knew they were approaching Barnicus by the increase in boats sailing into or away from the direction in which they were pretty sure the city lay.  There were all types -- some longboats, some sailing boats, some tri-marines, some double-masted.  As the party sailed closer, tons and tons of docks came into view, all teeming with activity.  The kita watched with rapt interest -- although she’d seen a harbor before in Flora, it had been nothing compared to this!

            As their boat sailed into the main harbor, a small dinghy approached and a voice called out, “Ahoy there!”

            “Ahoy yourself!” Forge returned, and leaned over the rail to get seasick again.  He’d been doing that for most of the voyage.  Darwin, as well, had been making a good number of fish happy, though by now he’d come fully around and was exceedingly hung-over and surly.

            “Hello!” the kita called.

            “What vessel be ye?” came the voice again.

            “A big one!” Thistlepouch replied without hesitation.

            “And where birth ye?”

            “On land!” Forge put in woozily.

            There was a pause.  Then, “Hold position!  Weigh anchor!  We’ll be boarding!”  And the dinghy started advancing.

            Mica puzzled for a moment.  “Do we have an anchor?”

            “Hold on!” Tusit called.  “We’re looking for it!”

            Thistlepouch knew where it was -- unfortunately, it weighed more than she did.  “I can’t lift it!”

            “Throw the kita,” she heard Forge whisper to Tusit.

            “Hey!” the kita in question cried indignantly.

            “She wouldn’t appreciate that,” the gnome returned quietly, then turned at the sound of a sploosh from the back of the boat.  “Thank you!”

            “Welcome,” Grog replied, and made himself busy with the sails.

            The dingy rowed up alongside and a thin, scrawny guy hopped over the gunwales -- the kita brought this to Tusit’s attention.

            “We have gunwales?” Tusit puzzled.

            Thistlepouch sighed.  It just went to show you what you get when a horde of landlubbers gets in a boat.  Like traveling cross country by carriage, except no one knows how to drive the horses.  Though she had to admit, it would be an interesting ride.  .  .

            The man pulled out a small, leather-bound book.  He had a long, pointed, rat-like nose, like someone had held him up by it and let him dangle there.  “So, the name of the boat was A Big One or.  .  .”

            “It’s good enough.” Tusit shrugged.

            “Well, actually, if you compare our boat to that one over there,” Forge noted, “we aren’t that big.”

            “But compared to the dinghy we are,” Thistlepouch observed.

            Tusit, meanwhile, was peering at the man’s page.  “The letter ‘A’ -- A -- Big -- ‘B-I-’”

            “Yes, we’re here to see the Merchant Antonio on business,” Mica overrode him before he could annoy the dockworker too much.  Thistlepouch thought maybe that was a good idea.  People tended to get annoyed with Tusit after a little while.  Especially Mica.

            “Ah!  Are you with the Merchant Antonio’s fleet?”

            Tusit’s hedging “Not necessarily” blended with Thistlepouch’s emphatic “Yes!” and Mica’s “Sort of.  .  .  .”

            “We are in support with them,” Mica declared.

            “We’ve got his daughter,” Thistlepouch offered helpfully.

            Tusit clapped a hand over the kita’s mouth.  “We are escorting his daughter back into his hands.”  He took his hand away.  Thistlepouch scowled at him.

            The dockworker waved the dinghy off; it rowed back into the middle of the harbor and the other man started calling out to various boats.  The man on their newly-christened ship gave directions, “First, we need to direct ourselves to that pier over there.”

            Grog went over to pull up the anchor, then grabbed a set of oars and started rowing.  The man turned back to Tusit.

            “I suppose I should ask, then, the name of the ship is A Big One?”

            Thistlepouch sighed and turned to watch the ships.  The rat-nosed man evidently didn’t catch on very quickly if he was still asking what their boat was.  The boats.  .  .  well, they were boats.  She’d seen boats before -- and while boats often had interesting things on them, they really were quite boring to watch.  More than anything she wanted to get out and walk around some, maybe explore some merchants’ stalls.  She perked up considerably when she heard the dockworker wrapping up the conversation.

            “Oh, well, in that case you’ll be fine.  Just moor here, and I’d advise you to go visit the moneychanger I know of, Lockshy.”  He gave Tusit quick directions; then upon request gave Mica directions to Antonio’s.  Thistlepouch paid attention to those -- you never could tell with humans; more often than not they got themselves and everyone else lost.  “If there’s anything else that I can do, just let me know, otherwise once I get notification from the Merchant Antonio, you’ll have your tolls returned.”  He hopped off the boat as soon as it was moored and scuttled off down the dock.

            Forge flopped off the boat as gracefully as possible -- which wasn’t all that gracefully, Thistlepouch observed.

            “I do suppose the lovely young lady would like to go home, so I suppose that should be our first order of business,” Tusit declared, then turned to the girl. “Would you be able to escort us to the moneychangers so we could get some city funds?”

            “Very well.”  She daintily stepped out of the boat and started off down the pier.  The others followed, except for Grog, who stayed with the boat.  Thistlepouch felt a little sorry for him -- he missed even more of the interesting stuff than she did.  .  .  .  but then, he didn’t really seem to mind.  No accounting for some people.

            The girl led the party down a few streets to a shop with a large sign displaying a picture of coins out front.  Tusit trotted in; Thistlepouch followed with Forge.  Inside was run-down and dilapidated, everything beat-up and ragged-looking.  A man, presumably Lockshy, stood behind the counter; his scraggly beard and potbelly made him blend well with his shop.

            “Yes, noble sirs, how can I help you?” he oozed in a thin, self-depreciating voice.  “Anything, anything.  .  .  ”

            Oh, dear.  Thistlepouch sighed.  He was going to be another one of those.  Thistlepouch didn’t see why Tusit insisted on changing his money at all, but if he had to do it she really wished he’d hurry up so she could get to somewhere interesting.  She gazed wistfully at the sunlit world beyond the door.

            “Well, if I can, and at least to give you some currency because I believe that the Florin currency will be dropping soon, um, due to the difficulty they’ve been having with pirates and such,” Lockshy explained in an urgent manner -- probably because Tusit was putting his coins back in his pouch.  Thistlepouch decided to help matters along a little.

            “You know,” she mused, “if they’ve been having difficulty with pirates, I’d think that since the coins would be more rare they’d be worth more.”

            “No, you misunderstand, the worth of the Flora coin is entirely based on how well the city is doing -”

            “Interesting!  That’s not what the other moneylender told us,” Thistlepouch said, though they hadn’t talked to any other moneylenders.

            “Why would there be a huge influx of florins?” Forge asked, then paused for effect. “Unless, of course, you’re receiving the money from the pirates.  .  .  .  ?”

            “What?”  Lockshy’s eyes went wide.  “No, no you misunderstand sir, the Florin money will still be here, it’s not an influx, the value of it will drop.  .  .  .  you see, as no doubt the king will be issuing more coinage, the value will drop -”

            “Yes, yes, fine fine,” Tusit cut him off, impatient.  “What do you offer?”

            “Well, for the coin you have here, I could easily offer you 65 barns.”

            Thistlepouch, though she didn’t know much about exchange rates, knew this was highway robbery.  The look on Tusit's face told her that much.  She was glad when Tusit said, “all right, well, then, I’ll be off -- I have a better offer somewhere else.”

            “I’d be very surprised, sir.  .  .  .  however, I did notice you had other coinage you were not interested in trading.  .  .  I must admit, I am a bit of a collector in odd coins.  .  .  .  perhaps I could give you something for that?”

            “Actually,” Tusit said, “that’s my good luck piece.”

            “Oh, oh, I would not trade for your good luck piece, sir, I can understand, but I must admit I’ve made a series of poor lending decisions; unfortunately most of them have not come out as I had hoped, and  now sir, I am at my wits’ end; I am continually being taken advantage of by my wily customers.  .  .  perhaps, if there was some way I could trade with you for that piece -- I could use as much luck as you could give.  .  .  .”

            “Well I can’t imagine what it’d be worth,” Tusit hedged.  “I found it somewhere.”

            In the dead Sea Prince’s tomb, Thistlepouch added mentally.  Lucky piece my staff!  She bounced a bit and Tusit continued haggling.

            Lockshy seized an opportunity.  “Seeing as it is a currency that is not currently traded, perhaps I could give you as much as three barns for it.”

            Tusit paused a moment.  “I think my luck is worth a bit more than that.  We do thank you for your assistance.  I could see trading it perhaps if you were willing to give us something like 75 barns for the coinage that I had out.”

            Lockshy sounded like he was panicking slightly as the deal slipped through his fingers.  “I could potentially give you as much as.  .  .  so you wish 75 for the currency.  .  .  .  .  ?”

            “Like I said, I haven’t quite decided yet.  I do kind of like this coin.” Tusit pulled it out and started twiddling it around; Lockshy glanced at it, then back.  “It has brought me some luck, though.  .  .  not to say, if things are favorable in this town, I might be willing to come back.  .  .  .  of course, with such a low exchange rate on the other moneys.  .  .  .”

            “We’ll need all the luck we can get,” Thistlepouch put in.  Hurry up, hurry up!

            “Sir, I must be asking, if you are not needing our currency, then what is your purpose here?” Lockshy inquired.

            “Oh, we’re here primarily as an escort,” Tusit explained.

            “I see, you escort a noble lady?  And would Milady Noble not wish to make purchases while here in this town?”

            “Oh, she lives here.  We’re just bringing her home.  So, could you not see a way through to possibly giving us 75?” Tusit asked.

            “Well, I must say that that is a very steep rate.  .  .  ”

            Tusit gave him a flat stare.  “I do know what my currency is worth.”

            “Oh, yes, of course, but I think you  may not be familiar with the recent downturns the currency has had -”

            It really was too ironic.  “Oh.  .  .  .  I could take a good guess,” Tusit said cryptically.

            Thistlepouch stifled a giggle.

            Mica called from outside, “Tusit, are you done yet?  The Merchant Antonio is going to be waiting!”

            Lockshy’s eyebrows went almost into his hairline.  “Oh!  You work for the merchant Antonio!  He and I have a business agreement, actually.  .  .  .  he is one of the many, many people who has temporarily obtained money from me.  I see.  You said you were escorting a noble lady.  .  .  might it be his noble daughter Melissanna.  .  .  .  ?”

            That was her name! Thistlepouch had figured it would be bad form to keep asking, but she kept forgetting.  .  .  It was all these strange names that didn’t mean anything that had her so confused. She thought that she had better keep it in mind now that they were back in her native town.

            “Yes, she’s waiting outside and she’s getting rather impatient!” Tusit said.  “We’d best be on our way.”

            “I see, of course, I would not dream of detaining you any further.  .  .  .  especially when bringing his noble daughter.  .  .  he has so been pining to see her.  .  .  oh, well, in that case, milord, please, be on your way, I would not wish to detain you any further.”

            Tusit blinked.  “Oh, well, thank you,” he said as Lockshy scuttled out the back.  Tusit, Thistlepouch, and Forge exited out the front.

            Thistlepouch sighed.  All that for nothing.  Well, at least they were out, now.  She fervently hoped Tusit didn’t insist on going to see another one.

            “So, did you get exchanged?” Melissanna inquired.

            “No, he was trying to lowball me,” Tusit told her.  “I decided not to bother.”

            “Well of course.  .  .  he’s a changer.”  With that, Melissanna headed off.

            They had scarcely started off when Thistlepouch noticed three figures ahead and a glint of something that looked like steel under their black cloaks.  Their hoods turned to track the party.  That was a Bad Sign.  “Guys?”

            “Yes?”  Tusit looked to her.

            “There’s people following us, well they’re ahead of us, really, but they have steel hidden under their cloaks -”

            Tusit patted the kita on the head a couple times.  “That’s nice.  Keep walking.  Course change.  .  .  .”  He looked casually up at the sky.  “Nobody make any moves.  .  .  um.  .  .  should we hit a shop?”

            Melissanna stopped dead, turned around to look at him.  “What do you mean, nobody make any moves?  And why should we stop at a shop?”

            Tusit gave her a big smile.  “Milady, there are some cloaked figures that look a bit.  .  .  not trustworthy.  .  .  and I’d hate to put you in danger.”

            “In broad daylight?  A mugging?  In Barnicus?!  That’s not possible!!!”

            “If you continue screaming, you’ll be on your own,” Tusit informed her.

            Thistlepouch looked around.  People were taking notice.  She was willing to bet things would get interesting pretty soon.  .  .  and maybe not in a fun way.

            Melissanna’s voice turned icy.  “I’m now in the city of Barnicus; from here I can find my way home on my own.”

            “I don’t doubt that, milady,” Tusit said.

            “I have no need of you or your.  .  .  grubby companions any longer!”

            “Hey!” Thistlepouch protested.  It had been just as long since Melissanna had a bath!

            Tusit grabbed one of the Lady’s sleeves and brought her down to his level, a smile still plastered on his face.  “Milady.  There are three cloaked figures -- right -- over --”  He tried to turn her head to show her; she wouldn’t allow it.  “Oh, never mind.”

            As soon as Tusit let go, Melissanna stood up, turned, and stalked off.  Everyone followed; Tusit drew two daggers, trying to keep between her and the brigands and veering toward the middle of the street in hopes of changing her course.  Forge stayed to the back, trying to maintain eye contact; Bob drew daggers; Mica continued walking.  They neared the sidestreet where the hoodlums stood.

            Thistlepouch looked up to Melissanna with her brightest, happiest smile, and took her hand.  If no one else could get her to go that way.  .  .  .  .  “Why don’t you tell me a story about your father?”  She led her towards the middle of the road.

            Melissanna blinked at her, a little surprised.  “My father?  Well, he’s a noble merchant captain, he controls most of Ventris, he -” Suddenly Melissanna cried out and fell forward.  Thistlepouch heard one of the cloaked figures yell “Piss!” -- by then the kita had a couple handfulls of mule puckey loaded in her staff’s sling (there were no rocks -- a pity) and started whipping it at them.  She let out a triumphant whoop as one got splatted right on the forehead.  Her second try hit a wall.  An arrow whistled into the alleyway, followed shortly by a pained cry as one of the cloaked figures got hit in the bum.

            People in the streets had begun to scatter.

            “Maybe we should start moving.  .  .” Mica suggested.

            “Not now, I’m busy,” Tusit returned as he continued his examination of Melissanna.

            The attackers had moved out of range; Thistlepouch wrinkled her nose and wiped her hand off on a nearby wall.  Yuck.  She glanced about to see who had been the lucky one with the arrow and spied Forge standing with his short-bow tucked under his cloak as nonchalantly as possible.

            Darwin was a little late to react -- he pulled out his peace-tied battle-ax and charged.  Forge headed over to retrieve his arrow and maybe stop Darwin.

            “Recover the bottle!” Tusit shouted as he continued his examination.

            Thistlepouch stood guard.

            “She’ll live,” Tusit declared as Mica and Bob returned hauling their prisoner.  He then turned to searching the body.

            “Let’s go.  .  .  .  let’s get out of here,” Mica prodded.

            Thistlepouch agreed.  “Could Bob maybe carry her and we could go?”

            Mica turned questioningly to the elf.  “Bob?”

            “Okay.”  He picked her up.

            Darwin walked over to the fallen attacker and kicked him hard.  “We movin’?”

            “Are you done?” Tusit inquired.

            “Yeah.”

            “Then we move,” he replied as Darwin hoisted the hoodlum over his shoulder.  “If you like, you can take out the arrow.”

            Darwin grinned.

            Thistlepouch was suddenly glad they were on the same side.

            “Darwin, please try to keep it in one piece for me -- I’d like to fire it again,” Forge requested.

            “That takes all the fun out of it,” Darwin complained.

            “Okay, fine.  You can tear it apart.”

            “Or I could just push it straight through.  .  .  .” Darwin considered.

            “You could do that,” Forge assented.

            They hadn’t gotten more than fifteen feet when they heard the sound of boots approaching.  Ten guys in leather armor bearing the emblem of Barnicus followed shortly thereafter, swords strapped to their waists and pikes hefted as they walked.  Thistlepouch rushed to meet them.

            “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!  We need help!”

            The lead guard frowned down at her.  “Hmmmm.  .  .  .  what’s the problem?”

            “Well, some thugs appeared out of an alley and shot a blowdart at Merchant Antonio’s daughter and it hit her on the neck!”

            “Merchant Antonio’s daughter?”

            “Yeah.  We were escorting her home when some thugs ambushed us!”

            The guard frowned harder.  “That’s doubtful.  There are no thugs in Barnicus.”

            Thistlepouch sighed in exasperation.  Now she saw where Melissanna got it from.  “Well, they were cloaked figures.  Maybe they weren’t thugs.  Whatever they are, we have one of them.  We took him prisoner.”

            “You captured a citizen of Barnicus?”

            “We detained him until the proper authorities could come and sort this all out,” Tusit explained.  He pointed to the sidestreet.  “The other two went that way, if you’re at all curious.”

            “Oh, I see.  .  .  ”  The guard went over to Darwin, looked at the human he had slung over his shoulder.  “Is this the person who was doing the attacking?”

            Tusit walked over to Darwin, too, and smacked the thug a couple times right by the arrow.  “Yup, that’s him!”

            The thug screamed in agony.

            The guard frowned again.  “He seems to be wounded.”

            Tusit donned his most innocent expression -- the one Thistlepouch had learned meant he was probably lying.  Or trying to wriggle out of something.  “I don’t know how that could’ve happened.  .  .  ”  He held up a dart to change the subject.  “This is what he used to shoot the girl.”

            The guard examined the dart.  “Hmmm.  .  .  doesn’t seem enough to do that sort of damage.  .  .”

            “Being a student of herbalism,” Tusit put in, “I can assure you this is possible, though I’m not certain how.”

            “It was covered with some kind of poison,” Bob put in.

            “Poison?  Poison’s illegal in Barnicus.”

            Thistlepouch decided this wasn’t going well.  “We’d really appreciate an armed escort back to her father’s house so we can return her.”

            “Well, hmmm,” the guard considered.  “Actually we should probably go back to the guardhouse and sort this all out.”

            “My good sir,” Tusit protested, “she has been away from her father for quite some time; he is expecting us.”

            “Oh, well, we can send someone,” the guard offered.

            “Good sir, I do believe the best course of action is to get this young lady back to her father’s house and sort it out from there,” Tusit insisted.

            “Well, I must admit it might seem like that would be a good idea, but in any case of bloodshed in the streets of Barnicus -”

            Thistlepouch glanced around -- as usual no one was paying any attention at all to her.  For once she was glad; it was the perfect time to sneak off.  As soon as she got around a corner, she took off running.

            And running.

            And running.

            When she’d been running for what seemed to her short kita legs like absolutely forever, she finally arrived at.  .  .  well.  .  .  a building she was pretty sure might possibly be it.  All the buildings in the area looked similar: an outer fence with a closed wrought-iron gate and a path up to the door.  There weren’t any guards on the gate.  Most gates had a bell, but all the bells were out of reach and she was far too tired to consider climbing up to examine them, though she had rung a few of them on her way by and they did produce nice chimes.  The gates themselves looked heavy, but with no other option, she pushed.  Her target swung in easily on well-balanced, well-oiled hinges.  Thistlepouch, though generally not a religious person (most kitas aren’t) sent up silent thanks to several gods right then and there as she stumbled up the front walk and to the door, which she promptly opened.

            A startled young man sitting in an alcove just inside the door got to his feet.  “Excuse me!  Can I help -”

            “Is this Merchant Antonio’s house?”

            “Yes it is -”

            “His daughter needs some help.”

            A look of utter shock.  “His daughter?  But she was lost at sea -”

            Thistlepouch really didn’t want to bother explaining, which just went to show the level of her utter exhaustion.  “No, no.  .  .  .  she’s been with us, we got lost at sea, too, and we brought her back but she’s at the guards’ house and.  .  .  .  do you have a drink of water?”

            The doorman took pity on the small being about to collapse at his feet.  “Yes.  .  .  .  of course.  .  .  .  here.”  He handed her a waterskin.  “Please, wait here.”  And, despite the fact that anyone who knew anything about kita consider it inadvisable to leave one alone in the entryway, he did just that.  Luckily for him, Thistlepouch was only interested in testing out the cushyness of the seat he’d been occupying.  It took a scrabbling climb to get onto it, but she judged the comfort level worth the work.

            Within a couple minutes the young man ran back with a large, fat man following him, the sort that you hear well before you see.  A tall, thin, lean man with scars on his face and curling black hair proceeded him.  He decided the kita was no threat and stepped aside.

            “Where’s my daughter?!” boomed the panting man, whom the kita guessed as the Merchant Antonio.

            “At the guards’ house.”  She hadn’t the energy for a more elaborate explanation.

            “The guards.  Which guards?”

            Thistlepouch sighed.  She was pretty sure running two miles for help qualified her for at least minor hero status.  She was also pretty sure that heroes weren’t supposed to have to be put through the third degree.  If she’d known it’d be a multiple choice question, she would’ve asked the guards’ names before she snuck off.  She wasn’t even sure what the choices were.  “I don’t know. She’s at the barracks.”  At least, she hoped.  And also hoped he didn’t ask her directions.

            “Which barracks?”

            Oh well, it had been a nice fantasy.  She gave a brief description of the guards’ outfits and hoped that would be enough.  Especially since she wasn’t in the mood to run back down to her friends and find out.  If she could even find them again.

            Antonio thought a moment.  “Ah!  Okay.  Dock guards.”  He looked up at the thin, scarred man and started rattling off names.  He grabbed the young man from the entryway and gave him a shake.  “Get my liter!” he commanded, and threw the boy towards the door.

            Thistlepouch watched eight very large slave-type people gather outside the front door -- at least, Thistlepouch assumed they were slaves from their heavy metal collars.  Either that, or.  .  .  .  Thistlepouch didn’t want to consider what the alternative meant for the Merchant Antonio’s bedroom life.  In any event, they all wore what she guessed was Antonio’s coat of arms and carried peacebound longswords -- although the peace-ties were cut so that just a little bit of leather held the blades in.  Thistlepouch tugged on Antonio’s pant leg.

            “What?!”

            “Do you mind if I ride with you?” she asked in a small voice.

            “Well, you won’t keep up otherwise.  Very well.”  Antonio rolled down the front steps and up to the liter.  “Down!”  The slaves knelt.  The young man from the door ran up with a ramp.  Antonio rolled himself into the liter.  Thistlepouch followed, perkier at the prospect of something new.  She’d never gotten to ride on a liter before.  .  .  .  Antonio grabbed an ivory wand and tapped the side twice.  The slaves got up; he tapped it five times quickly.

            “To the dock barracks!”

            They headed off at a fast run.  About a hundred yards down, five guards joined them, two on either side and the scarred guy in front.  One of the front slaves started bellowing, “Make way!  Make way for the Merchant Antonio!”

            “One side, coming through!  Move it, you son of a motherless castrated orc!  We can’t stop this thing!!!” Thistlepouch chimed in merrily.

            After some travel the liter came to a stop (to the slaves’ eternal thanks) outside a shop just like all the others but with a double door.  The slaves knelt, and Antonio rolled out and picked himself up; instantly the five guards formed up around him.  He strode to the door.  Thistlepouch watched, interested, as he pounded heavily on the door and it swung open.  She stood on the seat for a better view, caught a glimpse of Melissanna lying on the ground, Mica and Bob by her.  Darwin stood over the cloaked guy’s body, and Tusit was near the guards.  She waved enthusiastically.

            “Hi, everybody!  I brought Merchant Antonio!”

            As the doors opened the merchant stormed right through, grabbed the guard nearest Tusit, stuffed a bag of coins one of the guard’s pockets, grabbed a key out of the other, and stormed over to one of the interior doors.  Tusit and Forge followed him happily.  The guard did not react adversely to the turn of events.  Thistlepouch jumped off the liter and went over to see Melissanna.

            Antonio, upon spotting his daughter, called over his shoulder, “Take her to the house!” and headed through the first door without breaking stride.  Two of the guards following him ran over to Melissanna, picked her up, and carried her back to the liter.  Bob started to follow, but Mica grabbed his shirt.

            “What?”

            “Let’s not get any deeper than we already are,” Mica suggested.  “Let’s take maybe the opportunity to get the bloody blazes out of here?”

            “Let’s find out what’s going on so that maybe we can get paid!”

            Mica narrowed her eyes.  “Would you rather be dead, or would you rather have money?”

            Bob considered.  “Okay okay okay, life is looking better.”

            “Okay.  Thank you.”  She let go of his shirt.

            Thistlepouch decided she would have to learn Mica’s technique -- it certainly ended an argument quick.  She plopped down on the ground.  Mica turned to her.

            “Hey, when you get the chance, can you go wave the tingly stick over by the girl?”

            Thistlepouch held it out in offering, not at all inclined to get up.

            “Yeah, but you’re better at that than I am, and besides, they know you already.”

            Thistlepouch sighed.  “Okay.”  She got up and trotted after Melissanna to wave the tingly stick at her.  It tingled a lot around her neck.  She passed one of the guards on her way in.  “It’s tingly,” the kita announced as soon as she was near the priestess.

            “The wound did?” Mica clarified.

            “Yeah.” Thistlepouch put the stick away and curled up to rest.

            She didn’t remember much after that.

*                      *                      *

            Thistlepouch blinked a bit as somebody placed her in a donkey-cart.  She opened her eyes enough to find the nearest available lap -- she didn’t care whose -- and commandeer it for a pillow.  She’d almost drifted off when Tusit’s voice tugged at her senses.

            “Are you conscious enough to tell the young man of our adventures?”

            She struggled to semi-coherency.  “Oh, you want to hear a story?”

            “He wants to know where we encountered the lady.  Not so much about our adventures as just how we met the lady,” Tusit reiterated.

            Thistlepouch took a deep breath and shook herself the rest of the way awake.  “Well, we all got captured and they had us chained up on a slave ship and it was really boring because you couldn’t see any light or anything and then there was this big storm and we got knocked into this island, and a rock went right through our boat!  And then Mica managed to pull her chains out and we killed a half-orc in the surf and I helped.  And then we went and found a really nice man -- well, we thought he was nice -- and his name was Keystake.  .  .  .  oh, and Melissanna was along for all this -”

            “Where did you meet her?” Antonio’s guard cut in.

            “In a slave ship.  I suppose she was kidnapped like us.  Anyhow, Keystake brought us to this temple to Athena and she talked to Mica.  .  .  Athena, that is, not Melissanna, though Melissanna was talking to her too -- Mica, that is -- which was pretty neat.  .  .  .  and then Keystake turned out to be not such a nice person because once we were in the manor house he tried to kill me.  .  .  and you know, I really don’t remember much after that.  Oh, but later we escaped off the island in a boat.  And then we went and saw some people and Mica did some healing and -”

            “And then we worked our way here, eventually,” Tusit cut in.

            Thistlepouch looked down, crestfallen.  “Yeah.  Like that.”

            “I’m sorry, dear, but he really doesn’t need to know all the gory details,” Tusit apologized.

            Thistlepouch drew idle patterns on the wagon’s bed.  “Okay.”

            “And then she said that if we brought her back to you that we would be greatly rewarded, so we decided to go on an adventure to bring her to you,” Bob put in.

            “We would’ve brought her back anyway!” Thistlepouch countered, highly indignant.  And lowered her opinion of the elf yet another notch.

            “I’m really not all that interested in the cash, though I would like to be able to hunt down those men,” Forge added.

            “We didn’t do this for the cash, obviously, we did this to reunite the family you work for,” Tusit said, “though I’m starting to see the way the wheels turn now.”

            Antonio’s guard smiled wryly.  “Yes.  Greased by coins.  Barns will buy whatever is needed.  .  .  .  at least, enough of them will.”

            “You said you recognized the.  .  .  thing.  .  .  that attacked us,” Tusit said.

            “Yes, he’s a common for-hire sort.  I’m surprised he’s gone to poison; generally his favorite weapon is a knife in the dark.”

            “Well, I don’t think it was really poison, though,” Thistlepouch put in, remembering the tingly stick.

            “Yes,” Tusit said.  “I am an herbalist, and I don’t recognize anything that could have done this so quickly.”

            “And if it was poison,” continued the kita, undaunted, “then the stick wouldn’t have tingled.”

            Tusit shot her a dirty look, explained to the guard, “She’s given to flights of fancy.  .  .  .  though we do suspect something other than the physical, whether it be Magick or something along those lines.  Each of us has had strange visions regarding the wound.  There’s nothing to the wound, but -”

            Thistlepouch, feeling put out, decided that if her input wasn’t needed, then she’d just curl up and take a nap.  That is, until Bob started screwing up the story again.

            “But it seemed to be aimed more towards us than her -- in fact, when it hit her, one of the men said ‘oh no!’ and ran away,” Bob said.

            “I don’t remember him saying ‘oh no’; I think it was something more like ‘oh, piss!’” Thistlepouch corrected.

            Forge grinned.  “And then you flung something even worse at him!  That’s right!”

            Thistlepouch grinned back, glad to be appreciated.

            “I do believe it was aimed towards us,” Tusit agreed, “though I can’t imagine what we could’ve done to annoy them besides not do business with the moneychanger.”

            “I don’t know,” Thistlepouch shrugged.  “Kitas get in all sorts of trouble.”  Really, they were making too big of a fuss over this.  It was just a little scuffle.  As if they hadn’t gotten into a bunch of them already.  And a bunch of thugs was nothing compared to a maybe-dead Sea King.  She let her mind wander, just keeping one ear open to the others in case they couldn’t manage to make some other obvious conclusion.

            “I don’t suppose you know where there’s a forge that I might use?” asked Forge.

            “Use?” the scarred man sounded perplexed.

            “Well, he is a dwarf,” Thistlepouch put in.

            “I suppose.”  The guard scratched his chin.  “Well, there’s one down in the artisans’ quarter.  You could probably ask a blacksmith if you could use his.”

            “Is there any way we could get some protection while here in Barnicus?” inquired Tusit.

            “Well, Merchant Antonio had offered you his hospitality, and I doubt any would strike at his house.”

            “That’s nice, but what about in the streets?” Tusit pursued.

            “Well, of course, you know, there are no robbers in Barnicus.”

            “Why is that?” asked Mica.

            “Because it’s illegal, what do you think?” Thistlepouch asked a bit irritably.  People here were so irrational, and she was getting a little tired of dealing with it.

            “Yes, the robbers?  They work for the government,” the guard informed them with a chuckle.

            “Where would this one hang out?” Forge jerked a thumb at the thug in the other cart.

            “Oh, that?  I know him as a hire-out sort, generally doesn’t prey on anything as high as a merchant’s daughter.”

            “If I could, I’d like to get on the search,” Forge said, “frequent a few inns tonight, if possible.”

            “You’re going to go drinking at a time like this?!” Mica frowned.

            “If you had the past that I have, you’d want to forget it too.  Darwin?  Your opinion?”

            “Ale.”

            “There.  You’ve been outvoted.  Lead the way.”

            “He does have a point, there.  I do remember you getting drunk once, lady.”  Tusit chuckled.

            “Right, but we weren’t in the middle of combat then.”

            “This is true,” Tusit agreed.

            “Well, we’re not in the middle of combat right now.  .  .  .  I’ll sober up by that time.”

            Tusit laughed outright.  “And when it came time for you to be sober, she made sure that you were!”

            “Well, we can follow the chain from the bottom,” said the guard, “but we know where it’ll lead.”

            “Where?” asked Bob cluelessly.

            “Lockshy,” the guard informed him.  Thistlepouch was glad someone else had said it.  It meant she wasn’t the only intelligent one in the wagon.

            “Well then, why don’t we start there?” asked Forge.

            “So what you’re saying is that our first mistake was encountering Lockshy,” said Tusit.

            “Why don’t we try his shop?” Bob asked.

            “Well, he’s probably not there,” said the guard.

            “Gone underground?” ventured Tusit.

            “Most likely.  His primary form of income is blackmail.”

            “So that was just a side business?” the gnome inquired.

            “The moneychanging?  Oh, understand that his loans were very interesting.  .  .  he tended not to give you any money and then expect interest payments.”

            “Just to give him money?” Bob asked.

            “The interest payments came in.  .  .  .  no capital went out,” the guard explained.

            “That was kind of an interesting loan program he’s got,” Tusit agreed.

            “Yeah.  Should be interesting to see what happens now,” said the guard.

            “Well, sometime I’d like to pick up another dagger,” Forge informed them.  The guard handed over one of his.  Forge blinked.  “Thanks!  I need something to defend me besides my club-quarterstaff.”

            The wagon turned a corner and trundled up to what Thistlepouch recognized as the Merchant Antonio’s house.  Ahead, Antonio’s wagon came to a stop; he got off, and two guards looped their arms under the cloaked guy and carried him off.  The scarred man jumped off his wagon.

            “By the way, I am Guard Captain Bassano, and I thank you.  .  .  ” he trailed off, waiting for names.

            “For brevity’s sake, they call me Tusit.”

            “Thistlepouch Doorringer.”

            “Mica.”

            “Darwin.”

            “Forge.”

            “Bob.”

            Bassano nodded.  “Well, you have my thanks for saving Melissanna.  If you would please, I could show you now to where you can wait for dinner.”

            Thistlepouch perked a little.  “Dinner?”

            “Do you know any action that will be taken tonight?” asked Tusit.

            “I’m going to do some questioning.  I’ll let you know the results after dinner.”

            “Can I come with?” asked Forge.

            “Darwin would love to help, I’m sure,” Tusit added.

            Bassano inclined his head. “Thank you, but Antonio has requested your presence for dinner.  Those who he requests the presence of are best advised to attend.”

            “I don’t suppose there’ll be a couple minutes before dinner.  .  .  .  ?” Forge tried hopefully.

            “Of course, you shall have time.”

            “I was wondering if I could stop in and see Melissanna?” Forge asked.

            “I’d like to see her too,” Thistlepouch seconded.

            “Certainly,” Bassano said, “although I have no doubt the physician is currently looking at her.”

            They all trooped up to Melissanna’s room; a physician hovered over her, applying leaches to the back of her neck.

            “Oh, you’re here to see the progress.  .  .  yes, well, it must have been a very powerful poison indeed; the first three leaches applied died with amazing rapidity.”  He put a box down with three leaches in it that were most definitely not moving.

            Bob whispered to Thistlepouch, “Could you wave little tingly stick over top of leaches?”

            “I don’t think it’s a good idea to take that out right now,” Tusit admonished.

            Thistlepouch rolled her eyes at Bob, but whispered, “I don’t think it’d work very well anyway.”

            Tusit stepped forward to confer with the physician, but Thistlepouch was intent on the too-still, too-pale form on the bed.  Poor Melissanna, she really wasn’t cut out for adventuring.  She needed to be at home where she could have a bath whenever she wanted and food brought to her door and no drunken dwarves changing in front of her.  Thistlepouch pulled from a pouch a broach with some fancy gemwork that she thought Melissanna would like and reverentially left it on the bedside table.  She hoped she’d be able to see Melissanna wear it.

            “Thistlepouch?  Have you got a jar or anything like that?” Forge called from the hallway.

            Thistlepouch blinked back tears.  “Lemme check!”  She searched for a minute, found the little vial the dye used to be in, and stepped outside the door to hand it to him.  She watched him drop air into the jar and seal it.  “Are you feeling okay?”

            He considered a moment.  “Yes.”  He pointed to the brand on his forehead.

            Thistlepouch suddenly understood.  “Oh.  I’m sorry.  Maybe they’ll have something a little stronger than ale?”

            “That would be.  .  .  .  wonderful.”

            Thistlepouch headed back into the room and sat down next to Melissanna.

            Bob spoke quietly, directing his words to the Goddess of Rangers.  “Is there any way you could send the antidote down on one of your animals.  .  .  .  maybe have a bird fly it in or something?”

            Thistlepouch let out a hearty sigh as he continued.  She supposed his heart was in the right place, but he could try something original.

            “I’ve tried to become what you wanted.  .  .  .  I’m a ranger.  .  .  .  my service is as best I can, to worship you -”

            Thistlepouch glanced up to see Bob glowing with a pale orange light that looked distinctly unfriendly.  “Oh, no, not another one!”

            “Woah!”  Tusit took four steps away.

            Forge, at the cry, poked his head in, saw Bob glowing.  “You fool.”  He left.

            “What?” Bob asked the voice in his head.  A pause.  “To heal this person’s wounds, and -”

            Bob stopped glowing.

            “What did you do?!” Mica demanded.

            Thistlepouch sighed.  “Talked to a god, probably, with how he was glowing.”  Yet another brilliantly obvious conclusion reached only by.  .  .  .  the kita.

            “Did you fix her?” asked Mica.  “Is she healed?”

            Bob hedged.  “Um.  .  .  well.  .  .  the pinprick’s gone.  .  .  .  ”

            Mica threw up her hands, disgusted.  “Ah!  Trust an elf!”

            “Waitaminute.  .  .  I thought my god was supposed to be good!” Bob protested.

            If that was what his god was like in a good mood, Thistlepouch thought he should convert to someone nicer.  Like maybe Ares or Hades.

            Mica went to get cleaned up.

            Tusit turned to the physician.  “You were saying about Magicks?”

            “Funny, I’ve never seen a wound close that quickly before.”

            “Did you happen to notice the orange flame licking off the elf’s head?” inquired the gnome.

            “What?”

            “Right.”  Tusit turned and left.

            Thistlepouch, after a last look at Melissanna, followed.

*                      *                      *

            Tusit walked into the kita’s room holding out an ornately embroidered shirt.  “Are you changing into this stuff?  I’m looking for Mica; she knows more tact than I do.”

            Thistlepouch held her dress up for a size comparison and shrugged.  It had probably been the smallest thing in the household, but even so it would swallow her up and eat her whole.  “It.  .  .  .  doesn’t.  .  .  .  fit.”

            Tusit made a quick check on his own attire.  “Actually, they haven’t done too bad a job.”  Just then Mica swished in wearing a decadent dress.  “Oh.  You are wearing it.”

            “Yeah.  Do you need help altering?”

            “Well, I can do it.  .  .  .  I was just wondering if it would be proper to change into this or.  .  .  .”

            “Well, you can make a few personal adornments, too.  .  .  .  Thistlepouch, do you want help?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Are you going to wear yours if yours fits?”

            Although not partial to skirts or dresses, Thistlepouch didn’t pause for mental debate.  “I want clean clothes.”

            “We’ll put some pretties on it,” Mica offered.

            “Okay!”  Thistlepouch brightened.  She was sure she could find something in her pouches to personalize it a bit.

            “You help her with hers; I’ll do mine.”  Tusit turned to go back to his room and encountered Forge coming in.  He held out the little dye vial.

            “Does anyone else see something in here?”

            Tusit took the bottle, shook it a little.  Thistlepouch waved the tingly stick at it.

            “It’s tingly,” she announced.  Though, upon reflection, it was close enough to Tusit that maybe he set the stick off.

            “What do you see in there?” asked Mica.

            “You remember that leach he poked?”

            “Yes?”  Tusit looked up from the apparently empty bottle.

            “It’s wriggling in there.”

            “No it’s not -- it’s dead on the table,” Tusit argued.

            “No, no, you see, after you stuck it, it crawled away.  I picked it up in the hall and stuck it in the vial.”

            “It stopped wiggling.  .  .  .  then crawled away.  So I guess we’ve got the leach’s spirit in there.” Tusit handed over the vial.  “Um, do you want it back?”

            “Your pet leech?” Mica half-smiled.

            Forge took another drink.

            Invisible undead leaches.  Hmmm.  Maybe it wasn’t Tusit that set off the tingly stick.

            “Why don’t you go get dressed, put on the pretties,” Mica suggested.

            Forge blinked.  “They left clothing for us?”

            “Yes, on your bed,” Tusit supplied.

            “Oh, I hadn’t looked.  Come on Darwin.”  Then, to the others, “They’re out getting us some more of this.  .  .  would you like something?”

            “What is it?” Thistlepouch asked, curiosity aroused.

            “High class dwarven sprites.”

            Thistlepouch sniffed it experimentally and started getting a little dizzy just off the fumes. “I.  .  .  I think I’ll just leave it for you.  I’m sure you could appreciate it more than I could.  .  .  .”

            The dwarf shrugged, turned, and headed out the room, Tusit following dazedly behind.  Thistlepouch trailed into Mica’s room after the human to get her clothes fitted.

            Though Tusit was less than enthusiastic about the new wardrobe, Thistlepouch took some small delight in the stitching as Mica helped her lace up the back.  The beautiful Fireglow Doorringer had passed her love of fine clothing, though not her wonderful tendency for freckles, to her daughter.  Much to her mother’s chagrin, the tomboy streak Thistlepouch got from her father Rainsplash was stronger and so she generally wore leggings -- they were more practical for adventuring.  Still, Thistlepouch seldom had nice clothes, and though even Mica’s expert needlecraft hadn’t been able to make them fit perfectly, it was still fun to get dressed up once in a while.  Even if it was all in browns and deep clay reds.  At least the neckline wasn’t very low.  She’d worn one or two of those, and always felt like she was going to fall out.

            By the time they all arrived at dinner, Antonio was at one end chowing down.  Thistlepouch put her napkin decorously in her lap and started in on food that would’ve been a feast even if they hadn’t been on travel rations for just about forever.

            Near the end of the meal, Tusit turned to Antonio.  “We do have one more party member.  Would it be possible to send a platter of food and some ale.  .  .  possibly we could accompany.  .  .  .  ?”

            Antonio hollered for a servant.

            “Anyone else want to come to the boat?”

            “I’ll come,” Thistlepouch volunteered.

            Darwin swayed slightly, looking longingly at the now-empty bottle of dwarven spirits.

            “One more question,” Tusit said as he hopped down.  “I don’t suppose you have any books here?”

            “Books?” Antonio repeated around a mouthful of food.

            “Yes.  Do you have a collection of books at all, or is that not of any interest to you.  .  .  .  ?”

            “Don’t need ‘em.”

            “Okay.  Just asking.”  He followed the servant off to the kitchen, explaining as he went, Thistlepouch trailing behind, pouting slightly over the missed prospect of books.

             “Possibly if we could gather some of this up for our other party member.  .  .  he’s a rather large man,” Tusit said.

            The servant nodded.  “So, we need a large platter and a keg of ale -- bringing it down to the docks.”

            “A very, very large platter,” Thistlepouch elaborated.

            “In fact, two platters might not be a bad idea,” Tusit suggested.

            “Very well.”  The servant piled one extremely large platter high with food.

            “Would it be possible to bring some candles as well?” Tusit requested.

            “Certainly.  And a keg of ale?”

            “At least one.”

            “All right then.”  The servant found another of his co-workers to help cart it all down, plus two guards.

            “Would it be possible to bring a couple more guards?” Tusit asked.

            “Oh, that’s not needed.  There are no thieves in Barnicus.”

            “Well those ‘no thieves’ have ambushed us -” Tusit protested.

            “No, no, that was not a thief.  That was an independent contractor.”

            “All right, well, I’m worried about the independent contractors in Barnicus.  Is there a possibility of having at least one more guard?”

            “Our bribes are paid up,” the servant assured him.

            “That’s what he said when we got attacked!” he protested.

            “That was probably a special case.”

            “All right,” Tusit said, “but I’m not going to help you if you get hit by a dart.  I saw what happened to the last one.”

            “Trust me.  There’s no risk.”

            The entourage made it to the boat without incident and found Grog sitting docily there.  The servants went about putting candles and such around, setting things up.

            “Hi, Grog!” Tusit greeted.

            “‘Lo.”

            “Any visitors?” the gnome inquired.

            “Yeah.  Wanted stuff.  Money.”

            “You give them any?”

            “No.  Didn’t have any.”

            “That’s good.  So they didn’t come onto the boat?”

            “No.  Wanted to.”

            “You get to hurt anybody?” He paused; Grog looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “It’s all right -- you can tell me.  They shouldn’t be coming on the boat.  Did you rough them up a little bit?”

            “Yeah,” he admitted.

            “That’s good -- you’ve done a good job.”

            “Hey, Grog,” Thistlepouch said brightly, “we brought you a present!”

            “Yeah, look at all this food and ale that we brought you!  Because you did such a good job guarding the boat.”

            “Grog good,” the human beamed.

            “Yes,” Tusit agreed.  “We’re going to be gone for a little while.”

            “How long?”

            “Well, in two days we have to change our money,” Thistlepouch pointed out, only pausing a moment when Tusit snickered.  “Yes, I know how much that means to you, but I’d really rather not stay here any longer than we have to given the current situation.”

            Tusit couldn’t argue that.  “Yes, I think departing would be a happy thing.”

            “Perhaps in the morning?”

             “I don’t know if that would be possible.  I would like to do some shopping.”

            “Noon-ish?” she tried.

            “We’ll have to talk to the other party members.”

            “We’ll probably be leaving sometime tomorrow, Grog,” Thistlepouch told him.

            “Okee.”  He took a swig from the barrel.

            “Is it good stuff?” Tusit inquired.

            Grog belched largely.  “Yeah. Grog like gnome.”  He pulled him over, giving him a squish-hug.

            “Medic.  .  .” Tusit gasped; Thistlepouch tried not to giggle.

            When he was done being flattened, Tusit did a quick check over the boat (Thistlepouch following), gear and supplies and such, scooping up a couple more Sea King coins while he was at it.  Everything seemed to be in order, though one of the oars was half-broken off.  “Okaaaaayyyy.  .  .  .  note to self: must purchase new oar before leaving.”

            Thistlepouch cocked her head to the warrior.  “Is that what you hit ‘em with, Grog?”

            “No.  Flipped him.”

            “Flipped him?!  Oh, I wish I could’ve seen it!”

            Grog looked guilty.

            “That’s okay, Grog, you keep doing a good job.  If we need to buy more oars, we’ll buy more oars,” Tusit reassured him.

            “‘Kee.”

            “If you keep doing a good job, we might come back with a present for you.

            “‘Kee.  Lady okee?”

            Thistlepouch bit her underlip.  “Um.  .  .  .  the lady’s asleep right now.”

            “Not a mark on her,” Tusit supplied, “and I can vouch for that.”

            “Good.”  Grog nodded satisfaction.

*                      *                      *

            Tusit and Thistlepouch returned to find Bob waiting at the gate for them.

            “Let’s go to bed now,” he suggested, “and in the morning let’s talk to Antonio about our fee.”

            Thistlepouch gave him an incredulous look.  “Don’t you think the timing might be a little off on that?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Seeing as the condition we delivered her in?” the kita supplied.

            “Let’s see if there’s any way to cure her before we ask our payment,” Tusit clarified.

            Thistlepouch nodded.  “I think Tusit’s right.  If nothing else, let’s think about it more in the morning.

            Tusit yawned a bit wearily.  “Things always look brighter in the morning.  I’m not saying anything’s going to be better, just brighter.”

            “For now I think I’ll settle for wetter,” Thistlepouch decided.  “I’m going to go take a bath.” Having said such, she moseyed up to take a bath, read a little while (and darn near fall asleep) in the tub, then hauled herself out to crash in bed.

            She didn’t remember much after that.

Disclaimer: Melissanna was not harmed

during the creation of this chapter.

Lockshy's credibility, however,

was flushed down the toilet.