Twelve

            The pitter-patter of the page’s footsteps returning was followed closely by the rolling thunder of Antonio at a full run.  The door slammed open; Antonio rushed in and stumbled to his daughter’s bedside, almost knocking Thistlepouch and Mica over en route.  He fell to his knees, grabbed Melissanna’s hand, and started blubbering uncontrollably.

            Thistlepouch, touched at the reunion, snuffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

            Melissanna clearly had no idea what to make of all this.  Slowly her hand came up, patting her father on the back of his head.  She looked questioningly to her companions.

            “You were sick,” Mica said softly.  “Unconscious.  Your dad was really worried about you.  He’s obviously just really glad to get you back.”

            Melissanna blinked in surprise.  “I.  .  .  don’t remember being unconscious.  .  .  ”

            Antonio, after several more minutes of this, managed to pull himself together.  “That was money well-spent,” he declared.  “I’m glad that Lockshy returned you to me.  He promised he’d give you back.  .  .  and Hera’s breastplate if he didn’t!”

            “I don’t think Lockshy really had much to do with that,” Thistlepouch felt obligated to point out.

            “What?!  He gave me the potion!”

            The kita rolled her eyes.  Trust a human to miss the obvious.  “Did she wake up when you gave her the potion?”

            “No.  He said that it would take doses!”

            Thistlepouch sighed.  This was going to require patience.  “Did you give her more than one?”

            “Nooo.  .  .  I didn’t,” Antonio had to admit, but made up for his lack of knowledge with the bluster in his next statement. “Well then, how the hades did she wake up?!”

            Thistlepouch pulled out the ball that no longer tingled.  “That.”

            Antonio frowned at it.  “What the blazes is that?!”

            Mica figured she’d better explain before Thistlepouch tried to.  “Well, the kita.  .  .  borrowed.  .  .  it from Lockshy.  .  .  .  ”

            Thistlepouch shook her head.  “No, that was the other one.”

            Antonio looked less than pleased, albeit still confused, about the whole matter.  “There’s two?!”

            “This is the one we found in the building we were investigating,” Thistlepouch reminded her companion.

            Mica continued her narrative.  “We had a tip that Lockshy was meeting someone at a certain building, so we met there and entered the building and fought the bad guys and found a sphere similar to the one that the kita had got from Lockshy.”

            “And if you looked through it -- of course, it doesn’t work now, but you could see her through it, and she was sitting up in the bed, even through she was lying down!”

            Antonio turned to his daughter.  “Did you sit up?”

            She spread her hands.  “I don’t remember any of this.”

            “We thought it was.  .  .  Magick,” Mica stated, a little hesitantly -- Antonio didn’t seem the sort of man who would care much for that sort of thing.

            Antonio scowled. “How do I know that you’re just not trying to weasel a bigger reward out of me?”

            “Because we didn’t ask for one,” replied Mica quietly.

            “That doesn’t mean you won’t.”

            The kita was running out of what little patience she possessed. “What use would I have for all that money? I’m too little to carry it around, anyway.”

            “What use would you have for money?!

            Mica flinched.  “She’s.  .  .  .  got an interesting view on life. Very unique.”

            “I can tell.”  Antonio stared at the little female oddly.

            Thistlepouch sighed.  It would figure.  “You’ve never met a kita before, have you.”

            “No, can’t say as I have.”

            Mica had a pretty good feeling Antonio did not want to hear about how things had a habit of falling into their pouches.  .  .  .  “They’re kind of like kids.  They just get what they want.  But anyway, we thought it might have something to do with Melissanna so we brought it back, because we thought we saw her -”

            “And then we put it in her hand and she sat up!” Thistlepouch put in.  She noticed Melissanna’s hand was still faintly green, and was anxious to go before Antonio noticed, too.

            “I wouldn’t let Lockshy try to tell you he cured her, though,” the priestess advised.

            Antonio was still scowling darkly.  “If he didn’t, then.  .  .  ”

            “You could always pretend that he did,” Mica suggested, “and then see what he does.”

            Antonio shook his head.  “Except I’ve already sent forth the orders.  I wish there was some way to find out for sure.”

            “Do you have anyone who knows anything about Magick?” Mica tried tentatively.

            “Like I’d trust magicians.” Antonio snorted.

            Thistlepouch decided it probably would not be a good time to tell him about Tusit.  “I have an idea -- when Lockshy comes, pretend you were just saying she was better to lure him here, then tell him that his potion killed her.  .  .  see what he does.”

            “He’s not going to return.  He gave me the potion, I sent forth the orders that there shouldn’t be anything else that he’d need.  I doubt he’d come back.”

            “We could go find him,” Thistlepouch tried helpfully.

            “But if you do, and he’s still got some tie to Melissanna.  .  .  I could lose her again.  Do you know for sure that she’s free of him?”

            Mica turned to her smaller friend.  “We could show him the ball.  I wonder if he’d see it?” Thistlepouch shrugged and handed her the ball -- Mica tested it, then handed it to Antonio.  “Just try to look at your daughter through this and tell me if you see anything.”

            “It’s something Lockshy really carelessly dropped the last time he was here, and I thought I was going to return it to him, but then he was really rude to me, so I decided I wasn’t going to,” Thistlepouch babbled.

            Antonio looked through it skeptically, and was obviously startled.  “She’s blindfolded!”

            “That’s why we thought it was Magickal,” Mica told him.  “I think what this may represent is that she doesn’t remember, or doesn’t know what happened to her.  She was bound, before, too, and she couldn’t move.  The one ball freed her, and now she can’t remember.  I guess the mystery’s still unsolved.  Wait, don’t break it!  Maybe you should give it back.  Don’t get angry.”

            Antonio, fuming, handed back the ball.  “But that would say that Lockshy still controls her.”

            “No, because we have the ball,” Thistlepouch pointed out.

            “How do you know that he doesn’t have another one?!”

            That made no sense to the kita.  “Why would he have more?”

            “Why would he have two?  I don’t know!  He’s some sort of stinking, putrid mage!  Some sort of stupid smuggling mage, too, for some god-awful reason.”

            “What’d he have you do?” Mica asked.

            “Well, as a merchant, I have a few.  .  .  contacts.  .  .  that are.  .  .  less than reputable,” he hedged.  “One of.  .  .  well, okay, a few of them.  .  .  .  are on the island of Highport, and he wanted me to help him smuggle a shipment of something into Highport.”

            “You don’t know what it was?” Mica asked.

            Antonio shrugged his broad shoulders.  “Beats the hades out of me.  Can’t be too interesting.  Highport’s full of those pansy elves.”

            Thistlepouch tugged on Mica’s sleeve and whispered, “What if they had more zombies they smuggled in?”

            “Out.”

            “Out.  Well, into Highport.  Out of here.”

            Mica sighed, rubbing her temples.  “I wish Tusit was here.  I can’t think.”

            Thistlepouch sympathized.  She supposed Tusit’s studies were terribly important, but it really would help to have him around for this.  He was the mage, after all, even if he didn’t tell anybody about it.  Well, she supposed she would have to help out.  “This one used to show her bound and gagged, and the other one showed her free.  So I put the one that was free into her hand, and then she woke up.  So maybe there’s another free ball out there somewhere.  .  .”

            “There’s an idea,” Mica agreed. “But this all leads back to Lockshy.”

            “I bet he knows that those potions weren’t supposed to make her better,” the kita put in.

            “Considering that he made them,” Mica added.

            “So what were they supposed to do?  Poison her?!”

            “Appease you until he could get away to Highport,” Mica concluded logically.  “It would explain why he told you it would take doses, which would take longer.  I would recommend your friends in Highport be on watch.”

            Antonio rubbed his chin.  “I’ll have to get word there as soon as possible.  I don’t know how I’d get word there more quickly than a messenger bird.”

            “How long ago did you send it?” Thistlepouch asked.

            “This morning.”

            Thistlepouch doffed her zombie-slime covered headdress, quite mangled.  She’d have to make another.  She started for the door.  “Send another bird out as soon as you can.  I’m going to go down to the docks and see if I can find out when he left.  Who should I talk to?”

            “My port captain should still be around, a man by the name of Gillespie.  He’s a good man.  He’ll be patrolling the docks.  You’ll see him carrying a lantern.  .  .  he’ll have my livery on.”

            “All right.  I’ll be right back.”  Thistlepouch hopped out of the room, making only a brief detour to toss her mutilated headdress in her bedroom.

            Mica turned back to Antonio.  “Who sent out the bird?”

            “I have an aviary downstairs.”

            “Thank you.  I just wanted to know.”  With that, she set off down to the aviary.  A caged area took up one side of the courtyard, a small wooden door beside it.  She knocked.  “Hello, is anybody here?”

            Some muttering from beyond.

            Mica banged harder.  “Hello!”

            More mumbling “Aherwasis.  .  .  ”

            “Merchant Antonio sent me.”

            “Huhillberigh.  .  .  .  ”  The sound of feet.  The door opened a crack.  “Whaisi?”

            “Hello.  My name’s Mica; I need to talk to you about a certain message I sent out.”

            “Idonmembraymsg.  .  .  .  ”

            “Well, it was on the way to Highport.  Sent off this morning.”

            “Ohyeairemem.  .  .  ”

            “Do you.  .  .  remember the bird?”

            “Yesremembrthbrd.”

            “Can you describe, for me, the bird?”

            He paused.  She really was serious.  “Iwaslilwhibir.”

            “Did you have a name for the bird?”

            “Bir.  Idonhavanamsabir!”

            “Okay.  So you don’t have any great affinity for any particular bird.”

            “Sabir.”

            “Okay.  Well, thanks a lot.”

            “Donmenshnt.”

            The door closed.

            Mica turned to the caged area and examined the closest white bird -- it looked like every other bird there.  Just a standard pigeon.  They all had small metal bands on their legs, but nothing special beyond that.  “Oh, great goddess, I need your assistance.  I ask of you a boon to send one of your friends, the owl, to intercept the pigeon that carries this message.  .  .  I know this is a lot to ask, but you’ve helped me before, and this would really help me a lot.”  She pictured the bird being munched by an owl.  “If this was to happen, it’d be really neat, but it’s just a request.”

            There was no immediate reaction.

            She thanked Athena anyway.  Maybe an owl had gone out -- she didn’t expect personal notification, though it might have been nice.

*                      *                      *

            It took a while to get to the docks, and Thistlepouch walked briskly, replaying in her mind her most recent adventure -- to make sure she remembered it properly for her bardic stories, of course.  So it took her a moment to notice that the sounds of a ruckus were not all in her head.  In fact, and quite disturbingly, they seemed to be coming from the direction of her boat.  Using some of the better curses she’d picked up from Darwin, the kita hurried over to see fifteen guys shouting and milling around the boat.  A couple arced away from the boat, due, she had little doubt, to Grog.  It would certainly help to have a couple of the warriors around, but help was a long way away.  With a determined glint in her eyes, the kita holstered her staff and pulled daggers.  She got behind the first person with his back to her and with a clean thrust got a good slice through the back of his leg. He went down screaming in pain, hamstrung.

            Another loud cry of pain echoed it -- but it came from the boat and sounded an awful lot like Grog.  Thistlepouch tried to hurry, but it made her careless.  As she got to the next person, he turned to see what had happened to his comrade, and as he turned, she missed her slash.  He heard her go past.  He turned.  Thistlepouch narrowly missed the sword arcing in her direction.

            “Hey!  What the hades?!” cried the startled thug.

            Other people had begun to turn -- preying on the edges was no longer an option.  Thistlepouch changed her tactic.

            “You know, I wouldn’t call you a horribly putrid, smelly, disgusting, dead and rotted fish.”  She paused.  “But you would mate with it!”  Another pause, and a mischievous grin.  “If it would let you!”

            Three of the guys in the back whirled to face her.  One screamed, “I did not!”

            They charged.

            She took off running, the sound of Grog’s cries of pain in her ears.  Thistlepouch dodged into the crates, weaving into shadows and around the obstacles, counting on her diminutive stature and ability to hide in dark places to keep her safe.  Pretty soon she heard them calling to one another.

             “You see her?”

            “No, I don’t see any sign of the little piss!”

            With a grim smile, Thistlepouch headed back to the boat -- there were no longer sounds of fighting.  Not a Good Thing.  When she neared her destination, she spotted six unmoving lumps on the dock and seven moving lumps in the boat.  One of the unmoving lumps was definitely larger than the others, and she quite reasonably guessed that it must be Grog.  She crept close enough to see his chest rise and fall before someone in the boat spotted her.

            “Look!  There she is!”

            Rustling from the crates.

            Thistlepouch knew she was in Big Trouble.  So she followed her first instinct.

            She taunted.

            And not just any taunt.  A few nights in a few common rooms had expanded her horizons considerably, and Thistlepouch's imagination too such dirt to new heights. Even among those who insult, Thistlepouch would have no small mark of respect for her abilities.  And this was the one that she saved for if she ever got into Really Big Trouble.  She’d never had a chance to use it yet, but she had no doubt of her reception.

            She taunted.

            The air turned blue.

            Thistlepouch could hear teeth grinding together from the boat as seven sets began to splinter.  With a voiceless cry of rage, the hoodlums lunged off the boat towards her.

            Thistlepouch followed the first instinct of a kita about to be pounced upon by seven burly men.

            She ran.

            One person is not all that difficult to evade, for a kita, anyway.  Even two or three can be done, if you’re skilled and lucky.  But seven?  Even if you manage to lose one, two, or even three, one of the four, five, or six others is bound to spot you and keep going.  Thistlepouch’s first thought had been to run towards home and help.  It didn’t take long for her to figure out she’d never make it.  A goodly number of her pursers were twice her size, and while she was quick, they had the advantage of stride length.  The kita knew she’d better think of something.  Fast.  Operating on instinct, she dodged around the nearest corner, dove into a doorway, clambered up, and braced herself in the top of the arch.  She tried to hold her breath, but it was difficult with how hard she was panting.  Well, if they caught her now -- they would’ve caught her anyway.  It was her best chance. She hoped someone else would think to go down and check on Grog -- preferably with a number of guardsmen to help out.

            Voices, yelling, footsteps pounding down the street.  .  .  and fading.

            A minute.

            Two.

            Surely, surely, if they had been going to ambush, they would’ve done so.  Thistlepouch decided to get down -- mostly because she couldn’t keep herself wedged up there anymore.  She tumbled to the ground in a heap and peeked around the corner.

            Empty street.

            Heaving a huge sigh of relief and adding another story to her list, Thistlepouch hurried back to the boat.  With no eminent threat of attack, Thistlepouch had a chance to look Grog over.  He had a lot of nasty-looking wounds, all bloody; his chest was still moving, but his breathing carried with it a wheezing noise.  She made a quick scan of the other bodies -- one wore Antonio’s livery.  He was breathing, too, and had a lot of blood on the back of his skull, but he was probably doing better than Grog.  She shook him, but he didn’t wake up.

            Thistlepouch looked around and to her utter relief saw a light bobbing down a ways on the docks, as if someone was carrying a lantern.  She grabbed one of the cloaks, spread it over Grog, and ran up to the light.  A youngish man wearing Merchant Antonio’s livery carried it.  He looked startled and concerned at her sudden and disheveled appearance.

            “Yes, what’s the matter, child?”

            Child again!  Well, it had to be good for something.  She decided to play it for all it was worth.  “One of Merchant Antonio’s boats has been attacked!”

            “What?!  Where?!  Gillespie!”

            Thistlepouch sharply tugged his sleeve to get his attention.  “That’s not going to help!”

            The young man looked puzzled.  “Why not?”

            “Because Gillespie is on the ground!”

            The lantern carrier’s voice raised an octave.  “Gillespie?”  He ran off in the direction from which she had come, far outdistancing her.  She hurried after -- by the time she caught up, he was bandaging Gillespie’s wounds.  She pulled on his arm.

            “This is more than we can do -- you have to go for help!”

            He started to splutter, but she cut him off.  “You can’t do anything here.  Go for help.  Get a medic.  Go to Merchant Antonio’s.”

            A light dawned on the man’s face.  “Right!  Hey, you’re a smart kid!”

            He dashed off.

            Thistlepouch sighed at the utter stupidity of humans and began to tear up an extra cloak for bandages. 

*                      *                      *

            Mica, having completed her business with the cotier, decided to go find the kita and the rest of her party.  Tusit was in the library and Bob was in his room playing with his bald chicken, she knew, so she went out to find the dwarves.  She wandered around and heard noises from the kitchen and went to investigate.  They were doing something that looked alcoholic.

            “I think what you should do is tell Hades to go shag himself,” Darwin offered helpfully.

            “I’ve already done that!” Forge protested.

            “You obviously didn’t do it hard enough!  Tell him to go shag himself harder!”

            “Now, Darwin, as I remember in that whole shagging situation.  .  .  .  no, no, no.  .  .  I won’t bring that up,” Forge said pointedly.  Then, “I’ve already cursed him out so many times.  .  .  I might as well make this blasted amulet good for something.  I mean, killing sounds good to me.  Bashing in orc brains, perhaps?”

            “Yeah,” Darwin allowed, “but it seems like it works better against the flaming zombies!”

            Forge shrugged.  “I haven’t tried it against orcs yet.  .  .  it’ll still have that nice, crunchy feeling when I hit something, and then you can hit him with the axe after that, and we can have these nice little shribbles falling out besides just the guts.”

            Darwin sighed happily.  “Nothing quite like that feeling when an axe slices right through an orc’s innards.”

            “Oh, you’ve gotta love the little bones, though.”

            “Yeah, you get the texture, that grinding sensation as it scrapes along their ribs.  .  .  oh, I love that!”

            “Now what’re you making?” Mica cut in -- she enjoyed a good battle as much as anyone, but this conversation was just gross.

            “Good junk!” Darwin grinned.

            “Good junk?  This is the stuff that put you out for the last few days?” she asked skeptically.

            “What, that?” Forge scoffed.  “That was weak!  Elf piss.”

            “Well, the kita wandered down to the docks, and I thought I’d follow her -”

            “You trusted the little terd with all our money?” Darwin cut in.

            “All our money, you mean?” she corrected.  “The worst that would happen is it would all end up in her pouches and she wouldn’t move very fast.  Come if you want, or sit and play with your bottles.  But it’s dark, and I wouldn’t mind an escort.”

            Forge did some quick calculations and figured he was far enough that he could leave it to ferment for a bit.  “Darwin, wanna come with?  The kita’s probably gotten herself into some trouble by now.  We could hit things.”

            “Been a while since I heard the good sound of an axe scraping against ribs,” Darwin mused.

            “Yes.  .  .  a whole.  .  .  three hours!” Forge grinned.

            Darwin dismissed it.  “Aw, but those kinda crumbled when ya hit ‘em.”

            “Yeah, good point.  And all of those maggots -”

            “Not really satisfying.  Give me a good solid orc any day.”

            Forge nodded -- his cousin was hooked.  He turned to Mica.  “Give me a second to grab my bow and my quarterstaff, since I don’t have my hammer yet.”

            Once equipped, they headed down the street at a brisk trot.

            “Say, Forge,” Mica asked, “do you still have that combat juice I gave you?  Did you ever drink that?”

            “No, I didn’t.  I’ve still got it.”

            “Can I have it back since we’re not in combat now?”

            “No!”

            “Why not?”

            “I still wanna taste it!”

            “We’re not fighting right now!”

            “We will be!  There’s a kita, down in the streets, loose at night.  What do you expect to happen?”

            She searched for another reason.  “Welll.  .  .  it’s.  .  .  my juice.”

            Forge blinked.  “We drank elf piss.  This can’t be much different.”

            Mica had a pretty good feeling she’d lost this one.  “Don’t drink it all -- I want some, too.”

            “I’ve never had the juice of a priestess before,” Darwin mused contemplatively.

            The priestess shot him a look.  “You’re not trying with this priestess.”

            “We’ll save some for ya,” Forge assured her.

            “Thanks.  Can I at least have the bottle back when you’re done?”

            “Yeah.  Won’t hold anything much.”

            “Eh.  .  .  that’s true.”

            They were interrupted by shouting and cursing.

            “Ares’ left ball, where’d that little piss go?!  Where in Zeus’s sausage is she?!”

            Mica unpeacebound her sword.

            “You suppose he’s talking about the kita?” Forge asked wryly.

            “Hey!  You there!  You seen a little pissdrinking.  .  .  I dunno.  .  .  stunted elf?”

            The holy warrior turned to Forge.  “Perhaps he’s referring to you.”  Calling to the voice, “Are you referring to my comrade, sir?”

            “What, dwarven? No, you idiot! We’re looking for the stunted elf piss!”

            Forge pondered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “Stunted elf.  .  .  piss.  Would that only take a second and a half, or.  .  .”

            “Was it brown or green?” Mica asked.  “I always heard elves piss green, how about you?”

            The dwarf shook his head.  “I thought it had more of a tree root color.”

            Seven guys, looking down alleyways, looked at them in disgust as they passed.

            Forge gazed pleadingly up at Mica.

            “We could take them on the way here or on the way back.”  She shrugged.

            “Way back,” he decided, then chuckled.  “Check on the elf child.  .  .  thing.  .  .  stunted elf piss.  I gotta tell her that one.”

            They upped their pace from a fast trot to a jog.  A little bit farther down, a young man in Antonio’s livery, passed them at break-neck speed.

            “Pick up the pace some more?” Forge suggested.

            “Yeah,” Darwin and Mica agreed in one voice.

            As they approached the docks, they saw Thistlepouch crouched over a large, unmoving form.  Others sprawled nearby.

            “Thistlepouch!” Mica called, really hurrying now.

            The kita looked up sharply at her voice.  “Mica, over here!  Grog’s hurt!”

            “Hey, you little elf piss, what you been up to?” Forge greeted teasingly.

            “It wasn’t me!” she cried.  “He was already in trouble by the time I got here.  I just made the guys go the other way so they’d stop beating on him.”

            Forge turned to his cousin.  “So, Darwin, dwarven cures?  Little bit of alcohol here, little bit there.  .  .”

            Darwin shrugged.  “Always worked on me!  Course,” he patted his belly, “I had more in there.”

            “Mica, call on Athena or something,” Thistlepouch pleaded.

            Mica put her hands on Grog’s face and bowed her head in prayer.  “Goddess Athena, if you would give me the power to heal my comrade, who’s been mortally wounded in the defense of our boat.  .  .  give me the power to do your work.”

            Grog’s nasty chest wound started to close.

            “Thistlepouch, what happened to the men?” Forge asked.

            “They went that way.”  She pointed.

            “Really!  You think they’re the ones we passed?”

            “I don’t know, but they were looking for me because I used my For Special Occasions taunt on them.”

            Forge grinned crookedly at Darwin.  “Think she’s a little elf piss?”

            “She could be the little elf piss.  .  .”

            Thistlepouch was too miserable to be drawn.

            Despite himself, Forge began to feel sorry for the kita.  He turned back to Darwin.  “Hey, Darwin, it’ll be kinda fun.  .  .  axe.  .  .  .  bones.  .  .  ”

            “Think it’d be fair?”

            “We have the juice.  We could try it.”

            “No, I mean, to them.”

            “No, I know, but we’ve gotta try the juice!”

            A light went on behind Darwin’s eyes.  “Oh, right!  An excuse!”

            “I sent somebody up for a medic,” Thistlepouch told them.

            “Should we go?” Forge invited.

            “Why not.”  Darwin grinned ferally.

            Mica finished praying and rose.  “Here.”  She handed Thistlepouch her quarterstaff.  “Can you hold this?  I don’t wanna carry it.  I’ve got my sword.”

            “Sure.  I’ve got my staff if trouble comes.”

            “And her voice,” Forge reminded.  “Let’s go.”

            And they were off, though it wasn’t long before they came across a body in the street -- the young man in Antonio’s livery who had passed them.  Mica scowled, really narked now.  It reminded her of Doorling.

            “Hey, Mica!” Forge called, figuring this would probably be a good time to hand her the bottle before she too far outdistanced them.  “You want some juice?”

            “Yeah!”  She didn’t break stride.

            “You have to stop and come back for it.”

            Mica stopped.  And turned.  “Gimme it.”

            Forge caught up.  “Save some for us.”  Mica glugged, then handed the bottle back to him -- he passed it off to Darwin, who glugged a couple times.  “Hey, save some for me!”

            Looking guilty, and with his mouth full, Darwin spit some back in, and handed the bottle over.

            Forge sighed.  Well, blood was thicker than water.  .  .  or saliva.  .  .  or combat juice.  .  .  or whatever.  And really, what’s a little spit between cousins?

            The bottle empty, they began to run, Mica outdistancing the dwarves, but they were all going a lot faster.  Not that they noticed -- to them, the world had slowed and tinged a distinct shade of red.  They weren’t sure why everything had gotten so slow, and neither did they especially care.  They were just looking for something to kill.  Specifically, the thugs that took after their boat.  They spotted the group scouring the streets as they approached Merchant Antonio’s.

            “Slime-sucking bastards of a gutless fish!” Mica hollered, charging into battle.

            “We found your elf piss!” Forge yelled.

            Seven men turned with looks of stark terror on their faces. “What the hades happened to them?!”

            Darwin drew his axe and sliced the first guy from crotch to sternum.  Forge swung his quarterstaff around -- it knocked someone’s head off as it snapped in two.  Without pausing, he grabbed the sword that the guy dropped and backswung, taking the arm off the person next to him.

            Mica hit the combat and went through like a whirling dervish, bodies flying to either side.  She made it to the far side, a trail of corpses behind her.  Not seeing anything in front of her, she turned around and headed back.

            Forge spared a brief corner of his mind for admiration -- he was pretty sure he’d spotted her take out at least three on her way through with one whirlwinding move.  He overhanded his sword like a dagger -- some guy went down with it through is gullet -- and pulled his dagger.

            Mica almost took a guy’s head off, but he got his sword up just in time.  She launched a flurry of strikes at him -- each he deflected as he backpeddled furiously.

            Darwin tried a reverse stroke with his axe and chopped into the non-sword arm of the person facing him, but didn’t take him down.  The remaining survivors deemed it smart to take off running, except for Mica’s, whose sword was crushed by her next blow.

            He dropped to the ground begging for mercy.

            Mica took his head off without a thought.

            Darwin ran after one of the other ones.  Forge took down the two wounded, then helped Darwin with the chase.

            Mica, in a search for someone else to take out,  looked over to see the dwarves running down somebody about a hundred yards off.  Forge stopped and drew an arrow, shot, and missed.  The second arrow lodged itself in the thug’s right leg and he went down, rolling.  Darwin put on a burst of speed and cleaved him in two with his battleaxe and stood there, panting.  Mica saw the guy get hacked and stomped back to Merchant Antonio’s, considerably more clear-headed but still really peeved.

            “We’ll go get Grog,” Forge called.

            “Leave Grog,” Mica shouted back.  “Let’s get a litter.”

            “We could carry him.”

            “Well carry him carefully,” she emphasized.

            “Course!  He’s our friend!”

            “Okay.  Make a litter.  I’ll be there.”  She got to the door and pounded on it with the hilt of her sword.  She splurted the gore from her eyes.  The peep hole opened.  Someone screamed shrilly.  “Open the gods-be-farted door, you peon!” she commanded.

            “Bassano!  Bassano!” she heard the doorman scream as he ran off.

            Mica sheathed her sword and took a step back.  After a bit running footsteps approached; someone yelling in the background.  The little hatch slipped open to reveal the Guard Captain.  “Hello, Bassano.”

            He blinked, obviously surprised.  “Mica?”

            “Thieves attacked my boat,” she said flatly.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yes, but the people that did it aren’t.  And I’m seeing pink.  I hate pink.  Do you mind?  I’d really like to clean up.”

            “Got it.”  He closed the peephole and opened the door.

            “They’re over there, lying in the road, if you’d like to decide who they were.  And they killed one of your messenger-boys and hacked up one of my crew.”

            Bassano was still trying to take it all in.  “They.  .  .  hacked up one of your crew?  Who?”

            “Grog.  He’s in immediate need of medical attention.  I would appreciate it if you’d send for a doctor.”

            “We have a doctor.  .  .  I just don’t remember a Grog.”

            “He’s our boat guardian.”

            Bassano had almost regained his composure, but her last statement made his eyes widen again. “The docks!”

            “Yes.”

            Bassano grabbed a page.  “Send a doctor, full guard compliment, down to he docks.”  Another.  “If you would, show Mistress Mica to a bath.”  To Mica, “If you would.  .  .”  He motioned to the page.

            “Sure.”  She splatted off leaving a trail of blood and shaking her head.  “Pink.  I hate pink.”

            Once upstairs, Mica thanked Athena for her assistance as she washed her face and arms, wrung out her mid-back-length hair (now more red than brown) and changed clothes.  She figured the kita would have to be plucked up, so she quick poked her head in to tell Bob and went downstairs.  A maid in the entryway scrubbed at the trail of blood.  Mica had a feeling there would be more work for her to do before the night was out.

*                      *                      *

            Forge was heading to the docks, hoping for more fun, when he suddenly realized Darwin wasn’t following.  “Darwin! Wassup?”

            He stood there looking at the guy he hacked.

            Forge tried again.  “Darwin? Problem?”

            “What?”

            “Get to the docks for Grog.”  Enticingly, “There might be more!”

            “Right.  Grog.  Docks.”  He started off.

            “Hey, Darwin, we need somebody to guard the boat,” Forge observed.

            “Yeah.”

            “Wanna go get Bob?”

            “No.”

            Forge laughed, but gave him a once-over.  He didn’t look hurt.  “How are your eyes?”

            “Fine.”

            “Pink?”

            “No.”

            “Red?”

            “No.”

            “Clear?”

            “Yeah.”

            They lapsed back into silence.  When they finally made it to the docks, they found the kita still bent over Grog.

            “Hey, kita,” Forge greeted.

            Her head snapped up at Forge’s typical greeting.  “Yeah?”

            “See if you can get some cloaks together.

            Thistlepouch held up the three that covered Grog.

            “And go see if there are any paddles left.”

            Hoping to finally be able to do something useful, she went into the boat to see what she could find -- their stuff was strewn about, but she was happy to discover that two oars had not been shattered.  She dragged one under each arm down to the dwarves, who tied the cloaks to them and got Grog onto them and into the air.  It seemed like a pretty workable setup.

            “Need somebody to guard the boat,” Forge pointed out.

            “I’ll stay.  Mica’ll be down soon, won’t she?” she added at Forge’s dubious expression.

            “Hmmm.  .  .  well, there’ll be some guards down soon.  She went for them.”

            “Okay.  Well, nobody’s been by so far, and I’ve been guarding the boat for the last forever.  Go with Grog.  He needs your help.”

            Forge nodded and started off, but stopped after a second.  “Hey, uh, Thistlepouch?”

            “Yeah?” she turned from where she’d started to climb into the boat.

            “Good job,” he praised roughly.

            Thistlepouch blinked at the unexpected, rare compliment from the gruff dwarf.  “Thank you,” she accepted quietly.

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  He started off again, grumbling under his breath.  On the way up, they encountered a group of men in Antonio’s livery going in the opposite direction.

            “Hail!” called a voice they recognized as Bassano as he stepped from the group.  “Is this your comrade?”

            “Yes,” Forge affirmed.

            “We have a healer.  If you would.  .  .”

            Forge and Darwin set him down.  “Apparently one of yours is at the boat,” Forge told him.  “And also, we need some people to guard the boat, since we have the kita there.  Could you send her up?”

            “Certainly.”  He picked out a few men.  “You gentlemen, go guard the docks, send the kita up for us.  You, go back to the house, warn them that we will need a surgeon.  Doctor, what can you do at this point?”

            The doctor shook his head and straightened.  “His wounds have been bound; he may pull through if we get him there in time, but he will need lots of rest.  I can’t do anything here; get him up to the house -- the surgeon there can do more than I.”

            Bassano nodded shortly.  “Go to the boat, then.  Are you gentlemen able to carry him?”

            “Yeah,” Forge grunted as they hoisted him up again and headed off with three guards accompanying.

            When they made it to the door, there were already people waiting to grab the litter and bear it away.  Forge went to clean himself up and check on his brewing.  Darwin decided to hang around in the hallways a while longer to watch their handiwork get carried home.

*                      *                      *

            As Mica neared the site of the carnage she saw a few torches and four men in Antonio’s livery picking through corpses’ belongings and putting each person’s in a separate sack.

            “Do you know who these people are?” she inquired.

            “No clue,” answered one of the men, glancing up briefly.  “Never met ‘em.”

            “Any marks that would tie them all together?”

            “Well, Bassano was hoping to find that out.  We’re just here to make sure nobody loots anything that could potentially tie them to something.  Then we’ll drag the bodies to the house.  Bassano said he’d look over them tonight.”

            “Do you know where he went?”

            “Down towards the docks with the doctor.”

            Mica thanked him and continued, but not far down met another man in livery carrying a shrouded burden up to the house.  It looked about right for the kid’s body.  “They kill him?”

            “Must’ve,” said the older man, his voice rough from crying.  There were tear tracks down his face.  “No other excuse.”

            “They paid for it.”

            “That’s all you can hope for in this business.”

            The next people on her trek were the dwarves with Grog and their escort.  “He alive?”

            “Yeah,” Forge answered.

            “Where’s the kita?”

            “They sent somebody to grab her and bring her back up.”

*                      *                      *

            Thistlepouch saw lanterns first -- and stifled a yawn.  Thank several gods.  After all the excitement and running around and worrying about Grog, just sitting in the gently rocking boat had begun to lull her into a drowse.  The lantern-bearers resolved themselves into three guards in Antonio’s livery.  One knelt next to Gillespie.  Another one started checking over the remaining bodies, and the last one addressed her in a kindly voice.

            “Young miss, we have come to take over guarding.  You may return to the house.”

            She smiled gratefully at him.  “Thank you!”  She slung her staff and awkwardly used Mica’s quarterstaff for a walking stick.  Unfortunately, part of the point of a walking stick is that it’s about one’s size, not vastly larger.  The blasted thing hampered more than helped, but she couldn’t think of a way around it.  She didn’t even notice Bassano and his company until the Guard Captain called out to her.

            “Hail!  Milady, are you injured at all?”

            She shook her head.  “A little tired, but I’ll be okay.  Thanks for asking, though!”

            Bassano nodded and continued on with his party.

            Mica, thankfully, was not that much farther up the road.  Thistlepouch handed off the quarterstaff.

            “Thank you.”

            “Welcome.”

            Mica grabbed the kita up in a rough hug, which Thistlepouch returned enthusiastically.  “I’m gonna go check the boat,” the human said as she started off again.  As an afterthought, she tossed over her shoulder, “Oh, by the way -- they’re all dead.”

            She did not see the kita’s mixed look of sorrow and pride.

            By the time Mica made it to the boat, a good collection of guards had amassed.  The doctor worked on Gillespie.  Bassano peered off into the darkness.

            “That your man?” she queried, nodding to Gillespie.

            “Yeah.  Looks like they caught him unawares.”

            “He dead?”

            “No.”

            “Good.  I’m gonna check out my boat.”

            “No oars, I noticed, but it looks like Darwin and Forge used two of them for a litter.”

            “Got the sail, still,” she noted.

            “True.  And the oars can be replaced.”

            A pause, as Mica peered into the darkness in the direction Bassano was gazing.  “What are you looking for?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “You think there’s more?”

            He considered that a moment.  “For one, there may not be.  I have no doubt that whoever sent this band expected them to more than easily overwhelm any resistance.  But I don’t know what the gain was, the purpose.  I don’t know why.  I hate not knowing why.”

            “Probably wanted to sink my boat,” Mica groused.

            “Possibly,” Bassano allowed, “but it looks more like they were going through your things.”

            “Petty thieves?”

            Bassano shook his head.  “Petty thieves generally don’t join in these sort of bands, and generally leave as soon as they find casualties.  They also don’t generally fight anyone who looks as strong as that Grog fellow.”

            Mica thought for a bit before offering an explanation.  “Well, we saved Melissanna.  Maybe they thought we had something that led us to.  .  .  what’s-his-face.  Fuzzball.”

            “Lockshy.  Possible.”  He toed one of the bodies over and looked at it.

            “Sorry we didn’t keep any for you to question.  It was.  .  .  one of those uncontrolled moments.”

            He raised an eyebrow, but did not ask.  “I see.  Well, corpses can give answers, too.”  He straightened.  “You wanted to look to your ship -- I need to look to my men.”

            Mica nodded and stepped into the boat.  Their things were strewn about; the two-barn sea chest broken into several pieces.  It looked like the hoodlums had been searching for something hidden and took what they could along the way.  She gathered it back together and covered it with some of the equipment, then turned back to the Guard Captain.  “We are missing some things; after you get your information, can I go through and get our stuff back?”

            “Certainly.  Anything I should be aware of?”

            Mica made a mental list.  “Money gone, some place settings.  .  .  all we had on the boat was mostly monetary.  We didn’t have anything that was smuggled.”  Not that she figured he’d care if they did.

            Bassano nodded shortly.  “After we go over the bodies we’ll let you know what we found; of course, any of it that is yours, you can retrieve.”

            “Thank you.”  That said, she started back for the house.

*                      *                      *

            Thistlepouch smelled it before she saw it -- and though she knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, she couldn’t resist finding out just what Mica had meant by them all being dead.  She wanted to be sure they were all there.

            She did not, in her wildest imaginings, think she would see that level of carnage.  She had been in battles before, yes, but -- blood and entrails all over the place, limbs strewn about.  .  .  and the stench alone.  .  .

            Thistlepouch leaned around into an alley and brought up every meal she’d eaten since age three -- or at least, that’s what it seemed like.  She stood for a minute, forehead rested against the rough brick of the nearest building, trying to regain some modicum of normalcy.  She thought she’d done a pretty good job until she turned and saw one of Antonio’s men carelessly chucking body parts into a basket. She turned around and retched again -- meals her ancestors had eaten -- and decided maybe it would be interesting to find another way to the manor house, by different streets that just happened to lead directly away from this horrible, grizzly place.

            By the time she’d gotten to Antonio’s front gate, she’d already noticed all sorts of torches and lanterns.  She got the attention of a servant by the door.

            “Where’d they take Grog?”

            “Up to the third floor.  There are rooms up there closer to the healing stocks, and the healer, after spending so much time with Lady Melissanna, seemed to make sense to make it a sick ward area.  He’s currently next door to Lady Melissanna.”

            “Thanks.”

            Thistlepouch followed the sound of people to Grog’s room -- he was lying in bed quietly, sleeping, all bandaged up.

            “He going to be okay?” she asked the surgeon in a small voice.

            The elderly man looked down kindly upon her.  “He will be ill for quite some time.”

            “But he’ll be okay.”

            “We think so, yes.”

            “Oh, good.”  She sat down to keep watch -- just in case Grog woke up and wanted to hear a story or something.

            The world seemed to have a rather nasty habit of getting fuzzy -- maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment.  .  .

            She didn’t remember much after that.

            By the time Forge went up to check on the burly human, the healer was keeping watch.  .  .  and the kita was fast asleep at her post.

*                      *                      *

            As Tusit neared Antonio's on his way back from the Acadamus Magickus Ithicus, he first noticed the activity and lights.  He slowed, walking very cautiously and trying to stay out from underfoot.  People stood around the house in Antonio’s livery. A few people coming back in from the direction of the docks carried bodies.  Although Tusit was still slightly distracted from his studies at the library, concern seeped in.  He checked to be sure he didn’t know any of the bodies.  .  .  .   closely eyeing them didn’t reveal any familiar clothing.

            A voice called out, “Gnome!  Come quickly!”

            “Yes?”  Tusit picked up his pace from a wander to a normal walk as he headed to the doorman.

            “Have you talked with any of your comrades?”

            This wasn’t sounding good.  “No, I’ve been busy at the library.”

            “Well, there’s some information.  Been a bit of trouble.”

            “Is everyone all right?”

            “You should talk to your comrades about that.  I think one of the dwarves in your party is still in the entryway area.”

            “Thank you.”  Tusit stepped inside.  On his way in, he got a closer look at a couple of the bodies.  They all wore dark clothing and major hack marks.  A couple had missing limbs or skulls caved in.  “Goodness!”  Darwin stood to one side, covered in blood and gore.  “Darwin?”

            The dwarf grinned.  “Oh, did you miss a fight!”

            “And you look pleased about this.  .  .  is everyone all right?”

            “The big honkin’ fellow -”

            Tusit rolled his eyes.  “That narrows it down.”

            “Tall, broad, doesn’t talk much.  Idiot.”

            “Grog?”

            “Yeah.  Him.  The one by the boat.  He got roughed up some.  They got him upstairs, I’m sure he’ll come around.”

            A sudden thought hit the gnome.  “Who’s watching the boat?”

            Darwin waved it off as little interest compared to the fight.  “Some of the merchant twerp’s jerks are down there.”

            “Merchant twerp’s jerks?”

            “Yeah, like that one guy.  Bass-an-o.”

            “Bassano.  Is there anything I can do for Grog?”

            “They got one of those surgeon-leech-type guys up there.”

            Tusit winced.  “Oh, great.  More leeches.”

            “He didn’t need leeches.  He was bleedin’ real fine.”

            Tusit nodded shortly.  “Fair enough, where are the others?”

            “I think Forge went and got himself cleaned off, let’s see.  .  .  Mica did the same.  Ares’ codpiece that woman can fight!”

            That got a wry grin out of the gnome.  “Well,  I could’ve told you that.”

            “Yeah, but I didn’t know she could cut a man from nuts to sternum!”

            This was new.  .  .  “Really!”

            “That woman amazes me!  If only she was a dwarf and had a beard.  Oh, and the little short stunted elf piss -”

            “That would’ve been our kita.”

            “Right.  Kita.  Last I saw, she was up by Grog.  Oh, and what’s-his-name.  The elf twerp.”

            “Aye.”  He didn’t feel a need to correct Darwin on that one.

            “I don’t know where the shag he is.  Him and that little deamon thing -”

            “Deamon?”  This was definitely new.

            “Yeah.”  Sudden realization.  “You didn’t see the deamon trash?  Oh, man!”

            “The elf is playing with a daemon?” Just to be sure he’d heard right, though he hoped he hadn’t.

            “Yeah, he’s got some bald chicken -”

            This was too much.  “Good god, I leave you people alone for six hours-

            “Hey, the elf piss had the bald chicken before you left.”

            “I never saw it.”

            “You saw it!  The little -”

            Tusit was sure he would’ve remembered a pet daemon.  “I never saw it,” he repeated flatly.

            “Ah, that’s right, you didn’t see it.  .  .  he’s got this bald chicken -”

            “A bald daemon chicken.”

            “You have to see it -”
            “Thank you for the warning.”

            “Now, the chics, they apparently saw the Hooter of Athena.  .  .  “

            Tusit was starting to lose it.  “I’ll be inside.”  He ran into the main room, away from Darwin, holding his head. “Ow!”  He stopped at the door, turned around, very cautiously and very pointedly asked specifically, “Where exactly were they cleaning off?”  He hoped such a direct question would avoid any side stories.  At this point, he just didn’t want to know.

            “Mica’s in her room, Forge is in his room, and the kita is up by Grog across from the chic.”

            “I see.  Thank you very much, Darwin.”  Thank several gods, it worked.

            “Did I mention the zombies?”

            Tusit turned around and left. “I’ll be upstairs, now,” he said over his shoulder.  “You might want to clean yourself off before I get upset.”

            Darwin shook his head.  “Nah, I wanna relish this a little longer.”

            Tusit got to Mica’s room first.  The door was closed, and no one answered his knock.  He quietly cracked her door.  She slept, and from the parts he could see, didn’t look wounded.  He tucked her in a bit and left quietly.  Upstairs, the door of Melissanna’s room opened and her head popped out.

            “What’s all the excitement about?”

            Tusit stopped dead, backed up a step and a half.  “Woah!  You’re up!  You look well.  .  .”

            “Thank you,” Melissanna acknowledged.  “All the bustle and commotion woke me-”

            The gnome stared.  “That’s all it took?  I should’ve made noise before!”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Last I saw you, milady, you were unconscious.”  A pause.  “And unwakable.”

            Melissanna frowned slightly.  “I was told I was ill.  I don’t remember anything about it. But.  .  .  what’s all the commotion?

            “I’m in the process of ascertaining that myself,” he informed her.  “I heard that Grog was injured and Darwin is down on the front step, bloody as a harpy and happy about it, so I don’t suggest you come out yet.  When I ascertain what’s up, I shall come and inform you, if you like -”

            “Thank you, it would be appreciated.”

            An awkward pause.  “Are you doing all right?”

            “Oh, yes, fine.”

            Tusit nodded and headed off to Grog’s room.  He lightly knocked on the closed door, waited a moment, and opened it.  Grog lay on the bed covered in bloody bandages.  Thistlepouch was curled and passed-out asleep on the floor next to him, covered with gore, soot, and smoke, as well as being singed in a couple places -- she looked only marginally better than Darwin.  Tusit stared in shock for a good seven seconds, blinking rapidly in an effort to make it all process.  He was a bit  torn as to which to check on first, but opted for Grog.  The gnome was surprised the human didn’t have a sucking chest wound.  It looked like the bandages had been changed a couple times from the amount of blood on them.  He glanced over at the kita, then put his hand very lightly on the worst of Grog’s wounds.

            “Athena, I’ve never talked to you directly before, and I know you’ve got more preferred spokespeople among our group, but be kind to this one.”  Shaking his head, he went over to the kita, and standing about a foot and a half away so he wouldn’t startle her, crouched down as quietly as he could.  “Um, Thistlepouch?”

            No response.

            Tusit reached over to gently touch an arm. “Thistlepouch?”

            Thistlepouch leapt up and backed herself to a wall, ready to fight.  Tusit, off balance anyway because he was trying so hard to be gentle, rolled full backwards over one shoulder and landed on his stomach, looking at her as if to say, “Did I miss anything?”  Thistlepouch took a couple seconds to readjust herself to the real world, then crept hesitantly over to him.

            “Are you okay?” she asked in a small voice.

            Tusit couldn’t help but giggle.  “Now, if that isn’t the most ironic response I could’ve thought of.  .  .  I was about to ask you the same thing, dear.”

            She thought a moment.  “Grog’s hurt.”

            “I figured that one out.”

            She thought another moment.  “I didn’t get wounded.  I’m mostly icky, I think.”

            “Ah.  .  .  um.  .  .  so, what’s new?” he asked, pulling himself back up to his knees.

            Thistlepouch made a quick list.  “Well, Melissanna is awake, and somebody attacked our boat, and I saved our boat and we attacked some zombies and got into a big battle and Bob had his head so far up his back end he must’ve been keeping an oxygen tank up there, but we found a ball that made Melissanna wake up, and that was good”.

            “All right.  .  .”  Processing, processing.  “Sit down, relax.”

            She plopped to the floor.

            “I checked in on Mica, she seemed well,” Tusit said, looking for a place to start.  “I found Darwin downstairs, he seems.  .  .  .  Darwinian.  What is this about zombies?”

            “Well, we went to the religious service, but we didn’t stay there long because Mica saw Athena’s hooter and followed it to this big old warehouse and it landed on the roof and we tried to get in with a ladle but it didn’t work, so we went and found Borglum, and that didn’t work either, because he was a boy but he was clueless, so we sent him home and found the dwarves and they went through the door without opening it, and then we went into a whole bunch of rooms that Mica said had cushy mage-butt chairs, and we found a desk with a chest that was really pretty decorated, and inside was a smaller chest inside it and -oh, a whole bunch of papers.  Can you read these?”  She proffered the papers she’d found.

            Tusit examined them -- they had a little kita-shaped goo handprint.  He did not recognize the language.  “May I hold onto these?”

            Thistlepouch shrugged.  “I can’t read them.  I actually saved them for you, I thought you could study them or something.  .  .  anyway, Bob tried picking some locks, and he really wasn’t very good -- he mostly just broke stuff.  No professional pride.  And then we followed Mica upstairs and opened a door and there were some people lying in beds and they tingled and so did the door on the other side of the room, and I crept in and as soon as I touched the handle they sat up in bed and they were zombies, so I went over and started waving the torch at them and I managed to light two of them on fire, and Darwin managed to hack one’s arm and his legs and his head and so it was just sort of flopping around while Darwin was cursing at it, and I told Bob to drop the stuff we found so if I burned it it’d kill them all, but he was being Bob, so he didn’t, and -- oh, Athena’s sword went right into the zombies and it made them glow, and then sparkle, and then turn into little poof bits!  But Forge used his medallion on them, and it made them turn black and fall into little squishy piles of maggots and it was really gross.”

            Tusit raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the bodies that were being carried in when I came here?”

            Thistlepouch waved him off.  “Oh, no, that’s what Darwin and Mica and Forge did when they found out our boat’d been attacked.  So anyway, we went into the next room, and it was like the apothecary’s shop, only really icky.  And Bob said to take the stuff, but I said he was disgusting and to leave it alone.  And in the next room it looked like a bedchamber and there was a little lump in the bed that looked like a crystal ball like the one I found from Lockshy that Forge was so upset about, only this one he said didn’t turn my hand black, and so I gave it to Melissanna and she woke up.  And then I went to the docks to find Gillespie because he knew when the carrier pigeon left, but I got down there and saw a whole bunch of ruckus by our boat, and it was a whole bunch of people fighting one person who was yelling and there were bodies flying everywhere and so I ran up and poked one guy really hard in the leg and he fell down and I think he was really hurt, but it served him right, but somebody saw me then, so I turned around and yelled some of my best taunts at them and they chased me, but I ducked into a doorway and they kept going and then I ran back to see if Grog was hurt, and then I found another boy and sent him up, and I don’t’ know if he ever made it, but later Mica and Forge and Darwin came down and they were really mad that Grog got hurt, so they left me with Grog and the boat and went off  to take care of the problem, and I think that might’ve been the bodies you saw.  Probably the same ones I saw in the street that made me sick up.”

            Despite the fact that gnome brains work faster than those of most other races, Tusit took a bit of time to absorb and process all this.  Part of the problem might have been that gnomes home in on a destination and take the most direct route there.  Kitas, however, tend to find several other interesting things to distract them on the way, and so while kitas are fairly quick, they’re fairly quick in a very random pattern.  Tusit grappled for the next question.

            “So you’re not terribly hurt?”

            Thistlepouch scowled.  “A zombie gooed my peacock feathers!”

            “Eeew.”  The gnome wrinkled his nose.

            “I think I need new ones,” the kita concluded.

            Tusit patted her on the shoulder.  “We’ll see what we can find you, dear.”

            “Okay.”  Thistlepouch suddenly realized her hand was dirty and rubbed it on her pants -- which really didn’t make it any cleaner.

            “Well, Mica is sleeping soundly, and from what you told me, she needs the rest.”

            “She said she saw pink.  She hates pink.”

            Tusit raised an eyebrow.  “Where did she see pink?”

            “When she drank the combat juice.”

            Suddenly a candle lit over Tusit’s head.  “Ooooohhhhh!  Now that makes sense!  Where did you pick up combat juice?”

            “We got it on the Sea King island, remember?  She hates pink.”

            “It was apparently very effective,” the gnome observed.

            “Well, if she and the dwarves did all that.  .  .  .  ack.  I’m glad we don’t have any more.  They were putting body parts in baskets.”

            Tusit was pretty sure he didn’t want further details -- he’d seen enough.  “Is there anything you know of that needs my attention?”

            Thistlepouch thought a moment.  “I don’t think so, unless you know some magic spell that can heal Grog.”

            “No, I’ve been studying and I’ve found some very intriguing leads.  I’ve come back to inform the party that I’m going to be absent for a while.  Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll see if I can find something along those lines.  The library I found is wonderful, and I’m hoping to trace down a few of these enigmas, so you should probably find your room and get some more comfortable rest than you have here on the floor.”

            The kita looked dubiously over at her fallen companion.  “But somebody needs to stay with Grog,” she protested.

            Tusit glanced over that direction, too.  “I don’t think he’s going anywhere, dear.”

            “In case he needs something?”

            Tusit walked over to Grog, checked his eyes. “You can stay here if you want, dear, but I highly doubt he’s going to be moving.  When Mica awakens, if you could let her know that I’m going to be at the library for a while, and I hope I can come back with some good news.”  He tucked Grog in and left, heading back to the library.

            Thistlepouch crawled up on a chair to watch Grog, but after a while decided the floor was more comfortable and crawled back off.  And, not having learned her lesson the first time, closed her eyes for just a second.  .  .

            She didn’t remember much after that.

***

Disclaimer: Grog was not injured during the cration of this chapter.  However, it took the cleanup crew a good week  to get the fake blood out of the cobblestones.