Twenty

            Molly was in the guards’ room sharpening her daggers when Bassano took a seat beside her.

            “Molly, I have a request.  The group that you and Katrina aided at my request is going to be departing quickly.  If you could accompany the two pages carrying the remainder of their equipment down to their boat, I would deeply appreciate it, as a personal favor. Would you be willing to do this?”

            A nod.  “Sure.”

            “Very good.”

*                      *                      *

            Mica, meanwhile, had gotten very little out of questioning of Ens.  Grog watched confusedly as she managed to ascertain that he had not grown up in the Archipelago -- he had obvious knowledge gaps about things he really should have known, though his knowledge was considerably stronger than hers in the western areas -- pirate territory.  He answered her questions condescendingly, quite obviously not concerned about his captivity.

            A page opened the door and poked his head in timidly.  “Lady Mica? If I may have a word?”

            “Grog? You wanna wait in here?”

            “Kee.”

            Mica strode from the questioning chamber and shut the door behind herself.  “Yes?”

            “Your companion Master Forge has instructed me to tell you that you will need to leave the island quickly.  He asks that you gather Master Grog, Master Darwin, and your belongings, then depart to the boat with all haste.”

            She frowned.  “Where did you last see him?”

            “He was following the two Guardians of the Acadamus Magickus Ithicus, who took Master Tusit back to the Academy.”

            “Great.  How long ago was this?”

            “Just a few moments.”

            Mica sighed mightily and stuck her head into the room.  “C’mon, Grog. We gotta go.”

            “Kee.”

            The warrior priestess locked the door after them.  “I need you to get Darwin and all our stuff, and bring it down to the boat.  Get Bassano’s people to help.  This is very important.  I have to go rescue Tusit.”  Without waiting for his response, she turned and hurried away.  In the entryway, she saw that two pages had gathered most of their things. A guard Mica recognized as Molly waited with them; it didn’t take much thought for Mica to decide that reinforcements would not be a bad idea.  “Hey,” she said to Molly, “I’ve gotta go rescue the gnome. Wanna come with?”

            “Sure.”

            Mica strode along rapidly, silently fuming that she was the only responsible one in the entire party who always had to pull them out of trouble.  She captured the bad guys, she went to save the gnome, she took along the kita, and then she didn’t get to go to the ball or wear her costume -! Really!  Molly scuttled to keep up.

            The kita, meanwhile, suddenly found herself airborne -- and then on Pickles’ back as the dragon loped away as fast as he could.  Thistlepouch grabbed his wings and tried to steer -- not that it did any good.

            “Left!  Left!  Left!”  she hollered -- Pickles ignored her.

            Mica heard this; her head whipped to the left.

            Nothing.

            To the right.

            Nothing.

            When her vision turned forward again, she saw the kita, stretched out and hovering a bit off the ground, charging forward yelling “Left!  Left!  Left!”  Mica positioned herself a little to one side, preparing to pluck the kita off what she presumed must be her invisible pet dragon.

            Molly blinked and wondered what she had gotten herself into -- and then Pickles stopped, and Thistlepouch didn’t, and Molly had just enough time to try catching.  She broke the kita’s fall.  .  .  but luckily nothing else.

            “Hello,” Thistlepouch grinned when she’d recovered.  “Nice to see you again.”

            Mica walked over to see if they were still both in one piece.  It looked like the kita had been in a fight, but she wasn’t seriously wounded. “Shall we go get Tusit?”

            “He’s that way.” Thistlepouch pointed.  “Over the shoulder of one of the Library’s Guardians, and unconscious, I think.”

            Mica sighed and jogged off, hoping to catch the wayward gnome before anything worse could happen.

            Thistlepouch got to her feet and offered Molly a hand up.  They hurried to catch up with Mica -- Molly doing better than the kita.

            When Mica got within eyesight of her troublemaking party members, she saw the two Guardians -- one with Tusit over his shoulder like a sack of grain -- and Forge jogging alongside. “Forge, what are you doing?!”

            “What’s it look like?!”

            “Why aren’t you rescuing Tusit?!”

            “Because I can’t reach him!”

            “Where are they taking him?”

            “My guess -- the Library.”

            “Why?!”

            “To throw a party? I have no idea! They don’t like him. They said they were going to protect him. Maybe he’s going to be used as a piniata!”

            Mica tried to plant her quarterstaff on Forge's foot, but he dodged.

            Thistlepouch made ready to clamber up one of the Guardians (hey, it worked last time!) when she heard --

            Murfle!

            The kita dodged to hide behind Mica. Or in front of her, as the case may be.  Pickles took up a position between his kita and the Guardian, looking at Thistlepouch and shaking his head vigorously in a discouraging manner.

            Murfle. Murf-le!

            “What are you doing?” Mica inquired.

            “Well, first I was trying to save Tusit, but now I’m just trying not to get dragged down the street again.  You’re big. He won’t mess with you. You won’t fit on his back.”

            “Maybe if we just asked them nice, they’ll put Tusit down,” Mica reasoned.  She tapped the second Guardian.  “Excuse me? We’d like our gnome back, please.”

            The Guardian put his arm out to deflect her.  So much for sweet reason. She dodged, scampered around him, and went up to the other one, who held out his free arm in the same manner. Mica grabbed Tusit's arm with a half-muttered “Gimme that!”

            Forge grabbed the priestess’s shoulders to pull himself up.  “Thanks for the lift!”

            The Guardian whirled around with his arm out, trying to swat her out of the way, but missed.  Mica stumbled, maintaining her hold on Tusit but trying desperately not to pull his arm out of the socket.  The other Guardian had stopped, turned around, and started marching back.

            “Pickles! Flame him!” Thistlepouch suggested.

            Pickles looked at her with wide eyes and shook his head adamantly.

            Knowing she’d get hauled off if she made the first attack, Thistlepouch decided to put herself between the approaching Guardian and Mica.

            Pickles put himself between danger and the kita.

            Molly tried to trip the advancing Guardian, but it worked as well as an attempt to trip a table.

            Forge launched himself at Tusit, but the pressure on Mica's shoulders knocked her feet out from under her; she dangled from Tusit's arm. The dwarf landed flat on his back on the cobblestones with an “Uf!” The Guardian hauled Tusit into a double-handed hold.  Mica lost her grip and tumbled on top of the dwarf.

            Forge groaned.  “Do all of Athena's warriors weigh this much?”

            Mica dug the bony part of her butt into the dwarf as she got up with her elbows.

            The Guardian with Tusit turned and walked off; the other waited until he was past, then resumed walking after.

            “MICA!!!!” came Grog's bellow from behind them.  “BOAT!!!! BAD!!!!”  The companions simultaneously looked to see Grog pounding towards them, two elves hot on his heels with bloody, drawn swords.

            Thistlepouch, hoping they would mistake her for one of their own, yelled “DADDY!!!” and ran towards Grog.

*                      *                      *

            Tusit watched as thousands of pricks of light charged toward him.  Just when he’d begun to get concerned about pricks charging him, a blue glowing interposed itself between Tusit and the onslaught.

            “How did you get here?” asked a familiar voice.

            “We’ve got to quit meeting like this,” the gnome observed.

            “I concur. Do you plan to continue extending your resources like this?”

            “This was not a plan,” Tusit informed the voice.  “It’s never a plan.”

            A pause.  “You seem to be suffering from a marvelous lack of foresight.”

            “My intentions are good?” he offered hopefully.  He gave a quick glance around; the hand that had held the dagger glowed blue -- a blue glow surrounded him, in fact, and the pinpricks of light bounced off it, like moths beating themselves against a pane of glass with a candle on the other side.  A fine network of lines connected the lights, surrounding Tusit and the glow like a net.

            “Am I dead this time?”

            “No.  If you were dead, I could not talk with you.”

            “Oh, good.  Um -- where am I?”

            “You are.  .  .  here. The answer is hard to explain.  The location is even more distant.  You could consider it a landscape of the mind.  If you wish, I can teach you how to come here, though the training will take time.”

            Tusit looked around at all the lights trying to get to him.  They did not look friendly.  “Would coming here be wise?”

            “Normally one is not threatened by the Guardians.  What, perchance, caused you to anger them?”

            “As I said, this was not a plan.  It rarely is. Both times I’ve met with you have been by accident.  This particular time I was defending myself against the Guardians of the Library.”

            “That is, no doubt, the cause of this.”

            “But what do these little white lights have to do with -”

            “Those little white lights are the Guardians.”

            A pause.  “Funny, I remember them being larger.”

            “Each may be but a single prick of light, but together they have great power.”

            “Is there a way to apologize?”

            A considering silence.  “Did you damage one?”

            “No, one damaged me and put me here.”

            “Odd.  The only way to appease them is to communicate with their master coordinator, Dryden.”

            “Ah, yes, the one who would not identify himself.  Yes, we’ve spoken.”

            “Would not identify?”

            “Yes.  He would not admit to having a name.  He seemed a little scattered.”

            “Oh dear.”

            Another long pause.

            Tusit broke it.

            “I do believe I’ve come to the conclusion since we last spoke that I can’t go much farther on my own.”

            “I see.  Have you chosen to accept any of the bids for your service that others have offered? I understand there have been a great many bidders.”

            “That’s an interesting way to put that.  I’ve been approached by a number of.  .  .  interested parties, and have yet to have one earn my trust.”

            “Regarding trust, the two other bidding parties -- oh, dear. I fear we are about to have a visitor.”

            A glowing ball approached through the blue glow.  It put Tusit strongly in mind of the huffyball, but green.  The gnome drew his dagger.

            You have.  .  .  hindered me.  .  .  so that it becomes useful to enlist your services.  What do you wish for your services? asked an unfamiliar voice, deep and gravely.

            “There is nothing that can be given that I cannot earn myself,” Tusit replied firmly.

            So what do you want?

            “I have no response for you.”

            Nothing? You have no price?  I can give you power to command, to control. Power over any island you choose. I could give you treasures, and those that would serve you.  I could give you life eternal.

            “And for this?  What is your price?”

        I seek control over this archipelago.  It lacks.  .  .  discipline.

            “As to this archipelago, I have little care over who possesses it.”

        Then why not aid me instead of opposing me as you have been?

            “I haven’t been opposing you through active measures.  If I get in your way, I apologize.  However, not aiding you serves me just about as well as aiding you.”

        If that is your response, I -

            The voice paused as from the corner of his eye he caught sight of a black skull, which floated through the darkness, through the blue glow, paused, and spoke to the gnome in a voice he recognized from the Temple of Hades.

            so.  already the vultures.  have you accepted?

            Tusit started to laugh.  “All this attention over little me! What possible hindrance could I pose to anyone?”

            ah, but you have already served me.

            “I have not! Knowingly,” he added a bit belatedly.

            you carried out the wishes of my servants.  you have destroyed those two abominable papers.

            “Because they were making it easier to follow me,” the mage explained a bit too patiently.  “I wish to be left alone.”  He pointed to the green ball.  “And that wasn’t a request!”

            very well.  you have refused the light, you have refused the dark.  whatever. whatever you wish. you shall have to make a choice sometime.

            The black skull disappeared.

        My offer stands. 

            The green ball disappeared.

            After some time, the first voice spoke again.  “So.  Any other thoughts on your bids?”

            “You were strangely silent through that -- what shall we call it? -- bidding war,” Tusit observed.

            “I cannot match their bids.  I cannot match their power.”

            “Then why should I trust you at all?”

            “Because you won’t trust them.”

            Tusit laughed at that.

            “We don’t know why they’re looking after you,” the voice from the glow continued, “except that we have seen you hinder -- and aid -- both the Eternal Emperor and Hades.  But we have yet to see you choose a side, nor have we seen you do anything which is a serious hindrance to either. As well, those you travel with have been attracting more.  .  .  attention.  We wish friends.  We wish to have you as a friend.”

            “That you have.”

            “We also fear unless you -- and those of your companions -- are granted the skills you need, this world may change.  For the worse.  Though how, we do not know.”

            “What do you offer?”

            “We can offer little.  At best, training.”

            “And at what price?”

            “In our case, the training is its own price.  For the training causes you to see what needs to be done.  And more, have the urge to do it.”

            “And to what ends?”

            “The furtherance of our Art.”  A pause.  “Unfortunately, as well, with our training, you will become a target.”

            “Oh, gee.” Tusit rolled his eyes.  “Confront me with something new.”  Sobering, “You have earned my respect.  I shall aid you as I can in friendship, and I am always open to new avenues of learning.  I can assure you that those you have called Hades and the Eternal Emperor hold no interest for me whatsoever, and the more they insist on my aid, the less likely I am to give it to them.”

            “I see.  In that case, we thank you for your friendship.  We thank you for your respect.  We will attempt to give you the aid that you will need.  Thank you for the aid you can give us.  Now, then, I believe that soon you shall be needing to depart this place.  For that, I shall give you aid.  I fear events in the location you were at have gone past where you may be familiar, and events shall soon take up a new pace, for the Emperor is stretching forth his hand.  And he could hold you.”

            Tusit's eyes gleamed.  “His hand shall meet resistance.”

            *                      *                      *

            Grog looked at the kita like she was crazy.  “RUN!!!”  As he ran past, he put out an arm to try to scoop her up; she dodged and prepared to fight the elves.

            Grog skidded to a stop.  “No, Thistle, RUN!!!”

            Forge, now on his feet, drew a dagger, and immediately noticed the balance was off.  “Dammit!”  He drew his hammer.  Molly drew a dagger, too (hers was her own) and ran after. Mica pulled out her sword.

            “They might have stiriges,” the priestess hinted.

            Forge's eyes lit.  “You go take care of Tusit.  I’ll take care of these things.”

            Mica belched.  “Okay.”

            Forge grinned ferally.  “That’s the kind of woman I like!”

            The holy warrior glanced to Thistlepouch's retreating figure.  “Pick up the kita when you can.”

            “Course! She owes me a dagger!”  He charged the elves.

            Mica turned and saw Bob (stirige on his shoulder) walking beside the Guardian carrying Tusit. 

“Get Tusit!” she hollered as she ran, then started quietly praying to Athena.

*                      *                      *

            The gnome, out of the corner of his eye, saw one of the pinpricks of light turn green, flash, and go out.  His attention captured, he saw a tracery of green run down the thin lines of white light that had connected it to the others, which also turned green and flashed.  Some of them went out, sending traceries along their lines -- others faded in and out and eventually returned to being white, though a little dimmer.

            Tusit cast burning hands through a single finger, hoping to cut out the area of infection (he didn’t understand it, but it didn’t look healthy, and the blue glow wasn’t talking to him anymore, so he was bored) but instead of flame, a white beam of light shot from his finger, and where it touched the traceries that were still good, the white lines and pinpricks grew brighter, and he could see the brightness traveling down the area of infection, pushing it back.

            He then directed the beam to specific green pinpricks, trying to fight them off. The first one he chose at first lessened the glow, then grew larger, and green started to travel up the line to his finger.  He fought harder to push it away, but the green advanced until it was a foot from his finger, at which point he cut off the spell.  The green light he had been directing the spell towards grew green and stayed green, then began sending out traceries of its own, and any nodes it changed went from white to green -- and stayed green.

            “Ah, piss. This is not good.”

*                      *                      *

            Bob looked back over his shoulder, then drew a dagger that glowed green -- Mica was certain she had never seen it before.  He spike-pounded it into the side of the Guardian beside him.

            Molly and Forge reached the elves as Grog drew his sword and the elves attacked.  Forge got a better look at them now; they both had delicate features and were slightly taller than Bob, thinner, and lankier.  The dwarf grinned distastefully.  “Ooooh, these are the really stuck-up ones!”  The one with blonde hair had a more ornate breastplate than his companion, a brunette.  “Molly, you get the dark-haired one; I get the really stuck-up one!”

            Thistlepouch fended off the dark-haired elf, but the blonde got a long, nasty cut past her guard, wounding her left arm.  She cursed mightily -- it would hamper her ability with her staff, but it couldn’t be helped.

            Molly charged in to occupy the dark-haired elf and got in a rake of her dagger on his arm that drew blood, though wouldn’t hinder him.

            Forge roared in with a crushing overhand blow that would’ve taken out his opponent, but the light-haired elf dove out of the way after slicing the kita and ended facing the dwarf, rapier and buckler at the ready.  “Where’s Darwin?!” Forge hollered to Grog.  “And get that damn kita out of here!”

            Thistlepouch slung her staff over her back and drew a dagger as she attempted to get around behind the elves.  She felt the passage of air as a large hand made a grab where she’d just been.

            “Thistle, RUN!!!”  Grog, failing to make contact, drew his sword, yelling oncemore, “RUN!!!”

            The dwarf got lucky and received only a scratch from the flurry of attack the elf unleashed; Forge discovered why warhammers aren’t generally used for blocking.  If it wasn’t for the fact that the elf was forced to dodge when Forge swung, the dwarf would have had no rest at all.

            Molly blocked two attacks, but the third slice got through her guard and sliced along her left arm.  She looked down and saw muscle and was suddenly glad she was not left handed.

            The second Guardian had reached Bob; the backhand of the first’s mailed fist threw the elf to the ground.  The gnome-laden warrior turned; briefly, a green light shone through his armor before it collapsed as if the person inside had been taken out.  Tusit fell to the ground, bleeding from the scalp.  Mica ran by and scooped him up as she went.

            Molly barely held off her opponent, and just when she’d braced herself for a blow she knew she couldn’t deflect in time, a warhammer smashed into the elf’s wrist as Forge lunged to her defense.  The blonde elf, who had been caught up in the intricacies of battle, thrust where Forge's heart should have been, but only gave him a shallow gash along the ribs.  Molly's elf made a grab for the sword he had dropped at his injury.  Grog engaged the blonde elf, which was the only thing that saved Forge from giving his personal regards to trahnesI -- directly.

            As the remaining Guardian grabbed Bob and lifted him up, green light began glowing from beneath his armor.  The Guardian froze. Mica charged, chopping at the warrior’s wrist with her sword.  It struck with a ring, but nothing happened.

            Forge went back to the blonde elf, figuring Molly could take the dark one now -- the blonde fended off both his and Grog's attacks, though the kita sidesliced him on the back of the calf.  At this he leapt backwards, trying to keep all three of his attackers in view, and called something out to his companion.

            Molly side sliced, trying to catch her opponent before he could grab his sword, but with a nimble dodge to the right he scooped up the weapon to fend off her attack.  They faced each other, he with sword in left hand, his right mangled, and she with a nasty cut on her left arm. He responded, shortly, to the other elf, and both backed away.

            Mica stuck her leg out and let Tusit slide to the ground, sheathed her sword, and scavenged the pile of armor for the green-glowing dagger.

            Tusit, still floating in the void, asked the unseen forms, “Speaking of assistance, I don’t suppose you’d know of a way to get those guys to put me down and leave me alone?”

            The gnome’s eyes popped open at the impact to see cobblestones, up close and personal. Well, that was one way to get it done, he mused. Unfortunately, everywhere that hadn’t hurt before, did now.  Good gods.  That’s the last time I lose consciousness around you people! He heard combat and dwarven cursing behind him, some strange half-choking, half-gasping noises to one side, and the sound of scrabbling, Mica's cursing, and pieces armor being thrown about on the other side.  It answered some questions he’d had, but Tusit decided overall it would be safer if he just played dead and silently thanked The Powers That Be for somehow managing to get him put down, bring Mica there for him, and take care of the Guardians, whom he evidently no longer needed to concern himself about, because the brief peeks he risked granted him a view of Guardian armor parts flying by.  So either the Guardians were over in a corner stripping and Mica was making them do it (and not liking what she was seeing), or they were being rapidly disassembled.   He slowly moved his head around so he could see something useful.

            Mica, after quite a bit of digging, uncovered the dagger’s handle, though the blade had disappeared.  She thrust it into her belt and re-drew her sword, alternately cursing and praying.  When she turned to the Guardian, she felt her belt shake, and the dagger blade flared into existence, then settled to a dull green glow.

            The Guardian lowered Bob to the ground, turned, and advanced in Tusit's direction.

            No way! I just got that bastard back! MY GNOME! With a savage, protective glint in her eyes, the holy warrior grabbed up the unconscious mage by the back of his shirt, rolled him under her arm, and took off running.  “Run, Bob!”

            Tusit had just about gotten to the point of seeing something useful when suddenly his world spun, rotated, got yanked -- he felt impact and movement -- and when he dared peek, he saw Bob and a green-glowing Guardian pursuing.  Tusit concentrated very hard on thinking “I am not me” thoughts.  This is not the gnome you are looking for. This is not the gnome you are looking for. This is not the gnome....

            Forge watched the retreating elves.  “Elves being as bad as they are -- I think we’ll let ‘em go this time.  Whaddya think?”

            Grog nodded enthusiastically.

            “Shall we go find Mica?” Forge suggested.  He grabbed Thistlepouch by the back, swung her up to his shoulders, and strategically advanced to the rear.

            The blonde elf raised his blade in salute before he and his companion turned to head back into town.

            Thistlepouch frowned, puzzled.  A minute ago, the elves had been ready to kill them all, and now they’d just saluted -- or insulted, she wasn’t sure which -- them and left.  Elves, she decided, were very weird.  She glanced over her shoulder a few times to make sure it hadn’t been a trick, but they didn’t return.

            “Um, yeah!” Forge replied, a little confused.  “Up yours, too!”  He turned and chugged after Mica, figuring she’d probably gotten herself into trouble, grabbing the extra dagger on the way by.  When he looked up, he saw Mica running away, with Bob flanking a green-glowing Guardian in pursuit, and the stupid flappy brown bald chicken on his shoulder.  “Piss,” he uttered heartfeltly.  “I really wish I had Tusit, have him plant one of those Magick darts right in the stupid thing’s head.  Grog, before I forget again, where’s Darwin?”

            “At house.  Elves attacked us before got to boat.”

            Forge took a deep breath, trying to reorder his plans. “Gotcha.  Shall we catch up to Mica?”

            “Kee.”

            “Kay. Glad we’re all agreed here! I’m sick of stupid -- elvish -- crap and dumb glowing green Guardians!”

            “Um, Bob doesn’t look like he’s helping, and that green Guardian is glowing, and- let’s go that way,” Thistlepouch suggested in a rush.

            “Gotcha.”  Forge set her down, and Thistlepouch tore after the opponents, Forge and Grog quickly outdistancing her, and Molly in between.

            As they approached, Bob took one look at them and ran into a side alley.

            “Mica, you’ve got throw daggers, right?” Forge asked over his shoulder.

            “Right.”

            “Hit him.”

            The dagger sang through the air and lodged itself firmly in Bob's posterior.  He reached around, pulled it out, and ran in a limping trot down a side alley and out of sight.

            “He stole my dagger!” Molly cried in indignation, but gave it up for lost and ran at the walking pile of metal.  She scratched her knife along the metal, but didn’t inflict any damage.

            Forge had reached the Guardian.  Yup, he thought as he swung, I know this is stupid. Nice knowin’ ya, Hades.  Guess I’ll see you in a little while, trahnesI! The blow had little force behind it, though.

            The Guardian turned to face them, but did not attack.

            Forge blinked at him.  “Hey, howya doin’?”

            No response.

            “Um, your pizza’s ready?”

            No response.

            He turned Molly.  “What do you think -- should we just find the others and get back to the boat?”

            The Guardian raised a steel-covered hand and reached for the dwarf’s hammer.

            The Guardian’s other hand reached up to pull the first hand down.

            Forge, curious, removed the amulet from his hammer, put the hammer in his belt, and held up the amulet.

            The amount of force generated between the arm trying to move up and the arm holding it down began to make the metal ping.

            “You might want to get out of the way,” Forge warned Molly, and sung his medallion hard at the Guardian.

            IMPACT!

            The hand that had been trying to move upwards flashed white, the other flashed a condensed green, and the helmet where he’d been struck flashed black.  After a pause, the Guardian stepped forward with one foot, and with more pinging, the right hand slowly began to move upwards.

            Forge swung his amulet again.

            This time the entire upwardly mobile arm glowed white, less of the other arm glowed green, and the helmet and the helmet and streaming down onto the breastplate glowed black.

            Molly ducked and rolled out of the way as she saw Forge going for a swing from below.

            Everything except the right hand -- white -- and the left hand -- green -- (the gauntlet metal on both hands bending from the conflicting forces) turned black.

            “Hey, Molly, while I keep him.... diverted... you want to go grab the others and tell them to get back here and help?”  The next shot he aimed for the left hand -- the force of the explosion knocked him backwards, and he heard a deep, throaty laugh in his head.

            thank you. i could use another servant.

            “Get out of my head!” Forge wailed.

            The Guardian, now glowing completely black, drew his sword and saluted the dwarf.

            “Um, Hades?” the dwarf inquired.

            yes?

            “That was you that just thanked me, wasn’t it.”

            yes.

            “Okay. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t serving some other demonic asshole.” 

            The Guardian returned his blade, turned, and walked away.

            Forge went to the alley where he’d seen Bob, half-hoping not to run into him, and didn’t.  No trace of Molly's dagger, either.

            Molly, meanwhile, had sped to catch up with Mica, Tusit, Thistlepouch, and Grog.  The kita heard a pittering of footsteps from behind and snuck a quick look.  “Hi, Molly,” she greeted as the guard whizzed by.

            Mica glanced back, saw Molly, nodded.  “To the boat?” she asked Grog, running beside her, between puffs.

            “Kee.”

            “That *pant pant* okay? The boat’s *huff* safe?”

            Pause.

            “Dunno.”

            “Guess we’ll *pant* find out. We should *pant pant* find the others.”  She slowed, glanced around.  Grog stood beside her, Molly rapidly approaching, Thistlepouch some distance back.  Forge was running, too, gaining on the kita, and the Guardian was walking off in a different direction missing half of its left arm.

            Once they’d congregated, Thistlepouch made an important inquiry.  “Is there supposed to be smoke coming from the docks area?”

            Looks of dread simultaneously entered four faces.

            Tusit twitched.

            “Hey, Grog, go get Darwin,” Forge instructed.

            “I’ll come with!” Thistlepouch volunteered.

            “No!” Grog countered adamantly.

            “I’ll come with.  I just need you to carry him,” Forge told the tall human.

            “Need blocker,” Grog informed them.  “Elves attacking house.”

            “Here.”  Mica flopped her burden over Molly’s shoulder because her arms had gotten too tired to carry him anymore.  “You carry Tusit.” The trade-off jarred the gnome’s shoulder.

            “Owwwwwww......”

            Mica frowned.  “Never mind.”  She took Tusit back and dumped him on the ground, where he curled into a fetal position.  “You have NO IDEA what I just went through to save your scrawny butt!”

            “Oh, just leave me alone,” he groaned.  “Go get Darwin.”

            After much bickering and deciding over who exactly should go get Darwin and who if anyone should go to the boat, Thistlepouch (who had finished binding people up with strips of cloth; Molly did the same for her) pointed out that most of the walk was actually the same, so they decided to go get Darwin together... which suited her just fine, as an elven invasion and sneaking out a wounded comrade would make a great story, and she thought it would be easier to write if she’d actually been there.

            Once close to Merchant Antonio's abode, the group spotted five elves waiting at the entrance with their swords drawn, all wearing armor like the dark-haired elf’s.  Also, elves in green without armor but with longbows ranged around the exterior of the house, occasionally firing through windows.  The archers each had a dagger and a blade almost long enough to be a shortsword.

            Forge turned to the bulky human.  “Grog, I need you to remember, did they initially attack you or Bassano’s men?”

            “Our stuff.”

            “Our stuff? They didn’t care about Bassano’s people?”

            “Nope. Then attack house.”

            “So it’s something we have,” Mica deduced.  “Can anyone think of something we have that they might want?”

            All eyes went to the gnome, who was busy looking accusingly at the kita, so it took him a couple moments to realize he was the center of attention.  “Me?!”

            “Do you have the tinglestick?” Mica addressed the kita.

            “Yup!”

            “And do you have my other dagger?” Forge asked with amazing patience. 

            She checked her person.  Negative.  “I don’t have it.”

            He sighed and wondered who’d ended up with it.  “Any tingly things you left behind?”

            “Nope!  I’ve got everything that’s mine.”

            And some stuff that isn’t too, the dwarf added mentally, then tried another tack.  “What do you have of importance at the house?”  he asked the group in general.  “I doubt they’re after my ale, and if they are, well, we won’t have any problems fighting them.”

            “The only things I had that could possibly have attracted this much attention got burned,” Tusit informed them.

            Forge sighed. This wasn’t getting them anywhere.  “You ready, Grog?  We’ll try it peacefully, first.”

            Thistlepouch snickered.

            “Um, time out?” Tusit interrupted.  “You’re going in against four -- possibly more -- archers, plus armed men.  You won’t make it twenty feet.”

            “Do I need to remind you that Darwin is in there?” Forge asked with a cold glint in his eyes.

            “No, you don’t! And I fully agree that we should find a way in.  However, I don’t think the elves are the way to go.  Perhaps the back door?  Anyone have to go to the bathroom? I’m quite adept at finding the privies.”

            “Shouldn’t you have thought of that before we left?” Thistlepouch frowned, but followed.

            When they reached the servants’ entrance, they caught sight of an elven archer, dressed all in green, hunched down amongst the bushes so that anyone coming out the back door wouldn’t see him, so he’d have a perfect shot at them.

            The gnome spotted him first, made shushing motions at the group, and cast Sleep on the sniper.  The effort gave the mage a headache, but the elf slumped.

            Mica slit the assassin’s throat.  She wiped her sword on his clothes. And looted the body (weapons like she’d seen on the other elves, but no money or personal belongings), since she was there.  But did not burn it.  Yet. “Can you tell if there’s anybody in there, Tusit? Magickly?”

            “My guess is that if there are elves outside,” Forge put in, “there are people inside.”

            Tusit was busy examining the breastpatch on the elf’s uniform: a broken sword resting underneath a crown surrounded with flames.  He cut it off with his dagger to keep for future reference.  That done, he went to open the door.

            It wouldn’t budge.

            Someone whispered behind the door.

            Mica turned to Molly.  “Is there a metal bar or a password or something?”

            Molly gazed blankly at the door and shook her head.  There was no metal bar, no password.  She wasn’t even sure there if there was standard protocol for a siege.

            Forge knocked.

            “Who’s there?”  The voice sounded human -- and scared.

            “Forge.  We’ve got this side cleared -- could you let us in so we can get Darwin?”

            “No! You might be elves!”

            “Do I sound like an elf?” the dwarf asked, insulted and exasperated.

            “Good sir,” Tusit tried, “we have cleared the back door if you need a route of escape.”

            “How do I know you’re not elves?”

            “It’s Mica. I know Bassano. Open up.”

            Pause.  “Okay.  I’ll open it a crack.  But I have -- fifty! Fifty -- large guards back here -- with swords!  And they’re ready to cut you to pieces if you look like elves!”  The sound of a large bar being drawn back-

            Tusit pushed on the door.

            “NO!”  The door slammed shut, the bar jammed into place.

            “You can’t hold us all out here!” Tusit yelled.

            “Grog, help,” Forge instructed.

            “Don’t force the damn door,” Mica warned, but Forge and Grog, shoving on the door, ignored her.

            “Please let us in,” Thistlepouch requested.

            “No! You’re elves! I just know it!”

            “We’re not.  We’ve got Molly, one of Bassano’s head guards out here.” Forge turned, exasperated beyond belief, to her.  “Molly, say something.”

            “Ah- something.”

            “Is that you, Molly?”

            “Yes.  Open the door, please.”

            “Do I have to?”

            “Do you want to live?” Tusit threatened.

            Thistlepouch reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth.

            “YES! That’s why I don’t want to open the door! I want to live!”

            “You’ll live!” Molly shouted.  “Open the door!”

            The door creaked open slightly.  Tusit, cranky and sore and tired, pushed the kita’s hand away but said nothing.

            A servant peeked out.

            “Hello, good sir,” Mica greeted him in her most non-threatening voice.  “Could you let us in before the elves come around, please?”

            He opened the door a bit more.  “You’re not elves,” he said, in some wonder.

            “NO!” the entire group chorused.

            “Oh good!”  The servant slammed the door open and bolted past them.

            A body with an arrow sticking out of its chest lay in the hallway beyond.

            “Grog, you stay to guard the door. Bar it. Stay away from windows,” Forge instructed. “I want to drink with you again.”

            “Let’s split up,” Mica suggested.  “Molly knows where the armory is; she can get us the weapons we need.”

            “I’ll follow her,” Tusit said.

            “Could you get me a small bow, some arrows, and a buckler?” Forge requested.

            “What kind of healing stuff do you have, Tusit? Are you all stocked up?” Mica inquired.

            “Hmm. That’s a point.  I’ll catch up with you, Molly.”

            “I’m coming with you,” the kita told the dwarf and Mica.

            As the group approached the kitchen on their way farther into the house, they heard frantic screams.  Mica went first, her sword out.

            “Be careful,” Forge warned.

            As they cautiously peeked around the door, they caught sight of the cook, seated on the floor and having hysterics.  Next to her lay a page sporting an arrow through his neck.  There was nothing they could do for either of them, so they split ways -- Tusit to the pantry, Molly to the armory, and Mica, Forge, and Thistlepouch to find Darwin after they agreed to meet back in the kitchen.

            When the threesome reached the main entry area, they saw Bassano and many guards crouched, piling stuff in front of the doors.  Bassano looked up as they went quietly past.  Mica saluted.  Bassano raised his hand, looked like he was about to say something, then shook his head and went back about his business.

            Mica hurried up the stairs after her companions.  Thistlepouch scurried off to see if she could find Melissanna, who was not in her room.  The kita gave up, not knowing where else to check, and for all she knew, the Lady might still be at the Pavilion.  She grabbed her costumes on the way back to join the others (they’d been hidden to be sure they’d stay a surprise).  Mica and Forge found Darwin sitting up in bed, trying to pull clothes on and cursing in a continuous stream.  Most of the discernible words involved elves.  Forge smiled and tossed him a flask.

            Darwin glugged, coughed, and grinned. “Yeah!  Time to kill us some elves!”

            Forge scratched his beard.  “Yeah, so.  We’re sneakin’ out.  Sorry.”

            Darwin stared at him in disbelief.

            “I know, I know, but they took all of our stuff, and -- you know -- we have to get in a boat and go somewhere so we can kill some orcs.”  A pause.  “And right now the elves’re burning all the boats.”

            The other dwarf sighed, weighed the benefits of splitting open orc heads versus splitting open elven heads.

            “Remember,” Forge prompted, “orcs are the things that got you turned into a pig.”

            “And they do squit so satisfyingly.”

            “Oh, I know. And they don’t have those damned swords.”

            “Fine. Fine, we’ll let the elves live.”

            “If we do run across some of them, we can have some fun with them,” Forge allowed.

            “All right, I’m killing the next elf I see, but after that, that’s it.”

            “We can share Bob,” Forge offered.

            Darwin hesitated.  “I don’t know about that damned chicken of his, though.”

            “Oh, it’s dying soon,” his cousin assured.

            “Okay then.”

            They met the kita in the hallway, then went downstairs.

            “Why are the elves attacking?” questioned Forge of Bassano.

            He gave the dwarf a flat, yet somewhat perplexed look.  “I have no idea.”

            “The back’s been cleared,” Mica said, “if you want to send anybody out, we’re going that way.”

            “In that case, I think I may join you.  Neither Melissanna nor Merchant Antonio are in the house, which is why I’d been planning to attempt getting out through one of the windows to see if we can find them.”

            “No. Windows are bad,” Mica advised him.

            “I’d noticed.”

            “Do you have a shortbow I could use?” Forge requested.  “I’d probably be better with it than some of the servants who are carrying them around.”

            “Yes, we handed all the weapons out to any servant who could carry one.  There must be a page carrying one around here somewhere who doesn’t know a bow from his arse -”  A quick look around revealed a servant, quivering in fear, kneeling to one side of a window.  “Servant!  The bow!”

            He looked at Bassano, back at the window, at Bassano, back at the window, then threw the bow in Bassano’s general direction and curled up with his arms covering his head.

            Forge grabbed it up.  “We’re meeting the rest of our party in the kitchen.”

            “I’ll assemble a force and meet you there.  The Pavilion was the last known location of Merchant Antonio and Lady Melissanna.  If you are going there, I can offer some protection.  If you are headed for the docks, however, I’m afraid I can’t offer much.

            “The Pavilion’s still standing, right?” Forge asked.

            The Guard Captain nodded.

            “Then we shouldn’t go there.”

            Bassano gave Forge a funny look, then began assembling a group of guards as the others left, Forge pulling arrows out of any dead bodies they came across.

*                      *                      *

             Meanwhile, down in the armory, Molly discovered a few barrels of arrows -- which people frequently came for -- and nothing else. All the weapons that had been on the pegs were gone, so she grabbed as many arrows as she could and hustled back to the kitchen.

            Tusit met her in the hallway as he headed toward the armory to help out.  “Slim pickings?” he asked with a sad, exhausted expression on his face.

            “It’s all that was there!”

            They returned to the kitchen, and after a bit of waiting, their comrades, then Bassano and a troupe of guards joined them.

            “I think we should let them go first,” Mica said quietly aside to her friends.

            Forge made a show of examining his arrows.  Mica mused upon the hooter of Athena.  Tusit checked his herb supply, and Thistlepouch bounced from foot to foot, impatient. Forge, partly against his better judgment, handed something to the kita to keep her occupied.  “Here.  Examine my dagger.”

            Obediently, she did so, though she could see nothing wrong with it.

            Bassano finished the instruction of his guards and turned to the adventurers.  “Any objections to us taking the lead?”

            Adamant shaking of heads.

            “I thought not.”  He gave the guards the go-ahead.

            As Bassano and the group followed the guards, Tusit asked about gnome-sized crossbows (there had never, to Bassano’s knowledge, been any), and Mica thanked the Guard Captain for the time he had taken to instruct her. 

            “Hey, Bassano.  We’ll have to drink together sometime,” Forge said gruffly, and the Guard Captain knew it for thanks.  The dwarf turned then to Tusit and asked quietly, “You got some spell or something to tell us what’s beyond the door?”

            “That’s what they’re for,” the gnome returned just as softly with a nod towards where Bassano’s underlings had departed.

            Some guards had grabbed tables to use as shields while a couple others disassembled the hinges.  They let the door fall inward, and the table-bearing guards moved forward to the door, than slowly further, while others scanned the yard.  Nothing.  They cautiously advanced.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  The guards spread out through the yard at a run (except for two who stayed back to reassemble and re-bar the door), sending back whistles that Molly recognized as the all-clear.  Bassano waited, counting the whistles until they equaled the number of guards, then informed the group, “They found nothing.”

            “Can I carry you, Thistle?” Mica asked.

            “Okay,” she agreed, though didn’t precisely understand the request.

            “I carry,” Grog said, holding out his arms; Mica, at a nod from the kita, handed her over.

            “How you doin’, Darwin?  Can you keep up?” Forge asked his cousin.

            “Yeah.”

            “How about you, Tusit? Can I give you piggyback?” Mica turned to the gnome.

            “You were carrying me around limp, earlier.”

            “You weren’t supposed to be awake.”

            “I’ll take him, Mica.  I’ve got more stamina,” Forge volunteered.

            Bassano whistled a trill, and the guards returned and formed up.

            “Tell Melissanna I’m sorry we had to leave without saying good-bye,” Thistlepouch requested.

            “I will,” Bassano promised.  “Good luck, and safe journeys.”

            “I hope she enjoys the ball,” Tusit said over his shoulder.

            Forge did not duck on his way out the door.

            On the way to the docks, they found their belongings ransacked and strewn about the street; Thistlepouch threw whatever stuff she could find and bundled it up, randomly stuffing it in pouches (not all of them her own) and bundling it in cloaks.

            Mica suddenly slapped herself on the forehead.  “Piss!  I forgot to kill Ens!  I bet that’s part of what the elves are after.”

            Once they’d collected as much as they could and had gotten nearer the docks, the shouts picked up.

            “Let’s get ready to fight,” Mica put in.

            Tusit held his spear in both hands, readied for the charge.

            Forge looked up, noticed his carry-on-baggage’s jousting position.  “Um, no.” He set Tusit down and readied his bow.

            “Oh, bother.”

            At the docks, many boats flying flags with the symbol Tusit had cut from the elf’s shirt dominated the water.  Three were empty, five waited in line to dock, which held elves shooting arrows at dockpeople, two were docked and spilling elves dressed like the archers and elves garbed in bright colors with ornate breastplates and swords.  Smoke spiraled up from a few buildings behind guardsmen trying to hold position on the wharves.

            Mica took in the rapidly decreasing dock population.  “I think we might want to blend in a bit if we intend to stay alive.  Let’s make like barrels.  Second suggestion: maybe we want to wait until night to get away?  We all know basic navigation, but I think Grog's the only -”

            “I know how to puke over the side,” Forge offered, sounding a little woozy at the memory.

            “Yes,” Mica agreed, “you’re very good at that.  If worse comes to worse, we can take another boat, though it won’t be as good as ours.  If only we had black sailcloth!”

            “I could make small trips,” suggested Thistlepouch.

            Mica looked dubiously at her. “We’ve got a lot of boat.”

            “Why don’t I go check it out.  Much as I hate to admit it, I do look like one of their young -”

            “We haven’t seen any of their young yet,” the priestess reminded her.

            Thistlepouch shrugged. “Everyone else seems to see the resemblance.”

            “Is there any way we could ambush one of the smaller elves for his clothing and put it on her?  They’re taller,” Tusit acknowledged, “but from three or four blocks away, nobody’ll be able to tell.”

            “And what happens when somebody comes up and asks why she’s not in ranks?” countered Mica.

            “We dress you in one too,” Forge told her.

            “Oh, so I get full of holes as well as the kita!” She frowned, then got an unholy glint in her eye.  “We should burn their boats before we go.  It’ll cause plenty of panic.”

            “Actually, I’d already thought about that,” Tusit admitted.  “If I could rest for a couple hours -”

            “I will pillow you on my bosom!” Mica declared rapturously.

            Thistlepouch burst into giggles.  “Gnome nose!” was all she managed to get out.

            “Pillow! As in head -- not faceplant!” corrected the holy warrior.

            “- I could probably set arrows before they’re launched,” the mage continued as if neither woman had spoken.

            “Can you set boats?” Mica questioned hopefully.

            “Not at range, no, but I can set arrows, so we won’t need to start an on-board fire. But if I’m going to be of any use, I need some rest. Could we find a secure location? Anyone coming down the street could see us.”

            “Okay,” Thistlepouch decided.  “Let’s find a secure spot.  Then you and I can recon the docks, Mica, while the others guard Tusit's rest.”

            They found a warehouse a bit off the beaten path and holed up inside.  Mica put on her dark-colored cloak as Thistlepouch handed off her staff, costumes, and her outer jacket, then donned her own dark cloak.

            Tusit cast invisibility on Mica. “You cannot attack anyone, and try to stay inconspicuous.  You cannot be seen unless you break the spell. The spell will last for twenty-four hours.”

            “Neat!” She turned to Thistlepouch.  “Do you think I’ll be able to see your dragon now that I’m invisible?”

            “I don’t think he’s around.  I’m hoping he shows up, though,” the kita put in.

            Tusit curled up to sleep.

            A strange flapping noise sounded from the roof of the warehouse.

            Thistlepouch stood over Tusit with her dagger at the ready.

            Something the size of a standard room began to tumble from above.

            Mica ran for the door, Forge hot on her heels after he grabbed up Tusit.

            Heavy, black cloth draped over the entire party.

            Murfle!

            “Pickles!” Thistlepouch cried in delight.

            “Oh, wow!” Mica exclaimed.

            “You like my dragon now?”

            “I never disliked your dragon -- I just didn’t know he could read minds!”

            “Sorry. Go back to sleep,” Forge apologized to the gnome, who curled up and did just that.

            Mica, meanwhile, had begun examining the fabric and found to her relief that it had places to attach rigging.  When she’d satisfied herself that it would work, she turned to the kita. “C’mon, Thistlepouch. Let’s go see the boat.”

            The women left as Forge set about exploring the warehouse, Grog folded the sail, Tusit and Darwin slept, and Molly stared pensively into the darkness.

            About three steps into the street, Thistlepouch felt a horrible tickling in her nose. Oh, no, not now not now! She scrunched her nose hoping it would help, and when that didn’t work, tried rubbing her finger under it vigorously, but that only served to aggravate the tickle.  She buried her face in the crook of her elbow, hoping to muffle herself, but the quiet achoo!  still caught one of the dock guards’ attention.

            “What the -?!” he exclaimed, turning, and was suddenly on the receiving end of an elven arrow fired at random from the boats.

            Thistlepouch smiled sheepishly up to the right, where she figured Mica stood.  “Sorry.”

            Mica, on the left, raised an eyebrow, but they continued on their way.

            One block further, Thistlepouch tripped and stumbled into a barrel, knocking it over, but luckily a rallying cry from the dock guards drowned out the racket the kita made.  She frowned and shook her head in consternation, wondering where her coordination had suddenly disappeared to.

            “I’ll give you a piggyback ride home,” Mica's voice whispered from slightly behind and to the left.

            As they neared the boat, the adventurers saw that the side nearest them was black.

            “Piss,” Mica swore softly, told Thistlepouch to wait, and quickened her step.  When she got closer, she saw that it was not charred but painted black; a bucket of black paint stood nearby.  A quick inspection revealed nothing out of place, though the old sail had been lowered, and all but a few small spots had been painted.  She went back to where Thistlepouch was discretely hopping from one foot to the other. “Thistlepouch,” she whispered, and saw the kita jump.  “The boat hasn’t been burned; it’s been painted.”

            A slow grin worked its way onto the small face. “Good Pickles!”

            “Yes, good Pickles.  The old sail’s been taken down, and it doesn’t look like anything’s missing. I want to check something else out before we go back to the guys, so why don’t you wait here. I’ll be back in a few moments.”  She crept off again, plotting their course of escape. Out of curiosity, she cut a couple boats loose to see what would happen.

            Thistlepouch, meanwhile, watched as an occasional boat sailed away, whereupon an elven galley approached. Either the boat turned back or a rain of arrows showered it and the elven galley sailed away, leaving the boat to drift out with the tide.  After a bit, she noticed a couple other boats drift from the docks for no apparent reason. The elves investigated them, too. The kita looked over the closest vessels; the rowboat held little interest, but the nearest barge held wheat. Dry wheat.

            “Hello, Thistlepouch.”

            The kita looked up in the dusk to the direction of the voice.  “Mica, does wheat burn?”

            “Yes it does!  Hey, do you have any extra pouches? A fairly big one?”

            A quick rummage turned up one of considerable size for the kita -- mediumish for Mica. She filled it to near the top with ten pounds of the wheat.

            “Hey, neat; the bag disappeared, too!”

            Mica paused, smiled, and decided this could be quite handy. And also decided that a kita with an invisibility spell could be a dangerous handful. “C’mon, let’s head back.”

            Once reunited with their friends, Mica filled the group in on the recent developments (Forge smiled at the mention of the flammable wheat barge) and told them she was off to set a couple more boats free.  “Meet you at the boat at full dark?”

            “Yeah,” Forge answered, going over to wake up and fill in the gnome as the human slipped out the door.  When he had almost finished, a firm knock rapped the warehouse door.

            “Is there anyone in there?” asked a strangely-accented voice. “If there is, please make noise.”

            Forge nocked an arrow as everyone else huddled into the shadows.  The door rattled, and Thistlepouch was suddenly glad they’d thought to bar it behind Mica.

            The voice spoke in another language for a bit, then came a scraping as something lifted the bar, and a loud thump as it fell away.

            Forge motioned everybody back, even though they couldn’t see him.

            The door swung open, revealing an elf silhouetted in the torchlight.  He peered around, called something over his shoulder, sighed, and spoke again in the accented All-Speak, “Again, if there is anyone here, please make a noise? We simply need to register your presence.  .  .  to make sure you are not unaccounted for.  .  .  anyone here?”

            “Rarow?” A cat slinked towards the light, rubbing against the elf’s britches.  .  .  and pissing on his boot.  .  .  before continuing on its way.

            The elf looked down at his newly-soiled boot, chuckled shortly, and called something back in elven.  Several voices laughed behind him a ways.  He sighed, shook his head (and his boot), and closed the door, his bootsteps receding.

            Tusit toddled over to rebolt the door.

            “We’ll be leaving soon,” Forge reminded him as he replaced his arrow in the quiver.

            “I don’t care.”  The bolt thudded into place.

*                      *                      *

            Mica looked around the harbor.  The elves had apparently finished unloading their boats, for the ten elven galleons sailed the harbor half a longbowshot away.  The two boats she’d released floated in the harbor unmolested -- those that had been drifting in the harbor before had been pulled out with the tide.  She untied one boat and stepped well out of the way to see what would happen.  None of the shore elves paid it heed, though one galley did sail over to investigate.  She released a common boat and a small boat from different points along the dock, then headed back to wait for the others.

*                      *                      *

            Thistlepouch bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet.  “Has it been ‘a bit’ yet? Mica’s gonna get worried.”

            It was the third time she’d asked that.  Forge figured that if it wasn’t, it must be close enough.  He didn’t want to hear her fuss anymore.  “Grog, can you get the sail?”

            “Kee.”

            “Thanks.”

            Thistlepouch slipped up to the door, removed the bolt, opened it a crack, and peered out.  Dark.  She opened it a little more, slipped out, and looked around.  A group of elves clustered around a torch went building to building, but their progress led them up and away from the docks.  She  stuck her head back inside.  “There’s a group of elves, but they’re going the other way.  Let’s go before another comes along.”

            They quickly and quietly made their collective way to the boat, where the invisible Mica had just begun to get concerned.  They climbed in, and Grog started to put on the new sail.  “If you guys sail down to the end of the dock,” Mica suggested, “I can run down, light the barge, then run back and meet you.”

            “Pickles,” Thistlepouch called softly, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

            “Do you have flint and steel?” Forge inquired, finding his to loan her if need be -- he had some, but not his.

            “I suppose that would be helpful, seeing as I can’t shoot lightning bolts out of my fingers,” she decided.  She checked and found a set of flint and steel, though the flint wasn’t the chunk she recognized as hers. No matter; it would work just as well.  “So I’ll light the barge when you get to the end of the dock and meet you there?”

            “Right,” Tusit agreed, and they heard her footfalls walk into the distance.

            Forge, exasperated, turned to the kita. “What do I need to do to keep my things in my pouches?”

            Thistlepouch blinked at him.  “You write your name on them, of course!”

            Tusit immediately started writing his nickname on everything.

            Forge, after a quick look at Grog and determining that he could be no help there, turned to Tusit.  “Have you got an extra writing something?”

            The gnome found that he did, so he handed it over, as well as the one he was using at Forge's insistence.

            The dwarf wrote Tusit's name on each pen with the other, handed one back to Tusit, and began sorting though his things, discarding anything he didn’t recognize.

            A hurt expression crossed Thistlepouch's face, and she went to the back of the boat to stare out over the harbor.  They were finally showing some sense and labeling the things they liked best -- but the gifts she’d given.  .  .  she sniffed, blinking back tears.  She’d just tried to make them happy.

            Tusit found a lot of paper he didn’t remember having -- some of it blank, some of it ledgers, and a couple extra copies of the Bugle -- and a pouch full of coins that didn’t used to be there. 

            Meanwhile, Forge continued adding to his pile.  .  .  that is, until his hand closed around a few dwarven coins.  He knew he hadn’t seen any of those since leaving his homeland.  He looked over to Thistlepouch, small and alone at the far end of the ship.  The dwarf finished labeling his stuff, put the things he didn’t deem useful into another pouch, hoping it would disappear, and made his way over to the kita.  He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.  “Thank you for the gifts,” he said gruffly.  “I didn’t mean to be mean.”

            She turned a bright, though tearful, smile to him.

            He nodded once, then turned.  “Hey, Grog, we ready to sail?”

            “Yeah. Boat okee.” 

            As Grog reached over to untie the rope, Thistlepouch called once more for Pickles, who did not appear.  She sighed, misting up again.  He knew they were leaving -- why couldn’t he have stayed closer?  A little rummaging produced dried fruit and a pickle, which she left on the dock so he would know she still cared.

            “Sail that way,” Forge instructed Grog, pointing to the port side of the boat.

            “Okee,” he assented, starting strong sweeps of the oars that would carry them to the end of the dock.

            A couple splashes with no apparent source sounded as they pulled away, from where their boat had been.

            “Pickles?” the kita called.

            No response.

            About half way to the end of the dock, a commotion erupted in the town, headed for the docks.  A couple screams, the sound of metal weapons striking, and a lot of yelling.

            Mica, once at the barge, realized the flaw in her plan: she couldn’t tell when the black-sailed black-painted boat reached the end of the dock.  She gave them a count of five hundred -- or would have, if the commotion hadn’t distracted her.  A rough estimate put it at four blocks over and eight blocks back or so.  Quick deliberation later, she opted not to burn the barge, but cut a few boats instead and hurried off as fast as she could without pounding on the dockboards.  When she’d gone four blocks, she glanced up the street towards the city to see a mob of combatants.  .  .  with Bassano at the center.  He and a collection of guards fought their way towards the docks, cutting down elves in front of them and dodging arrow fire from behind.  Once in a while someone would dodge behind cover or backtrack to take out some of their pursuers -- and it looked like Bassano could have safely gotten to the docks by now if he’d really wanted to, so what was he up to?!

            “Piss,” she cursed -- he was four blocks away, and she was four blocks to the end of the dock -- and four blocks to the barge.  She quick checked the barge in front of her and the ones to either side; they contained cotton, flour, and lumber respectively.  She lit the cotton barge, cut it, and gave it a bit of help floating into the harbor before she pounded off, no longer caring how much noise she made.

            About ten minutes after reaching the end of the harbor and docking, the party caught sight of a barge lighting -- but it was a lot closer than the one they’d expected.

            “She’s almost here,” Thistlepouch observed.

            The lit barge took a strange turn to the right, smashed into the barge full of lumber, and the two slowly twisted out into the harbor.  The one with lumber rapidly caught fire, too.

            “That was a neat effect,” Forge commented.

            “Go! Go! Get! Run! Go!” Mica hollered breathlessly and between pants as she neared the boat.

            Tusit cleared a landing spot for her to jump into.

            “Say when,” Grog said, at the oars.

            The gnome listened hard, heard the footsteps stop -- she must’ve jumped.  “GO!!!”

            Grog pulled.

            Something impacted the side of the boat.

            Thistlepouch ran over to where she’d heard the impact.  “Mica! Where are you?!”

            “I’m hanging onto the gods-cursed bloody boat! Where’s that gnome; I’m going to wring his little runty neck!!!!!”

            Water swished past the boat with every powerful stroke of the oars.

            “Forge! Over here!” the kita directed.

            Forge flailed around, trying to figure out where Mica was.

            “Quit hitting me in the head!” She swatted back, and the spell shattered.

            Visible target now attained, the dwarf hauled her inelegantly to the deck, where she landed with a thump.  “What was the fight about?” he inquired.

            “That’s Bassano. I tried to help him out as much as I could. Where’s Tusit?!”

            Thistlepouch and Forge cleared out of her way (“Nice knowing you,” the dwarf commented to the gnome) and the pissed-off holy warrior charged Tusit, who backed against the mast, grinning.

            “You made it, didn’t you?”  He started casting Continual Light, aimed at her nose, when he saw the rage in her eyes.

            “You want to start this? Fine. You almost left me behind, you little piece of centaur poop!”  She made a grab for him.

            Tusit had just about gotten the Continual part down when something went out like a light -- Tusit.

            Mica held up when the gnome passed out.  Her nose glowed briefly, then faded.  She couldn’t bring herself to dump him over when he was unconscious, though she glanced thoughtfully at the barrels of water they carried.

            Thistlepouch hoped this wasn’t going where she thought it was headed.  “I don’t know about you, Mica,” she put in, “but I don’t want Tusit-flavored drinking water.  I don’t know how long it’s been since he bathed!”

            The warrior assented, content to plot her revenge for later.

            Forge looked to his cousin.  “Should we help him row?”

            Darwin gazed unreadably back at him.  “Actually, I’d figured I’d just kinda pass out here -” And proceeded to do so.

            Thistlepouch went to check on him as Forge went to help Grog.  He’d reopened his chest wound, and needed the herbs Tusit had.  .  .  in his marked pouch, and no kita with any moral upbringing would touch someone else’s marked belongings.  But this was an emergency. Tusit would be doing the healing if he was awake, but he wasn’t, so.  .  .  she retrieved the cloth roll in which Tusit stored his herbs, unfurled it near Darwin, chose the ones she knew would help him, and dressed his wound.  She looked back at the towers of flame that were the barges as they left the harbor for Highport, and wondered where Pickles was, and couldn’t believe how many adventures they’d had in a city that had originally been just a stopping place so they could drop off Melissanna.  But then, it seemed she was always leaving somewhere....

            Mica, watching the kita tend to the downed dwarf, was suddenly glad she had not dumped Tusit over.  However, she was not, she decided, beyond  putting a fish in his underwear.

***

Disclaimer: The party almost made it through a chapter without something catching fire. They have been urged to join Pyromaniacs Anonamous, but the meeting hall burned down.