The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 11
I winced at the state of my jacket and waistcoat. Stained with ale, they smelled like I’d spent the night on a brewery’s waste heap. My trousers were in no better condition. At least the grease I’d spilt on my shirt at breakfast no longer looked quite so prominent.
I brushed off the straw and a few other items that I daren’t examine too closely, and did my best to smooth the creases from my jacket with the palms of my hands.
With my dignity restored, I tugged at my cuffs and cast my eye about the alehouse to see where Grimmon had got to.
I frowned. He hadn’t exactly sprung to my defence when Hettgur had appeared.
I cast my gaze around the alehouse. Where was that spineless goblin?
Among the motley sea of inebriated faces grinning at me from every table there was no sign of his familiar green one.
Hettgur broke off her conversation with Trewla and grabbed my collar.
“Time to go,” she said. “This brownie of yours isn’t in here. I’ll pick up his trail outside.”
With that, she frogmarched me towards the door.
“How dare you manhandle me?” I said, flapping my hands against her steel-encased forearm. “Release me at once!”
“Not a chance. You’ll run off if I do.”
“I won’t! I promise.”
“Really? You won’t try to escape?” She stopped and regarded me through narrowed eyes. “On your honour?”
“Absolutely.” I drew my self up and saluted. “You have my word.”
With a curt nod, she released me. “Very well. But, if you try anything…” She patted the hilt of the sword at her waist.
Straightening my collar, I gave her my most earnest look. “You have nothing to worry about.”
You may be wondering why in the world I would make such a rash promise when she’d made it plain she was going to cut my head off as soon as our mission had been accomplished. I’m as keen as the next person when it comes to keeping my body in one piece, but it would be next to impossible to avoid that outcome if she continued with her unfathomable misjudgement of my character. It beggared belief she could have such a low opinion of me.
However, if I could earn her respect by showing her what I fine fellow I really was, I’d win her over and keep my head firmly attached to my shoulders.
The other thing I had to consider, of course, was the reality that if I ran off, I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. And, knowing what Hettgur is like, I wouldn’t get to do that too many times.
Seizing the initiative, I strode out of the door. “Hurry up,” I said over my shoulder. “Let’s find that damned brownie before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” said Trewla, coming outside and standing alongside me.
“Cosferas could very well leave the castle. It he does, we’ll never find him.”
And, that would mean my usefulness would come to an end as far as Hettgur was concerned. If I hadn’t persuaded her of my good character by then, she’d carry out her threat to remove my head from its customary place atop my body.
Trewla glanced at Hettgur who was slowly walking around in a circle in the middle of the street sniffing the air, her eyes glowing a baleful red.
The elf’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He won’t do that because–”
Her musical tones were interrupted by a loud grunt from Hettgur. The knight’s eyes returned to normal and she pointed along the street leading away from The Old Workshop.
“He’s over that way,” she said, striding off in the direction she’d indicated.
As we hurried after her my mind churned. What had Trewla been about to tell me? Did she know something I didn’t? It seemed unlikely, so I dismissed that line of thought.
Hettgur turned into a narrow lane and stopped outside a timber framed building with a single bay window at street level next to its front door.
“The bakery,” said Trewla. “Of course!”
Brownies are notoriously sweet toothed, so it should have come as no surprise he would be hovering around a place selling buns, cakes, and other candied delights. As the saying goes, hindsight, is a wonderful thing, and I ground my teeth at the thought that I could have avoided all that unpleasantness in The Old Workshop if I’d thought of going to the bakery first.
On the other hand, Trewla had told me to meet her at the alehouse and I hadn’t wanted to let her down. Besides which, who knows what trouble she might have gotten into if I hadn’t turned up when I did?
My stomach rumbled at the sight of the sausage rolls, pies and other pastries displayed in the window, reminding me not a morsel had passed my lips since breakfast.
“The brownie is inside,” said Hettgur, unsheathing her sword. “I’ll wait out here while you two go in and get him. If he tries to escape…” She flourished her glittering blade.
“Please put that away,” said Trewla. “We need him alive, remember?”
The knight grimaced and returned her sword to its sheath.
I pushed the bakery door open and stepped inside, Trewla on my heels.
At the aroma of freshly baked goods, my stomach emitted a growl loud enough to wake the dead. Or so I thought, but there was no break in the stream of loud snores coming from behind the counter.
I leaned over the countertop to take a look. A large man in a floury apron lay peacefully on the floor, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
“He’ll not wake til the spell of slumbering wears off,” said a familiar voice from above my head.
As one, Trewla’s and my eyes turned upwards.
Perched on a ceiling beam, his face covered in crumbs, was Cosferas.
He grinned at us and popped a piece of custard tart in his mouth. Flakes of pastry fluttered down to join the pile below him on the floor.
“Wait!” Trewla put out her hand to stop me.
But she was too late.
I leapt up and grabbed the brownie’s ankle. “Got you!” I bellowed.
Holding him upside down by one leg, I stared at his wriggling form, his screeches echoing in my ears, wondering what to do next.
I didn’t have long to wait before he decided for me.
He gave me an evil look, snarled, and with a puff of smoke, he vanished.
I recoiled, and involuntarily opened my hand. There was a thump as he dropped onto the floorboards and I was left clutching at smoke.
I let my arm drop to my side.
“I’ll get him next time,” I said, averting my face from Trewla.
I stole a glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
She didn’t seem impressed.
“Hettgur,” she called loudly. “I think you’d better come in here. It’s time to use your sword.”
*** Continued in episode 12 ***
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