"But…I just don't understand what's happening!" she blurted. She paused, and then abruptly commenced to weep openly as Crumly's eyes grew wider. She had given her best effort to keep it all together, but during the last few hours, ever since the howling had ceased, she had been without defense against her own mind's mounting bombardment of woe. Both her husband and brother were yet counting on her, only now she didn't even have the small comfort afforded by the Doctor's presence. They were all going to become lost in this ill-twisted farce forever, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
"Sel…"
"I did what Kwibee said!" she pleaded. "But I just don't know what's happening now!" Her lower lip commenced to tremble.
"I've really no idea what you're…"
"Oh, what would you know, anyway!" she accused, gesturing with both arms in an expansive sweep, meant to include the entire pseudo-world.
"Umm…"
"I know, I know! The Barmaid and Tailor meant nothing! The only things important are the ratios, the correlations, and the damnable DIT!" she shouted at no one in particular.
"Perhaps I should give you a moment of privacy."
"Not that I'm claiming to be blameless, apparently." She abruptly downshifted to an incredulous but calmer tone. "If I read the pea soup this little slut calls memories correctly, then I married her best friend, and am currently in the middle of an illicit affair with my own husband!" She up-shifted to a shout that ended in several whining sniffles.
"What's a slut?" Crumly managed to inquire as the mad woman filled her lungs to continue.
"You know what?" she asked in a calm tone that somehow served to intensify Crumly's apprehension. "This entire mess is like some half-ass, grade-B story script. This stupid program should write for soap operas!"
Crumly took one slow step back. He had no idea what role soap might play in any Bardic tales, but if this mad woman was in possession of such an insidious bar, then he felt it quite prudent to remain outside her precarious reach.
"Hell, all that's missing is the poor dupe they always put through some horrendous accident, and then stick in a hospital with either amnesia, or a coma that lasts for six months, until he finally dies as their contract runs out…" She paused as she recalled her brother's situation. "Never mind."
"Love to," he mumbled.
"They're still out there somewhere," she whispered mournfully.
"Are you all right, Seli…"
"And if they move my little brother, he could end up as a vegetable!" she suddenly burst as the dam of emotional pressure exploded.
"I've never heard of a spell that could transform…"
"And Dieter just sits there drooling like Pavlov's dog, for God's sake!" she exclaimed in a voice that becoming higher in pitch, the more upset she became.
"I'm sure if you could just calm… Who's Pavlov?"
"And then…he was…brain dead…in…two plaaaaaaces!" she lamented incoherently between sobs, ending in a long and woeful whine.
***
While Crumly re-stoked the fire, Sarah lay beneath the blanket with only an occasional twitch to indicate that she continued to calm.
"Everything will be just fine," he assured her in a positive but gentle tone. "Just you wait and see. Everything will look better in the morning. Then we can begin our journey to meet with my Rogue friend."
"Okay," she sniffled from beneath the blanket.
"You see, he sent me ahead to find you, while he travels to greet the legendary Trickster, himself," he offered soothingly.
"All right," she mumbled sleepily.
"And once were all together, I'm sure he'll know how to help you. Won't that be nice, Selina?"
"MY NAME IS SARAH!" she screeched from beneath the blanket as it billowed with her expelled breath. "You got that, you little turd? That's SARAH!"
Chapter Five-Wuzzup, Druid?
At first, the music only wafted on the occasional breeze, a simple melody, soft and inconspicuous. It was not unlike what one might expect from a classical lullaby, or perhaps a softer version of some of the more upbeat medieval works, most often performed at social functions within circles of the upper crust, or perhaps even royalty, when discussions of politic natures require something tasteful, but unassuming.
It was, in fact, so devoid of any sudden audible motion that the tune continued without direct register for several minutes. As he listened without consciously hearing, he drifted further along that state of dreamlike non-sleep, which under other circumstances would surely have given way to consciousness much sooner.
At a certain point, the tune's perfect semblance of balance stumbled slightly, almost imperceptibly. The melody lingered for a moment longer, and then a single note from some form of woodwind instrument blared briefly, as if in protest to that sibling string instrument which had first stumbled, thereby desecrating the collective efforts of all instruments involved.
Again the melody continued, but only for a tiny march of notes, quickly followed by the now offended and offending string as it produced several highly pronounced and undeniably sour plunks, thus announcing its own protest of the Woodwind's rude reaction to what had only been an innocent mistake. Again the piece continued, though this time for an even shorter interval.
Then the drum, which up to this point had been content to simply remain the unobtrusive tempo required within the once perfect melody, abruptly voiced its own percussive objection by contributing the only punctuation for which drums are notable, i.e. "BOOM, BOOM, BOOM."
After that, the once beautifully relaxing melody commenced rapidly to unravel in an ever-escalating avalanche of unruly booms, raucous toots, and sour plunks, before finally coming to a screeching halt in a sudden and blessed silence.
For a moment, Jesse woke, but saw very little. At some point during the night he had pulled the covers over his head, perhaps to hold some form of unpleasant intrusion at bay. He rolled over, already slipping back toward the blissfully silent void of sleep.
***
"There's no call for alarm, Prince," Maestro Spinwyp offered in a low voice.
"That's two full days in a row, Maestro. Don't you find it odd?"
"Odd? Yes. Reason to instill panic? No."
"Aren't you going to do anything, then?"
Maestro Spinwyp pulled his beetle to a stop. "What would you suggest, Sibastian? Shall I walk up and ask it what business it has with us?" he asked expectantly. "Excuse me, Squire Hare. My friends and I were wondering as to what business you were about. You see, your presence has disturbed the Heir to the Lavish'nix Dynasty."
"You needn't continue to throw that in my face, Maestro," Sibastian admonished in a low voice.
"Perhaps, but I'm sure you see my point. Besides, after last night's performance, I should think your attentions would be better spent on study."
"That was not my fault!"
"Really? That was you on the lute, was it not?"
"Hail!" shouted Braumis as he and Miria returned.
"Did you find a Cleric?" the Maestro returned.
"Not really," Miria replied as she and the young Dwarf pulled their beetles up alongside of his.
"What's that suppose to mean?" Sibastian asked with his usual caustic flare.
"It means we located an apothecary," Braumis returned while tossing the pack of medical supplies to Sibastian, who tossed it back just as quickly as he caught it.
"Do no entrust it with me, dear Cleric. Personally, I don't care if the half-breed lives or dies. No. That's not quite true," he amended while slapping the reins. "If it were to die, then we could stop wasting valuable time. You should have taken my advice and left him," he sneered as he left them to return to his assigned position in the caravan.
"Siby loves a grand exit," Braumis bristled without his usual good humor.
"Oh!" exclaimed Miria. "We also found a small market."
"Yes," agreed Braumis with a subdued grin, his humor returning in light of Miria's acquisition.
"The sign o
ver the door read Majestic Antiquities , but it was mostly a collection of used things…"
"Trash," Braumis corrected.
"Yes… I suppose that's true, but if you were to believe the curator, it was all part of the lost treasures of Arbitos."
"I think that before our journey is over, you will find there are a great many business people in the world, much like the one you just met, my dear," the Maestro told her matter-of-factly.
"Well, anyway, we did manage to find some clothes that looked likely to fit the Half-elf." She brightened while untying the satchel of garments.
"Yes, well, the question left to answer is whether or not he can be convinced to don such threads," Braumis snickered while maneuvering his mount about.
"It's better than just a blanket," Miria returned defensively.
"That's debatable!" Braumis shouted over his shoulder while returning to his place in the caravan.
Maestro Spinwyp hopped over to Miria's mount, and opened the satchel for a better look. As he withdrew Miria's procurements, his brow knitted deeper until producing a proper scowl.
"It's all they had!" she intoned defensively.
"Hail, Maestro Goppi Spinwyp!" came a familiar voice from the south.
He quickly shoved the questionable clothing back into the satchel, and then hopped back to his own mount for a better vantage. Two figures were approaching from just outside the station's outer boundary.
"It's about time," Sibastian muttered.
"Hail, Master Morgyn Nowtright! Hail, Lady Minuet Pransis!" Goppi returned, sliding to the ground as the incoming Human and Gnome companions pulled their beetles to a stop.
"Well, just look at you!" Minuet exclaimed as she slid down to land at Maestro Spinwyp's feet, and quickly kissed his cheek. "Your hair has turned white as snow, old man."
"Who are you calling old, you ancient…"
"What's left of it," she noted without paying his partial rebuttal any notice. Quickly, she reached up to twist the wispy tufts of white above his ears into mustache tips.
"You're every bit my age," he insisted while raking the braid-like points out, and patting the wispy tufts back down.
"Perhaps," she returned casually. "But I think it's quite obvious that I've aged infinitely better than you," she crooned, turning about in display, and turning her nose up as she led her mount into line.
"Agreed," he whispered appreciatively, watching the way her pantaloons still offered that same enticing motion as when she was but a girl of eighty.
"Ah, Goppi. How grand to see you again," offered Morgyn with an official bow of respect.
"And you as well, old friend," returned the Maestro warmly.
"Tell me, have we a complete Complement, then?"
"If you wish to call it that," he returned with no enthusiasm.
"Not another misfit group, Goppi," he scowled. "This was to be a holiday."
"I really wasn't offered an option, Morgyn."
"Can they play at all?" he asked hopefully.
"Oh, indeed. As a matter of fact, they're all considered prodigies."
"Well, that's quite different. I thought there might be something wrong with them. You know, like that time you accepted an entire band of Barbarian children. Dear me, that was just disastrous…"
"They can't coordinate," The Maestro said quickly.
"What?"
"They…they're all strictly solo artists," he repeated. "None of them passed the Orchestra finals."
"Oh, Goppi. How do you keep getting into… You know that Minuet isn't going to put up with this."
"Actually, old friend," Goppi smiled genially, "I was rather hoping you and Mini might lend a hand. I'm sure they just need to witness a couple of real masters at work…"
"Well, Maestro," Morgyn laughed. "I cannot speak for her Ladyship, though I imagine she will tell you the same as I."
"Which is?"
"That I signed on to your little tour as a matter of relaxation, specifically because you assured me a full complement. If you wish to discuss business, you'll have to catch me in the office, after my vacation."
***
Miria climbed the ladder, followed closely by Braumis.
As they entered the makeshift hospice, the first thing they noticed was Aqua's absence. Ordinarily, this would not have seemed so out of place. Mistress Rainswalker was often a difficult target for the majority of chores. In this instance however, Aqua had failed miserably at concealing her unabashed curiosity concerning the stranger's anatomy. This brought their attentions to the large wiggling lump beneath the Half-elf's covers.
"She wouldn't!" her eyes shouted to his, which were quickly darting back and forth, as if to say, "Are you quite absolutely certain?"
"Will you two get your big behinds out of my way?" Aqua asked expectantly from behind them. As she entered, she noticed their pale expressions in what was turning out to be a most interesting, if not moral state of affairs. As she herself caught sight of the source of their pallor, her own face no doubt took on a similar hue of scandalous curiosity.
The blanket was briskly whipped away to reveal the Half-elf lying next to the same hare that had been following the caravan for the last two days. This seemed to offer an explanation to the animal's behavior, as the restless hare's back was cuddled against the Half-elf's back as if seeking refuge from a restless dream, denoted by the kicking motions from its hind feet. Unfortunately, the Pet theory quickly fell apart when the Half-elf opened his eyes from the abrupt rush of cold air now engulfing an otherwise unclad disclosure. The hairy-faced Elf first looked to the three detectives, and though his expression was surely an excellent model of alarm, he did manage to maintain a minimal composure.
Sadly, this nonverbal breakthrough in communications was to be short-lived, as his attention was suddenly drawn by his own raw condition, and further exacerbated by the strawberry blonde girl's expression of wide-eyed shock at the conclusion of her own personal quest in visual studies.
He quickly covered himself as best he could, readily accepting the brunette girl's offer to return the blanket she had wrenched from her strawberry associate's absentminded vice-grip. He then casually noticed the rabbit as he stood to wrap the blanket about his waist. His subsequent double-take on the rabbit was the primary requisite for tripping over one of the supply boxes as he scrambled away from said same fluffy follower.
As he fell along the canvas wall to land first on the beetle's shell, and then plunge downward through the open base of the tent, Jesse caught a glimpse of the rabbit/bloodhound as it peeked over the edge of the cot to witness the Druid tumble completely out of the tent, though without benefit of the blanket which had snagged on the very supply box he had tripped over. The expression on his scruffy face bore more than sufficient motive to warrant the hare's ears to a full alert status.
"I say! Is that from our storage?" Braumis asked expectantly as he noted the cabbage crumbs, which had become visible when the hare rose up to peek over the cot's edge.
"Sibastian! Braumis! Come help us put him back into the tent!"
"Not bloody likely!" Sibastian shouted.
"Be right with you!" shouted Braumis.
"Poor devil," Maestro Spinwyp remarked with a sigh.
"Who is he?" inquired Morgyn while removing his cloak to cover the unconscious figure.
"Not a clue, I'm afraid," replied the Maestro.
"I said, out!" grunted Braumis as he shoved the hare out of the tent, and then pushed it down the shell, so that it landed safely at the beetle's feet.
Momentarily disoriented, the hare blinked several times as it surveyed the gathering crowd, and bolting for a stand of nearby foliage.
"Good riddance, varmint!"
"What's all this, then?" Morgyn queried.
"That…that hare broke into our supplies!" Braumis reported indignantly, and then climbed down the shell to assist with the once again unconscious Half-elf.
"Is he all right?" Aqua asked as she and Miria descended behind Braumis.
"Well, I doubt that he'll starve, if that's what you mean," Braumis surmised while maintaining a keen eye on the surrounding foliage.
"I believe he's bumped his head again," the Maestro answered without apparent regard to young Harnom's single-minded supplement.
"We'll help him back to bed," Aqua offered.
"Oh, I think we can probably take it from here, my dear," the Maestro assured her. "Why don't you two young ladies see about fetching those nice new clothes?"
"Clothes?" intoned Aqua, quickly turning to Miria with a furrowed expression.
***
After re-securing the Half-elf, Minuet, Morgyn, and the Maestro conferred over the map before continuing.
"It's probably just road construction," began Minuet.
"All I know is Brinehaven is to the south, and that marker is pointing east," countered the maestro adamantly while pointing an accusing finger at the dubious road sign in question.
"It's just a detour," she insisted. Why are you making such a fuss?"
He considered the possibility for a moment, and said, "No, I've made this journey many times. Brinehaven is yet three days travel south of here. East will only dead-end at the coastline of a lengthy peninsula."
"I understand, but that doesn't indicate we'll be traveling anymore than a short jaunt before turning south again," Morgyn argued. "The roads in this province have a long standing history of washouts."
"It's been a score of summers, Goppi!" Minuet inserted tensely as she began to lose patience.
"Are you two insinuating I don't know the way?" the Maestro asked reproachfully. "Because washout or no wash…"
"Of course not," Morgyn injected, in hopes of defusing the Maestro before his temper got the better of him.
"Oh, stop coddling him, Morgyn!" Minuet blurted angrily, and then suddenly recalled why she and Goppi could never be around one another long enough to get past the flirting stage. "Look here, you old fool!" she stomped over to the sign, and pointed conspicuously. "It says so right on the post! D-E-T-O-U-R!"
"Now just calm down, Goppi," Morgyn began while frowning disapprovingly at Minuet.
"I am calm!" he assured Morgyn angrily.
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