We all lay in a pile, (Patreon)

fearful but too tired to run anymore. We waited in dread for the inevitable shriek of the dullahan and its heavy armored footfalls. Moments stretched into minutes and all I could hear was the oppressive silence that had been present before this mad chase started. No Johnny Six-Gills, no stampeding termite, no wailing dullahan; just Slovenly's wheezing breath and an occasional nervous click from Folly-La.

Finally I broke the silence with an irritated gasp: “Please get off of me… I can feel my vitals being crushed in at least four different spots.”

“My lord," said a muffled voice that sounded like Rebecca. "Please remain calm. Don’t give in to the skunk stereotype. My face is in a very compromised position.”

“Yeah, well somebody’s elbow is pokin me in the liver,” Burnside complained.

“Slovenly," Ralph groaned, "your hoof is jabbing me in the spleen.”

“Like, I can’t move my arms, man,” Slovenly protested.

“What does a spleen even do?” Phoebe asked.

“The spleen filters yer blood stream to remove dead an damaged blood an get rid o diseases an infections,” Burnside answered.

“How do you know that?” Rebecca asked from within the pile.

"Anatomical knowledge is real useful in my line o work," Burnside stated proudly. "You learn thangs as you go."

“I think this is kinda nice," Maeve murmured. "I feel really cuddly right now.”

“Merthy thaketh Thlovenly!” Folly declared triumphantly from atop the pile. Everyone laughed - everyone except me, that is.

“Less talking and more getting up, please!” I tried to command, but it came out as a breathy wheeze. It was hard to get a decent breath with everyone’s weight pressing down on me.

It took far longer than it should have, but after a lot of untangling, popping joints, sore muscles, and aching limbs everyone was finally free and standing. Rebecca and I were tangled the worst. After some very silly shenanigans, we finally extricated ourselves, but somehow our clothing was swapped. This could only have happened around those pesky lowfolk youths!

“That’s not a bad look for you, my lord,” Rebecca giggled. "And this royal satin is very comfy! I see now why you wear it all the time."

"You're not entitled to wear that trim pattern!" I grumbled irritably. "Take it off immediately."

"Gladly, my lord," Rebecca blushed. "I've been waiting for this moment. I just didn't expect it under quite these circumstances."

"Quit being silly and let's get changed back into our proper clothes!" I snapped.

Making use of a tarp that was lying nearby to preserve some of our modesty, Rebecca and I swapped outfits again.

"What's that under your foot, Burnside," I said, after that ordeal was over.

“EW!!!" the raccoon yelped, apparently noticing the manifest slip for the first time. "Did I step on somebody’s outhouse paper??”

“That’s a clue!" I declared. "Give it here.”

“You think used outhouse paper is a clue?”

“Just give it.”

“Suit yerself," she shrugged, lifting her foot toward me. "Just warsh yer hands after.”

“This appears to be a very detailed inventory manifest," I announced as I read the document. "Plaster bones, inflatable rubber props, magickally animated statues, sound devices, illusion casting devices disguised as everyday items, pyrotechnics, a steam powered mechanical termite, and unbelievable amounts of canned food. There is a name signed at the bottom: Eltsac Mailliw? Is that a Vulpitanian name? Why would the Vulpitanians be involved? Are they trying to prevent the city from being rebuilt? I know those conniving foxes love being needlessly obtuse, but this is a bit much even for them. I am simultaneously relieved and enraged to learn that this whole debacle is a complete fraud. Hmm. You lowfolk are good at finding ‘clues.' Did you grab anything good while we were running?”

"I found this brittle plaster bone,” Ralph stated, holding it up.

“I found this stuffed doll that looks like the dullahan," Phoebe grinned. "There were a lot more where I found this one. It’s cute!”

“A dullahan doll?" Maeve mused. "How odd. I found this pen that creates an illusion of a ghost. No doubt some fascinating technology this mad genius developed in secret.”

“Magick is real," I sighed wearily. "It’s not technology. A glamer like that would be kid stuff for an experienced magick user. I definitely wouldn’t call whoever is behind this preposterous show a genius.”

“Aw man," Slovenly whined. "Like, all I found is this crummy book.” He carelessly threw the book over his shoulder, where it skidded out of sight underneath some pallets.

“My lord!" Rebecca called from an open doorway across the entrance hall. "You should come and see this.”

“HOO BOY!" Burnside hooted from inside the room beyond. "You never looked so good, Adler honey!”

I stalked over in irritation, and then drew up with a gasp of astonishment as I saw what they had found.

It was an incredibly flattering statue depicting me as a true scion of Irenaeus; i.e. a bloodthirsty warlord standing on a pile of skulls with a poison vial (representing the Plague of Battles) in one hand, and the extremely inaccurate severed head of Estmere in the other. While I stood there trying to decide whether to be proud or outraged, Rebecca pointed down to a plaque at the base of the monument. ‘Mad Adler II, Pretender to the Throne,’ it said.

There was a button on a stand in front of the display.

PREV www.patreon.com/posts/149211928