“Well, uh," (Patreon)

the privet stammered. "I guess you should visit your seedling, I mean daughter first, make sure she’s safe and healthy. And, maybe you don’t need to decide on which destination in Faerie should visit first right away? Perhaps… Perhaps you could send a few of your companions to scout out both locations for you so you can make a fully informed decision when you are finished with your fatherly responsibilities… If you think that’s a good idea, I mean…”

“That’s a fantastic idea, Privet!" I exclaimed. "You’ve got a good head on your shou- uh, you’ve got a good root system! I see a promising career ahead of you.”

“Aw, shucks,” the privet rustled modestly.

“We shall go with the privet’s idea!” I declared to the others, and then waited for their response.

“Um, sure," Meadow agreed after an awkward silence. "But you’re the only one here who speaks tree. So…”

"Do you mean to tell me," I scowled, “that the Mouse Queen, fabled champion of Seeliness, cannot understand the Voice of the Forest?"

"I never learned it, okay?" Meadow sighed.

"We will have to remedy that," I declared firmly. "The Voice used to be every elf's birthright, and now the one who is most proficient with it is a Vulpitanian villain. But now's not the time for that. There is much to do! I believe we should split up.” I froze for a moment, realizing with horror that that was the meddling youth’s favorite thing to say. “Ahem. What I mean is that I and a few others should go visit my daughter Kelly. At least two of you will go to scout out the two locations; one to Athstead and the other to the Marshy Region. Meadow, as a very capable and Seelie agent, it falls to you to go reconnoiter this Marshy Region and see what kind of danger those tribal elves are in. I have a feeling something dark is afoot, so you are the only one I trust to go in alone.”

“It feels odd to separate again after just having been reunited," Meadow admitted, "but I understand your thinking. Depending on the situation there, I may not be able to return to you right away. Do you have something we can use for remote communication?”

“Why yes," I said, with sudden excitement. "I have just the thing!"

With a quick bit of Gramarye, I gathered some bark and leaves and shaped them into the form of two ale tankards attached by a string to the base of each. Another simple spell linked them magickally, and a borrowed blade from Burnside cut the string in half. I handed one of the mugs to Meadow.

"MUMBLE MUGS!" I proclaimed. "Pull the string taut, then speak into the mug. Your voice will be carried to the other mug, no matter how far apart they are! Even works across the gulf between worlds! Hold it up to your ear to listen. It's simple, efficient, cheap to make, and bypasses all of the fiddly thaumaturgy required for scrying orbs."

Meadow stared at the Mumble Mug in awe for a long moment. "Did ... you invent this?" she asked, clearly awestruck. "It's almost ingenious."

"Sadly the original idea was not my own," I admitted humbly. "But I perfected it!"

"All right," she said, tucking the Mumble Mug into her Elfintory. “To get to the marsh from here, you have to spin five times widdershins, then hop backward three steps on your left foot, and step through the Gate with one long stride. Got that? Now, that leaves the question, who will you send to Athstead? Surely not the Raccoon. She will probably massacre everyone there just for fun.”

“Don’t knock it til ya try it, lil miss tin-cans," Burnside sneered. "I wouldn’t go there anyways. As the imperial bodyguard it's ma job to guard the imperial body.”

“I wasn’t planning on sending her,” I protested, as visions of carnage drifted through my mind. Burnside was definitely not the one to send on a scouting and diplomatic mission. I couldn't send the others, either. Thomson was still unwell, and Rebecca was too inexperienced.

“My lord," Rebecca piped up after a few seconds of watching me scratch my head in perplexity. "Why don’t you have your bug servants investigate Athstead?”

Of course! I snapped my fingers. How could I forget about them? It had been a while since I last saw my faithful Ixies. Where were they while I was being chased by a lunatic with a mace?? I focused my Elfmind and called out to them.

A moment later, a familiar looking be-helmed Ixie (along with two others) was hovering in front of my face.

"Typantronn?" I asked.

"Typantron III, sire," she replied, snapping off a salute. "Ready and able to do the bidding of the imperial crown, SIR!”

“Well, your demeanor is certainly more professional than the first Typantronn's,” I observed.

“It shames me to my core that our predecessors were such undisciplined cretins, sir. I can assure you there will be no lollygagging, sugar sucking, aphid gambling, or boondoggling on my watch, SIR!”

“Just penny-stocks!” the other two giggled impishly.

“Come on, you guys!" Typantronn III whined, breaking her crisp demeanor. "Don’t embarrass me in front of great-great-grandpa!”

“Yes, well," I coughed. "I have a mission for you. I need a small discreet squad to go to Athstead and scout the place for intel. Find out everything that could be useful in opening diplomatic relations with the residents of the town. Also, I know by now how Fuma's Luck works; there is sure to be some kind of catastrophic trouble there that we’ll need to fix. Find out what it is. Once you have all the information you can get, meet me at my daughter’s home. Understood?”

"Sir, yes SIR!!" Typantron III barked, saluting so hard she knocked her helmet askew.

“A mission! A mission! We’ve got a mission!” The other Ixies squealed and giggled as they turned and buzzed away.

“Girls! Stop that!" Typantronn III yelled as she trailed behind them. "We’re supposed to be professional spies! Seriously, quit it!”

“Every time I meet them, your ladybirds just keep getting cuter and cuter,” Rebecca gushed as she watched them go.

“Mr. Calaveras has a bad feeling about this…” Thomson muttered as she cradled the skull in her arms and gently stroked its cranium.

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