Nope. Still not going there. Staying with Elaine.

***

Ah, fair reader, its been quite the day for our heroine. You might not realize this—I doubt she hardly does, poor thing—but it was just this morning that she was almost dragon kibble. And then there was that unfortunate confusion with the dwarf. Er, dwarves. Um. You know what I mean. And then the bears and Cinnamon and…

It’s been a long day, all right. A very LONG day.

In any case, the sun has now nearly set on this interminable segment of calendrical measurement. Not that anyone can tell with the now constant rain bearing down out of the darkly clouded sky. Yes, the incessant downpour has certainly put a damper on our girl’s previously cheerful mood.

Get it? Damper? Because its damp and…

Oh, shut it.

Anyway. Our sweet damsel is now cranky, wet, and flagging, and who could blame her. After a day like today, you, fair reader, would probably be curled up like a babe and sobbing for your mother—or several pints of beer—but not Elaine. No. She continues to stalk doggedly on, venting her frustration on every perfidious rock and puddle in the road with a string of epithets the likes of which her plucky, young companion—who has introduced himself as Todd—has scarcely heard in all his few years.

“Um…” Our recent escapee from the murderous bakers of pastry grants our fair heroine a quizzical look after a particularly pernicious stone adds yet another bruise to her toes, releasing yet another string of inventive and scurrilous vocabulary. Truly, the boy’s education in the creative intricacies of vulgarity is advancing rapidly. “Uh,” he continues, with some valid uncertainty for the wisdom of drawing her attention. “It’s really not much longer, miss. Uncle Rumble likes to set up between towns at night to lure in the highway men.”

“Fates and trolls. What am I getting myself into?”

“He says they’re always in need of something,” Todd continues as if he didn’t hear her, which honestly is a fairly wise course of action. Then again, could be there’s still a little bit of wet flour lingering in his ears. “They’re always wanting—oh! There he is!”

Having traversed the darkening path around the side of a hill, our daring and determined duo have come at last into view of a large wagon perched in the gloom at the side of the road. Said wagon is built in the caravan style with a neatly carved wooden roof and walls. Here and there cracks of light show between the slats, while a single lantern suspended from the eaves swings in the wind, sending its wash of flickering light to waver back and forth over the faded red letters adorning the wagon’s side: Ol Stilskyn’s Traveling Shoppe.

Hmm. Well. This is either creepy or charming. I’m not sure which actually.

In any case, night has fallen, the rain hasn’t ceased, and our fair heroine and her companion have few other choices. But our young Todd is apparently undisturbed by the uncertain nature of this apparition. He clutches Elaine’s hand and pulls her to the back of the wagon where a dark door waits as an ominous portal with a… um… mail slot in the middle?

Before Todd can lift his hand to knock, the slot slides open and a pair of bright amber eyes appear, staring out at our intrepid and thoroughly soaked travelers with unsettling focus. The eyes narrow, and Elaine—having had enough excitement for one day, and honestly, who can blame her—begins casting around for a rock, a branch, or a conveniently placed crowbar. Before her hand can reach a weapon of her choosing, the door is flung open and…

Oh. Well, that’s anticlimactic.

“Uncle Rumble!” Todd leaps forward, flinging himself at the small man revealed by the open portal. Said man is short, perhaps only a little taller than our old friend(s) the dwarf(s). The man—who can only be the famous Rumble Stilskyn--sports a neatly trimmed beard and a singularly convivial air and spreads his arms to embrace Elaine’s young companion, who’s frankly nearly as tall but twice as wide as our host.

“Todd, my boy! You’ve grown!” He takes the wet embrace with aplomb and ushers both Todd and Elaine inside and out of the rain. “Where’s Lillyann? She after a larger pair of never-wear-boots for you?” Stilskyn asks, peering past them into the wet darkness.

“Oh, mama’s not here. I almost got made into a pastry, and this lady saved me!”

“I see,” Rumble says with a chuckle, not appearing phased by this statement in the least. “Well, lets get you decent before you get waylaid again.”

Inside the wagon is remarkably cheerful, filled with warm light and every kind of trinket imaginable. There are shelves and trunks and canvas bags all overflowing with bric-a-brac and strange objects. Rumble weaves his way through and pulls a couple of blankets from a cupboard, handing one to each of his guests.

Elaine—who I think, fair reader, is too wet and tired to refuse even if the blanket had been offered by the Witch of the Western Wilds—wraps the woolen cloth about herself without a word… only to discover she is now suddenly both warm and dry. Goodness. Magically drying blankets. What will they think of next.

Her odd little benefactor strides down the middle of his trove and hops up on a chest, patting for the others to do the same. “And who might this beautiful, helpful, young champion be?”

Our brave heroine has always considered herself fairly immune to flattery. Let’s face it, years of dealing with drunks of all sizes and species does tend to steel you against such things. But never in all her years has our girl been called a champion before! A little recognition after the day she’s had is clearly disarming.

“Elaine.”

“Ah, Lady Elaine, no doubt,” our host grins.

Oh, my! Is she actually blushing? Our Elaine? This strange little man is powerful indeed! Or perhaps it’s just the enchanted blanket warming her up.

“No. Just Elaine. And those two idiot half-trolls weren’t particularly difficult. I didn’t do anything especially heroic.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Stilskyn says as he abandons the chest to rummage some cheese out of a questionable container. “I have a nose for an adventurer, and you, my dear, reek of it.”

Hmm. I’m not entirely certain if that’s a compliment or not, but the man begins contentedly to... ah… um… well... cut the cheese as—

Look. That one’s not my fault, all right? I didn’t tell him to do that. Seriously.

Anyway.

Cut the cheese as Todd launches into the tale of his recent escape from culinary incarceration. By the time the boy finishes the last of the tale—and cheese—with a flourish, Rumble’s cheerful disposition has sunk into a frown. Honestly fair reader, if I didn’t know better I’d suspect our friendly neighborhood merchant might hide a rather dreadful temper under his sunny smiles.

“I shall look into these breadmen.”

Um. I don’t think I’d like to be those trolls when he finds them. *shiver*

In any case, his aforementioned smile reappears as he turns to our gallant and road-weary maiden.

“It seems I owe you quite a debt! And you can be sure I always make good when it comes to that. Let me make a bed for Todd, and then we shall talk of recompense.”

In half a trice, Todd is wedged into a bedroll in the small aisle running between the various heaps of goods. No sooner does his head hit the pillow, sending up a small cloud of dust, than he’s snoring peacefully.

“Uh, did you…” Elaine begins.

“Pixie Sleep Powder,” Stilskyn announces with a grin, lifting a small leather pouch for Elaine’s perusal. “Comes in handy for all sorts of situations. It could be very useful for a young adventurer such as yourself. Sleeping in such rough conditions.”

“Actually I was--”

“I see. I see, more a woman of the world.” He tucks the pouch out of sight and scrambles on top of a pile of sacks only to nearly burrow inside one. “I have an excellent seal skin,” he announces as he reemerges to display a lovely gray cape that catches the light in a rather mesmerizing way. “It’s last owner was said to be quite a winner with the gentlemen.”

“No, thank you. I was sent--”

“Ah. A quester after all.” He tucks the cape back into the pile and jumps down. “I should have known. Now there is my specialty. I have magic beans,” a jar is produced seemingly from thin air. Our girl opens her mouth to protest, so he goes on. “Seven league boots? No?” His brow wrinkles. “You are a hard sell my lady. But never fear, I shall find your currency. How about--”

“I’m looking for a dragon egg,” Elaine cuts in breathlessly.

Rumble’s eyes narrow, but his tone remains jovial.

Nope. Not suspicious at all.

“Well, now. Why would you be after one of those? Can’t even get a proper omelet out of one. No. Those are nothing but trouble and--”

“Yes. I know. Boy do I ever. But this one belongs to a… um… friend of mine. It’s been covered with gold decorations by the dwarf. Dwarves. Bob and company at Stonefoot mine. It was stolen by a little blonde nuisance who goes by Cinnamon. She said she sold it to you.”

At the thief’s name, our diminutive host balls up his fists and stamps his foot so hard the whole wagon shakes.

Oh, my.

Todd, amazingly, remains blissfully asleep.

“That little--”

Oh. Oh, my. That… that is honestly the most colorful and profane tirade my poor blistered ears have ever heard. Honestly, I’m not even certain I know what some of those adjectives mean. It’s um… well… I think Elaine might have met her match at pejorative epithets. I… Seriously, I don’t think I can repeat some of those. So let’s just, um, skip ahead a bit, shall we?

“-- know what she did? She came to me in the guise of commerce and trade, and I gave her a fair price for her goods. But then in every tavern, in every single pisspot town that bitch went into after, she told all the ruffians, adventurers, and people of any sort, that I’d short changed her! She’s smeared my good name! My name among the people of my business. This is beyond an outrage. And I will not tolerate it. She has no idea what she’s called down on her head.”

The wagon is actually vibrating now with his rage. Actually. Vibrating. This can’t be safe. Our fair heroine may want to make a quiet exit. And…

And she’s rolling her eyes. That’s a no then, is it?

“Look. I agree. And I hope that you can settle your account with her. I really do. But it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Do you have the egg or not?”

The rumbling of the wagon increases for just a moment, but then Stilskyn takes a slow, deep breath, and it fades with his exhale.

“My apologies Lady Elaine.” The sunny smile reappears as if the anger had never happened. “Sometimes, I get a smidge irritated. Don’t mind me. However, you’d do better forgetting about the egg. I sold it to Ms. Yaga, the witch who lives down Water Mill Road. She’s not likely to part with it, and she’s not one to be trifled with. Could I interest you in a lovely Arabian lamp instead?”

Oooh. Now that looks interesting. But our girl has no eye for it.

“Of course it’s been sold.” The air seems to have gone out of our fair heroine. She lies back against the nearest heap of sacks and shakes her head. “How about I take you up on your offer later. For now, I just want to sleep out of the rain. I am so done with this day.”

And in a few moments, she falls quickly into sleep.

***

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…