Installment 42 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment042.png]
Wikwocket spent a short time lying on the ground, insisting that she had died due to the terrible injuries suffered from the sudden three-foot fall (and that her giggling was just her last dying breath), but then she helped gather the scattered books up. Fortunately, it wasn't a long walk the rest of the way through the village to the inn, so it wasn't too difficult for Al, Bote, and Gruntle to carry the bookcase and books the rest of the way.
Al was happy to see that the lamps outside The Biggest Coop were lit, in contrast to the darkness that had been there when they first arrived. Lively conversation could be heard through the door as they approached, and a scattering of friendly greetings met them as they entered. Raising an eyebrow at the bookcase they maneuvered in through the door, Rose asked if they were planning to move in permanently, getting a laugh from the other villagers inside.
"No, no, just some research we brought back from the keep. We'll tell you all about it once we get this set down inside," Al told her.
Al wanted to start sorting through the books immediately, but he was hungry and there seemed to be the scent of more than chicken coming from the kitchen. He was also a bit worried that Wikwocket would convince the villagers that the baron was some sort of horrible villain if she was the only one telling the story of the day's events. He reluctantly left the books behind and went out to join the others eating and drinking.
The four adventurers sat themselves around an open table, and Rose came out from behind the bar to greet them.
"You like venison? Gertrude bagged a huge buck today, and said we should offer it to you. She's very happy that she can hunt safely again. I see one of you likes venison, at least," she finished, as Gruntle visibly drooled on the table. "I'll get some plates for you."
She came back from the kitchen balancing three plates and a large bowl, each heaped with pieces of venison cooked to a perfect medium-rare. While they ate, Rose went back behind the bar and then returned with a large clay jug and four small cups. A few of the villagers cheered, and one or two made sounds of disappointment but were hastily hushed by the others.
"This counts as a special occasion, so I'll offer you the last of our local specialty from last season. We call it 'grump'. We make it each fall with whatever fruit and berries we can gather and let it ferment through the winter," she explained as she set the small cups down in front of each of the adventurers. "It gets stronger the longer it goes. What we have left should be really good." She tipped some of the dark reddish-purple contents of the jug into each cup. It had a scent a bit like apples, a bit like wine, and a bit like vinegar. Al eyed it suspiciously, but Wikwocket grabbed her cup and gulped it down.
"It's good...," she managed to croak after coughing a few times, and held out the cup for more. Bote took a more measured drink, then held out their own cup as well.
"Perhaps a bit more, but not too much. There is wisdom in temperance," Bote said.
Gruntle lapped once at his cup, tasting.
"Good," he said, and turned to point at the bar where rows of empty wooden ale mugs waited to be used. "Bigger."
Rose laughed, and fetched a mug. She filled it with grump and handed it to Gruntle, who lapped slowly at it and licked his muzzle.
Al looked at his own cup skeptically and took a cautious sip. "Grump" tasted much like it smelled - harsh, dry, slightly sweet, and fruity with some sourness. It wasn't exactly bad, Al thought, but certainly rustic.
Gruntle pointed back at the bar. "Another," he said.
Rose opened her mouth to point out that Gruntle still had plenty in his current mug, that "grump" was a very potent drink, that she could just refill his current mug, but then said nothing. She looked at the skull of the beast now hanging behind the bar. She remembered Wikwocket's exciting story of what had happened the night before, and decided she didn't want to risk provoking the creature who willingly bit the beast of the keep. She nodded and fetched another mug, pouring most of the remaining drink from the jug into it. Gruntle gave her a grunt of satisfaction.
Al took another cautious sip of his own drink, which seemed not quite so rough as the first sip had.
"So, how do you feel about the local baron?" Wikwocket asked Rose.
"Who?" Rose asked in return.
"The baron of the keep? Smarmy, arrogant, greasy bastard? Says his name is Hearne Wulfcynn?"
Rose gave it some thought. "That name does sound familiar," she said, tentatively.
What is going on with people's memories around here?, Al wondered, taking another sip of grump. It was actually pretty good.
At that, Al reached over to pour the rest of his drink into Gruntle's mug. At the rate the stuff tasted better the more he drank of it, he realized if he didn't stop now he would end up not being able to understand or remember anything he tried to read later. The offering seemed to confuse Gruntle, but he accepted it with a relaxed grin and a grunt.
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"Tall fellow, lean, looks...healthier than a lot of the nobility?" Al prompted. "He was wearing fancy green-and-white clothes that matched his heraldry when we met him. He was actually quite friendly, for nobility."
"Oh...yeah...that sounds right. Yeah, that's definitely baron Hearne Wulfcynn. I'm pretty sure, anyway. Feels like we haven't seen him in a while. And he's back now?"
"Apparently," Al said, "he said he's been away at court for several years and just got back this morning to replace whoever it was that was supposed to be maintaining the keep and collecting taxes in his absence."
A few groans went around the room. "Aw, no, now we'll get gouged for taxes again!" someone complained.
"No, no! It's not like that, I mean, yes, you will have to start paying taxes again but...I'm not being as reassuring as I'm trying to be, am I? Wikwocket? Do you want to explain?"
"Gladly!" Wikwocket answered, climbing up onto the table to address the villagers. She began to describe their meeting with baron Hearne Wulfcynn in front of what they now knew as Wulfcynn Keep. From the start, Al had to jump in to defend the baron from Wikwocket's portrayal of him as a sinister figure. This just encouraged her to exaggerate her opinion further in the retelling until the baron was practically a melodrama villain. The contrast between Al's and Wikwocket's impressions of the baron rapidly became funny and the villagers laughed as the two of them argued about the baron's manners and possible intentions. Wikwocket got a round of applause for outwitting the baron and his tricky reward conditions.
"After admitting we'd defeated him, the evil baron..."
"He's not 'evil'!"
"...tried to ensnare us in some sort of sinister oath..."
"He was just offering us a favor for helping him out!"
The villagers of Henhaven at least seemed to appreciate Al's request of the baron and his promise to honor it.
"...and then, having escaped the sinister machinations of the scheming baron, we eagerly returned to the delightful hospitality of Henhaven and the fine food and drink at the Biggest Coop!" Wikwocket finished, to the cheers of her audience.
"If you used magic to carry the books back from the keep, why didn't you magic the books in like you did with the stuff last night?" one of the villagers asked when the applause died down.
"Well," Al admitted, embarrassed, "the spell ran out when we stopped for a little while to...Oh! That reminds me, I wanted to ask who owns that first house you get to when you come into the village, the one on the east side of the road with the big chickenyard."
"That'd be us," a middle-aged woman answered from a few tables away. The man next to her gave a polite wave.
"Oh, good. You see, we've been trying to find a pack-animal to help us haul our stuff, but they all seem to be afraid of us. Your donkey wasn't, though, so we were wondering if you'd be willing to let us take him with us when we move on. If it's a problem, we could buy him from you."
The couple shared a confused look with each other, then turned back to Al.
"What donkey?" the woman asked.
"The...one you have guarding your chickens? In the chicken-yard?"
"You didn't buy a donkey, did you dear?" the woman asked the man next to her.
"I certainly don't remember getting a donkey, no," he answered her.
Al considered dropping the subject and just leading the donkey away later, but he didn't feel right possibly stealing a donkey just because his owner might have forgotten about him somehow.
"Well, you seem to have one now. Are you sure you don't need him?"
The couple both shook their heads, still looking confused.
"Well, if it's okay we'd like to take him with us."
The couple both shrugged and nodded. "Don't see why not," they answered hesitantly, still not sure what donkey Al was referring to.
"Oh, Rose, we'd like to stay a few days before we leave, I really need to spend some time doing some research before we move on to the next job. Would that be all right?"
"After what you folks have done for us, you can stay for a few months if you'd like," she answered.
"But what's this got to do with the book-carrying magic?" insisted the villager who had asked earlier.
"Oh, right. When we got back we noticed that the donkey didn't seem to be afraid of us, unlike every other horse, donkey, and mule we've run into lately. We stopped for a little while and Gruntle here thought it was challenging him to a fight....where's Gruntle?" Al found he was pointing at the now-empty space at the table where Gruntle had been crouched. There was no sign of him in the room.
HOW??? Al found himself wondering again. He trotted over to the room where they'd been sleeping, hoping Gruntle had sneaked back to pass out after drinking two entire mugs of grump, but the room was empty. A horrible thought occurred to him, and he ran for the door, shouting as he went outside.
"GRUNTLE! Don't kill the donkey!"
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Al ran through the moonlit village, while worrying thoughts of what sort of horrible violence a drunken gnoll might commit played out in his mind. The only loud noises were the shouts of Wikwocket some ways behind him, calling for him to wait for her, but he feared at any moment there might be screams. Or perhaps a drunken Gruntle would kill silently? Al ran faster.
There was some relief as he reached the last house without encountering any sign of villagers being attacked, but what he found there made him feel some dread and disappointment. The donkey lay on his side unmoving, with Gruntle crouched next to him. "What have you done?!" Al cried out in exasperation.
The donkey raised his head unsteadily and brayed at Al with its last dying strength...
Wait..., Al thought. Something's not right. He climbed over the fence and approached cautiously. The donkey's head twisted to lower itself nose-first towards the ground. Gruntle raised a fist.
Al was now close enough to see that Gruntle's fist held a mug. Muffled wet noises from the donkey's head turned out to be coming from the other mug, which rested on the ground with the donkey's nose shoved into it.
"Donkey won. Had to get the drinks," Gruntle said.