A loaf of bread, a pint of drink,

A sack of wheat, and pastries sweet,

Now drink some more, ‘til you can’t think!

It’s harvest time! Too much to eat.

— The Ballad of Sir Joe, by “Golden-Voiced” Garbeaux.

Leaving Mulfingerswick and parting with Billiam was a sort of sweet sorrow. The boy was more capable than his intellect suggested, yet, it was clear that he, himself, needed more than his life, and his father, had ever provided. Though leaving him behind was necessary, we chose to let him see his father before departing. Claiming that he was sick, Joe “met” with his son inside of his carriage while I projected my voice, and Aimee, observing through the open window, used minor magics to give him a kind of clumsy movement. We’d thought to use the Walking Dead scroll again but it was simply too risky.

Sitting down, facing Joe’s shadowed, armored, bulky form, Bill at first sought eye contact then looked away, as if scared. I had to start things myself, “Billiam. It’s been such a long time. I understand you wanted to speak to me?”

“Too nice!” McGrue whisper-screamed in my ear, “Too wordy!” Tensing up, I struggled to focus.

“Uhm, yeah,” began Bill, “I’m, ah, your Squire, yeah? And the Mayor of your lands, right? But I’m just a boy … and boys ain’t Mayors. And Squires, they stay with their Knights, yeah? We’re both sirs; Sir Squire, Sir Knight, a pair of blokes, yeah?” He paused, struggling, “I ain’t talked to hardly no people in years, Joe. It’s hard on me. I guess maybe I should just out with it. Are you my daddy?”

Sadness was apparent in the boy's voice; this was important to him, and a misstep could cause huge issues for all of us. I had to be careful, “So what if I am?” Turning, I saw McGrue, throwing me two thumbs up and a giant grin.

This gave the boy no satisfaction but it did give him an opening to express himself, “I … so you knew then? Of course. No other boy could be in the Manor, no other boy could touch you. Hell, you kicked out all my friends and their folks too. You left me behind … left me alone.” Bill’s eyes welled up as he struggled to continue, “A boy shouldn’t live alone, Joe.”

Oof! This was painful. McGrue grabbed me by the shoulder, gesturing madly with grasping hands, gnashing teeth, and motioning to hit something. I shook my head but pushed the charade, “What am I? Some domestic cuckold, to be bound to home and family, doomed to die in obscurity, forgotten by history?” Aimee flailed Joe’s arms, nearly hitting a flinching Billiam, “I’m a bloody hero! The greatest hero this realm has ever seen, boy! I’ve walked the planes, stabbed at Demigods and strangled dragons atop their hoards! I cannot be tied down!”

“Not mean enough!” whispered McGrue again, mean-mugging to illustrate Joe’s status as monster.

“Then why not take me with you!?” shouted Billiam, tears streaming, “What does a Squire do that I couldn't do? I can tend armor, mend cloth, hold your sword, groom your steed, all of it! I know I’m a little stupid but … I can do good, too. I did okay with your lands, didn’t I?”

Feeling pressure behind my eyes I looked all around me; the place was a disaster. McGrue was becoming frantic, afraid I’d go soft on the boy. It was a concern well-founded, “Billiam, son…” McGrue slapped both hands over his face, throwing himself to the dirt in panic, “Everything I did, it was to keep you safe.” Aimee flopped a hand across to rest on Bill’s knee, nearly landing Joe on the floor before using magic to pull him up by the helmet, “I left you here so you’d be safe. There wasn’t an adventure I had that would not have killed you dead. Remember Zarbonzo?”

Billiam’s eyes lit up, “Yes! Your … your Bard before Mister Gabbo! The man with the fart book. Oh, he was funny!”

“He was a man,” I continued as Joe, “Formidable in both wit and with the blade. He died, Billiam. Horribly, dissolved to nothing by a horrible monster before my very eyes.” I heard McGrue squeal on the ground. It was hard to know if this was because he hated the idea of Joe appearing kind, or if he thought the ruse would fall apart.

It did not fall apart! “So you left me alone … because you love me?” asked Billiam. McGrue rolled away, down into a ditch, while remaining prone, scowling all the while, “And because I’m your son?”

“Because … you are my legacy. One day I will be gone, Billiam, and you must carry on the name of Mulfinger. You are the last.” There, Joe wasn’t tender in this scenario but he was still human to his son and, more importantly, not scarring the teen any further.

“Oh, Daddy!” cried Bill, hurling himself at Joe to hang from his neck. Quickly he was holding Joe up instead as the limp corpse had long since lost its rigor mortis. “Oh, sorry! I forgot you were sick!” said Billiam, slowly releasing and sitting again.

“Yes, terrible stuff but, ah, not contagious. Takes about a week to get over. Poison, that’s it, I’m sick from a special, magic-resistant poison.” I felt like I was losing the thread and even Bill might figure things out if we didn’t end it soon, “Now, son, we must away to find the Goblin King LePhisto. There is no more time to lose. I’ll recover by the time we find him though, don’t worry! Just … tend my land some more. Make sure those peasants don’t fuck everything up! Yes, peasants … hate them.”

Hoping that last bit of pointless class hostility would be convincing I waited until Billiam responded, “Yes, father. Cor, father. I have a father!” He hopped up again, thinking to embrace Joe again, then, instead, he bowed. “Farewell, father…”

I scrambled to get into position beside Aimee, appearing to simply loiter as they had their family reunion. Billiam stepped out, grinning, “Everything go okay in there Bill?” I asked.

“Yeah … yes!” he exclaimed, “It’s true, Mister Gabbo, sir, he’s me da’, he said as much. That poison he took, it must have been horrible! Why, he smells like the Desperate Men we’s usin’ to fertilize the fields. Like death itself!”

—

On the road things went smoothly, certainly more smoothly than the outskirts of Fereal and the forest beyond. Regular patrols scoured the trails for bandits, some of whom we saw being beaten on the roadside. “Hm, odd,” I noted, “why are they using truncheons on those men they’ve apprehended? They’re subdued; just … clap them in irons and off to the dungeon.” The other faces in the carriage regarded me incredulously, “What?”

“You’re a smart man, Gabbo,” said McGrue, “but you’re stupid when it comes to people. Just keep your head down and hope the guards don’t ask for coin.”

“Coin?” This confused me, “Why would officers ask coin of passerby? And what’s that got to do with the abuse I just saw?”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Aimee looked at me, sitting next to the corpse of Joe, shaking her head, “I doubt it will be an issue, Sargon,” she said to McGrue, “Remember, the coat of arms of the house of Mulfinger is on this carriage. Any guard trying to shake this carriage down, well, that would be suicide, right?” Using her power of Mage Hand Aimee caused Joe’s arm to lift, giving a thumbs up.

“Cute.” I said; though I couldn't help but wonder; “those were bandits, right?”

—

Dirt road gave way to cobblestone as we entered the domain of the family Veineux. Comprising several hamlets, a few villages, and the grand city of Bagatelle, its capital. The latest and last in a line of dominant merchants who provided the kingdom with all their grain, to his face he was Lord Veineux, but if you referenced the man nobody would know who you meant unless you called him “The Grainmonger”.

We sat in the carriage, outside the wall that kept the monsters of the forest at bay, moving only occasionally. Eventually, Aimee looked at me and asked, “Can you, like, go see what the hold up is? The wall’s been in view for an hour.”

“Me?” I asked, “Why me?”

Fixing a glare on me Aimee gave an angry smile, “Oh, I don’t know. You’re a man? Or maybe it’s because I’m the only one who can make this corpse here move without physically touching him. Y’know, in case someone gets close enough to realize he’s dead?”

“But what if I need to talk for him?” I asked, feeling clever.

“You’re already the talker of our crew, Garbeaux! If they talk their way past you, into here, we already have a problem!”

“Ah, dammit.” I muttered, “I didn’t want to get up…” Rising, I hopped to the stone road outside, I clambered up to take a seat by McGrue, “So what’s happening up here?” I asked.

“See for yourself.” Gesturing towards the wall it was clear that guards were checking every cart, carriage, and chariot, “some big event.”

I watched as the cart at the front of the line was waved on and then entered through the gate but the wagon behind him didn’t move, “Oh, so we’re not moving one at a time. Is that normal?”

“No, nothing normal today. Can you see the banners?”

Squinting, I could just barely make it out, “Grainfest? What … oh…” Grainfest, the annual harvest festival. Every year Bagatelle would flood with people from all over not just Fereal but all over the known realms. Sometimes extraplanar creatures would even come to set up a booth, monsters extracting massive coin from the prime material plane without doing violence to anyone. They would also spend quite a bit while they were here or, no doubt, some noble would call on the services of adventurers to kill the lot of them. Being strange didn’t make them stupid, after all.

“Yup,” he growled, “day one of the damned annual grain festival. Everything’s harvested, every oven cooking like mad, there’ll be at least twice the normal population of the city here as guests, and, worst of all, a parade would be held that takes half the day with a route that went around the whole city. At least the jewelers of the city should be mostly unoccupied. Shop this earring around.”

Rounding the carriage in front of us, a Bagatelle city guard approached us, “You there, half-orc, state your name and business in the city.” He held a slate with parchment pinned to it, taking notes with a lead pencil.

Glancing my way McGrue groaned quietly, “Yeah, uh, this is the carriage of Sir Joseph Mulfinger, and we’re here for … commerce. Yeah, commerce.” McGrue had a way of sounding like he was lying even when he spoke the truth.

At first suspicious the guard’s eyes shot open wide as he saw Joe’s mark upon the carriage, “Joseph … Sir Joe the Bold?” he gasped. “I … I had no idea that the hero of the realm would be attending.”

In the guard’s obvious blend of fear and awe I saw an opportunity, “What is this nonsense!? Who keeps the great and mighty Sir Joe from his bread?” I projected my voice with all my might and hoped that Aimee was paying attention. As luck would have it she jostled as violently as she could as I, as Joe, roared, “I demand fancy bread!”

Speaking as myself, “Ah, milord sounds … angry.”

Eyes darting about furtively McGrue caught on, “Uh-oh. I sure hope there’s no bloodshed. Isn’t it crazy how Joe can kill anyone he wants and always gets away with it?”

Improvisation being my strong suit I had more material to come but the guard needed no more coaxing, “Yes! Of course, please, here, step out of line posthaste my good hirelings! Here, I’ll take the bridle and lead–”

“No don’t touch the horse!” shouted McGrue in a panic as Grizzly, our vicious plowhorse, who should have already been made into glue, bit down on the guard’s head, reared up on his hind legs, and bashed him with both front hooves. Pinwheeling to the dirt the guard lay very still.

“Sir, knowing who owns this horse, why would you think it safe to touch? I asked, stifling a laugh.

Groaning, failing to rise to a seated position, the guard managed to get a single command out between gasps, “Please… Proceed through the gate!” before collapsing, his fellows coming to his side to check on the damage.

“Much obliged,” I called back, then, “Move, move, move…” I implored of McGrue. We were able to enter the city without further molestation.

—

Cross-country travel had been a bore, our trials had been a frustration, and our secrets had been a terror so we were overjoyed to stretch our legs in a new city. Discussions quickly turned into an argument about who would do what while we were here.

“I don’t care how great of a negotiator you think you are, Sargon, you’re not taking the earring!” growled Aimee.

“This is stupid! Why not? Why would you do better? Huh? I am from the streets, sister. You’re from the gilded cage of an Elven manor!”

I’d quickly given up on any course of action other than dealing with the stablehands. Luckily a few more ventriloquistic threats managed to get Sir Joe free service for his mighty steed. Plus Joe would be “resting” in his carriage while we, his minions, were running his errands. “Terribly sorry, really…” I told the young boy tasked with guiding Grizzly and safekeeping our belongings. Now that he was sufficiently terrified of both the carriage’s owner and the animal pulling it I was apologizing profusely, mostly so that I could spy on my party mates’ argument.

Aimee struck the most painful blow in the verbal sparring, pointing out, “You would be arrested in one minute if you walked into a jeweler with that diamond, sir. You realize that, right? We’re not back behind the walls of Fereal Castle any longer. You don’t have any contacts here. Now let me work.”

“But they’ll take advantage of you!” objected McGrue, “and they can’t just arrest me. The damned thing isn’t stolen, y’know?”

“It’s a piece of lady’s jewelry and you’re an orc man. Do I really have to spell it out?” she said, spelling it out. After a tense staredown, McGrue broke away.

“Fine! I’ll take those stupid old dresses to the local Cordier for rope. We’ll see who gets more coin, girl!”

“Fine.” she said, “And when I do you’ll thank me.”

Pulling a large sack from atop the carriage McGrue came around to the front, “And you! Don’t beat anybody else up!” he said, slapping the horse in the mouth. It recoiled, knowing that challenging McGrue would only result in more pain.

“It’s fine. This is normal,” I said, addressing the stablehand. That was mostly true. As my companions scattered I, too, went out into the city. The sense of freedom was intoxicating and, I realized for once, I was able to just do what I wanted to do. True, I had no coin at the moment, but from the college to servitude under Joe to our exodus from behind the king’s walls, I’d been constrained. Now I would explore Bagatelle and, for once, nobody could tell me what to do…