Verne pinched a needle between his fingertips. It had been begged from Fleta who had several pinned to her dress. He used it to carefully punch a hole in one end of an uncooked egg then turned it over to do the same on the other side. Leaving the needle in he made circular motions which made the hole at one end bigger.

“Gently.” Judd said, looking over his shoulder.

“I think the first two have already reminded me of that.” Verne muttered.

Judd glanced at the remains of the first two eggs in a bowl that had shattered when Verne’s attempts to hollow the delicate shell capsules had resulted in cracking and failure.

“Judd…”

“Yes?”

“Go stand somewhere else.”

Judd left Verne alone. He wanted to pace but Verne had already ticked him off for that, the bouncing boards doing little for the accuracy of his work.

“Where is Aalis?” He asked, concentrating.

“Still downstairs.” Judd frowned. “I wonder how she’s going to explain her need to melt silver…”

“Hopefully she won’t need to at all.” Verne breathed out. “Right, now to blow.” He put the egg to his lips and blew into its shell, dribbles of the yolk and white trickling out of the hole at the other end.

“It’s working.”

“I should have this ready soon. Even if there’s a little egg left inside, at least we can fill the rest with silver.”

“Fill,” Judd muttered, “it’s only three coins worth…our only three silver coins…”

“Could someone open the door?”

He did so, letting Aalis into the room, a cast iron spoon with a wooden handle in her hand. She was walking very slowly so as to not let the tiny silver pool in the spoon slop out.

“Any trouble?”

“An early curfew meant an early rush on supper.” Aalis said, her eyes locked onto the spoon. “No one paid me much attention at all. Verne, do you want this now?”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Verne murmured, peering through the hole. “I can see light.” He turned over one of Judd’s old boots and plucked some mud from its faded tread. He pressed it into the smallest hole, smoothing it over then turned it up so that the large hole, although not wide enough for anything bigger than a blade of grass to fit through, was at the top.

“How are you going to get the silver into there?” Judd asked.

“By being very, very careful.” Verne looked up. “Who has the steadiest hands?”

Judd and Aalis exchanged looks. “I guess I have steady hands.” Judd offered.

“Take this,” Verne held it above his hand, “carefully,” Judd nodded and cupped the egg, “and I’ll take the silver,” Aalis handed him the spoon, “now…hold still.”

Judd and Aalis both held their breaths as Verne, with a sharp eye and a hand that did not waver, tipped the spoon slightly, using a natural groove in its rim as a spout and the needle to help direct the melted silver into the egg.

“Ooh,” Judd gave a light gasp, “I can feel the heat of it.”

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“Let’s hope it doesn’t crack from it.” Verne said, continuing to pour. “Nearly done…”

“I cannot believe how steady you are.” Aalis breathed.

“Comes from making my own arrows. Wood tips are common but metal tips are profoundly more accurate and dangerous…so I learned to make my own moulds, melt whatever rubbish metal I could find and pour my own arrow heads…”

Despite his skill, all three let out the breath they were holding when the spoon was finally empty.

“Right,” Judd said, unwilling to move, “what do we do now?”

“Now,” Verne put the spoon down, “we egg him.”

Light was beginning to fade by the time their egg preparation was over. The tavern was starting to empty, the conscientious residents of Quarre determined to get home before the curfew was in effect. Judd did wonder if some liked to stay behind to be ‘locked in’ to their drinking hole.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs and grimaced. “Damn…”

“What?”

“I thought the kids might still be throwing rotten vegetables,” Judd turned to Verne and Aalis on the stairs, “kind of hard to hurl a single egg inconspicuously.”

“Giordi would be proud of your word use.” Verne clucked his tongue.

“Wait,” Judd handed Verne the egg gingerly, “that’s who we need. Our resident rally crier.”

“What is he…” Verne looked at Aalis. “What is he doing?”

“I am not sure.” She shivered as the lanterns were lit in the tavern. “Verne, we are running out of time.”

“I know.” Verne frowned. “I don’t suppose I could cover the man with my arrows, could I?”

“I think LeMewn, or at least his deacon, would figure out it was you.” They stepped back as Judd reappeared, a box of vegetables in his arms. “Well?”

“Giordi’s about to stir some serious dissent.” He chuckled. “Verne, I think you’ve got the best aim out of all of us.”

“With a bow.” Verne looked at the egg. “You know what…I won’t argue with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just felt it crack. We need to do this now.”

Thankfully, Giordi was nothing if not attention gathering. Within minutes, he had the remaining patrons of the tavern whipped into an aggressive frenzy, claiming that his sister was defiled by a man from Maul and that they were a people to be despised, all of them killed before their evil could spread.

“He’s a little too good at this…” Verne shuddered.

“He has a way with words…and he just shouted them all a round of drinks to get them on his side,” Judd muttered then shook his head, “come on, we need to be part of the crowd.” He glared at Aalis. “Stay here.” He said, his voice without room for argument.

Giordi soon had the drunken patrons rallying together, stumbling outside where Judd had conveniently left the crate of edible projectiles.

“Filth! Scum! Monster of Maul!”

The vegetables began to fly, the man ducking his head to avoid being struck in the face but he was a big man and unable to avoid all of them.

“Verne, you’re going to have to hurry…” Judd hissed, seeing the guards approach.

“We have one chance at this…don’t rush me.” Verne snapped, cradling the egg in his palm.

“By the order of Lord LeMewn, curfew is in effect! Return to your homes!”

“Verne…”

“I know…” Verne grimaced. “He’s ducking. If I miss…”

Giordi handed Judd a tomato, a squashy pumpkin in his hand.

“Suvau!”

The man, hearing his name, instinctively looked up just as Judd and Giordi threw their rotten projectiles, Verne’s arm joining their hurl, the single egg flying through the air to shatter on the man’s chest.

Before they could gauge his reaction, they were all hustled inside by the guards.

“Get home,” they ordered the residents then turned to Judd, “get inside before we have to arrest you.”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Judd bowed his head and ducked back in. The tavern owner pushed them out of the way, putting a heavy bar across the closed door.

“Those vegetables and drinks are going on your tab,” he warned them, “and I’ll be fining you an extra fee for rabble rousing!”

“Sorry.”

“And if I catch you removing this bar and endangering my wife and myself, I’ll have you brought up on charges with Lord LeMewn.” He stomped off, muttering about idiotic visitors.

Judd closed his eyes. “Please, Verne,” he whimpered, “tell me it was worth it?”

“I reckon I got him fair and square on the chest.” Verne peered through the glass. “He’s confused…I think he knows it wasn’t a regular egg…”

“Not unless there’s a chicken out there laying silver eggs.”

“Along with a goose that craps golden ones.” Giordi chuckled.

Judd glared at him. “Did you have to buy everyone a round of drinks?”

“Got them on my good side and their manipulability goes up as their inhibitions go down the drunker they become.”

“We’d better get upstairs.” They headed for the stairs. “What happened to your lady friend?”

“Who? Oh Fleta,” Giordi shook his head, “not really my type.”

“What? Too eager and not enough of a challenge?”

“Something like that.”

Aalis’ hands were wringing themselves tightly when they appeared in the room.

“Well?”

“He’s got a breastplate of pure silver.” Judd announced.

“I hope it’s enough.” Verne added.

“It has to be,” Aalis swallowed, “it just has to be…”