Before Elara could respond to his question, the driver’s gruff voice broke through to the back, each word carrying a slow, Southern lisp. “Almost at that ol’ toll bridge. Best be ready; them fellas’ll be pokin’ their noses in our business, an’ I don’t reckon they’re gonna be too friendly, neither with what you’re trying to hide..”

An hour later, their plan in place, they reached a long bridge shrouded in early dawn’s haze, lined with carts waiting to enter Frieter. The city’s walls loomed faintly in the distance, but the city itself was hidden, making Henry uneasy. Surely, if Frieter was as large as people claimed, he would have seen it by now.

Finally, after nearly two hours, it was their turn. Two guards stepped forward. The first, tall and scowling, gave the cart a once-over with a sneer. His partner, a shorter man with a look of vague confusion, seemed preoccupied with trying to count the horses.

The tall guard crossed his arms. “Well now, lookee here,” he drawled in a thick hick accent, squinting suspiciously at Henry. “This here bridge is fer approved travelers only, an’ y’all don’t look like ya belong in the approved pile.”

Henry straightened his back, trying to appear confident. "Good morning, officers. We're just passing through to visit some family in Frieter."

The tall guard, Sam, raised an eyebrow. "Family, ya say? Ain't seen yer face 'round these parts before. Got any papers to prove where yer headed?"

Henry hesitated, fumbling through his satchel. "I—I must have misplaced them during the journey. But I assure you, we're expected."

Sam leaned in closer, his gaze sharp. "Misplaced, huh? That's mighty convenient. Lenn, whaddaya make of that?"

Lenn stopped counting the horses—having reached seven despite there only being two—and scratched his head. "Sounds a bit fishy to me, Sam. Folks round here don't lose important papers so easy."

The driver cleared his throat. "Now listen, sirs, we've been on the road a long time. Ain't no harm in lettin' us pass. We ain't causin' no trouble."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Ain't causin' trouble yet. But without no papers, how do we know you ain't smugglin' somethin'? Or someone?"

Henry felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. "I assure you, we have nothing to hide."

Sam smirked. "That so? Mind if we take a look inside that there cart?"

Before Henry could respond, Lenn was already moving to the back of the cart, pulling at the tarp covering their meager belongings. "Let's see what treasures y'all hidin'."

"Wait!" Henry exclaimed, stepping forward. "There's nothing valuable back there—just personal items."

Sam put a firm hand on Henry's chest, stopping him. "Now, now. If there's nothing to hide, ya won't mind us takin' a peek."

The driver shot Henry a warning glance, his eyes darting subtly toward the guards. Henry understood—they couldn't afford a full inspection.

Lenn rummaged through the cart, tossing aside blankets and sacks of grain. "Ain't much here, Sam. Just junk, looks like."

Sam didn’t relent. “What about under the floorboards? Smugglers like to get creative.”

Henry’s heart sank. If they decided to tear the cart apart the plan would fail.

“Please,” Henry pleaded, “we’re on a tight schedule. If we don’t arrive by midday, we’ll miss the market. Our livelihoods depend on it.”

Sam chuckled darkly. “Ain’t my problem if ya can’t keep track of time. Maybe next time, you’ll remember yer papers.”

Lenn emerged from the side of the cart, holding a small, scuffed wooden box. “Hey, look what I found!”

Henry’s eyes widened. “That’s a family heirloom. Please, handle it with care.”

Sam took the box from Lenn, turning it over in his hands. “Mighty fine craftsmanship for simple folk. What’s inside?”

“Nothing of value to anyone but me,” Henry said quickly. “It’s sentimental.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sentimental, huh? Mind if we take a peek?”

Before Henry could protest, Sam cracked open the box. Inside lay Edward the Spoon, gleaming faintly despite its scratched and dented surface.

Sam tilted his head, unimpressed. “A spoon? This your idea of an heirloom?”

Henry felt a surge of panic. “Please, that’s all I have left of my family. It’s—special.”

Lenn peered over Sam’s shoulder, smirking. “Special, huh? Looks like a regular spoon to me. You plannin’ on eatin’ your way outta trouble?”

Sam twirled the spoon between his fingers, his expression skeptical but amused. “Y’know, carryin’ weird trinkets and travelin’ without papers? That don’t sit right with me. Might have to confiscate this ‘til we can verify your story.”

Henry’s chest tightened as he watched Edward vanish into Sam’s pocket. Stick to the script Elara.

The driver stepped down from his seat, his face stern. "Now hold on just a minute. You can't just take a man's possessions without cause."

Sam sneered. "I can and I will. Unless, of course, you're willin' to pay a—processing fee—to speed things along."

Henry clenched his fists. "We don't have much money."

Sam shrugged. "Well then, I guess we'll have to detain you until we sort this out. Could be days, maybe weeks."

Lenn nodded eagerly. "Regulations are regulations. Can't be too careful these days."

Just then, a faint glimmer of light appeared near the guards, small and flickering, like a mischievous firefly. Lenn squinted at it, distracted by the tiny light.

"Did ya see that?" he asked, swatting at the spark with a broad hand. "Sumthin' funny's goin' on right here."

Sam rolled his eyes, irritated. "Aw, quit yer yappin’, Lenn. It’s probably jus’ one o’ them glow bugs. Stop actin’ like ya seen a ghost!"

But the light blinked again, this time closer and brighter, hovering right by Lenn’s nose. He jerked back, nearly tripping over his own feet. "I ain’t imaginin’ it, Sam! It’s right there—hoverin’ like a lil’ sprite or sumthin’!"

"Ya gone soft in the head, Lenn," Sam replied with a snort, though his voice carried a note of unease. But before he could finish, the light multiplied, becoming a swirl of tiny twinkles circling the guards.

“What in tarnation?” Lenn yelped, squintin’ and twistin’ around to follow the lights. “Who’s pullin’ these tricks? Show yerself!”

“Aw, c’mon, noble sirs!” came a sing-song voice from the lights, lilting with a kind of unhinged glee. “Can’t two weary travelers pass in peace? Or should I turn you into toads and be done with it?” The laughter that followed was sharp, almost manic, echoing in the quiet night like a knife scraping glass.

Sam whipped around, his scowl deepening as he tried to track the voice. Lenn, meanwhile, spun in wild circles, arms flailing. “Who’s out there talkin’? Show yerself!” he barked, swattin’ at the air like a cat chasing invisible prey.

The lights didn’t just converge this time—they lunged, swirling into a searing orb before exploding outward with a blinding flash that sent both guards staggering. Lenn yelped, tripping over a crate and landing flat on his back, his helmet clanging loudly as it rolled away.

“Whoopsie-daisy!” the voice cackled from nowhere and everywhere. “Man down! I repeat, man down! Someone call the rescue squad!”

“Lenn!” Sam bellowed, fumbling to help his partner. But the lights were relentless. One zipped up to hover right in front of Sam’s nose, flickering like it was mocking him.

“Boo,” it whispered. Then it burst into a blinding flare.

Sam yelped, staggering backward and bumping into the cart hard enough to make it lurch. A metallic clink rang out as something fell from his pocket.

Edward the Spoon clattered to the ground.

“Edward!” the voice shrieked in mock anguish. A blur shot down, snatching the spoon before Sam could blink. Elara materialized mid-air, holding Edward aloft like a knight unsheathing a holy relic. Her grin stretched wide—too wide—and her eyes glinted with wild delight.

“Oh-ho, look who’s back where they belong!” she crowed, spinning Edward with a flourish. “The Prince of Damcyan returns! Don’t worry, darling, Momma’s here now.” She pressed the spoon to her cheek like it was a long-lost child.

“Get it together, Lenn!” Sam barked, stumbling blindly forward, his arms flailing uselessly. He stepped on a loose apple from a crate, slipped, and slammed into the cobblestones with a thud.

Elara doubled over mid-air, cackling. “Oh, boys, this is just too good! Do it again! Fall harder this time! Maybe throw in some jazz hands for flair!”

The lights spiraled around the guards in dizzying circles, darting close and then zipping away, their strobing flashes relentless. Sam groaned, blinking furiously, his face pale. Lenn, still tangled in the crate, whimpered, “Make it stop…”

“Stop?” Elara’s grin turned feral. “Oh no, no, no. This train doesn’t have brakes!” With a dramatic flick of Edward, the lights erupted in a final dazzling burst.

When the brightness faded, both guards were slumped over each other, out cold, both helmets blown anway and their faces slack. Elara hovered above them, spinning Edward like a baton. “Well, that was easier than stealing candy from a corpse,” she chirped, then leaned down and whispered into Sam’s ear, “Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

The driver whistled low, his Southern drawl slow and easy. “Y’all’re somethin’ else, lil’ lady. Best we move on before those two wake up missin’ half their pride.”

Elara spun to face him, tilting her head at an unnatural angle, her hair hanging wild. “Oh, they’re missin’ more than pride,” she said sweetly, then let out a giggle that teetered between playful and deranged.

As they nudged the cart forward, slipping across the bridge, Elara hovered just above the guards, wagging Edward like a disapproving parent. “Stealing! What would your mothers say?” she murmured, her tone dripping with mock pity. “Tsk, tsk.”

Once they were far enough away, she glanced toward Henry, her grin still too wide. “See, Henry? Diplomacy! I told you I’m good at it.” She twirled Edward one last time before tucking him into her satchel. “Now, let’s go crash the next party!”