They stood on the Black Swan’s porch, watching the moon rise high in the night sky. The day had been fruitless, but that hadn’t been a surprise to Toad. The entire fortnight had been fruitless. Toad was exhausted, his insides writhing like he’d swallowed a bucket of worms.

The crowd on the porch was larger than ever before. Practically everyone was staying up to see whether they would find a moonflower at last. Toad felt a bit like a contestant in a competition, as the proprietor gave him a hearty clap on the back and a woman wrapped in a balaclava cheered, “Good luck, sonny!”

The moonlight was so bright they didn’t even stumble on tufts of grass as they began their search for the last time. They split up, Toad heading north, Melena going south. Hazel’s scales glinted in the moonlight where she sat perched atop Melena’s shoulders.

Wanting more eyes to help with the task, Toad untied Joe from his hip and carried him high over his head, only feeling slightly foolish. The need to not look like an idiot had long since passed. As his eyes scanned the ground, he felt gloom settle over him like a shroud.

“After bleeding dragons and ogres and man-eating cave monsters we get stumped by a stupid flower!”

“Cheer up, Master Toad!” said Joe above his head. “The night is not yet lost!”

“It’s no use, Joe. We’ve looked everywhere. There ain’t any moonflowers and I’m gonna be the one that’s gotta tell Cutter. Maybe —” Toad swallowed. “Maybe Owl will give me some more time.” He didn’t feel hopeful.

“You didn’t have this dour look on life when speaking with m’lady,” Joe observed.

“I was trying to tally —”

“Master means rally —”

“Whatever! I just don’t want her to be so upset.” And much to Toad’s annoyance, this statement was very true. Truer than he intended. It made him upset when Melena was upset. The realization did not improve his mood. If anything, he grew more nettled.

The lights of the inn were pinpricks in the distance now. He had no idea where Melena and Hazel were.

“I say, Master Toad, did you explore that thicket?” asked Joe suddenly.

“What thicket?” Toad turned in the direction Joe indicated, feeling that every which way of these dratted fields looked the same. “I don’t know,” said Toad, dismally. “We shoulda put up markers.”

Something large moved in the moonlight, making Toad start.

“What’s that?” he hissed, peering nervously in the dark as the shape crossed the field toward the thicket. He held Joe even higher, hoping the mug’s eyes possessed keener sight.

“Perhaps one of the ravenous elk?” Joe suggested.

The thought that perhaps an elk was on its way to gobble up maybe the very last moonflower ignited Toad’s blood.

“NO YOU DON’T!”

He barreled forward, shouting at the top of his lungs, waving his arms in the air, making Joe whoop in excitement. The elk froze. Jerking its face around and seeing Toad charging at it like a rhino, it bounded off. Toad skidded to a stop, breathing heavy.

“Well done, Master Toad!” Joe praised. “Perhaps if you do that every night the moonflowers will return!”

“I’ll consider it when I’m on the run from Owl,” heaved Toad dryly. “Hey.” Toad straightened. “D’you smell that?”

“I cannot smell anything.”

Toad took a deep breath. Whatever it was was very odd. It was sweet — almost sickly. Like overripe, rotting fruit. Toad sniffed harder, turning this way and that. He took a few steps to his right and … yes, the smell was stronger, coming from the thicket Joe had pointed out. He lowered the mug, cradling him in the crook of his elbow, and tried to push his way through the thorny mess. In the dark, it was harder to maneuver and his coat was ensnared repeatedly. After a few choice curses and much kicking, he stumbled through, tripped over a log, and sprawled face-down in the dirt.

Joe fell from Toad’s grasp and rolled away, coming to a stop against the base of a bush.

“Master Toad, is this what you and m’lady have been looking for?”

Toad, who was busy saying a few more of his favorite words while wiping his face clear of dirt, did not hear Joe at first.

“Master Toad —”

“Hold on! Hold —” Toad looked up. His mouth dropped open. Before him was a plant with lanky stems, covered in fine hairs, and on three of those long stems were three large, white flowers. Toad scrambled to his feet, grabbed a stem and snapped it clear, the flower bobbing on its narrow tip. Scooping up Joe, Toad ran full out across the field, shouting for Melena.

To say that Melena was thrilled was an understatement. She nearly tackled Toad, eyes brimming with tears. They returned to the inn, arm in arm. The lodgers couldn’t believe it; they swarmed the moonflower, the first to be seen in decades, but Toad kept his hand clamped firm around it, refusing to let it be passed around. The proprietor made a fresh pot of cocoa but eventually the overpowering smell of the moonflower began to turn stomachs.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’ll put it away,” said Melena breathlessly. Holding it like a crystal scepter, she rushed up the stairs to more cheers.

The lodgers began to turn in after that — it was, after all exceedingly late — but Toad stayed down by the bar, too energized for sleep, though he’d been dead on his feet mere hours before. The proprietor gave him another clap on the back, told him to extinguish the last of the lamps and left the bar.

“Finally found that flower, eh?”

Toad turned. He had thought that everyone had gone to bed, but he was wrong. Sitting at a far booth was a man. His candle had burnt out and the lamp over his head was extinguished; he sat in the bright light of the moon, shining through the window.

“Yeah!” said Toad, beaming.

The man thumped the table top, inviting Toad to join him. Toad happily accepted, tying Joe back to his belt as he did so.

“I’ve been watchin’,” said the man, leaning an elbow on the table. He had a shaggy, droopy face. “Didn’t think yeh’d do it. People round here ’aven’t seen a moonflower in thirty some years.”

Even though he’d heard this ten times already, Toad felt his chest inflate.

“It wasn’t that hard,” he said casually. “Just took some proper looking.”

Toad thought he heard a ‘humph’ come from his hip.

“Personally speakin’ mind — no ’arm intended — but I don’t see much point in flowers.”

“That one’s important,” said Toad.

“Plannin’ on being a florist, is yeh?” said the man with a grin. “Bone’ll love to ’ear that.”

“Bone?” said Toad, blankly.

The man snickered freely now. “He’s been bettin’ that yeh end up doin’ some girly job. He’ll be right glad to ’ear he’s right!”

Toad felt himself grow hot around the collar. “You a Rambler?” he asked stiffly, no longer smiling. “I don’t know you. Speak your name if you’re a Rambler!”

“Name’s Vest,” said the man, his grin showing blackened teeth. “Newest member.”

“So Bone’s been telling tales about me?” Toad demanded.

Vest’s thin mouth stretched even wider. “Yer his favorite.”

Bone sharing his mishaps to other Ramblers enraged Toad more than usual … that miles away, Bone could still torment him. Needle him.

“He told me yeh was the worst Rambler in ’istory,” said Vest happily.

“Did he?” said Toad, through clenched teeth.

“Master Toad —” Joe hissed in warning from his hip.

“‘Can’t even pinch a flea!’ That’s what he told me! When I realized it was yeh makin’ such a fuss over a flower, I wanted to be sure I got all the details ’fore ’eadin’ back.”

Toad’s anger boiled over.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing, and you better be sure to tell Bone all about it!”

“Oh?” said Vest in amusement.

Toad’s heart thumped wildly. This was it. He could finally get word back to Jack.

He leaned close to Vest. “I’m working for Owl.”

“Owl?” Vest repeated stupidly.

“Yeah. Owl. The biggest man in Hickory.”

“I know who Owl is, boy,” Vest barked, suddenly annoyed. “Don’t go spoutin’ lies —”

“I ain’t lying. Owl hired me for a real special job. Top notch.”

“He didn’t ’ire you,” said Vest, scathingly. “Why would Owl ’ire some washed up thief?”

“I ain’t no washed up thief!” Toad roared. “I can play the game better than anyone!” Blood pounded in his ears. A recklessness had come over him. “Wanna know how good I am? I needed someone who knew about potions, so I tricked that girl into tagging along. She worked in an apothecary, see — she knows everything. And she thinks she’s gettin’ something out of it, ’cuz I pulled her strings just right. She thinks she’s gettin’ dibs on Owl’s money, but she ain’t gettin’ a druet and she doesn’t have a clue! That’s how good I am!”

Vest was not moved.

“So yer a dirty little liar — don’t mean yer workin’ fer Owl. Yer makin’ it all up. Yer the worst Rambl —”

“I’m the best Rambler!” Toad shouted, infuriated. He untied Joe from his belt and slammed him down on the table top. Vest nearly toppled over backward in shock.

“That’s — that’s —”

“The Bewitched Beer Mug of Thieves,” said Toad with a nasty grin. “What were you saying?”

Vest’s ability for speech vanished. He mouthed like a catfish.

“Which makes me your Lord, mate. And you don’t want to go round telling people that the Thief Lord makes up tales, do you?”

Vest shook his head, his scraggly hair whipping about.

“How about you get going? And tell Bone I’ll see him soon.”

Vest jumped up as if his bench had caught fire. He ran out of the inn and into the night while Toad laughed. No one gossiped more than a thief. Toad was positive that before the night was over, Vest would have told every thief he could lay hands on that the ex-Rambler from Hickory was the new Thief Lord.

Joe frowned at Toad. “Master Toad, m’lady does believe that she will be reimbursed for her troubles.”

“Yeah,” said Toad, choosing not to look at Joe.

“Which you will do,” said Joe slowly. “Won’t you, Master Toad?”

Toad shifted uncomfortably on the bench, no longer happy. His silence was answer enough.

Joe looked scandalized.

“You lied to m’lady?”

“I had to, Joe,” Toad pleaded, guilt suddenly curling in his chest. “She wouldn’t have helped me otherwise and I needed her — I never woulda gotten this far without her.”

“So you lied to her,” said Joe, furious.

“This was before you knew me. I was desperate. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Owl was gonna kill me …”

Joe was not swayed.

“You must tell m’lady, Master Toad,” he said firmly. “You must tell m’lady at once and pray she does not hoist you up by the ankles!”

“I will! I will!” said Toad, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s just …” he shimmied again on the bench as Joe’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “It ain’t gonna go over too well, is it? I’ve been leading her on and that’s not something that’s easy to just say.”

“‘I played you for a fool and I beg your forgiveness on bended knee,’” Joe offered at once.

Toad shakily cracked a grin and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t keep the truth to himself anymore, not now when it was all about to come out.

Lizard livers, she was going to hate him for this. But could he get her to understand? He wasn’t who he used to be. Lying and cheating and double-crossing was what Toad had lived and breathed for twelve years.

  It would be better — he knew it would be better — for Melena to find out from him rather than from Owl.

Toad rose from the table and picked up Joe, his heart heavy.

“I’ll tell her in the morning. I’ll tell her everything. First thing.”

Joe looked mollified.

As Toad made his way up the dark stairwell, one thing was for certain: the first chance he got, he would enlist the Ramblers to hunt for Melena’s lost brother, regardless of whether she accepted his help or not. A private detective was nothing compared to the force of such an underground organization.