Illmoor.”
“Yes, we are!” Phew agreed. “But only because they allow it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Father.”
“I’m not being ridiculous; I’m being perfectly serious. Individually, we could probably handle any one of them, but together they’d easily be able to wipe us out. Besides, in a way I actually agree with them; this Teethgrit fellow and his kin have done some appalling things. You should hear what he did to—”
“The children of Dullitch? Yes, he and the dwarf brought them all home, didn’t they?”
“That’s not the point, my darling. The point is, they’ve become a menace.”
“I see,” said Susti, who didn’t. “So what is the plan, then?”
King Phew licked his lips. “Well,” he said, “basically, we just wait. The locations were chosen because they’re the four most dangerous places on Illmoor, places from which men seldom return.”
Susti raised an eyebrow. “So they do exist, then?”
“Well, the places do,” King Phew sighed. “Though it goes without saying that most of the treasures are fake.”
Susti’s eyes widened. “Not all of them?” she said hopefully.
The king shrugged. “Well, I’m sure I heard something about an Idol of Needs being found once—”
“You heard something? I can’t believe this!” Susti gasped. “But, but what about the people in the crowd, the people that knew of them?”
“Plants, I’m afraid: put in the crowd to assist our cause. Duke Modeset’s idea.”
“But I gave them those missions! You told me—”
“Yes, my dear, though you needn’t worry. You’re entirely blameless.”
The princess was beside herself. “So the duke’s plan is merely to send the Teethgrits into the jaws of death … and he’s chosen four different places, to make sure they don’t come back?”
The king nodded. “Modeset says that if the wilds of Kazbrack or the Rintintetly zombies don’t kill them, then the harpies or the dragon will. There’s nothing we can do for them now, my darling. Either way, it’s over …”
Six
I N ITS FIFTY-YEAR HISTORY, the Welcroft Coaching Inn had played host to many strange and unusual creatures. Situated, as it was, on the outskirts of Phlegm, it had also received many unwelcome visitors, but none so immediately offensive as the man who currently stood in the saloon bar, a man whose second visit to the inn was proving as catastrophic as his previous one.
Loogie Lambontroff shook out the flaps of his thick overcoat, cracked his knuckles, and sighed. “I’m not a violent man, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Yes you are!” the innkeeper exclaimed, helping his wife to her feet. “You’ve broken her arm!”
Loogie shook his head. “Oh, come on,” he argued, eyeing the crossbow he’d balanced precariously on a stool beside the table. “Your wife attacked me with a foreign object …”
“Don’t be ridiculous! All she did was answer the door!”
“—with a frying pan in her hand?”
“We were getting breakfast!”
“Yeah, well, how was I to know that? I’m not taking any chances, am I? Now, as I was saying before you took it upon yourself to interrupt, I am not a violent man. At least, not anymore …”
The innkeeper indicated a wreckage of wood and bronze that lay just inside the entrance. “You’ve ripped our front door off its hinges!”
“Yes, yes I did! And, as a matter of fact, I’m very glad you mentioned it,” Loogie said, managing to smile and frown at the same time, “because that has to be the weakest excuse for a door in the entire history of woodwork. The frame was shoddy, the mailbox came away in my hand, and I got a mouthful of abuse off the knocker before I’d come three feet up the drive. Who built this place, anyway? Three pigs?”
“Our barmaid had to take a week off after your last visit—she said you head-butted three of the regulars, broke a window, and left something terrible in the easement.”
“I see. Anything else?”
The innkeeper pointed a shaking finger
“Yes, we are!” Phew agreed. “But only because they allow it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Father.”
“I’m not being ridiculous; I’m being perfectly serious. Individually, we could probably handle any one of them, but together they’d easily be able to wipe us out. Besides, in a way I actually agree with them; this Teethgrit fellow and his kin have done some appalling things. You should hear what he did to—”
“The children of Dullitch? Yes, he and the dwarf brought them all home, didn’t they?”
“That’s not the point, my darling. The point is, they’ve become a menace.”
“I see,” said Susti, who didn’t. “So what is the plan, then?”
King Phew licked his lips. “Well,” he said, “basically, we just wait. The locations were chosen because they’re the four most dangerous places on Illmoor, places from which men seldom return.”
Susti raised an eyebrow. “So they do exist, then?”
“Well, the places do,” King Phew sighed. “Though it goes without saying that most of the treasures are fake.”
Susti’s eyes widened. “Not all of them?” she said hopefully.
The king shrugged. “Well, I’m sure I heard something about an Idol of Needs being found once—”
“You heard something? I can’t believe this!” Susti gasped. “But, but what about the people in the crowd, the people that knew of them?”
“Plants, I’m afraid: put in the crowd to assist our cause. Duke Modeset’s idea.”
“But I gave them those missions! You told me—”
“Yes, my dear, though you needn’t worry. You’re entirely blameless.”
The princess was beside herself. “So the duke’s plan is merely to send the Teethgrits into the jaws of death … and he’s chosen four different places, to make sure they don’t come back?”
The king nodded. “Modeset says that if the wilds of Kazbrack or the Rintintetly zombies don’t kill them, then the harpies or the dragon will. There’s nothing we can do for them now, my darling. Either way, it’s over …”
Six
I N ITS FIFTY-YEAR HISTORY, the Welcroft Coaching Inn had played host to many strange and unusual creatures. Situated, as it was, on the outskirts of Phlegm, it had also received many unwelcome visitors, but none so immediately offensive as the man who currently stood in the saloon bar, a man whose second visit to the inn was proving as catastrophic as his previous one.
Loogie Lambontroff shook out the flaps of his thick overcoat, cracked his knuckles, and sighed. “I’m not a violent man, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Yes you are!” the innkeeper exclaimed, helping his wife to her feet. “You’ve broken her arm!”
Loogie shook his head. “Oh, come on,” he argued, eyeing the crossbow he’d balanced precariously on a stool beside the table. “Your wife attacked me with a foreign object …”
“Don’t be ridiculous! All she did was answer the door!”
“—with a frying pan in her hand?”
“We were getting breakfast!”
“Yeah, well, how was I to know that? I’m not taking any chances, am I? Now, as I was saying before you took it upon yourself to interrupt, I am not a violent man. At least, not anymore …”
The innkeeper indicated a wreckage of wood and bronze that lay just inside the entrance. “You’ve ripped our front door off its hinges!”
“Yes, yes I did! And, as a matter of fact, I’m very glad you mentioned it,” Loogie said, managing to smile and frown at the same time, “because that has to be the weakest excuse for a door in the entire history of woodwork. The frame was shoddy, the mailbox came away in my hand, and I got a mouthful of abuse off the knocker before I’d come three feet up the drive. Who built this place, anyway? Three pigs?”
“Our barmaid had to take a week off after your last visit—she said you head-butted three of the regulars, broke a window, and left something terrible in the easement.”
“I see. Anything else?”
The innkeeper pointed a shaking finger
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