Boyfriends and Other Minor Annoyances Page 2

  She was about to turn around and head back to the inn when a small body hurtled through the crowd, rolling between the bandied legs of a man and straight into Cassie.

  "Sorry, miss!" chirped a giddy, child-like voice. Cassie barely got a glimpse of the speaker, a chubby halfling with hair like mouse fur, before he or she vanished into the crowd once more.

  A moment later, the cowled men pushed through as well, but no one could tell them which way their quarry had scampered. Cassie was left scratching her head in curiosity, and never noticed the slight difference in her basket's weight.

  "Wait, that was you!" Claire yelled, pointing at Tim from across the table. "What were you doing there? Who were those guys, anyway? What's your character like? Did you really use that name we picked for you?"

  "All in good time," Uncle promised, saving Tim from the verbal deluge. "Halfling. Rogue. That's the only stuff that's pertinent right now."

  Shelby snorted. "A sneaky halfling? Couldja get more stereotyped?"

  "Says the girl with the half-orc barbarian," Uncle pointed out.

  "Half-orc barbarian princess."

  Uncle peered out the window. "Anyhoo," he said, "looks like Helen's finally arrived." At least, he could see his sister's car sitting in the parking lot. As he watched, his niece and her mother got out, and the passenger side door slammed hard enough for him to hear, all the way behind the pane of glass. "Um, excuse me for a moment."

  He met them at the door, taking note of the warning signs. First, his sister was looking much too tired for a Sunday afternoon, and the frown lines around her mouth were freshly exercised. Second, his niece kept her eyes pointed towards her feet, as if shuffling were a fascinating spectator sport. Third, Helen was usually one for bright colors, blues and pinks and greens, but today she was clad in all black, from shirt to socks. Since she didn't have the make-up to pass as goth, Uncle figured something else was up.

  "Hey, Helen," he said cheerfully, but got only a grunt in reply. His niece trudged over to the table and took her seat without greeting anybody. "Um, was it something I said?"

  A sigh escaped his sister as she shook her head. "Don't ask me; I have no idea. She was fussy and grumpy all day yesterday, and her dad almost grounded her this morning for talking back."

  "But instead you're foisting her off on me for the afternoon, huh?"

  "Maybe she'll open up more here?" his sister suggested. "In any case, I need some peace and quiet. Good luck." With that, she hastily retreated back to her car.

  Uncle muttered "Thanks, sis," under his breath as he returned to the table. The other girls were busy getting Helen up to speed on what little had happened so far, though it was hard to tell how much his niece was actually listening. Instead, she seemed to alternate between slouching, sighing, and glaring.

  Now it was his turn to sigh. This was not going to be fun.

  "So, Helen," he began. "What's Gwen been up to, now that we're in the big city?"

  "Nothing."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  The girl kept with the frowny face and shook her head. "Nothing."

  "So she's just sitting around on her skinny butt all day?"

  "Sure."

  Cynthia chimed in. "She could be helping Flora with the fruit stand! Yanno, being our exotic poster girl?"

  "Or she could be practicing swordwork with Selvi!"

  "What about a shopping trip?" asked Claire. "Everyone likes those!"

  Uncle let the girls banter the ideas back and forth. Hopefully one or more would entice Helen to play along. While they were busy, he pulled up a character profile on his laptop and tried not to grin. There were all sorts of ways to motivate a player, and though he hadn't planned on debuting this threat for a while to come, maybe they needed the shake-up. In his head, he plotted...

  Across the plaza from the Stoneflower Inn was a cafe, of the sort patronized by workers and craftsmen on the route between home and work. At mid-day, it was almost empty, except for the tall woman who sat at the edge of the awning. The serving girl who shuttled drinks and snacks thought she knew everyone in that part of town, at least of the heavy coffee-drinkers, but this new woman remained a mystery. Since that morning she'd been sitting there in her grey gown and wimple, looking like a nun from one of the stricter orders. One of the quiet ones, too, for the girl couldn't recall what the woman's voice sounded like.

  This was perfectly fine with Marcellia, who was neither talkative nor a nun nor, strictly speaking, human, but who could easily pass herself off as two out of three. The cafe was an excellent place to sit, observe, and read while waiting for an opportunity to present itself. While Marcellia was not many things, she was certainly patient.

  "Er, can I get you anything else?" the serving girl asked, approaching with care.

  Marcellia smiled and waved her over. With quick, complicated gestures of her hands, she communicated that yes, she would like another cup of coffee, with one lump of sugar and a measure of cream, to be poured into the dark brew counterclockwise but otherwise not stirred. The serving girl was left with the knowledge that an order had been placed, but without understanding exactly how.

  With a fresh cup of coffee and a book in hand, Marcellia was as content as she could be. She settled in for a long afternoon. Her quarry would show herself soon enough.

  "Huh? What's this?" Cassie pulled a small leather bag out of her basket, where it had been hiding under the cheese. It was hardly more than a pouch, but her fingers told her that several lumpy shapes were hiding inside.

  Bianca snuck in under the moon priestess's arms to have a look. "Hey, it's got an alchemist's craft mark on it," she noted. "Stop by any weird shops while you were out?"

  "No, just the open market." Cassie brought it up to her nose for a sniff. "Smells weird, though."

  There was a high-pitched giggle from the little witch. "Did you know your nose wiggles now?"

  "It does!?" The moon priestess clapped her free hand over the errant facial feature, which only made Bianca laugh more. As the others came over to see what was so funny. The little leather pouch was left forgotten on a table to the right of the window.

  The curtains were pulled wide and tied, but they ruffled as if blown in a breeze that wasn't there. The tassel at the end of the cord oscillated slightly, swinging back and forth twice before pausing in mid-air as if caught. The little leather bag scooted on the table, nudging itself slowly across the grained wood. One inch, two inches, three... the last tug jerked the pouch over the table's edge, and after a moment's frantic juggling in the air, it fell to the floor with a loud thump.

  Everyone turned to look, and suddenly a skinny arm was visible, grabbing the bag from where it lay. The pilfering paw was attached via a skinny arm and bony shoulder to a startled pair of green eyes. Then the entire package disappeared out the open window.

  "Damnit, we got a thief!" the half-orc roared. She leapt through the window, contorting to fit and thankful she wasn't in full armor at the moment. Even so, it took too long to clear the sill, and by then the thief was around the corner. "Heading towards the back!" she yelled.

  The others were already on it. Bianca darted overhead, floating above the back alleys on her magic broomstick. Gwen and Cassie raced after the thief directly, while Flora cut around the other way. They all met in the grassy yard where Selvi had done her blade practice.

  The thief, a short little guy hardly taller than Bianca in her current state, didn't hesitate, going straight for the rear wall with its fitted stones and easy handholds. Not two steps in that direction, however, sneaky feet found themselves caught in a tangle of grass and weeds that refused to let go. Struggling only made it worse, as the thief realized quickly from inside a cocoon of greenery.

  "Hey, hey! Let me out!" came a squeaky voice. It was followed by a cough and a gagging noise. "Gettin' all choked up in here!"

  The princesses got into position, surrounding the thief before Flora released the spell. All the little blades of grass resumed their no
rmal stature, and the culprit collapsed to the ground, heaving and moaning.

  Selvi grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him skyward. "You just made a big mistake," she declared. "It's a lucky thing we're not in the khanate, or we'd be meting out the law very painfully, right here and right now. Why were you trying to steal from us?"

  "Weren't tryin' nothin'!" squealed the thief. "Just gettin' back what's mine."

  Cassie was gawking at the thief, and one could almost see the bunnies of thought hopping in her head. "You're the one who bumped into me earlier, right?" she gushed. "With all the whew! and the wow! and the running between people's legs? Is that how the thing got in my basket?"

  "Got it in one!" The thief squirmed in Selvi's hand. "Weren't yours, so I weren't stealin' from ya!"

  "A technicality," growled the half-orc. The halfling dangled precariously from the barbarian's arm as they proceeded back into the building. "That doesn't mean you weren't gonna rob us anyway. How're we supposed to trust you weren't?"

  She plopped the thief into a chair, and that little body squirmed like the quilted cushion was a lit stove. "Er, my honor as a scout?" he offered.

  Gwen was the one to snort now. "Never was there a true scout of the Imperium who would act this way, and honor is not something we would believe from you. You planted that pouch in our friend's basket, and then attempt to steal it back from us? I would know why." Her short sword hissed as it left her sheath and halted an inch from the halfling's nose. "Speak true, and you may only leave with a few scars."

  Everyone around the table was staring at Helen, and especially Tim, whose nose was uncomfortably close to the pencil that the blonde girl was brandishing. "Er, um, er..." the boy mumbled, his green eyes going crosswise.

  "Helen..." her uncle said. "I don't think this calls for the third-degree treatment."

  "I don't trust him." His niece pouted.

  "You mean Gwen doesn't trust the halfling, right?" Uncle ventured.

  "Whatever."

  Shelby had a hand on her friend's arm, and was tugging it gently. "C'mon," she said. "We gotta work Tim's character in somehow."

  "What's the point?" Helen shrugged her friend off. "Our princesses aren't going to believe a word that thief says without proof or something to back it up."

  Well, theoretically if Tim rolled really high on a bluff while all five girls rolled 1 or 2 on a check to detect motive, then the halfling could convince them all she was the Queen of Sheba. Uncle didn't favor that extreme a level of success, however, and he was pretty sure that none of the young ladies would stand for it either.

  There was a tug on his sleeve. Katelyn had slipped around the table with a memo pad page in hand. "...excuse me..." she said nervously, giving him the memo and whispering in his ear as he read on.

  "Yes, that could work," he said to her. "We forgot to determine your latest hex, anyway. Roll to see if it works. Tim, since I doubt your character is willing to play along, roll your own d20 to see if you resist. Okay?"

  Two large dice clattered across the table from opposite ends. Katelyn's purple polyhedron clipped the edge of the map, teetered for a moment, and then stopped on 20. Tim's clear die rolled well too, landing with 14 on top, but that wasn't enough for this situation.

  "So," Uncle said. "Let's hear about Bianca's latest trick and what it gets us..."

  "Outta the way!" said Bianca, coming up from below Gwen's sword arm. "Don't make me tickle you." Satisfied that no bars of sharpened steel were about to swing down, the little witch stood up straight, almost eye to eye with the halfling in the chair, and wiggled her fingers theatrically. With a giggly cackle, she intoned, "Liar, liar, tongue so sweet; now your penance you shall meet. Bitter, bitter, words so true; let these tastes be switched for you!" With the final words, she tapped the thief on the lips.

  "What's all that about?" asked Flora.

  "It's one of Gran'mama's little tricks," the witch said proudly. "For the next hour, every true word spoken will taste like honey on the tongue, while every lie will be nasty and vile." Bianca made a face. "Trust me, it's pretty bad. So, feel like talking straight with us?" she asked.

  "No! I... I don't believe you can..." The halfling's face turned green with nausea, and only frantic gulping kept lunch in the stomach. "Gah! You weren't kiddin'!"

  "Let's start, then," said Selvi. "What's your name?"

  "Macki... ee... urp... is what they call me 'round here!" Twinkly green eyes flicked from face to face. "Um... my real name is, er, Priscilla--"

  "You're a girl?" Cassie shouted. "Oh, sorry, but..."

  "Been hidin' that bit, iffen it's all the same to you. And it's Priscilla A--"

  Now Flora interrupted. "But, why hide it?"

  "You try bein' a girl on the lam! Thieves ain't gentlemen, yanno!" The so-called Priscilla muttered half-curdled cusswords as she fiddled with a pendant around her throat. The silver piece was feather-shaped, and so well made that one could almost see the color patterns arising from its monochrome surface. The next time she spoke, her voice was noticeably higher pitched. "And this way, none of my Grammy's folk can find me neither."

  "Maybe your grandmother would have a reward handy if we sent you back to her?" Gwen ventured.

  "No!" Priscilla squeaked. "Anythin' but that! You don't know what she's like. She'll... she'll... make me go to school!"

  All the princesses stared for a moment. Selvi spoke for them all when she said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Priscilla was wilting under their collective gaze, but managed to stutter out, "Y-you know the Wanderin' Court?"

  Bianca nodded. "Halflings are all either Townies or Roadies, and the Wandering Court is like the government for the Roadies. Making agreements, meting out punishments, stuff like that. Gran'mama does business with them sometimes," she explained.

  "That's 'bout right," said Priscilla. "My grammy's the Court's Mistress of of Fortunes, and... yeah." She nodded at the choked expression on Bianca's face. "Looks like you get that part, too."

  "Mind filling us in?" asked Cassie.

  "She's... she's..." Bianca coughed. "Where... was that school she was going to send you to?"

  "Back east of here, I think. Middle'a nowhere, but crazy-posh. Run by a Lady Ambi-rill, I think?"

  "You're a princess!?"

  Half an hour later, and they'd pried all the details out of Priscilla: how she'd run away a few months ago so she wouldn't have to attend a hoity-toity school; how she'd used her wits and a few tricks, like the mockingbird charm, to pass as a boy; how she'd literally made a name for herself -- Mackie -- in the big city with her thieving exploits. Most recently, she'd been hired for a real scheme, all cloak and dagger and extra cash for no questions asked.

  "Only, I get the goods, and nobody wants 'em!" cried the thief. "My contacts all claim ignorance, the guild boss is writin' me off, and I got the creeps chasin' me!"

  "The creeps?" asked Gwen. "Are you sure it's not just some townsfolk you ripped off?"

  "I remember!" Cassie shouted. "There were those guys in black robes and cowls chasing you through the market." The moon priestess nodded. "Yeah, they were creepy."

  "So ya see where I'm comin' from." Priscilla hopped out of the chair and stretched her legs, and arranged her clothes. What had appeared at first to glance to be a ragged, if colorful, jacket proved to be only the first layer of a deliberately coordinated ensemble that provided dozens pouches and pockets. They still had only her word that there was anything feminine underneath it all. From a hidden fold under her left armpit, she retrieved a short string of pearls. "Um, I know we all got off to a bad start, but ya seem like a nice lot, and I'm needin' all the help I can hire. Even willin' to pay good rates for square; that's how desperate I am." She glanced around hopefully.

  The girls were having a heated if hushed discussion about this latest wrinkle. Uncle approved, both of the way they were handling it and the way Tim had gotten it across. The two of them had discussed a few options -- he'd passed the b
oy a note with some extra prompts, just in case -- and Tim had handled them like a pro. No stuttering, no hemming or hawing, just the scene. It probably helped that Shelby'd been holding his hand the entire time for a real-life morale bonus.

  At the heart of the matter was whether or not to trust the newest addition to the group, and the sides had formed as expected. Selvi and Gwen were both too suspicious to play along, though Shelby was quick to reassure that it was nothing personal. Helen, on the other hand, was in perpetual frowny-face mode, and raised her eyes only to glower. Even her "bestest uncle ever" had to be careful with her today. He hoped she'd get over it soon enough.

  Princess Flora was on the fence, but both Bianca and Cassie were more than happy to help a fellow young lady out. The final plan, hashed out over the course of ten minutes, had the little witch and the moon bunny accompanying Priscilla on a fact-finding mission to the library, while Selvi and Flora were off on their own errands. As for Gwen, she was sitting at home base.

  "Really?" he asked his niece. "She's not doing anything today?"

  "No." Helen scrunched herself deeper into the sofa seat cushions and huffed malcontentedly. "She's tired and doesn't want to do anything. I'm going to the toilet," she announced, sliding from her seat and shuffling away.

  Uncle looked around the table. "Anyone have any idea what's going on?" he asked.

  "Nope!" "...no..." "Nuh-uh." "She was fine on Friday!"

  "I don't think she likes me," said Tim with a hangdog expression on his face.

  Shelby hugged him. "Nah, she's just having a thing today. Don't worry."

  "Yeah!" Claire gave him the thumb's up. "You're doing great!"

  Everyone was trying to be positive, but Uncle couldn't rid himself of the nagging little feeling that he should be doing something about this. And in the back of his brain, the little grey cells that specialized in nasty tricks were already playing out the next part of their plot.

  The woman in grey had yet to move from her spot in the cafe across from the Stoneflower Inn, and the serving girl never wondered why, nor could she recall how many cups of coffee had actually been served so far. Somewhere deep inside, she realized that the number was more than a few, so when she came back around that table to clear the dishes, she offered the woman a complementary bowl of strawberries, like her boss told her to do for the regular customers.