A Bad Night In Bridgetown

How Cressidia Ended Up Watching The Shop

...even as small as he was Sir Cobb used the potion of strength to lift the book of spells above his head and cast it into the fire. Perdita Baleclaw howled with pain and anguish to see the source of her power consumed in flames but it was too late.

Along with her power the wicked sorceress lost her pleasant appearance. The weight of the years she had cheated withered her in an instant. Within a few moments all that was left of Perdita Baleclaw was the impervious ice of her blackened crystal heart.

Already feeling the strength begin to ebb from his tired, aching muscles, Sir Cobb raced to the frozen heart. He scooped it up from the nest of ashes, the witch's remains. The heart was so cold that it burned his hands, turning his fingertips blue. Sir Cobb ignored the discomfort. The young knight carried the prize to his mentor and companion.

Avan Weatherstrong's skin burned red, the sweat that would have cooled his body was turning to steam. Sir Cobb was afraid that it was already too late. Using the magical resizing mirror he inverted the lens and attained his full size once more.

Without time for decorum Sir Cobb pressed the frozen heart hard against the prince's cheek. The cold of the heart was all that could fight the infernal poison in Avan's veins. His strength failing fast Frederick pressed the heart to his friend's skin. He kept it there until Avan could reach up and grasp the crystal for himself...

"You look annoyed," Rachel said, "and puzzled. Yes, definitely, puzzled... and annoyed. Is everything alright?"

Tabarnas broke his attention away from his reading book. Rachel had entered the little study nook he had made for himself. He had built it in the model throne room, deep inside the replica of Caer Frogfellow. If just about anyone else had interrupted him he would have found himself seriously irritated. As it stood he was, in fact, just annoyed, but not with her, and it was true he was puzzled.

In Tabarnas's life there had never been anyone with whom he could share the magic of stories on a regular basis. Not until Rachel had come along. He told as many tales as he could for a coin in the market but he was a goblin merchant, not a showman. These encounters were singular and often more of a free gift than a matter of trade.

On the rare occasion that Tabarnas could sneak away he would visit the Circus Quarter. There he would pay to hear more stories, or old stories told with flair, by the professionals. The story tellers plied their trade amongst the coloured tents of the market's most frivolous area. He had a special place in his heart for such theatrics. Even so, Tabarnas much preferred to read a story from a leather-bound volume. This made him feel as if he somehow 'owned' the story.

Books were rare in Faerie. Most of the folk could read a notice, a proclamation or a road sign, but they lacked the powers of concentration to read a whole story. This is one of the reasons why Tabarnas was particularly keen on the tales of Avan Weatherstrong. The Prince who had become the first Lord Sommerslip had defeated the evil ogre Urbegor. He founded the Faerie Archive over the remains of the ogre's tower.

The Faerie Archive was the one place in Faerie dedicated to the preservation and promotion of the written word. Avan Weatherstrong was more than a brave and handsome prince to Tabarnas, he was a role model and a hero.

Goblin merchants, by and large, did not really subscribe to notions of heroism. Nor did they have role models, except insofar as having them helped to get product into the hands of paying customers. Tabarnas was not a usual goblin merchant. Sometimes he suspected that he could be some kind of a reverse changeling. Maybe his true goblin merchant parents brought him up as a true goblin merchant but always to nurse a secret shame.

Tabarnas had made peace with his story habit long ago, he loved his stories without shame. He still kept out of Cressidia's way when he was reading. She found the whole business distasteful and upsetting.