Taking the Long Way: Part Four

It was raining by the time they reached the first village on the outskirts of Meridell, a steady, miserable downpour. Meri Acres Road was sucking at their shoes as they walked, a path of puddles and a sloshing, perpetual slide of gravel and gunk that was running down the road on either side. And, of course, this sort of weather always made the rubbish dump a particularly pleasant landmark to pass.

     "You can quit holding your breath, Wil," Alexien told the Quiggle, who released the hold he'd had on his nose and inhaled an enormous, lung-starved gasp of air.

     "Will you go straight to the king?" Celleny asked, turning to face Alexien, chocolate-colored fur wet and matted down, making her look as though she'd been thoroughly drowned.

     "And tell him what? Your farm is still a mess. He won't have a reason to give you an extension for the marrow tax."

     She shook her head. "I meant the reason he sent you to Sakhmet to begin with. Aren't you supposed to report back to him as soon as you return? He'll get angry," she warned. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

     "And neither do I!" came a hissed complaint as the dark faerie rematerialized directly in front of them, halting their progress as she fixed Alexien with a prissy glare, long-sleeved arms folded. Celleny stared at the strange phenomenon that was the rain parting in a curtain around her.

     Alexien frowned at the intrusion, soaked fur dripping. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of a conversation?"

     "There's a toy shop right there!" the faerie insisted, crooking a perfectly-manicured finger toward a thatched building just down the road that bore a faded wooden sign: "Ye Olde Plushie Factory".

     Alexien glanced from the sign to the impatient faerie, and moved to walk around her, brushing her off with the wave of a hand. "I'll get to it later," he said dismissively before turning to Celleny once more and resuming their interrupted conversation. "Skarl's always angry. If he hears I'm back and he's in a truly foul mood, he'll just arrest me."

     "Arrest you!" she exclaimed, mouth opening in protest as a streak of lightning creased the morose sky, followed quickly by a jolting clap of thunder that startled Wiltshire.

      "Don't be dramatic," Alexien scowled, shaking his head as though it was a silly thing to even bother about. "He does it all the time. The food's good, actually, and the company's even better. Those cells hold some interesting people." The frown morphed into a sly smirk. "And Senya will have to come bail me out. She always loves that." He peered over his shoulder then, at the trailing dark faerie who was eyeing him with open malevolence. "Are you still following me?"

     "Yes."

     "Are you always this pushy?" he inquired curiously.

     "Always!" she spat, yellow eyes narrowing disdainfully. "Just reject the quest so that I can get what I need from someone else."

     "Oh, I don't think so," Alexien said regretfully. "A few extra hit points wouldn't be a bad investment, I think. I'll get to it. Go stir your cauldron or something."

     With a shriek of rage, the faerie disappeared once more, and Wiltshire, feet firmly planted in an ankle-deep puddle, said mournfully, "Sir, I do feel sorry for whoever let that one out of her bottle."

     ***

     It turned into some mad Quiggle convention.

     Immediately upon reaching Celleny's marrow farm, Wiltshire hopped his way back to the sprawling pond at the edge of the property, summoning up his fellows with several loud, throaty croaks. Within moments, large bugged-out eyes were peering up from the watery depths or opening lazily from morning naps. The rain had cleared, and several were taking advantage of that fact by floating about on lily pads, absorbing weak rays of sunlight.

     Alexien and Celleny stood to the side, watching as the Quiggles gave Wiltshire their undivided attention, heads bobbing rapidly in frenetic agreement. Alexien couldn't hear what was being said from where he was standing, but Wil must have been convincing enough, for suddenly an absolute frog stampede was instigated, dozens upon dozens of them fleeing the pond with an admirable urgency, following Wiltshire over the hill that led back toward the farm.

     "I…guess they agreed to help," Celleny murmured, watching in awe as the ground shook from all the commotion.

     "Yes, but if I were you, I would supervise. Judging from my interactions with Wil, they seem to get side-tracked rather easily. Their idea of renovation is rearranging the lily pads, you realize."

     Celleny turned to follow the cavalcade of Quiggles and Alexien walked behind, cresting the top of the small hill to find a light, chilly wind blowing and her tiny three-room farmhouse nestled just in front of a thick grove of trees. Even from where he stood he could tell that it was only a small step above dilapidated. The roof looked heavy and overburdened; the porch was missing several planks, and one of the support beams was leaning at a rather discouraging angle. The flower beds out front showed signs of being bitten by the early morning frosts, and the healthiest-looking plants were the prodigious number of weeds that had clearly settled in and made themselves at home. The entire place looked rather gray and sad, but even more worrisome, to him at least, was the prospect of this team of Quiggle handymen turning it into some blaring, multi-colored horror. With Wiltshire in charge, Alexien knew that was a distinct possibility, and so he looked on with half-hearted interest as Celleny jumped in to assist the Quiggles with the repairs.

     After about an hour of watching this odd production, Alexien found Celleny, now clad in work clothes and thick gardening gloves, venturing toward him with the purpose of setting him free of his vigil. "I think we can handle it from here," she said brightly. "You should go on to report to the king. He may not pay you as well if he thinks you've been dawdling."

     "Oh, he'll pay me," Alexien replied nonchalantly, watching as the Quiggles, now broken into their various "teams", worked to de-weed the yard, pulled the ruined marrow harvest from the field, and began slabbing a thick coat of paint on the walls of the barn. "You really had no idea what you were doing when you bought this place, did you?"

     "Not really," Celleny admitted, "but I like it, and I'll get better at it."

     "Heh. I'm a desert native. I don't know a thing about farming, just so you understand, but you'll have to find someone who does. This will be your second chance, Celleny. You'll have to get it right this time," Alexien warned sincerely.

     She nodded in solemn agreement. "It's not the same as growing voidberries, but I thought I knew enough to pick up marrow farming on my own, to just learn as I went." She turned back to him, smiling cheerfully, "I appreciate the intervention."

     "You might not be so grateful by the time they get done with this place. They're nothing if not overly-enthusiastic," he said dryly, watching as her sight drifted to just beyond him and the sound of approaching hooves thumping against soft earth.

     "Those are the king's soldiers," she whispered quickly, tensing visibly.

     "Yeah, I know. I heard them coming," he revealed, sounding unimpressed as he looked over his shoulder to find three high-stepping Unis, each of whom was wearing the royal livery and bearing a disgruntled-looking soldier. Alexien turned back to Celleny, shaking his head slightly. "Don't worry about it. Like I told you earlier, this isn't the first time this has happened. I don't think Skarl would know what to do if I just walked back into the castle on time, report in hand. If you try to please a monarch too much, they become a spoiled, petulant child. I prefer to keep my king dangling."

     "This isn't funny, Alexien," she insisted, unnerved by his lazy reaction.

     "Go pull some weeds," he suggested airily, waving her off as the Unis pounded up the hillside and drew up to a stop, their riders dismounting with the metallic clank of moving armor. Across the meadow, the Quiggles continued their tireless work, warbling and murmuring to themselves in their weird little language.

     "You lot were quick this time," Alexien congratulated the trio of guards.

     One of the soldiers, a lanky red Draik, stepped forward, exhaling an exasperated breath as though his time was precious and being thoroughly wasted. "What do you think you're doing, Alexien?" he asked irritably, gesturing toward the activity on the farm. "The king warned you last time, didn't he? You can keep all the strange hobbies you like, but don't do them on his time."

     "I've spent the last three months rotting in Sakhmet on his time, Riezin," Alexien snapped back, golden eyes slitting in open annoyance. "Now he can wait in his cozy palace while I waste a day of my own time."

     "Tell him that and you'll rot in a cell until spring," Riezin warned blandly.

     Celleny picked then to intervene, stepping forward, hands folded together nervously. "Actually, he wasn't purposefully wasting the king's time, he was help--"

     "You stay out of it," Alexien quickly interrupted. "Do you really feel like adding to the tally Skarl's keeping against this place?" The sarcastic question achieved the intended result, and she shut her mouth, looking distinctly angry. Satisfied that she would be quiet, Alexien turned back to the lead soldier. "You must have had help if you spotted me in this form that quickly."

     "I'll admit you're not the Kyrii type," Riezin admitted, casting an appraising look at the change in appearance. "And to answer your question, yes, we were tipped off by a dark faerie, a rather perturbed one, might I add. You don't make friends very well, do you?"

     Alexien shrugged and extended his wrists as one of Riezin's fellow soldiers stepped forward to clamp manacles around them, securing them with a rusty lock and key for the ride back to Meridell Castle. "Not usually, no," Alexien admitted. "But do you know anyone who's on particularly good terms with a dark faerie…?"

To be continued...