Middenly Charms

© 2017 by Walter Reimer

A hearty thank you for the use of characters by  EOCostello set in  tegerio’s Realm of Faerie universe!

Thumbnail arts by  tegerio, with color by  Major Matt Mason!



Part 24.


There was a sensation of being lifted and carried, but I couldn’t feel paws on me.

Then my ears swiveled, as I could hear the Wolf Queen say, “Hmmph. A fawn in a basket. Are there no orphanages here?”

I came to at that point as the basket hit the ground with a thump, at the same time she said in Elf-Mind, ”You look like your buck-fawn when he’s asleep.”

”Thank you,” I said as I started to haul myself out of the basket. To my surprise, I was still clutching the ball.

”It wasn’t mean to be a compliment,” she said tartly. Pissy wolfess.

There was a fine mother and father of an argument going on, with every prospect of baby arguments in the offing. I got to my hooves, a bit unsteadily at first (NO, Sixth, not like a newborn fawn, stop giggling) and tapped the priest on the shoulder. He glanced at me and I gave him the ball. “What’s going on?” I asked.

He ignored me, intent on making sure that the argument didn’t blossom into a full-scale riot. I paid attention to what was being said, since it appeared that I was a bone of contention.

“He was carryin’ it!” one wolf from the other neighborhood shouted, jabbing an index finger into his palm to emphasize each word.

Conlan was having none of it. “I threw th’ ________ ball with a bluidy deer attached t’it, tha gert ____!”

Ah. That explained a few things, then.

“Same as carryin’ it, then!” the other riposted, and things swiftly began to descend into personalities.

It was the priest, again using a bit of Gramerye to amplify his voice, who finally laid the argument to rest, bellowing and fetching various verbal combatants a quality assortment of clips to the ears and buffets to the head with a well-placed paw. “QUIET!” he roared, and eventually everyone perked their ears in his direction and stopped arguing. “Richt. We’re all followers o’ Great Alpha, are we not?”

There was general assent to this, with one cub piping up, “He ain’t,” while pointing at me. He yowled as his mother smacked him one.

“An’ did ye all nae ask me, as Servant o’ Great Alpha, t’keep a watch o’er this dispute?” This statement, too, received general assent.

The priest drew himself up. “Then I’m decidin’ in favor o’ this side,” and he gestured toward Angus and his friends, who started to cheer but quieted immediately as the cleric glared at them. Any protests by the other neighborhood were quelled just as quickly. “There’s naucht in’t Rules sayin’ that ye can’t throw th’ fur what’s holdin’ th’ ball, so th’ goal stands. Shake paws, an’ we’ll all hae dinner – AFTER tha lot concede th’ dispute.”

One wolf from the opposing neighborhood shuffled forward, and mumbled something.

Which won him a smack on the muzzle by the priest. “SPEAK UP!”

“Orricht . . . um . . . tha’rt right, ye cannae use chicken in haggis,” and he retreated as everyone cheered and started setting things up for dinner.

“That’s what this was all about?” I asked. “What kind of meat’s appropriate for haggis?”

“Aye,” the priest said. He tucked his paws into the sleeves of his robe. “We tak our cookery seriously here, we do.”

The Wolf Queen just chuckled and shook her head.

I’ll never understand wolves.

Still, the dinner was tasty and there was plenty of beer, and gradually everyone mellowed a bit. By sundown, a very worn out, bruised and battered roebuck decided it was time to go. The gathering was starting to come together for Evenhowl, and the Wolf Queen and I headed back to the High Lair.

We were within fifty yards of the outermost gate when I stopped. “I want to try something.”
I pooked.

There was a familiar whirling-through-space feeling, and I reappeared ten feet to the left of the wolfess. “What was that about?” she asked.

“An experiment,” I said. “Every time I tried to pook while inside the walls, I ended up in the middens. So I decided to try it – “

“Outside the walls, yes.” She frowned in thought. “Defensive ward?”

I nodded. “Her Grace told me that she’d have her own magic-users look into it, and doesn’t want me doing anything. Makes sense, really – it’d get me in bad odor with the Crown Prince if I did.”

“Even worse odor if you encountered him just after a dunk in the muck,” she said with a sardonic chuckle. “Although he’d probably be jealous that you smelled worse than he did back at the Blaec-Graf.” She grinned, and I held my tongue.

When we entered the inner courtyard she paused, and pooked, appearing about twenty feet away. When I caught up to her, she was looking at me thoughtfully. “Could it have been flinging you into the muck because you’re a deer?” she asked. “It’s leaving me alone because I’m a wolf?”

I thought it over. “I don’t think so. Any army that’d try to get into the Lair would be wolves, to start with. The W – you’ve been here before, obviously, so maybe the wards recognize you, specifically, as a friend or a neutral.” We both lapsed into thought and maintained that thoughtful silence until we parted ways.

A nice bath, some cantrips to clean and mend my uniform, and a restorative tot of [Three and a Half] later, and I was ready for bed. I took the books I had purchased from my Elfintory and placed them on a table, then drifted off to sleep.

I’m still not really sure how many hours I slept – maybe four hours, as the bells hadn’t sounded midnight – my ears twitched.

And twitched again, as the sound of soft, but frenzied knocking started to make itself known.

I tried snuggling deeper into the blanket, but the knocking persisted, and in fact got louder.

Then there came a voice.

”Master?” It sounded like the Wolf Queen.

I opened my eyes blearily as the knocking got a little louder, and I managed to pry myself out of the bed. My trousers went on and I drew my short-staff from my Elfintory. Whatever it is, it had damned well better be important.

The voice was heard again, and it actually was the Wolf Queen. “Master, will you please open this door?”

It was important. She almost never said “Please” to me.

I put my short-staff away, opened the door, and the wolfess bolted inside. “Wolf Queen? What - ?”

She had a hunted look on her face, and in the distance I could hear Her Grace the Grand Duchess Lucretia, calling out, “Coo-ee, Wolf Queen!”

I shut, bolted, and barred the door.

Unfortunately, I had failed to lay in supplies for a siege, but one can't think of everything.

I switched to Elf-Mind. ”When did this start?”

”Just after I went to my room.”

”I can appreciate you wanting to stay faithful to Ooo-er, Wolf Queen, but – “ My blood froze as someone started knocking on my door.

“Master of Elfhame?” Her Grace asked. “Is the Wolf Queen in there with you?” I didn’t reply, and she started knocking again.

”Hide.”

”Where?” she asked, looking around the room.

”Garderobe.” I grabbed her paw and tugged her in the direction of the necessary room. She went along with me as I magically made my paw glow to light the way.

The garderobe was a one-holer, and I hoped that it was the right design. Sure enough, the seat lifted up, revealing a stone shaft leading downward with a series of paw and foot-folds cut into the rock.

We both wrinkled our noses as the stink of poo gas rose up, and the Wolf Queen gave me an Eye. ”You can NOT be serious.”

I gritted my teeth as Her Grace knocked on the door again. ”Look, wolfess, there’s nowhere else, and the smell will mask your scent until I can get her to leave.” The Wolf Queen gave me a baleful look and slowly descended into the shaft, and I closed the seat over her. As I left the garderobe I heard her cough and I said, ”Quiet, please.”

I pulled on my uniform tunic and cast a cantrip to dispel any trace of the Wolf Queen’s scent before I unlocked the door. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

The Grand Duchess was a looker in a formal gown; dressed in a rather filmy cream-colored negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, she was stunning. Netherhells, I was sure that if the Wolf Queen wasn’t shying away from venery no one in the High Lair would get any sleep from all the moaning and howling.

I might even have risked the Crown Prince’s wrath by bedding her myself.

Hang about. What am I saying?

“To what do I owe – “

“Where is she?”

I blinked, still partly asleep. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“The Wolf Queen, roebuck. Where is she?” Her Grace demanded. She raised her muzzle, crested, and sniffed. “Her scent comes right to this door, and stops. Therefore she must be in here.” Without waiting for an invitation, she shoved past me and stood in my room, sniffing. Not finding any trace of her quarry, she glared at me and pointed at the door to the garderobe. “Is she in there?”

“No, Your Grace.” Elves Don’t Lie, but I was on firm ground; the Wolf Queen wasn’t in the garderobe, but hiding in the shaft leading to the middens.

She jerked the door open and grimaced at the smell coming out of the seat. “What have you been eating?” she asked rhetorically. “Is she hiding in there?”

I smiled and took up a few pieces of bog-roll, twisting them into a spill that I then magically set alight. “Your Grace, would I toss this lit spill down the garderobe, risking the ignition of all sorts of poo gas, if the Wolf Queen was down there?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “You might, roebuck, you might.”

“Well, observe!” and I casually tossed the lit spill into the hole, and we both flinched back as a small lick of flame appeared, accompanied by a FOOMP! and followed by a puff of smoke.

Her Grace waved away the smoke, coughing, as I went into my bedroom and came back with the chamberpot, the contents of which sloshed menacingly. “Furthermore, Your Grace, would I empty this very full thunderpot down the garderobe, presumably on top of the head of the wolfess, should the wolfess be there?”

“She'd certainly resent it if you did.”

“Which is why I do so.” So saying, I poured the contents of the chamberpot down the hole, and used another piece of bog-roll to wipe the seat. Neatness counts, after all.

The Grand Duchess still looked rather unconvinced. “Well, all right, you've convinced me, roebuck. I'll look for her elsewhere.” She sneezed and left the room, and I closed the door behind her. I bolted it before returning to the garderobe.

A smoke and liquid-stained muzzle poked up from the hole, and a bit of Elf-Mind reached me. ”Is she gone?”

”Yup.” I opened the seat, and a slightly steaming wolfess emerged.

She glowered at me. ”My vengeance upon you is going to be complete, and very, VERY messy.”

Ingrate. ”Duly noted.” I applied several cantrips to clean her up and get rid of the smells of poo gas, smoke and so on, and soon afterward she peeked out into the hallway and sneaked out as quietly as she could. I closed the door and went back to bed.

Sleep, though, eluded me, and I lit a candle and selected a book from the pile. This was an anthology of tales about Gruoch the Mate-Slayer. I’d describe it as a bodice-ripper, but it was actually mel’s shirts and small-clothes that were getting torn into scraps as Gruoch searched for a suitable mate. About a dozen incandescent venery scenes later, she would kill him and resume her search. I later learned that it was bad form to reveal too soon how the hapless mel would die.

It was several hours past midnight when I eventually finally fell asleep.

All too soon the blaring, twangling squall of the morning baglute player woke me up.

Far too early.

I momentarily lapsed into Brother Cellini’s idiom and shouted, “I’ll MOIDER da bum!” Pausing only to throw on my pants, I set off up the stairs to administer my very own wake-up call.

The sun was just starting to brighten the sky as I emerged onto the roof of the tower and spotted my quarry. Our eyes met and a look of actual fear crossed his muzzle, but despite everything he kept on playing that dratted baglute.

I charged.

Only to flinch and almost break stride as the Grand Duchess’ dratted pet raven, Enza, swooped down and started pecking at my head. I recovered and resumed my charge, only to have the player sidestep me at the last second.

And I dashed straight off the top of the tower, maybe eighty feet above the ground.

There was nothing for it. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth . . . and pooked.

Splorp!





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