The Musings of a Muse: Forgive or Forget

By Neesha Ofori-Atta

People always wanting your help? Well, it's not a-muse-ing… Far from it, in fact! 

Kanadra, a muse from the realm of Callowdon, hates her life. She hates being a muse, she hates helping people and, most of all, she hates the Muse Council, the pinnacle of the muse hierarchy. And after what they did to her, who can blame her?

Sent to Earth on the orders of her merciless bosses, Kanadra is saddled with her first charge and tasked with ‘Inspiring them with a solution to an impossible problem.’ Reluctantly, Kanadra accepts and embarks on a pursuit to find answers for her charge, only to be thwarted by enemies from both this world and her own. 

Can Kanadra put aside her deep-seated grievance long enough to help her charge overcome theirs…  and can she do it with her immortal life slowly slipping away?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Aug 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781803139739

Neesha Ofori-Atta

Neesha Ofori-Atta lives in the county of Hertfordshire with her husband. She completed a Mathematics degree at Loughborough University, and now works in finance. For the past five years she has been writing, with a focus on YA fiction. In her spare time, Neesha serves as a Sunday school teacher.

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Contents

Tasting Death

Crossing Over

Down to Earth

Inspire Her

Through the Valley

A Banquet to Remember

Before Her Time

Love Letters

The Harriford Reaper

A Horrible History

In Plain Sight

Surprise!

Unfinished Business

The Stammering Tattooed Graduate

A Lesson from the Archives

The Sixteenth Chapter

The Festival of Ties

Registered Keeper

Misfits, Thieves and Runaways

Old Friends, New Beginnings

Like Sand in an Hourglass

Happy Deathday

A Favour from a Troll

School Trip

Seventeenth-Century Ancestor

Don’t Forget to Remember

Dying for Peace

Fanning the Final Flames

No Way Back

Operation Takedown

Tasting Death

His face was a greyish blue. It hadn’t been a few hours ago, but it certainly was now. I watched him from the bench, his legs spread and tongue hanging out. Gone was the former hard man, replaced by something akin to a ragdoll with its stuffing torn. His pale eyes followed me, stalking me, accusing me.

This was your doing, I said, wiping the saliva that dripped from the corner of my mouth. The taste of death was in the room. It tingled on the tip of my tongue like liquorice: gross but surprisingly sweet.

I lay down on the cold wood. My breath rattled out of me, shallow, as though I was in the middle of a snowstorm, and then the familiar prickling sensation started. It crept through my body like ants on the inside of me. My heartbeat was slow. Too slow. Death had come for him and now it was coming for me. My mind was beginning to drift. My lungs had started to compress, and my body was failing. I could sense it. I couldn’t hold on any longer…

I battled to keep calm. They would be here soon. I hoped. Then a shiver like a tornado coursed through me, and almost knocked me to the floor. I was cold. Really cold. My eyelids were heavy, drooping. I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t.

Voices. They were coming from outside. Flashing red and blue lights flooded the room.

I let my head loll to the side, my gaze catching the motionless shell of the man beside me. I almost felt sorry for him… almost. After all, it was his choice to get mixed up in all of this. He got himself killed as far as I was concerned. I had a job to do, my first-ever job for that matter, and nothing comes between a muse and her assignments. It’s in our blood. And yes, truth be told, initially, I had been a little reserved about participating in a Musing, but I had since changed my mind. As much as I hated to admit it, I had grown fond of my first charge.

I still remember receiving the call of the muses like it was yesterday, luring me to her. Ariyah was her name, and it was my job to help her. And that’s what I set out to do, right from the very beginning… ish.

About two weeks earlier…

one

Crossing Over

A buzzing, like a chainsaw? No, it was scratchier than that. A wild bear stripping bark? No, much more shrill and nowhere near as gratifying. An injured wren shot out of the air by a misguided arrow? Possibly, but even a dying bird’s pitch wouldn’t shake that much. Ah, I’d got it. A kawella fox trapped in the trunk of a tree, screaming to be released before it was gorged on by an army of termites. I opened my eyes… nope, just a tone-deaf passer-by, seemingly doing her utmost to wake me with the most off-key notes I’d ever heard.

I yawned widely and stretched my arms above my head. My fingers grazed the canopy leaves that were shielding me from the unforgiving suns burning angrily through the slits of green. Now that I was awake, I supposed I should get going, but nothing in the entire area seemed familiar. I was in the middle of a clearing, and all I could see for miles was a whole lot of green and, of course, the girl in the distance, who was still putting in her best efforts to make my ears bleed.

Why couldn’t I remember where I was? Had I been travelling for that long? Had extreme exhaustion finally got the better of me?

I heaved myself up from the base of the tree, and before I knew it I was calling out to this stranger, who upon nearing appeared more unhinged than a rusty door. Her floaty, airy dance moves got more and more frenzied as she approached. I half wanted to bolt before she got to me, but I was as lost as a blind baby bat.

Hello, she said, waving at me as if I wasn’t inches from her face. My name is—

I need your help, I interjected, tired of the pleasantries before they’d even begun.

The girl stopped dancing and balled her fists around the hem of her orange knee-length dress. It is proper for one to introduce oneself before—

Yeah, yeah. Where am I?

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and tutted loudly.

Fine, my name’s Kanadra, I exhaled.

Hmm, are you a nymph?

No.

Are you sure? That red luxurious hair of yours sure looks nymphy, she said, tugging at the ends.

I’m not a nymph, I said, slapping her hand away.

I’m a nymph. She did a little twirl as if that was somehow proof of her statement.

Really? What a shock, I said, eyeing the wreath of woven leaves in her blonde wavy hair, and the lilies sewn into her sleeves. I would never have guessed. Truth is, I knew a lot of nymphs, and they were all exactly like the girl in front of me. Except a lot less pompous.

The woodlands are my canvas. The girl grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. Look over there. I did that. I made that tree grow to six feet tall in just one day. Impressive, huh?

Mmm, very, I said, trying my hardest to remove the strain on every syllable. Going back to what I was saying. Where am I?

Is that a sword in your boot? the nymph said, pointing to the gleaming hilt sticking out of the cuff.

For protection, I said, fighting the temptation to pull it out and use it. Anyway, for the third time, where am I?

The nymph smiled, tilting her head to the side as if I was the one who was missing a few nuts and bolts. You’re on Callowdon, silly.

I took a deep breath, choosing not to deliver the biggest eye-roll of my life. I know what realm I’m on. It has two suns, one moon and a bucketload of loose rocky crap floating around in the atmosphere, I said, thinking of the last meteor shower I got caught under. "I mean, where am I?"

The nymph stroked her chin, as if deep in thought. You’re in the Easterncountry.

I slapped my hand against my forehead, but seeing the frown lines form in her face, I quickly pretended to be rubbing beads of sweat off my dry head. I forced a smile and swallowed down the many foul names I had reserved for her that were fighting to spill out of me and instead I said, I know what country I’m in. I mean, what area am I in? I don’t recognise any of it.

Ohhh, that’s simple. You’re in Accada Forest. She did another one of those spinny things on her tiptoes, spreading her arms wide as she gestured at the woodland.

So I’m in Quadrant One, which must mean that Quadrant Two is about two hundred miles that way, I said, pointing to the thick mist that had settled above the jagged mountain peaks that bordered the Easterncountry. Which makes that Quadrant Three, over there, just behind that oddly shaped wall, I pointed to the crooked stone erection in the distance, and that means Grutean Forest must be…

Oh, you’re from the fourth quadrant, are you? The nymph’s lips were pursed as she looked me up and down.

They all looked at me that way when they found out my home was in the Grutean. Typical quadrant snobs, I mumbled inwardly. Thinking they were so much better than us in the fourth. Why? Because they had more nymphs in their forest so their grass was always the sharpest shade of green? Big deal. And so what if they didn’t have to deal with annoying goblin infestations? They weren’t so bad.

I scrutinised the area, scowling at the gigantic boriberries that hung from nearly all of the trees. They did have good fruit here, that was undeniable, but still, that didn’t give them the right to look down on us. Besides the to-die-for fruit, all four forests in the Easterncountry looked exactly the same to me: trees and a lot of grass.

What are you doing so far away from home then, Kanadra? It seemed the nymph had become so bored with the brief moment of silence that she had begun growing lilies practically under my feet.

Searching, running. A bit of both really.

Searching for what and running from who? Her eyes drifted away from the mound of white baby lilies until they met mine. I could see the blues of my eyes reflected in her glassy gaze.

I cleared my throat and looked away, pretending to peer into the distance. So, I guess the quickest way back is through the Great City, I said.

The nymph nodded.

The Great City ran through the Easterncountry like a river, separating each of the four forests into their own respective quadrants. Most beings stayed in their home forest for the whole of their immortal lives, without leaving. I didn’t blame them. Crossing over through the Great City was something you did at your own peril. The city was the roaming ground of torecs – vile, nasty beings whose favourite pastime was hunting people like me. I had only just managed to escape them on my way here.

And there’s no other way out of here, huh? I asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head. Don’t worry. If the torecs are in a good mood, then they probably won’t kill you… well, unless you’re a muse. They hate muses. She abruptly stopped speaking, undoubtedly noticing the rigidness in my features. Oh, you are a muse, aren’t you? Her face fell, as if disappointed by the news. Stone sisters, they call you around here, she said, still eyeing me.

I frowned. Yes, okay, muses weren’t known for their empathy, and yes, we have been nicknamed a few things in our time, but that didn’t mean that we couldn’t be soft and caring when we wanted to be. If I’d had the energy, I might have hit her.

Anyway, I better be off then, I said, only too eager to turn my back on her.

But I thought you were on the run from the Grutean. The nymph’s brow creased in concern as she shredded the newly formed lilies to pulp. Why go back there?

I need to check in with some friends back at home. They may have heard from…

Her eyes were wide, hungry. From who?

Never mind, I finished. See ya.

Wait! she called after me.

I stopped in my tracks. For goodness’ sake. What now?

"It is customary to tip someone when they advise you in this forest." The nymph held out her hand.

Sorry, no cash. I covered my trouser pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice the bulge in the black leather.

The nymph dropped her hand down and huffed. Darn! I was hoping to buy a werewolf fang at the old crone’s market. They make for the most decorative necklaces. Her shoulders sagged as she returned to nurturing her remaining flowers. Good luck. It shouldn’t take you more than a few hours to get to the edge of Accada Forest from here. If it does, you’re lost.

Thanks, I said over my shoulder and hurried off before she had a chance to say anything else.

It didn’t take me long to cross the Accada. Being from the Grutean, I was used to dodging the intentionally formed ditches designed to trap the naïve wanderer and the frequent goblin flower showers, consisting of bored goblins throwing poisonous petals at the inhabitants. That one had stung me on a number of occasions. As much as I hated to admit it, the nymph had been right; the Grutean was a dump compared to the other forests. At no time since I’d been outside the Grutean had gremlin dung ever been thrown at me!

A part of me missed the Grutean, even with its many flaws. I’d been away for almost two months; the longest I’d ever been gone. When I had first left, I thought I’d be back in no time. I thought my search would be quick and easy, given how small the country was, but I had been wrong. I had been searching for ages, hoping to come across someone who had seen something. But my search had been fruitless. Not one single being in the whole of the Easterncountry had seen anything, or so they said.

I stomped my foot into the ground in frustration, but all it did was make my big toe flare up in pain. I hobbled over to the nearest tree and steadied myself against the grainy bark. I slipped off my boot and cringed at the sight of my toe that was now as red as the flaking polish on my nail. Getting through the Great City and all those torecs would be doubly difficult now.

I forced my boot back on, wincing as the griffinhide rubbed against my swollen toe. And then it dawned on me. Griffinhide! I could hire a griffin to fly me over the Great City rather than play hide-and-seek with a couple of torecs.

I hopped around, looking for any signposts that might lead me to a griffin farm, and after passing one wonky sign directing me to the resident bat caves, and another leading to the monument of the ‘oldest bluethorn tree that ever existed’, I finally found what I was looking for: Griffin Farm, in three hundred yards. I set off.

I knew I was close when the high-pitched whistling began. There was nothing quite like the squawky yet musical tune of a griffin’s call. I held back on approach, opting to wait by the battered gate, as one of the griffins thrashed about in the farmer’s arms. With every flap of its grey feathered wings, a mini-gale brewed, sending bits of debris flying everywhere. I ducked, using the wooden fence as a barrier.

All right, Ola. Settle down, will you? The farmer grabbed hold of the griffin’s neck and swung himself onto its muscular back.

The griffin snapped its head around. Its gooey yellow eyes squinted, its beak held open in mid-shriek. It tossed the farmer around as if he were an irritating flea, and tried to take off. It got about two feet off the ground before it came crashing back down. The metal chain around its foot almost snapped as the beast ricocheted to the floor.

That’s enough now, Ola. The farmer patted the griffin’s golden fur, until its squawks slowed to murmurs and the storm under its flapping wings finally stilled.

Deciding it was safe to come out, I jumped over the gate and flagged the farmer down.

Hey. I stopped a few metres from the bird-like creature, but still it snapped its beak at me and clawed the ground with its curved talons as if challenging me to a fight.

Sorry about her, the farmer said, trying to wrangle her into a seated position. She’s got a temper, this one.

I see that.

The griffin shrieked again and then fell onto its hind legs. It rested its head on the grass and moaned softly, its eyes deadened by the recent failed attempt at freedom.

How can I help you, miss? the farmer said, jumping off the griffin.

I need a ride over to the Grutean.

No can do, miss. The farmer sauntered over to me, unsticking griffin feathers from his sweaty palms. All griffins in these parts can only fly domestic. Last week, one of my best flyers got nicked in the wing as it flew over the Great City. Bloody torecs, firing arrows for the fun of it.

Please. Can’t you make an exception?

The farmer shook his head. The owner would never have it, miss.

I can pay. I’ve got two dimes, I said, digging around in my pockets.

Sorry. You’ll have to walk across, I’m afraid.

I gulped, thinking about how I’d very nearly got caught on my initial journey out of the Grutean. The flaming torec had chased me all the way to the edge of the Great City. If I hadn’t pulled my sword on him, I’d be as dead as he was now.

As I walked away from the farm, I can’t say that the thought of stealing, no, borrowing the griffin didn’t cross my mind. But for someone trying to keep a low profile, it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do. I jumped over the fence and headed back the way I had come, and a few minutes after the griffin cries died down, the edge of Accada Forest crept into view.

I rushed towards the line of fir trees dotted at the circumference of the Accada and peeked out at the Great City. The greatest skyscrapers in the whole of the Easterncountry were located here, rearing menacingly, like glassy, shimmering towers with no tops.

Smoke from the nearby factories billowed into the city, rising in thick, dense rings that formed a sort of muggy fog that seeped into Accada Forest. And then there were the wagons, with their squeaky wheels on the crunchy gravel, skidding across the ground as if they were on a racetrack. Packed with their oversized loads, they rocketed through the cobbled streets, losing bag after bag from the wooden carts at every sharp turn.

I edged a little closer. As expected, the place was littered with torecs. Torecs that could sniff out a muse like a pack of hungry dogs. On my left, a couple of them were shoving each other back and forth. One was yelling something about being ripped off, and the other was grasping a crow’s claw, claiming that it was of the highest quality. And on my right was another set of torecs, one of which was holding up the severed head of a fairy and using it as a type of icky prop in his very animated conversation. Yuck! There were so many of them that my first thought of making a run for it was immediately tossed aside.

I told myself to keep calm, that getting to the other side of the city in one piece was entirely possible, and when I did, I’d be back in the Grutean, safe and sound – well, at least from the torecs anyway.

I grabbed my sword from my boot and held it tight against my chest. After a few deep breaths, I counted to three and stepped out.

Nice and easy does it. Just walk confidently and no one will even know…

Stop right there, muse.

Uh-oh! Caught already.

What’s the rush, little lady? he hissed.

Many were watching, but only one approached. He muscled his way through the others, pushing them clear out of his path to get to me, all the while keeping his black eyes fixed on mine.

I tripped over my feet as I hastened to scurry back into Accada Forest, but he caught hold of my arm before I could get away.

I haven’t seen you round here before. His dark eyes smiled as he looked me over.

My body trembled. I couldn’t stop it. I tried to tear my eyes away from his hypnotic stare, but he was as handsome and as intimidating as they come. His dark beauty stole my attention, freezing me to the spot where I stood. He was so close to me, I could see his eyes twinkling in the light. I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, but his presence was so alluring, I—

Get away from her!

The shrill voice snapped me out of my trance. Who had spoken? Who was that?

The torec lunged, grabbing me by the throat. I gripped my sword and swung it at his head, slicing off a chunk of his left ear. He released me and yelped, covering the gaping hole in his face as the scarlet blood slowly trickled down his cheek. His eyes locked onto mine, the initial twinkle of curiosity replaced with wide-eyed frenzy. He reached for the knife hanging from his breast pocket and caught me on the shoulder with the black-tipped point. I gasped, but before he could make another move, I drove my sword into his foot and ran until his curses faded beneath the whistles of the wind.

two

Down to Earth

I had been lying in the grass for so long that one of the suns had already gone down. A sharp stitch burrowed into my side, and my throat burned through my dry heaves. I sat up, willing my legs to move, but they were adamant in their resolve to be as useless as possible.

I breathed in the mossy air and gazed at the ancient tootoo tree that stood on the cusp of the Grutean. Before now, I had never realised how mangled its thick branches were. If you looked at them from a certain angle, they appeared like entwined pythons snaking their way around each other. I smiled. This kind of art was unique to the Grutean. Our nymphs were by far the most imaginative. They could make a dying tree into a masterpiece at the flick of a wrist.

I pulled myself off the grass. The pounding in my big toe immediately started up again and was now accompanied by the sting in my bloodied shoulder. My friends in the north-east were handy with a sewing kit; they’d be sure to stitch me up in no time.

I started off down a familiar path from the north; a path I had taken many times. Every tree brought with it a reel of different memories and every flower a host of emotions. My heart sagged. I could stay here forever. The lure of the Grutean was that strong. But as the idea entered my mind, the impossibility of it stared me in the face. I couldn’t stay here. Not with them keeping tabs on my every move. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were lurking in the shrubs right now, waiting to drag me back into their frivolous circle and away from my search. Yes, it would be just like them to do that.

I urged myself to keep going, and had only taken a few more steps when the recognisable sulphury, fruity aroma hit me. It seeped up my nose and stuck to my tongue like a sweet-tasting perfume. That was one smell I knew well – cider. And not just any cider, rubrumfruit cider. Ninety per cent rubrumfruit and nine per cent sugar, it was the best cider in the whole of the Easterncountry and possibly on Callowdon. And there was only one place to get it. Centaur’s Saloon. The last time I’d been in that old tavern was in celebration of my fifteenth year.

I rounded the corner, and there, hidden under clumps of poison ivy and overshadowed by two leaning sycamore trees, was the tavern that had the power to bring travellers, wanderers and locals together to enjoy what had been dubbed the best brew for two hundred years running. With its blackened windows and its lopsided cottage door – not to mention the most beautiful feature of all: the sinking roof that had so many holes that it let in more wildlife than it stopped – it was the landmark of Grutean Forest. Ah, to be home again.

As tempted as I was to go in, I knew it was risky. Stopping out here for any length of time would give them a chance to sink their claws into me. No, I had to get on and get the information I came for… but surely one drink couldn’t hurt? I caressed my dry throat. And besides, how much further would I get without any food?

I pushed on the tavern door. The room was heaving, but no one looked up as I entered. They were all too preoccupied with their own discussions or their unusual-looking savoury snacks to even notice a newcomer. I shook my head and laughed to myself. Not a single thing had changed. The trolls still occupied the same three-legged table they’d had for as long as I could remember. The old crones were still huddled at the back, this time stooping over a jug of something fluorescently green, which had caused one of them to suck in her cheeks as if she were shoving down a lemon. And then there was Tom the bartender, wiping down the bar, as usual with a rag as black as charcoal.

Hey, Tom, I said, searching for a vacant bar stool.

Kanadra, long time no see. He threw me a smile, revealing two discoloured teeth that stuck out at funny angles in an otherwise gummy mouth. Where you been?

Around, I said.

The usual, is it?

I nodded and reached out for the pint of rubrumfruit cider before he’d even finished pouring. Mmm, nothing went down better than a cold drink at the height of the hot season.

I perched myself on the bar stool, taking in the things that I had missed the most about this place: the loo roll stuck to the sticky floor, the drink stains that discoloured your elbows when you leaned on the bar and, of course, the tasty bowls of talon clipping snacks that Tom put out. I stuck my hand in and crunched down on a mouthful. Yummy.

Between sips of cider, I kept catching Tom watching me from the corner of his eye. He looked concerned. Maybe he had noticed my frequent glances at the door, or maybe it was just my jittery demeanour that had him wondering. Either way, I could do without it.

Tom!

I jumped as the group of old crones barged their way through the tables. They almost knocked me off my seat as they crowded around the bar.

This limeinator didn’t taste right. One of the crones slammed her wrinkled hand down on the table. We want our money back.

Tom stuck his head inside the empty pitcher. You drank the whole lot. He tossed it back at them, shooing them away from the counter.

They’re right. This establishment has gone downhill. The trolls had chimed in now. I recognised the leader from an unfortunate previous encounter. From the looks of it, he was still the same weasel, always looking for an opportunity to short-change people. He leapt up on the stool next to mine and slid his empty glass across the bar. Top her up. For free this time. He drummed on the wood, his gaze becoming slack. Kanadra? His voice was raspy and reeked of tobacco. I didn’t see you there. He shuffled closer, leering at me. "Still hiding from the Inspiriti? he asked, dryly. Better hope I don’t tell them exactly where you are."

Shut it, Articker. I twisted my body away from him. The sight of his leathery old chest with those white wisps of hair made me gag.

Fine, be like that. He kicked the legs of my chair and grunted.

I turned around, ready to shove my fist in his face when – Aargh! I gasped and clutched my ear. The flipping screeching sound was back and was shriller than ever. The Inspiriti were relentless. Did they really think I was going to come back willingly? No amount of eardrum-busting noise in the world could get me to visit them.

You all right there, muse? Articker leaned across the bar. His beer slopped over the edges of his glass as he set it down between us.

Don’t call me that. I flicked my hair over my shoulder, using it as a makeshift earplug, hoping it would somehow dull the ringing.

Articker winked. Fiery, just like that head of hair you’ve got there.

Leave me alone, Articker. I shoved my finger in my ear as the ringing got louder.

Fine. Fine. He held his hands up and backed away. I just thought you would be interested to know that I saw Florian a while back. That is his name, isn’t it? Yeah, recognised him straight away.

What did you just say? I stood up, the ringing in my ears overpowered by my thumping heart.

Articker was grinning now. He had me and he knew it.

Where did you see him? I’ve been searching for the past two months. All of a sudden, I was feeling light-headed. Tell me!

He was with that unicorn. The special one with the silver tail. Articker picked at his long nails, breaking them off and flicking the pieces over the bar. He put his arms behind his head and leaned back, smirking from ear to ear.

That’s it. I jumped on him, wrangling him to the ground. I had almost managed to choke him, when I was pulled off by his band of trolls. Tell me where he is. You owe me.

Tell you what, play me for the information. Articker rubbed his neck, massaging the scratches in his skin. "One game of poker. If you win, I’ll tell you what you want to know. If I win, I get to hand you over to the Inspiriti and claim the bounty on your head."

I paced in a circle, already knowing what I had to do. One game.

He rubbed his hands together. Let’s get started.

Okay, boys, show me your hands. I slammed my cards down on the table. Full house.

Articker gripped his hair. Small clumps fell onto the table with each heavy sigh. He didn’t know how to lose. I remembered that from our past encounters. So, what are you waiting for, Articker? What have you got?

He turned to his second-in-command and began muttering under his breath in Trollish. Damn! Trollish, the most complex language throughout all the seventy-seven realms. I had tried on several occasions to learn a few short phrases. Things like, give me back my money, troll, and I’m going to drive this sword through all three of your lopsided hearts, but sadly all I could manage was Hivkakklipolaipolonaldeppitak, Trollish for hello.

Articker abruptly stopped speaking. He turned to me with a glint in his green eyes and a crooked smile hanging from his cracked lips. What was he planning?

I slid my hand down my thigh, feeling for the hilt of my sword before I remembered I had left it in the Great City. We had a deal, Articker. And I won.

Articker threw his cards down on the heavily chipped table and leaned back in the wooden chair. Another beer, he barked at Tom, who had been so engrossed in our game that he’d almost polished a hole into the counter.

Well, Articker? I pushed. You lost. My eyes found the pocketknife that stuck out from under his belt. That’s where he always kept it. He never moved it. So predictable. I dropped my chest a little and casually leaned over the table. I wasn’t going to let him get away without payment. Tell me what I need to know about Florian. Where on Callowdon did you last see him?

Articker threw his legs up on the table and crossed them over. Fine, he said, taking another swig of his beer. I last spotted Florian last month, in Drapping Forest.

What was he doing in Quadrant Two?

Beats me, muse. He won’t still be there anyhow. Unicorns move fast.

Was he safe? Did he look happy?

Articker shrugged. "Look, muse, I don’t give a goblin’s furry behind about him. He could roll off the edge of the