yellow-root-brew. Inn cooks use but a drop to spice their stew. But if a man were to drink a cup full of this mix, he’d be dead as that giant lying still on your bricks. In order to kill such a tremendous beast, the boy would need use a gallon, at least.”
The crowd stood mesmerized by the gnome. His explanation was the best theater Minroe had seen all year. Between his excited hopping about and his rhyming cant, it seemed to be a mixture of ballet and opera. Only Jag shook his head ruefully. He prayed Ekhar wasn’t going to say something they would all regret.
“He couldn’t possibly fit that much poison on an arrow,” shouted a man from the crowd.
“Yes!” yelled a woman closer to the front. “How did he do it?”
“I’ll tell you,” the gnome continued, “but first I must pray, that you listen quite closely to all that I say. Look, if you will, at the monster’s still feet. The mud you see there will quite closely meet, upon closer inspection if you only stare, the same exact type found on Abril’s shoes there.”
Even Ekhar was taken aback by the volume of the gasp that escaped the crowd. It was true. The mud on the cyclops’s boots was a rich brown hue since it came from the dark soil of the creature’s mountain cave, very different from the tan-colored dirt found in town. And, when they looked, the same dark mud could be clearly seen on Abril’s shoes and pant cuffs.
“The boy has been spending his time in the hills, befriending the monster, bending it to his wills. He’d bring it food from his father’s own inn, to make it believe it could trust only him. But on the gift food he would liberally sprinkle, the yellow-root brew mixed with raw periwinkle. This covered the scent so the giant could smell just the food not the poison, he never could tell.”
It seemed to Jag that the crowd was closing in on Ekhar, leaning in closer and closer so that they didn’t miss a word of this explanation.
“Something I must tell you about yellow-root-brew, it remains long in your blood whatever you do. Though each time the giant ate but a wee tiny drop, he was slowly being poisoned and the boy did not stop. He fed the beast more until he was certain, just one sprinkle more would bring death’s black curtain.”
“Why?” someone shouted, though he needn’t have. Everyone was pressed so closely together that a whisper would have probably been heard by most of the crowd. “Why would Abril do this? I mean, no one here would mourn the killing of a cyclops, but why do it in such a round about way?”
“Yes,” cried Kethril, who was growing quite nervous at this sordid tale the gnome wove about his son. Actually, the tale didn’t bother him as much as the thought that it might be true. Could Abril be so cunning?
“Why, you ask? It’s quite easy to tell. To strike back at those people who made his life hell! When he fed the dumb giant he also did show, the bruises he got from his life in Minroe. Abril shared with the giant his pain and his sorrow, in hopes that the creature would beg steal or borrow, to help his new friend take revenge on his foes. Just a pawn in his plans, but that’s how it goes.
“And what buildings suffered in the giant’s attack? Why those the boy hated, if you’ll only think back. The school where he learned to suffer daily torment, had its door torn in half and it’s portico rent. Then the store where he worked till his boss kicked him out, had its roof torn right off then littered about. And his father, innkeeper of the Dancing Roe, abused the poor boy, beat him merely to shock him from going away to pursue a career as a singer of songs that fall light on the ear. For his father he saved the most horrible loss, to see his dear inn turned to rubble and dross.
“The creature crushed everything Abril did ask, and what reward did he get for this terrible task? Once the damage was done, the revenge carried through, his friend shot him dead where he lies before you. And the final insult to both giant and town, is that Abril’s the ‘hero’ who brought the beast down.
“So there you have it, my story’s complete. Abril has blood on his hands and damning mud on his feet. I know not what punishment you’ll likely mete out, but let justice be served-the truth’s been let out!”
All was silence.
Jag stared at Ekhar, then at Abril, and finally at the crowd who still stood transfixed. It was as if they were mentally chewing on the tale the gnome told. And slowly, one by one, they swallowed it-and they began to laugh.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” cried Alon M’Greely. “I can see Abril getting in a lucky shot with his bow, but weaving such an intricate plot over imagined slights? The boy’s so scatter-brained he’s lucky he remembers to put his pants on in the morning!”
The laughter rose and rose. Jag imagined he even saw the buildings of the town shaking with mirth. Although most of the town had a higher opinion of the lad’s intellect than M’Greely did, no one believed that Abril was capable of hatching such a heinous plot. No one, that is, except Ekhar Lorrent-anci Abril himself.
It was only after five full minutes of raucous laughter that anyone noticed the boy sitting in the mud. His head buried in his hands, Abril wept. And when every eye was on him, he looked up red eyed and said simply, “It’s true.”
The entire crowd took a single step backward, and Jag felt like his head would explode.
“It’s truet It happened just the way the gnome said. Everything, everyone in this town holds nothing for me other than painful memories. I’d gone up into the hills to run away when I came across the cyclops. He was my first true friend. But his friendship was nothing compared to my need to be revenged.”
Now the lad stood, radiating more menace than his slight frame should have been capable of holding.
“So I figured a plan to get my revenge, and make myself the hero of Minroe at the same time! It would have worked too, if not for that meddling gnome!”
The crowd, who had been standing stock still, suddenly came to angry life. They screamed for Abril’s head on a pike-none louder than his own father-and surged toward the lad, bent on getting it themselves.
“Riktus! Help me push these people back!” Jag yelled as he grabbed a fallen beam that used to support the roof of the Dancing Roc Inn. The young deputy was already at work, though, pulling Abril away from the clasping mob, then coming back to help Jag press them back. It was a fight they were destined to lose.
Luckily, the three other deputies chose that moment to come around the bend leading seven horses, twelve mules, four oxen, and a camel toward the fallen giant. The commotion of the crowd spooked the animals such that they all reared up, knocking the hapless deputies off their feet, then sprinting out of town.
“My plow horse! You stole my plow horse!” one member of the mob yelled.
“What are you doing with Sand Treader?” another one cried.
As quickly as it had begun, the riot ended as the citizens all ran off either to rein in their frightened mounts, or to get home as quickly as possible to ensure that they too had not been the victims of looters. Within minutes, the only people left on the streets were Jag Dubblspeir, his four deputies, Abril Fentloque, and Ekhar Lorrent.
“Take him to the stockade.” Jag said, grabbing Abril’s arm and handing it to Riktus. “Quickly… before they decide to come back.”
The young man hurried off with his prisoner.
“Well, Ekhar, I hope you’re satisfied. You took a town in the midst of a celebration and turned it in against itself. The hero of the day is now likely to spend the next year or more of his life in prison, if his friends and family don’t decide to hang him instead.”
“I know, I know. I’ve no need for thanks. Just knowing the boy and his deadly pranks will receive justice most swift is all that I need. Now my job here is done, I’ll go home with all speed. And tell often the story of what I’ve seen here today. The lessons I’ve learned will not soon fade away. ‘The Case of the Really Big Corpse’ is my true masterpiece. This pride that I feel may never surcease.
“So I bid you farewell, Jag, my one truest friend. The mystery is solved, this is finally the end.”
With that, Ekhar Lorrent dusted off his lapel and headed toward Home, never once looking back to see Jag Dubbispeir, sword in his hand and murder in his eye, barely being restrained by his three deputies. The only clue available to the gnome, had he cared to observe it, was a slight twitching in his left earlobe.
The Devil and Tertius Wands
There’s a common saying that I have recently taken to heart. It’s normally the type of phrase you hear
