“My name’s not Ognob,” said Ognob, for the third time in as many minutes. “It’s Daryl. And this is NOT the way back to my laboratory.”
“Of course it is, Ognob,” said Stout Henry, who paused a second to stare blankly at the darkening sky. “Of course it is…”
“Of course it is… WHAT? My name, or the way back to the lab?” Ognob Daryl was flustered and clearly wanted to turn back, but the tall man with the weird expression and the tattered cloak on which someone had embroidered — badly — a wolf howling at the moon — wasn’t listening.
“It’s odd, Ognob, that we’ve been following this compass marker for hours now, and we haven’t reached Nodding Fields yet!”
“Compass marker?” shouted Daryl. “That’s the MOON. Your plan to evade the Duke was to follow the moon into Owlshead Wood? Oh, that’s grand. It really is. Don’t you know this place is filled with thieves?”
“And murderers!” whispered someone.
“And murderers, right.” agreed Daryl. “And all the worst sort of people.”
“But no gnomes,” whispered that same someone. “Not until now, at any rate.”
“Sounds like my kind of people,” said Stout Henry, smiling. “We’re here, Ognob!”
“Here? Where’s here?” The gnome fiddled with the clockwork compass he wore on his right wrist, but it had come unwound and was being no help at all. He looked around him and saw only a small clearing. The setting moon gave the twilight mist an unsettling glow, and the height of the grass made it plain that even the deer avoided this part of the forest.
He was entirely alone.
“Where,” grumbled Daryl, “did that lout Henry go?”
The moon set, and night came to Owlshead Wood.
—
Stout Henry whistled a jaunty tune to himself as he followed the thief through the twisted path that marked the only sure way out of the forest.
“Are you sure you don’t want to bring your friend along?” she asked, pausing to step around a potentially muddy puddle.
“And who might that be?” winked Stout Henry.
“The gnome,” she said. Stout Henry cocked his head at her. “The gnome?”
“That you walked almost entirely through the Wood with?” she said, a little exasperated.
“OH! Ognob! That was just some sort of escort quest. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Sorry, had to think back there. Hard to remember EVERYONE. Well. Maybe now would be a good time to get on with it. I think I’ve waited long enough,” said Stout Henry.
“Waited? Long enough? For what, exactly?”
Stout Henry laughed a little nervously. “Surely, you don’t think I followed you just for my health? I’m in fine health. I think you know what I want,” leered Henry.
“My name’s Marta, and I’m sure I have no idea what you want,” said the thief, who suddenly looked a little uncertain. She unbuttoned the strap that held her knife in its sheathe. “Why don’t you explain… exactly… what you mean.”
“Why, I just want the same thing every man wants with a lovely, mysterious woman on a moonlit night,” said Stout Henry. “A QUEST! What is it — kill some zombies? Bring you a dozen wolf pelts? Carry some mail to the next town?”
“A… a quest?” Marta giggled nervously. “Oh, no. No… I’d just been tracking you through the Wood for an hour, and it was clear you two would never find your way out by yourselves, so I thought I would guide you out before you got yourselves into trouble. Nodding Fields is just over that rise, just keep on the path.” She paused. “There’s lots of the bad sort in this forest, you know.”
—
Daryl had his jeweler’s tools out, and was trying to fix his mechanical compass by the dim starlight. Something blocked the light, and Daryl nearly wept with frustration. “Why I saved that overgrown, worthless vagrant I’ll…”
Daryl looked up then, and saw what had blocked what little light fell from the cold stars, and stepped back, twice, stunned.
“Oh… oh, no… I didn’t…”
—
Will Stout Henry remember Daryl, or at least his name, in time? What was Marta really doing in the forest? And what is it Daryl saw? Find out the answers to at least some of these questions next week, in “Stout Henry: Need before Greed?”
