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*****************
The sun, burning as brightly as any six year old on their seventh birthday, shone happily down upon the desert. Why shouldn't it be happy? It didn't thirst, it didn't hunger, and it wasn't trudging upon the gritty sand wearing only the barest necessity.

Two figures, casting longish shadows, though one was longisher than the other, drug themselves through the burning sands, leaving sad little footprints to show their progress.

One, the shorter, was wearing a long sleeved cloak, whose arms were tied around his waist. He was mildly sunburned from top of balding head to tip of baldinger buttocks, which the cloak, though trying most daringly, did not hide from the happy sun's rays.

The other, taller and with a shock of reddish hair, strode forcefully through the sand, as if it were the most paved road in the world, the most level surface, and with an attitude of 'Well, it's just another fine mess you've gotten me into'. He wore nothing but a smile and a large bag at his side.

Yes, both men were, for all intents and purposes, naked as the day their mothers abandoned them outside the Leave Your Unwanted Children Here orphanage.

"It's not my fault, you know!" said the shorter one, whose name was Pockets. He gained this name because of the cloak he wore, one he designed himself. It wasn't poorly made, just oddly made, as it had pockets of every size and shape all over it, inside it, on it's arms, on it's hems. There were tiny little pockets where he carried tools, and larger pockets where he might carry lunch... say, a large ham or possibly a chicken.

"I don't want to talk about it.", said the taller one, whose name was Bags, because he always carried a shoulder bag. He believed the if the bag were large enough, he could carry the whole world in it, and nobody could dissuade him from this.

The two men trudged in silence though the desert, each in his own thoughts. Well, it would have been silent if Pockets, whose first name was Chester, had not carried on the conversation with himself.

"See, I didn't know she would really take offense at being called an old cow. I mean, she was charming in a rather bovine sort of way, and she wasn't terribly unattractive, if I had a milking stool with me. I figured she would know that I was kidding her along, just poking fun, you know? If she hadn't been so upset she wouldn't have noticed that I had slipped that bracelet off her wrist. No way would she have noticed that. I'm just too good." He rubbed one hand over his balding head, briefly obscuring the pout that he had in his blue eyes. He glanced over at his companion to see if his pout was even noticed.

It wasn't.

"Oh, sure," said Bags, whose first name was Timothy, "did you stop to consider that most women don't like to be referred to by the size of their udders.. I mean, breasts?" He continued in his determined way, up one dune and down another. "C'mon, and do shut up. Grizelda will be right over the next hill, waiting for us. Hopefully."

"Breasts?" exclaimed Pockets. "Those were breasts? I could have sworn she was carrying a litter of small pigs in there! And you have to admit, that she did look rather cow like. At least in her eyes. Maybe a little bit. Just a tad. Really!"

"What I noticed, right after you made your little comment, is that her husband was a lot bigger than you. And me. Put together. We were lucky to escape with our lives! Now, shut up before I pound you into the sand."

"At least they could have left us our clothes." muttered Pockets.

"They left us our lives, and that will do for now. Clothes we can get. Lives take a bit more effort." retorted Bags. "Right over this hill"

"It's a dune.", said Pockets.

"Whatever." said Bags.

*****************

The two scuffled their way down to the bottom of the trough in silence, broken at the bottom by Pockets exclaiming, much in the way a happy child does when finding something wondrous "Ooooh! Shiny!".  He immediately dropped to his knees and dug in the sand briefly.  He stood up holding two stones, clear of color and casting prismatic colors about his face, giving him the look of a wild eyed madman, which some suspected he just might be.

"Did you know, Timothy, that when quartz crystals are squeezed under tremendous pressure, you can actually cause them to emit light?  There are some that say that it's possible to harness this light and send voices over it.  Of course, that's pure speculation."

"Pockets, that's just wonderful", came the sarcastic reply. Bags just continued climbing the dune, shaking his head.  "I don't know where you come up with this stuff."  Halfway up the dune, he turned back to his happy partner and planted his fists on his bare hips.  "Look, I'm glad you found something to entertain you, really I am.  I'm also tired, beat up, overheated, hungry, and all I want is to see the wagon over the other side of this hill."

Pockets shoved the crystals into one of his many pockets and scampered up the hill.  "Well, yeah.  I mean, me too, of course.  Except the hungry.  I'm not hungry a bit."

"That doesn't surprise me, you ate just bout the entire smorgasbord."  Bags topped the rise of the dune and said "There she is.  I will never know how she knows just where to be in the middle of this desert."

"She possesses an interesting connection with you, chum."  Pockets clapped his hand on his taller companions shoulders, completely unmindful of the rather painful sunburn, and totally unaware of the extreme flinch that Bags returned.  "I'd say it was just a bit of precognition, combined with the stupid sense that she's madly, deeply, passionately in love with you.  Why, I will never know."

"Yeah, there is that, I spose."  The two men wandered down to the wagon, a gypsy vardo, a wildly painted affair with 4 large wheels and sloping walls that widened as it reached it broad curved roof.  The spokes of the wheels were painted bright red, and the sides were painted in a rainbow of colors, greens, blues, yellows, oranges, and bore a sign that read 'Palms red, fortunes told, broken things mended'.  It was pulled by two dappled grey mares, and it was their home, come hell or high water.  The driver looked up and waved.  Bags waved back, and trotted down the side of the dune to sweep Grizelda off her seat and give her a spine adjusting hug and a breath removing kiss.

"It's about time you two got here, and as I suspected, showing your shortcomings to all to see." Her gaze left nothing more to be said, as she gave both men an up and down, taking in all their naked glory.

"Hello dear" He said.

"It was his fault!" said Pockets, tossing a thumb toward Bags and climbing into the wagon, heading toward the back.

"Oh, I'm sure it was.  And you are as innocent as a lamb, pure as snow."  Grizelda gave Bags a warm and strong hug, whispering in his ear. "What did the mad genius do this time? Blow up the host's home?"

A wounded voice came from inside the wagon, "I heard that, you know!"

Bags just smiled and said, "What's for dinner, where's my clothes and I'll tell you all about it."

*****

It gets cold in the desert at night, and a fire is something generally required.  The three sat on blankets on the sand after eating their roast rabbit dinner.  Pockets held a mug of steaming coffee in one hand, a toothpick in the other and one of his new crystals between two of his toes, watching the firelight play against it.  Bags and Grizelda sat close together, snuggled as snug as a bug could ever be snug.

"I can't believe she got so upset over being called a cow!", exclaimed Grizelda.

"That's exactly what I thought!", agreed Pockets.

"I was being sarcastic, Chet."

"I knew that, Griz, but still... that's exactly what I thought!  She did look like an old cow, really and truly.  Not that she wasn't nice and all, but then, so are most cows, don't you think"

Grizelda looked over at Bags, who was picking his teeth with an ivory toothpick he had pulled from his bag and said "He ain't all there, is he?"

Bags just said "Nope", and went back to picking.

"Did you two come away with something, at the very least?  I mean, you did lose your clothes, and it's a good thing you had your carryalls hidden outside, but surely you didn't come away from that shindig empty handed."

Bags just said "Nope", and went back to picking.  Apparently it was a particularly worrisome bit of meat he was fighting with.

"Ah Griz, you shoulda seen your man.  It was amazing.  See, right after I had to duck to avoid a fist, the bracelet I had already slipped off her cowness sorta flipped into the air.  One guy had decided that Bags was part of the problem and tossed a sucker punch at him."

"Now, I knew that if it had been any other sort of fight, one that we could win, Bags would have turned that guy inside out, bless his lil heart, but he was the smarter one here.  When that guy tossed his punch, Bags just sorta, slicker'n snot, blocked him like, but when he reached up to block the punch, his hand when snatch and that lil piece of bauble disappeared into his hammy fist.  Just like magic it was.  Made me proud."

"Let's see it, then."

Bags reached into his neverfull bag and pulled out a stunning solid silver bracelet, gold filigreed and studded with rubies.  "Here, m'dear.  What do you think? It does have a nice color, doesn't it.  He may be crazy, but he does have good taste in jewelry."

Grizelda plucked it from Bags' open hand and said "I think it'll look much better on me than on a cow. Until we find a buyer, that is."

"Got no argument from me.  Someday I hope he plucks a decent engagement ring for you." Bags ended with a sigh.

"Aw, honey.  That day will come, but till then, I don't need a ring.  I have you, and that's enough." The two clenched in the age old sign of two loves that had been together for ever and ever, amen.

"Get a room, you two." Pockets said, while refracting rainbows upon them.  "This crystal has some very unique properties.  I think I'll retire to my laboratory and do a few more tests."  He rose from his bit of carpet, climbed the stairs and went to inside the wagon.

"He has a laboratory?" Grizelda asked, between snuggles.

"He has a laboratory in his head.  What he has in the wagon is a table.  Course, a table to Pockets is as good as a laboratory.  Did I ever tell you about his perpetual motion machine?  It was something he made before I met you.  All sorta gears and it just seemed to run on nothing at all.  He said it pulled from the motion of the planet and the stars.  Then he went into a long winded explanation that put me to sleep.  It ran for about... well.. I think it might still be running.  He gave it away to some guy named...  Da.. something or other.  Never mentioned it again. He's just weird like that."

"Yeah, but lovable, in a scoundrely sort of way.  Wonder what goes on in his head that makes him like he is?"

"And that, darling, is an old, old discussion.", Bags said. "Nobody knows what goes on in his head.  Sometimes I don't think even he knows what goes on in his head."  From the wagon came a voice, singing loudly, off key, and very pleased with something.  "See?  I think if he stopped to think about what made him think like he does, he'd never be able to think like he thinks ever again.  And I think that would not be a good thing, in the end."

Grizelda stood up, and said "I think you're probably right.  I just wonder at times, is all."  She yawned, largely.  "I'm going to bed, dear.  Join me soon?"

"In a bit.  I think I'll just sit here under the stars and watch it go by for a bit."

"All right.  Don't be too long."

She walked up the little stairs into the wagon and disappeared.

Bags got up after a bit, saw to the horses, made sure they had enough feed for the night, enough water.  He went through a few of the exercises he had been doing for years to keep limber and strong, and then he too went into the wagon.

Soon the night closed in and from the wagon the sounds of quiet lovers talk and giggles came from the front, while from the back a solitary light shone out it's single window.  It was hours before the light went out, and then all was dark, and the only thing the horses heard were the sounds of the night desert and gentle snores and sleepy sighs.

***************

"You know what I want?" Pockets asked.

"What's that, Pockets?"  Grizelda replied.

"I want ice cream.  I want chocolate ripple fudge marshmallow ice cream, two scoops, waffle cone.  That's what I want."

"That's good, Pockets."

It wasn't exactly wandering the desert.  They weren't exactly lost.  There was a general idea of 'that way', and the smell of wood smoke in the air.  As Pocket would say, "Where there's smoke, there's folk, and where there's folk, there's things to be done, cash to be made and... and... other stuff"

It was a good thing it was a small desert.

"You know what I want?" Pockets asked.

"What's that, Pockets?" Grizelda replied.

Pockets was sitting astride one of the mares pulling the wagon.  He was dressed in simple pants which he stitched together and a leather vest. His chest hair peeked out shyly, grey wisps hinting at his true age, which no one, not even he, himself, knew. He wore high topped boots on his feet because he believed there would be scorpions every where if he didn't  

"I want a big old anvil so I can test a theory. Or is a hypothesis?  Anyways, I want to find a blacksmith in that town we're about to come across, and I want to use his big old anvil to see if my crystal will generate light."  He twirled one of his crystals between his fingers, watching the light flicker in and out of it's facets.

"That's good, Pockets."  Grizelda looked over at Bags, and winked one of her olive shaped hazel eyes. Bags just shrugged. It was the custom for Pockets to ride up front, leaving the two lovers to sit side by side driving the team in the direction that Grizelda picked out from who knows where.  She was a healthy gal, big boned, but definitely on the attractive side of big boned.  Her brown hair, always worn long, was tied away from her oval and always smiling face with a multicolored bandana.  

"Bags," Grizelda started. "I was thinking, when we get to the city, let's try to get Pockets hooked up with someone.  Surely there is some woman there that will interest him."

Bags was quiet for a long time, looking forward to where Pockets rode.  His long face didn't show a lot of emotion, and his shock of red hair was as unruly as ever, flowing up where it should lay down, laying down where it might fluff up.  Bags was not a big talker, he generally left that for Pockets to do.  What he did do was think, and run interference for whatever trouble Pockets would get into.  His ever present, never full bag rode at his side, it's plain brown offsetting the colorful plaid shirt he was wearing.  He reached into the bag, rummaged around a bit, and brought out a long piece of jerky, which he broke in half and offered the longer to Grizelda.  

"Pockets?  You want some jerky?" he called out.

"Nope, it'll ruin my appetite for the ice cream.  But thanks anyway.  I'm up here discussing if light moves in waves or in particles with Bel."  Bel was the mare he was riding.

"You realize that I have no idea what you just said, don't you?"

"That's ok, Bags.  Bel doesn't either." and he went back to his discussion.

Bags turned to Grizelda and said "We can try, but I have a feeling that unless she's pretty darn smart, at least nearly as smart as Pockets, or unless she's as dumb as Bel, it's not going to go very far.  Pockets is in a class all by himself."

"That's the truth." Grizelda replied.  "You know, as long as I've known you two, I would have to say that Pockets is one of the biggest puzzles and you are one of the least.  Doesn't mean that there are times I don't understand you either, but Pockets... sometimes he's just weird."

Bags nodded and said "Yep.  But then, dear, we're all kinda weird, you know.  Me, I've been all over, studied all sorts of military arts, and I'd have to say there isn't anyone I could beat in a fair fight. Faster reflexes, sharper mind, all that stuff. And yet, I'm a pacifist, and I'd rather run than fight.  I've got knowledge from eight centuries back, could build a siege engine with my eyes closed. Military Pacifist, a basic oxymoron. Weird?  Depends on who you are.  

"You, on the other hand.  Flirtatious, darn sexy, mother, sister to all you see, could have anyone, yet you picked me.  A bit psychic, or so Pockets says.  Able to find a city blindfolded in the dark of night, able to find me no matter where I am.  Strikes me as being a bit weird.

"Now Pockets, mad genius, who would rather spend time figuring out the best way to separate sunlight from night than snuggling up to the prettiest woman in the pub. Constant source of trouble because he has no filter between brain and mouth.  Inventor, philosopher, fixer of things that are broken.  Weird indeed.  I can't tell if we'd would be lost without him, or if he would be lost without us.  He says it's something called 'Indivisible Soul agreements'. I don't know if he's right bout that, but I will say that had he been anyone else, I'd have dropped him in the dust long ago."

"What I figure is that we're all stuck with each other, and pretty much, we're gonna be this way till it all falls down around our ears.  But it will be our ears, and we either stand together, or we fall apart.  Of course, I could be wrong."

"Hey Griz!" came a yell from up front. "Bel wants to know how much further to this city of yours!"

Grizelda closed her eyes, licked one finger and tested the wind.  Then she opened her eyes, unfocused them, and stared at the palm of her right hand, as if reading a map.  She sniffed the wind and then said, "See that palm tree up ahead?  I figure it's just bout a mile or so from there, straight line."

"Ok doke!" cried Pockets. "Hear that Bel? Just bout a mile or so and then it's chocolate and marshmallows for ME!"

Grizelda just looked at Bags and whispered, "Sometimes it's like taking care of a grown up 8 year old."

Bags just smiled back and said "Yep.  Ain't it cool?"

***********************

"Yep.  That's a town."  said Bags. "Or at least the outside wall of one"

The wall was made of logs, each about 20 foot tall, and each one had been carved to a sharp point on the top.  They had been tied together by thick rope at one time and had been covered with and cemented together with a strong mud like substance that had eventually turned hard as stone, adding to the strength of the wall. Here and there, the evidence of the rope was still there, in shredded tatters and crisscrosses running through the hard stony cement.  The wall the trio were facing was nearly half a mile long, and there appeared to be only one gate on this side, and it was directly in front of them, big and thick and wooden.  It was double door, each door ten feet wide to accommodate traveler's wagons, and reaching as high as the wall around it, and just as pointed on the top.

There were signs plastered on the front of the door, reading warnings such as "Visitors must check in at the Front Office, directly inside the Gate" and "Peddlers will have their wares inspected at the Front Office, directly inside the Gate" and "Sellers must purchase a license at the Front Office, directly inside the Gate".

"I do believe we need to go to the Front Office," said Pockets, "which I believe, is directly inside this Gate."

Bags stood and stretched, looking the massive wall down it's length.  "This is more like a fortress than a town.  I wonder where they got all the wood to build this wall?"

"The desert." replied Pockets.

"The desert?  How could they have gotten all this wood from the desert?  There were hardly any trees there."


Pockets took a deep breath and said, "The desert was got from the wood, Bags.  Judging by the age of the logs here, which can be estimated by the fraying of the rope ends and the erosion of the material the logs are cemented with, this wall, or this portion of the wall is at least seventy five to a hundred years old.  "

"Now, allowing that the water table in this general area has been at an all time low for at least the last thirty to fifty years, it can be estimated that the trees came from what is now the desert. The heavy deforestation caused a shift in the climate, as there was no exhalation of oxygen and water vapor from the forest that was no longer there."

"Removing the trees also caused the water table to drop precipitously because there was no root system to pull it higher due to capillary action, therefore rendering the land dry and arid.  This in turn cause the other plants to wither and die, the soil to crack and blow around, revealing it's heavier side, the sand.  The sand is what makes up the desert, and the trees are what makes up this wall."

"I would also guess that when you get inside, if someone offers to sell you water, don't buy it.  Tell them you have your own supply"

Silence fell as Bags and Grizelda just stared.  Eventually Grizelda broke the silence.  "Ummm.  Ok.. and where is that supply going to come from?"

Pockets looked at Grizelda and smiled a shy smile, the sort that a child who has a secret shows when he's been caught. "The water table is probably just bout 3 feet down.  All we have to do is come outside, dig a hole, and fill our bags.  I figure they have been scamming folks that have crossed the desert for years.  I just don't want to be one of them."

Grizelda shook her head.  "Pockets, how could you know all this?  Have you been here before?"

"No.  At least, I don't think so.  Have I Bags?"  He looked imploringly at Bags for the answer.

Bags shrugged his shoulders, and said "If you have been, it wasn't with me, and I've been with you for most of your life.  Off hand, I'd say no."  He turned towards Grizelda and said "Griz, if Pockets says there's water just under the ground, I'd believe him.  If Pockets told me that there was a fire lizard sitting on my head right now, I'd believe him.  When he talks like that, you know he's either right, or taking a wild assed guess at the truth, which generally is either right or pretty damn close. You've been with us long enough to have seen it happen more often than not."

Griz raised both hands in the air in surrender. "I know.  I've seen it too.  But usually it was something that we've been around, and all that talk about defloristation and such... well... I just hope he's right."

Bags walked up to the gate, and not seeing a handle, made a snap decision and just knocked.

**************************************************

The sound of the knock was not a hollow sound.  In fact, it made no sound at all, other than the sound one hears when knocking on a 50 year old tree covered in cement.  A kind of fleshy smack, that that was bout it.

They waited.  And waited.  Bags knocked again.  And waited.  

"Maybe there's nobody at home?" Said Grizelda.

"Let's just open the damn thing" said Pockets.

Bags grabbed the edge of the door and pulled.  It opened easily and without a sound, as if on oiled hinges.  Immediately the sounds from the other side of the wall poured out and buffeted the three of them with music, laughter, and the sound of a loud crowd of people.

"I reckon there's somebody home, after all", said Bags.  "Let's go check in."

The wagon was left outside the wall and the three went to the Office to check in.  It was located, sure enough, right inside the front gate, just a little cubby of an office that had two chairs and a table, a lot of shelves containing piles of papers, and an old grey man who sat, waiting.

"Uh," said Bags to the old man, "is this the office?"

"I hope to eat a toad it is!  If it isn't, I'm gonna have me a talk with the Chancellor."  The old man gazed at Bags, Pockets and Grizelda. "Performers, Trades folks, or just visitors?"

"Um, what's the difference?" asked Bags.  Grizelda and Pockets had learned a long time ago that Pockets was not the one to do dealings with officials, as he tended to confuse them, and Grizelda didn't seem to have the same influence talking man to man.  Bags was the obvious leader of the little troupe, and they let him lead.  There was something about him that disarmed most officials, something honest and just a bit naive.

"The difference, young man, is that a One, performers perform, Two, trades folk trade, and visitor are just here to be suckered by the other two.  Now, which are you?  Performers, Trades folk, or Visitors?"

"I reckon we're both performers and trades folk.  I do a bit of juggling..."

"got jugglers." said grey man.

"We do a bit of card reading, palm reading, fortune telling..."

"Real or pertend?  If it's real, then that would be a novel thing.  Course, if you get caught, then you get put to death... if it's real, that is.  Everybody here spects to have pertend fortune tellers."

"We're definitely pretend! Definitely. Aren't we?"  Bags waved to the other two, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Allrighty then.  Anything else?"  Grey man stood up and started to gather papers from the shelves around him.

"Well, my friend here fixes things" Bags indicated Pockets, who just stood with a goofy grin from his round face.

Grey man stopped and turned. "What sort of things?  Clocks?  Walls?  Toilets?"

"To be perfectly honest, we haven't found anything he couldn't fix.  So I reckon the answer to that would be yes."

Grey man hmphed.  "Jack of all trades. Tinkerer.  Mason." He pulled paper after paper from the shelves.  "Gonna take a lot of paperwork for that one.  Aw, hell with it.  Let's just list him as a Master Journeyman and let it go at that.  Bessie would kill me if I was late for supper."

"And Bessie would be?" ventured Bags, trying to be interested and sincere.

"My cow, of course.  That's why I call her Bessie. Best damn name for a cow ever!"  Grey man shook his head at Bags, as if to say, "I'm sorry you don't have many brains, young man"

"Master Journeyman!" said Pockets, excitedly.  "Hear that Grizelda... I get to be not only a Journeyman, but a Master, at that!"

Grizelda just said "That's nice, Pockets.  Just don't blow anything up this time, okay?"

Grey stopped gathering papers and turned again.  "What was that?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing, sir" said Bags, hurriedly.  "Just a joke.  Pockets has never blown anything up."

Under her breath Grizelda said "That we got caught at."

When it was all said and done, about an hour later and about fifty forms signed by Bags, Grizelda was signed in as a Performer, Pockets as a Tradesman, and Bags had a title all his own, that of Journeyman Weapons Master.

Pockets grumbled a bit at that, hoping that he would be the only Master in the group.  It was short lived, however, once they stepped out of the office.  He perked up immediately, and looked imploringly at Bags and Grizelda.  "All right, you can go explore.  But meet us back here at sundown, all right?  Be careful.  Don't pickpocket.  Watch both ways crossing the path.  You understand?"

"Yes, yes, yes.  Sheesh. I'm not a kid anymore, you know!"  and off he skipped, looking this way and that, enchanted by the noise and colors of a new place.

"I can't decide if he's like a child or a puppy."  Grizelda said, shaking her head as she watched the disappearing back of Pockets

"A child, at times.  He's at least house trained."  Bags headed back toward the gate.  "Come on, m'dear.  Let's get the wagon set up.  Our spot is..." he checked the large card given by Grey man "... number 27, just south of the chocolate maker and directly across from the sword swallower"

"Ahhhhhh.. chocolate! Lovely!  Get me some when we get set up?"

"Anything for you, darling" replied Bags.

It took a while to get the wagon maneuvered through the narrow and twisty paths in the performers area.  Twice Bags had to stop and ask where the corner of Chocolate and Sword was.  When the got it all set up, the sun was just peeking over the wall, which was visible no matter where you were in the town.  Bags and Grizelda wound their way back to the gate, where they found Pockets waiting, smiling and happy.

"Wait till you see what I found!" he bounced.

"Found?  as in.. found in someone's pocket?" Grizelda raised an eyebrow.

"NO! You told me that I was not to do that, so I didn't.  What I did do was fix something, and in return I got a prize!"

"Oh?" asked Grizelda.  "And what did you fix?"

Bags was clearly not interested.  "Where's the pub?", he asked.  "It's been a long dry spell"

"Down this way, Bags.  I passed it on the way here."  Pockets led the way, holding Grizelda's upper arm, and talking excitedly.  "See, Griz, I was wanderin around, looking at all that's here, and sucking on a peppermint stick that fell out right into my hand.  I came to this game where you had to reach in to a box with a little claw on a chain and you could pull out what ever was on the bottom.  They had all sorts of things down there.  Little toys, some of them... junk, really.  But there was this really shiny thing there. Oh, turn here, Bags." he led them down a narrow alley way, set apart from the normal carnival midway where everyone else was.

"This game had a problem, see." he continued.  "I watched a few marks play it, and not a one of them caught anything.  I could see that the claw wasn't shaped right, it was designed to appear to catch something, but it was angled just right to let go as it was pulled up."

"Um.. you didn't break the box, did you?" asked Grizelda.

"No, course not.  That would have ruined it for everyone else.  I did notice the spin that the claw had when it went down, and I noticed the spin it had when it went back up.  I also noticed a small flaw in the claw tip, and figured I could, by estimating the rotation of the claw, and allowing for the angle of the flaw, hook it on something in the box and pull it up.  So I did.  And I got a shiny!"  He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small item, geared, with a large key on it.  He gave the key a few twists and showed how the key turned itself back around the direction he had turned it.

"Well," asked Bags, "What the hell is it?"

"I dunno.  But it's neat!" said Pockets, who hid the thing away into the black hole of his jacket.  "Here's the pub, Bags"

They stood outside a small windowless door, over which hung a sign with the words "Swineheart's"

"How did you ever find...no.. don't tell me.  It had something to do with you being chased, didn't it?"

"Uhhh.. maybe.  But they never got a good look at me!" Pockets pulled at the iron latch of the door and said "Come on.  I'm hungry!"
**********************
The little door opened up into a expanse of dark wood, flickering oil lamps, and the smell of roasted meat.  On the more human side came the sound of laughter, good natured argument, intermingled with subtle and non-subtle flirtation between those folk ordering drinks and food and those folk serving drinks and food.

The pub had a few tables, some sat high, and along the walls there were booths sat as well, lower to the ground.  Pockets saw an open booth near the door and slid into it.  Bags and Grizelda slid into the other side, so that Pockets could stretch out across the seat.

The trestle between the seats was wide and accommodating, and sitting on it was a set of salt and pepper shakers, a menu and a listing of the specials of the day. Pockets was looking all round, commenting on the people and the decor of the place.  Bags and Grizelda were reading the menus, deciding on what to order.

"Pockets.  They've got roast beef with drip gravy. How does that sound?" asked Bags.

"Do they have potatoes?"  

"They have potatoes, mashed and chipped"

"Do they have green peas?"

"It says they have green peas, when they are in season"  Grizelda chimed in.

"Do they have dark beer?"

"It says they have a variety of ales, wines, brews, whatever that is, and beers."

"Do they have lagers?"

"They have lagers" Bags and Grizelda threw out together.

"Pockets, are you ever going to learn to read?"  asked Grizelda.  Bags just rolled his eyes.  He knew how this was going to end up.

"Read?  What for?  If I need something, I just ask for it.  If I don't see something, I just ask for it.  Reading is a specialized talent that would remove me from being able to devote that part of my brain to something more interesting."

"Like what?" asked Grizelda.

"Like her." replied Pockets, who was pointing at the approaching waitress.

The waitress approaching was cute, in a pixie sort of way, short cropped blondish hair with reddish streaks in it, sparkling cat-shaped eyes.  She was slight of build, not much of breast, but long of leg with a lithe slenderness that would make a lizard jealous.  Her smile as she approached was a dazzling spray of light, each perfect tooth shining between full lips, arched in a perfect lover's bow.

Grizelda elbowed Bags, who oofed an ouch, and rubbed the ribs that got bruised.  Grizelda nodded at Pockets, who was, quite obviously, enraptured with the approaching vision.  

Bags had one comment.  "huh" he said, quietly, and went back to the menu.

"What can I get you folks?  Do you need a bit more time with the menu?"  Her voice was light and well spoken, showing no accent.

Pockets said "I'll have your roast beef and drip gravy, with mashed potatoes and green peas if it's available.  Oh, and a dark beer and your name."

"I'm sorry.  My name is Chibi, and I'll be serving you tonight." She winked at Pockets, who visibly wriggled with pleasure. "How bout the rest of you folk?"

Bags said "I'd like a steak, medium rare, with mashed potatoes, and a lager... Griz?"  Bags had learned from long experience to let Grizelda order for herself.

"I'd like a salad, please.  House dressing is fine.  Lager is fine for me too, and if there's room after the salad, I'd like to try your roast beef too. But do check with me first."  

Bags had known what she would order, and he knew she would order the roast beef, but if he were to order it for her, he would have to endure a night full of sullen grumbles and stares followed by a quiet night sleeping by himself.  Experience is, after all, the best teacher.

"Absolutely!" said Chibi.  She reached down and touched on slender hand to the top of Pockets own hand and said directly to him, "I'll have your beer out first thing, hon."

Pockets was speechless, entranced by the sight of the waitress walking away, and that point was made evident by Grizelda elbowing Bags again and said "Did you ever see such a thing?"

"Once." replied Bags.  "Pockets woke me up once and drug me out of the wagon to see what he called 'the most incredible thing'.  When I got to where he wanted me to be, it was just the sunrise.  Granted, it was a darn pretty sunrise, and there were odd greenish colors in it, but to me, it was just the start of another day.  To Pockets though, you'd have thought one of the Gods or Goddesses had reached down and given him a puppy.  He stood there for hours, I think, just watching it.  Me, I went back to bed."  He looked over at his companion.  "Yep. He had the same sort of look in his eyes then, too.  It's ok... he'll get over it. Something shiny will come along and catch his attention."

"Oh! Shiny!" Pockets reached into his jacket and brought out the prize he had won from the claw machine.  He wound it up and watched the gears turn and listened to the bright ticking sound it made.

"See?" said Bags, vindicated.

"Here you go, sweetie.  One dark beer, and two lagers."  Chibi placed them down in their proper places.  "I'll have your dinners brought out as soon as they're done."  She noticed the ticking gewgaw the Pockets was holding. "What's that you have there, dear?"

"Not quite sure, ma'am." Pockets mumbled.  Grizelda was smiling very large at this, enjoying the obvious embarrassed discomfort that Pockets was experiencing.

"Can I see it?" Chibi asked, holding out her hand, waiting.

"Sure, but be careful.  Some of the gears can bite. I know."  He held up a thumb that had a nick out of it.

"Awww, you poor dear.  Does it hurt?" Chibi asked.

"Nope.  I can take a lot of pain.  It happens when you work with enough metal stuff, you expect to get bit every so often."  Pockets placed the ticking mechanism in Chibi's open hand.

Chibi held it up to her eyes, and turned the thing this way and that.  "Hmmm." she said, "looks like some sort of clocking or timing mechanism.  Be interesting what it goes to.  Where did you find it?"

Pockets looked at her hands to avoid the gaze from the twin green tinted lasers.  "Out in the midway... in a game."

"A game?  That's quite a prize you got there, honey.  Here, hold onto it." She gave it back, letting her fingers linger just a bit before withdrawing.  "I'm sure someone as bright as you will figure out what to do with it."  She straightened her apron, and said "I'll be right back with your dinners."

"I have to say, I've never met anyone like her." said Grizelda, to which Bags replied, "Yeah.  I'm not sure if I trust her.  She latched onto Pockets way to quick."

"Bags, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous.  Try to be a little happy for Pockets.  It's not often he meets someone that can talk his language... or at least close to it."

Pockets piped in, having regained his composure, "Yeah, Bags. Sheesh. I mean, she's got great cranial development, excellent teeth, which show both good breeding and high intelligence. It's not like she's going to sweep me off my feet or anything.  She is, after all, just a woman.  No offense, Griz. You know you're in a class all your own."

"None taken, Pockets." said a smiling Grizelda.

"Okay, okay. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.  You just be careful, okay, chum?"  Bags' long face showed serious concern, to which Pockets replied with a broad goofy smile and a raspberry.

"Pshaw.  Nothin' to worry bout.  I've been taking care of myself since I was born, practically.  Take more than a cute, intelligent, sexy little sprite like that to put me off my feed."

"If you say so." Bags played with the grain of the table, obviously not happy.  "And I still say just be careful, ok?"

Pockets sprayed another raspberry.  Bags reached a cross the table and slapped Pockets arm open handed and then pointed at him.  "I mean it."

"Okay, okay, okay.  Sheesh."  Pockets shrunk back into his side of the booth and seemed to focus on his ticking toy, all the while sneaking peeks over the top of it at the wandering Chibi as she flitted from table to table, who also sneaked peeks of her own back at him, favoring him with a wide smile whenever she would catch him.  "I'll be careful, Bags.  I promise." he said.
********************
The tiny door flew open, and three figures in long, brown, hooded robes entered.  Robes made of some rough cloth, belted at the waist with rude ropes of golden cord as thick as a wrist and tasseled on the end.  Their faces, deep in the hoods bore the look of sad strength, and eyes sunken from day of fasting and contemplation.  Here and there, they cast their gaze, searching for something, someone.

Grizelda turned to Bags and said, "I wonder what order they belong to?  Look at the faces, so intent.  Now, those are men that have seen the world from inside out."

Bags just put his arm around Grizelda and said "Mebbee so, but I kinda think I like how we do it, looking at the world from outside in.  You can get so wrapped up in searching the inside of something that you completely miss the outside altogether."

"I think they look like jellybeans." said Pockets, which brought a stare from the other two.  He caught their gaze, shrugged and said "You know.  Hard on the outside, but all squishy and soft on the inside.  I gotta take a leak."  Whereupon he hopped off his bench and made his way round to the other side of the bar, passing folks as he went and sneaking a pinch at Chibi's flank, who giggled and slapped at his hand.  

"Druuuud!" came a yell, which startled most of the patrons of the bar.  "Druuud! Good to see you, man!" came an answering yell.

The hoods turned from the door, and raising one hand in greeting, went to meet their companions, who were playing a game involving sliding thick circles of clay down a long, lined table to knock over ten little sticks of wood on the far end, away from them.  Cat calls and words of encouragement and derision came from the direction of the table.  They were drinking tall, foaming mugs of something dark and fragrant.

The patrons of the small pub, and there weren't many of them, were grouped in clusters, some talking among themselves, some sitting alone and just enjoying the atmosphere.  Every so often, laughter would break out and ripple through the rafters like a flock of pigeons.

The Barman, a tall and balding man came over to where Bags and Grizelda were sitting.  "How're you likin' it folks?  Haven't seen you in here before."

"It's a very nice place you have here." said Bags.

"It's a dump, but it's the finest dump around, I'll tell you that." He stuck his big and meaty hand out. "Name's Damien.  I'm not the owner, I'm just the guy behind the bar.  Figured I'd come over and say hello, since nobody else has."

Bags and Grizelda both shook his hand, while Bags did the introductions. "I'm Bags, and this is my... um..."  Grizelda raised and eyebrow at Bags loss of words.

"Not yer wife, huh?  Well, we see a lot of that in here." said Damien.

"This is Grizelda." Bags stammered out. "She's my partner in crime."  He was blushing furiously.

"Good save, but judging from the ladies face, not quite good enough, I'd say."  Wiping his hands on his bar rag, Damien said "Welp, I better get back.  People get thirsty."  He gave a pointed look at Bags and said "Good luck.  I mean it"

Grizelda was bristling by this time.  "Partner in crime!" she hissed, snakelike, cobra like.  I think I'd deserve a little bit more than 'Partner'"

Bags could feel his feet fading beneath him.  "Look." he said.  "I didn't know what to say.  You're not my wife..."

Grizelda interrupted him, "That's for sure.  Keep goin', buddy. You're just digging it deeper."

Bags sighed.  "Honey."  "Don't even honey me, mister." Grizelda said.  "Darling," another attempt.  "Nor darling either, Mr. I'm-gonna-sleep-alone-for-a-very-long-time."

Bags sighed again. His chest, always slender, seemed to sink even deeper than it already appeared.  He reached for one of Grizelda's hands.  She jerked it away, furiously.  Bags decided to pull out his secret weapon.  

He pulled the corner of his mouth down as far as he could, which made the lines on his long face even longer and deeper.  This, in turn, pulled the bags under his eyes further down, and made his brown eyes appear larger than they were.  He ducked his chin down and looked up at Grizelda from beneath upturned brows.

"Griz," he said in a quiet, sad, and eternally lonely voice.  He reached for her hand and this time she let him take it.  "Griz," he said again.  And she looked at him, tears in her eyes.  

"Dammit, Bags!  You know that sad puppy dog gets me every time.  I'm still pissed at you, and I'm not gonna let you forget it for a very long time.  Just let me be pissed at you, OK?" And she turned away with a jerk, but left her hand in his.  This was how the game was played.

"Griz, you know that I was nothing before you came along.  I was sad, and I was lonely.  I had nobody to talk to, human to human, I mean.  I needed someone I could relate to, on more than one plane of existence.  You were that someone. You completed me and made me a whole person."

"Yeah, well."  was all that Grizelda would say to that.

Perseverance is all, and Bags kept on.  "Someday, when I have a respectable life, when I've left this life of petty stuff behind, I will want to spend the rest of my days with you, man and wife.  But till then, I don't want to be the husband that was killed and left his wife to shame.  Can you see that?  I want to be someone you'd be proud to walk down the street with."

Grizelda turned back to face him.  "Can you not see that I'm already proud to walk down the street with you?  Can you not see that I'm hopelessly in love with you, you big idiot.  Sometimes I'm more angry with myself for my feelings than I am with you for ignoring my feelings!"

"Griz, I don't ignore your feelings, I never have. It's just that I ..."

"He just doesn't know how to express his reactions to your feelings."  Pockets slid back into the booth, grabbed his beer and said "The big dope is so hooked on you, it frazzles his brain, which is why I'm here, to do all the thinking."

Bags didn't say anything, just blushed bigger and turned away.  

"He did the puppy dog thing, didn't he?"  asked Pockets, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up, Pockets."  said Grizelda.

"Well, it was kinda obvious, you know.  Him sitting there, holding your hand, you sitting there, with tears in your eyes.  Sheesh, I'd have to be a blind monk to not see it.  Speaking of which, did you notice those guys that came in?  In the monk robes?  None of them were wearing sandals, just boots, military type.

All three looked over to the table where the robed figures were busy playing their game.  Every so often one would glance their way, and quickly turn back.  One of the players waved at Chibi, who came to them, doing her waitress dance between the tables.  She bent down to hear the whispered words of the one that waved her over.  After a bit, she nodded, stood up and went back to the bar.

"That's mighty suspicious the way they keep looking over this way, don't you think?" Asked Grizelda.

"Naw," answered Pockets.  "They probably were asking Chibi what she's doing later, and she had to tell them that she's gonna be with the best looking guy in the place."

"Who?" Asked Bags, suspicious himself.

"Why me, of course!" said Pockets.  He was playing with the forks and knives at the table, stacking them in a hodgepodge and playing pickup sticks with them.  "Did you know that if you heat common steel to a high enough temperature, it develops a magnetic field all it's own.  Now, if they have washed these in hot enough boiling water...Ah!"  with one of the forks he was picking up one of the knives.  "I love it when stuff like this happens."

Bags looked at Pockets and folded his hands on the table.  "Pockets," he asked, in a far more serious tone than he used before, "are you going to be going home with the waitress tonight?" When Pockets just looked at Bags and smiled as toothy as he could, Bags asked, "Don't you think that's a bit dangerous?"

"Why Bags," Pockets said, "I don't know.  Why don't you ask Chibi herself.  She's standing ... right... there."

To Bags' credit, the only reaction he showed was the raising of one eyebrow, and a small twitch of his mouth.  "She is, isn't she?"

Pockets just smiled bigger and said, "Yep. She is."

"Here's your dinner folks." Chibi expertly placed the orders in front of the person that had ordered it. "I've asked them to hold some roast beef in reserve, just in case the salad isn't enough for you, ma'am.' she said to Grizelda. "Sometimes I know I get hungrier than I thought I was, so I understand perfectly."  

"If you need any thing else," and she looked directly at Pockets, "and I mean anything else, just whistle." To which Pockets immediately puckered up and blew a long, high pitched whistle that broke one glass on the bar.  Damien looked up, with a scowl on his face, and Chibi just laughed.

To Bags, Chibi smiled a smile that reminded him of a cheetah talking to the rabbit, and said, "Mr. Bags, I promise I'll be good to Chester.  I like him.  He's different than most of the folks I've met.  Smarter.  So don't you worry..." she patted Bags on one of his long hands and added "honey.  I'll have him home before morning, I promise."  She turned and walked away.

"I like her." said Pockets.  "Don't you like her, Griz?"  

Grizelda smiled around her salad, and said, "She seems very nice, Pockets, and she seems to like you."

Pockets turned to Bags, "Don't you like her, Bags?  She even called you 'honey'. 'Course, she called me Chester, but that's ok, I guess. You gotta like her, y'know.  You just gotta.  She is sooo smart."

Through clenched teeth, Bags said "Yeah, Pockets.  I think she's just keen-o"

"Score!" came a voice from the table of robed men.  One of them had managed to knock down all ten of the sticks on the far end.  His fellows, the ones on his team apparently were slapping their palms against each other, and jumping up and bumping their chests against each other, giving mock roars of triumph.

"Yeah", agreed Bags, in a quiet and gruff voice.  "I'll just bet there's gonna be a score.  I just don't know who the winning side is."

"Ah, you're just sore because you and Griz had a fight, and I'm the only one tonight that's gonna be getting some."  Grizelda laughed loudly at that, and nodded while she ate.

Bags cut a piece of his steak, which was well done and not at all to his liking, and stabbed it angrily with his fork.  He didn't say anything at all.  
*************************
The rest of the night was sprinkled with conversation, Pockets talking to Bags, Pockets talking to Grizelda, Bags trying to talk to Grizelda, and Grizelda not talking to Bags.

Chibi would come over, sit next to Pockets and do small talk.  She would make a point of looking him in the eyes, touching his hand when she spoke to him, and pointedly ignored the cold emanating from Bags.  She and Grizelda would exchange womanly talk about the men, as if they weren't there.  The only flaw was when Chibi asked when Bags and she would marry.  That's when the Iceberg broke from the shelf and got in the way of all the ocean traffic.  Chibi retreated before the cold front like a migrating bird.  Bags settled into a sullen and quiet silence. Pockets became enchanted by just bout everything in the pub.  Grizelda sniffed back quiet tears.

"Cooties." said Pockets.

"What?" sniffed Grizelda.

"Cooties." Pockets repeated.

"Cooties." Grizelda repeated.  "What about cooties?"

"I'm not so sure, but I think she may have cooties."

"Who? Chibi?"

"Yeah. Her.  I think she may have cooties."

"Pockets," said Bags, "cooties aren't real."

"Sure they are.  Cooties are as real as anything else.  They are as real as gravity, as real as the air we breathe.  Cooties are a measure of things that you don't necessarily want on you, they are a measure of something not quite right.  I mean, she's cute, but c'mon.  She's interested in me?  Bags, in all the time you've known me, how many women have been interested in me?"

Bags looked thoughtful and started to say "Well... there was that.. no.  Ummm." He scratched his chin stubble and furled his eyebrows.  He decided to pass the torch.  "Griz? Help me out?"

Grizelda gave him a go to hell look, but still she said, "Surely there has been at least one woman?" She looked turned one eye towards Bags.  "Even one?"

Bags said "Well.. there was a couple, but I don't know if they were interested.  Mesmerized is more like it.  They would stick around but the more he talked, the more they realized he was... different."

Pockets sniffed and said "Why don't you talk like I'm not here?"

Grizelda said "Ok", and turned back to Bags.  "Different?  Couldn't they just see he was childlike?"

"If you define childlike as irresponsible and unable to hold down a job like a normal person, then yes.  If you define childlike as a magical quality that transforms everyday things into something unusual, then no."

"Normal is a relative term used by folks that have no idea how to deal with the interspatial concepts of true reality and the individuality of the human mind." Pockets interjected.

Bags and Grizelda, after a respectable period of silence said, together, "Yeah, whatever." and continued their discussion about Pockets' individuality.

Pockets, disgusted, slid out of the booth and said "I think I'll go check out the game, maybe try catching some cooties."  He crossed over to where the men in robes were playing, and just stood watching for a bit.

In his mind he watched the interplay of the disk bouncing down the table to hit the sticks at the other end.  He noticed as the disk flew, it seemed to lift just a bit as the air built up under it, which caused a small variation in it's speed as the friction decreased on it.  He also noticed that when the disk hit the pins that it would ricochet and slow as the pins got in it's way.

He tapped one of the men on the shoulder and asked "Mind if I give it a try?"

The man shrugged, handed him the disk, and said "Why not? Ever play before?"

Pockets took the disk and said "Nope.  Tell me bout it."

"Well," said the man, "you just throw the puck down the table, and knock as many pins down as you can.  The more pins you knock down, the higher your score."

"What's it called?" asked Pockets.

"We call it skittles, but I think the real name is throw the puck and knock over the pins."

"Hookay." said Pockets.  He tossed the puck up and down in his hand, getting used to the weight.  He ran his fingers across the table once to feel it's texture.  Placing the puck on the table, he flung it down toward the pins at the other end. It bounced down between the rails, crashed against the pins, angled off them and crashed against the backboard.  All said and done, there were three pins left standing.

"Not bad, old man, for a first attempt." said the obvious leader of the gang.  "Wanna go again?"

"If it's okay with you, sure."  Pockets was passed the puck again.

"How bout we play for a bit of money?" the leader asked.  "Say, we give a copper for each pin knocked over, you give a copper for every one left standing.  What d'ya say?"

"I don't know.  I mean, I've never played before.  What if it's a copper from each of you for each I knock down, and a copper from me for each left standing?" Pockets countered.

"Naw.. to rich for us. you knock down 5 pins, you make 30 coppers, we only make 5."

"Okay. Let's play your way." Pockets conceded.  "I owe you one for each left up, you pay one for each that falls."

He took the puck, bounced it a couple of times in his hand, then quick as a flash, hurled it down the table in a zigzag fashion to hit the pins not head on, but with a side attack, crashing through them to rebound off the wall on the other side of the table, double back and knock the remaining pins down.  He looked at the men around the table with his patented 'ain’t I cute' grin.  Problem was, nobody else was grinning back.

"Okay, old man.  Here's your money."  Five coppers were counted into his open hand.  "Now beat it.  I don't know if you're scamming us or not, but you better hope you're not.  It wouldn't be pretty.  Now shove off."

"Sorry, gents.  I never played this before. Really.  I just calculated the weight of the puck verses the potential of the friction of the table and added in the inertial co-efficient of the pins for not to want to be moved.  It was just a matter of realizing that to be most effective, the puck could not hit the pins head on.  It had to hit them from the side and use the energy of the table to encourage it to knock the rest of the pins down. Simple, actually."

"Simple, sure. Except I don't understand what the hell you were just saying.  Take your money and go somewhere else."  The leader loomed over Pockets, pushing his chest against Pockets to reinforce his meaning.  His fellows crowded around to lend their support if it was needed.

Pockets recognized that retreat was the better part of valor.  "Look, gents.  I'm sorry I took your coppers. Have 'em back." He dropped the pieces of money on the game table.  "Maybe we can play for fun when tempers cool down, huh?"

"Just shove off, man.  Maybe someday, but not tonight.  We got places to go, things to do."  The hooded figures turned away, indicating strongly their desire to exclude Pockets from any more conversation.

Pockets shrugged, turned away, and glanced back towards where Bags and Grizelda were sitting.  They were holding hands, heads together, talking and smiling at each other.

Pockets brushed one hand against the other and said "My work here is done."  He looked around for Chibi.  "Now... where did that cootie ridden wench get off to?"
*****************************************
Pockets made his way through the throng of standers, talkers, beer drinkers, flirters, liars and hopefuls.  The pub wasn't very full at all, but for not being very full at all, it was pretty crowded.  He saw the world as he always did, in colors and sounds and sights that sometimes were missed by other folks.  He kept an eye out for the invisible line of energy that would get him to his destination the fastest.  

Pockets was a good person, just not terribly moral.  He never had much need for them, he always said.  As long as nobody got hurt in the process, then where's the need?  His small time thieveries were more of an experiment at social interaction, to the degree of wondering just how stupid most folks were.

Pockets was a snob, in the intellectual sense.  Sure, he'd sit with you and buy you a beer if he had the money on him, and generally it was money that you probably just had in your pocket.  He'd even talk with you briefly, and if you could understand what he was saying, he'd stay and buy you more beer with your money.  If you couldn't keep up with what he was saying, he'd lose interest, put your money back in your pocket and wander away, leaving you with the odd feeling that you were a bug crawling under a leaf.

Pockets was a naive man, believing that most folks would really choose to do good if they had the choice, and so he also chose that route. He held the idea that everyone was interested in the refractory properties of rain on rooftops, or how big a soap bubble would get before it crushed itself under it's own weight.  He liked to laugh, and believed that he was a funny person, and often told jokes, if only to himself.

Pockets was also a lonely man, at times, when his humanity came through to the forefront.  He was also a human man, at times, when his loneliness came through to the forefront.  Tonight was one of those nights.  Sitting and watching Bags and Grizelda play their romance game reminded him of times long ago when, he too, had a sweetie, if only for a little bit.  Normally it wouldn't have bothered him, but there was something about tonight, something about the way the two lovers sparred with each other, and something about the way Chibi looked at him.  As if, for all his intellect and wondrous abilities, she just wanted him, for himself.  It made his heart ache, though if you asked him, he would tell you that the heart would only ache if there were a medical, and not an emotional reason behind it.

One could say that Pockets lived in denial of himself most of the time.  Of course, one wouldn't say it to his face, because he would look at you with his blue eyes, smile his shy smile, pluck your wallet from your pocket and say "Ah.  Of course it's all true".

The lonelies had a hold of him tonight, and he went in search of Chibi, to see if he could find a cure for feeling human again.  Just as he came to the very back of the bar, he caught sight of her as she ducked out the back door.  As she was leaving, she looked up at him and smiled and winked.  Something in his mind went 'Ping!', and he followed her out the door.

The back door, which was larger and wider than the front door to allow deliveries, led to an alley behind the pub.  The buildings rose tall and dark, and as it was night, there was not a lot of light to see by.

"I'm over here, Chester."  came Chibi's voice.  Pockets turned toward her in the dark and made his way, haltingly, in that direction.

"It's as black as the inside of a collapsed star here, Chibi.  How can you see?" he asked.

"Oh, you get used to it, after a while." she said "When I first came out here, I did every thing by feel."

Pockets stumbled on something in his way, perhaps a crate of some sort, and found himself grabbing some other thing, something soft, and warm, and very roundly feminine feeling.

"You see?" Chibi said. "Touch is sometimes the best way to feel around, don't you think?"

"Not tonight." said Pockets. "Thinking is the last thing I want to do."  His fingers found the soft curves of her waist, and leaning forward, his lips found hers, waiting and pliable.

Soft rustle of clothes in the dark, murmurs and sighs, and with very little conversation of the juxtaposition of angles and the tensile strength of the human bones on hard stone, an ancient waltz was spun in the dark, and only a few sprinkle stars were the witnesses.

Clothes back in place, no bruises that would be noticed, Chibi said "I think I'd like to go up to my place.  Care to join me?"

"What about work?" asked Pockets, as he slapped his jacket in back into place.  "Won't you be missed for the rest of your shift?"

"Nope.  I already cashed out.  Damien will close up in about an hour.  I'm off to bed, and if you would rather not join me, that's fine."

"Lead the way, kitten." Pockets said.  "I'm all yours for the night."

"What about your friends?" asked Chibi.

"They are in the middle of a reconciliation.  I doubt they will miss me for a while.  I mean, it's not like I'm a big thing to them, more like the third wheel on a two gear system.  Might do them good for me to be gone for a bit.  Sometimes I suspect that I'm the psychological crutch that Bags uses to not propose to Griz."

Chibi led the way out of the alley, a twisty way, turning down this corner, and through that hidden entry, that would have been difficult in the day time, but for Pockets, near impossible in the pitch blackness between the buildings.  He held tightly onto her hand as Chibi guided him through the maze.

The two emerged on a street, deserted and dark, no lamps lit, no candles in windows.

"I thought your little toy was very cute, by the way.  When we get back to my place, would you mind if I took another look at it?" she asked.

"The way I feel tonight, you can look at anything you want.  Your wish is my command."

"You are such a sweetheart." she said.  "Makes it just a bit hard for me to do this."

"Do what?" Pockets asked.

"This."  Chibi put two fingers into her mouth and blew, a shrill, trilling sound, that caused Pockets to cover his ears.  From out of doorways and alleys, six robed and hooded figures appeared and approached.

"Um," said Pockets, "does this mean that there won't be any more nookie tonight?"

"Darling," said Chibi, "Not so's you'd notice it."

A sharp, heavy ringing in his ears, the world turned red, faded and the night was all around him.
***************************
There was a man sized butterfly standing in front of a blackboard, writing equations and drawing diagrams. It appeared to be humming to itself, something very melodical and multivoiced.  Pockets could hear a fiddle, a horn, possibly harp or some other tinkly note maker in the humming.

The equations were nonsense to Pockets, though there was something about them that drew his eye.  Numbers and lines and letters.  He knew that's what he was looking at, but couldn't understand them.  "Reading would be very useful here." he thought. "Pity it never interested me before."  

He sat or floated, he couldn't decide which, not having a body.  How he knew he didn't have a body was not more than a minor curiosity, and his attention was more drawn to the humming butterfly than the corporeality of his own existence.

The numbers changed as he watched, the tone of the humming turned to match it.  The horn disappeared from the music, the numbers seemed to merge and melt and fade and the area on the blackboard cleared away as the harp went quiet.  The remaining instrument, the fiddle, was playing low notes, quite and vibrous.  

The butterfly turned towards where Pockets was ... existing.  The Humming stopped and the butterfly spoke.  "Ah! There you are!  Do you understand anything I'm doing here?"

Pocket's voice, disembodied, replied. "No... well, maybe.  I don't read, but I'm starting to understand.  It's about vibration, isn't it?"

"Yes! It's about harmonics and discordance. Very good. Let's continue, shall we?"  and the butterfly turned back to the blackboard.  It started to hum another pattern, a note, low and woody, that seemed to cause the whole place to vibrate in slow undulations.  The number on the blackboard slide across the board, leaving a trail behind it. The trail changed into squiggles and formed numbers of itself.  

"Notice," came a voice next to Pocket, "that all vibrations leave a signature of itself behind.  And if we introduce the opposing discordance...".

Another note appeared in the hum, something not quite shrill, not quite too high to hear, but edging on the side of not being there.  On the blackboard appeared a new symbol, underneath the numbers already there. It drew itself across the board, leaving a trail behind it.  These squiggles were different from the previous, and became numbers as well.  It slid upwards to merge with the other set, and one by one, they started to pop away from the board, drift in the air and sift to the ground like sawdust.

When the show was done, the final number on the board was a zero, with two wavy lines under it.

"As you can see, the remaining effect is approximately zero, as it's nearly impossible to get two completely and exactly opposite frequencies with out extreme instrumentation."

"Yes", interjected Pockets.  "I can see that.  But, what if we did this."  and a sound emerged from nowhere.  Low and sharp, containing bits of both woodwinds and violins, brass and percussion.  The blackboard started to fill up with squiggles, dancing and merging and creating numbers and canceling out.  The sound became complex, dropped to a simple note, which contained all the elements of the previous sounds.  The image on the blackboard drew itself down to a simple equation, containing only five symbols.

"Interesting." said the butterfly, flitting it's wings just a bit. "But this is a known thing.  All you did was to take previously known functions and condense them to a simpler form."

"But," said Pockets.  "If we place a single vibration into the mix..."  a note, crystal clear, high and light, emerged from the same nowhere and seemed to hover, on it's own, separate and distinct from the note already there.

The blackboard added one more number, simple and away from the existing equation.  The number on the blackboard appeared to vibrate with the same tiny frequency as did the note, and then seemed to spiral in to join the five symbols.

The blackboard was suddenly and explosion of activity, lines and numbers and arcane symbols covering every inch of it, collapsing and growing, snowing on the board till it was entirely white.

The music in the place rose in pitch and volume, and sounds could be heard that were not music and were not voices, but more a combination of both.  

The Butterfly flapped his wings in excitement and leaped into the air, circling round and round.

"Of course! It's all so incredibly simple once you put it that way.  It explains...," there was a pause, then, in hushed tones, "It explains everything."

"And," added Pockets "if you notice, I didn't even have to read"

Suddenly the world went white, then black again, then very painful.  There was a sound here, but it was the steady ploiting of a drip.  There were voices here as well, one of them Chibi.  The voices were in the middle of an argument.

"...so hard, we could have simply asked him."  Chibi was saying.

"Look," came another, deeper voice.  "You just said we was to conk this feller on the noggin, then you was gonna rob him of somethin or other.  That's all you said to us, so how was we to know that he'd take a crack to the head so personal and pass out like he did?  You never said to take it easy on the guy."

"Now what am I going to do.  He doesn't have the thing on him." Chibi's voice came back with a bit of disgust.

"I dunno bout you lady, but if it was me, I'd be getting the hell out of town, if you take my meaning.  I dunno if this gent has friends in high places, but he probably won't be too friendly once he wakes up."

There was a rustle, approaching feet, then Pockets could feel his head being turned, first one way, then another.  He lay there as one dead, limp as a worm, quiet as death.

"He sure did take that knock pretty hard." came the man's voice. "If he wasn't breathin, I'd swear he was dead."

"Dead is the last thing I need him to be right now."  Chibi sighed.  "Nothing for it, but to get a bit more instructions.  Sorry boys, playtime is over.  I've got work to do.  You know where the door is."

Feet came past and receded into the distance.  Chibi's voice called out again, "Hey!" Another voice came back "Wot?"

"Do you remember where I left my pants?" The answer came back in the form of fading laughter.  There was the sound of a door closing, then nothing except the sound of clothing being put on, laces being laced, boots being pulled on.

A heavy sigh was heard, followed by the slow boot steps approaching where Pockets lie.  The creak of leathered knees nearby indicated someone was kneeling down.  "Sorry, honey.  You really are a sweet lad.  I'm going to have to tie you up a bit, but I'll be back soon, I promise."

Chibi turned Pockets onto his belly and tied his hands together then tied them to his boots, effectively hogtieing him so that he couldn't move. She rolled him onto his side again, and Pockets felt a soft pair of lips touch his cheek.

"It's a pity you got wrapped in this.  Maybe you'll even live through it."  She kissed his lips, and footsteps were heard fading away.  Then a distant door opened, and then closed with a heavy thud.

Pockets opened his eyes.  The place he was at was a bit damp, very large, and from his vantage point on the floor had high walls that were built of massive grey stones.  He estimated that the walls may have been as much as a foot thick.  His eyes traveled up the walls to see small windows high up.  He assumed he was in some sort of cellar, from the dripping water and the thick lime deposits.  He could see barrels stacked around him, and though he couldn't read what written on them, he made the guess that they contained wine or ale.

His jacket had been removed and was thrown over a barrel in one of the corners of the room.  More than likely, Chibi had gone through the pockets looking for his windup toy.  What the toy was for, and why it was so important spent a brief flicker in his mind, but was pushed back because he knew that he would find out what it was for when it came time to find out what it was for.

Pockets rolled onto his back, feeling extremely uncomfortable with his hands and feet tied together, but he was able to get his balance and examine the ceiling.  It was flat, wooden, and he could see the boards shift as if objects were being rolled across or it was a floor that was being walked on.  Dust sprinkled down on to his face, so he opened his mouth.  

Salt, but no wood dust.  Some odd flavors, but nothing immediately identifiable..  How curious, he thought.  Must be a wealthy home or a restaurant.  He looked between his feet and noted stairs going up and away that confirmed it was a wine cellar of some sort.

He rolled onto his other side looking for another way out.  He saw a drain grate in the far corner above his head.  It might be big enough to fit into it, and if so, it would not be the first time he was thankful he was born short and bright, rather than tall and handsome.

Now, to get out of this mess.
*************************************
"Where the hell have you been, you little troll?"  Bags was not happy.

"It's a bit hard to say, Bags.  I thought I was going out to have a little fun with Chibi, but everything went black, and I woke up in a cellar.  I was pretty lucky, though.  She didn't have any earthly idea how to tie a good knot, so I was able to escape through a storm drain."

"That certainly explains that smell."  said Grizelda.  

"I didn't trust that Chibi from the moment I met her.  What did she want with you?" Bags was still not happy.  He was pacing back and forth inside the little wagon, stopping to glare at Pockets, who sat on at the tiny dining table, smiling.

"Aw, Bags.  She's not all that bad.  She could have had me killed, but she didn't. She was just looking for my toy."

"Your toy?  That windup thing?  What for?"  Grizelda asked.

"I dunno.  But she didn't find it.  I was smart, and hid it in a place she'd never look."  Pockets was still grinning, and rubbing his balding head.

"And where would that be, Pockets?" from Grizelda.

"Why Grizelda!  If I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret any more, would it?  Besides, if you don't know, then there's no need for anyone to ask you, is there?"

"Umm... I don't know about that." Grizelda answered.

"Pockets, what this means is that she'll be out looking for you." worried Bags.

"Well, that is true.  I imagine she'll still be wanting some of my furious monkey lovin'."

"And that windup toy." said Bags.

"Probably that too." admitted Pockets.

"Okay.  We'll just have to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.  For the next day or two Pockets, you stay in side the wagon. Ok?" said Bags.

"Awwwww.  There's no fun in that." Pockets pouted.

"Oh? Then imagine how much fun there would be in you being found dead.  Imagine how much fun we would have mourning the loss of our dear friend Pockets." said Grizelda.

"Well, when you put it that way," Pockets said glumly. "I guess I could find something to do here for a couple of days.  I had been thinking about a way to heat this little place using stored heat from the sun.  I could also tinker with an idea I had to keep food fresher in a box that cools itself using compressed gasses.  Just something I thought about while I was unconscious.  Oh! And is it all right if I do some experimentation with the nature of the universe?"

"As long as you take a bath first, and don't blow up anything." Grizelda said.

"Deal." agreed Pockets. "So... anything interesting happen while I was out? Besides you two not fighting anymore, I mean."

"Before we figured you had disappeared, which, by the way, did upset us quite a bit.  Nobody in that bloody place seemed to be willing to help us.  Anyway, before you disappeared, a gentleman of the court came and talked to us, and invited us to the king's mansion."

"A gentleman of the court?  My, my!" said Pockets.  "Not a castle?  Hmm.. that makes not a lot of sense.  The would be enough rock around that he could create a castle of just about any size.  The cellar I was in was made entirely of stone. Why were we invited?"

"We, Griz and I are invited." Bags corrected. "You're going to stay out of site.  We were invited because it seems His Majesty is in need of a Weapons Master.  They got my name from the register when we signed in. He wants to offer me a job. Or at least talk to me about it."

"Oh. Okay.  Yeah, I can stay here, I guess.  I won't like it, though. I'd like to see why it's not a castle, and I've never been in a mansion."

"We'll ask him for you, Okay?", Grizelda offered.  "While we're there, maybe we can find out what we can do about this Chibi person and you can come up to the mansion later."

"Thanks, Griz!  Well, I reckon I better go wash.  Did you fill up our water supply like I told you?" Pockets dropped down from the stool he was sitting on and headed towards his little back room.

"Yes we did." said Grizelda.  "The water was just about three feet down, just like you said."

"Good!  I like lots of hot water.  G'night kids. Don't stay up too late." Pockets closed the partition which acted as the door between his tiny room and the rest of the wagon.

Grizelda turned to Bags and asked, "Did it seem to you that Pockets didn't seem to care very much that he was kidnapped?"

Bags nodded.  "Yep.  That I did.  I suspect our friend Pockets isn't telling all he knows, which isn't unusual.  Probably figures our feeble brains wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I'm just hoping that we can take care of Chibi.  I'm sorry you turned out to be right about her.  I think he really liked her.  I think she really liked him, too."  

"She has an odd way of showing it, Griz."

"Oh, I'm not saying I wouldn't want to drop a large stone on her.  Nobody hurts one of my boys without me doing something about it.  I'm just saying that had she not been a bitch, there may have been something there."

"Always the romantic, darling.  One of the things I love about you." said Bags.

"We do what we can, m'dear.  We do what we can." replied Griz.

Bags smiled largely, and said "Much as I'd like to take this conversation late into the night, I imagine we should get some sleep.  We have a king to talk to in the morning."

Even so, the conversation lasted far longer than either of them expected.
**************************
A loud knocking awoke the sleeping trio the next morning.  Bags groggily tossed on his trousers and answered the door.  There was a very large man at the door, wearing armor.

"Umm." said Bags.  "What ever he's done, we don't know about it."

"Who?" came the deep growly reply.

"I don't know." answered Bags.

"All right.  That's not my concern whatever you're talking about.  I'm here to escort you to the mansion."  The helmeted eyes flickered briefly over Bags' bare chest taking in the muscles and the numerous scars.  "I see you've been in a few scrapes."

"You might say that." Bags said as he pulled a jerkin over his head.  "Umm, would you like something to drink?  Coffee's not done, but we do have some mint tea.  It'll just be a minute while I get dressed."

"Tea would be fine, thanks."  the armored man came in and stood by the door while Bags got a mug filled with fragrant tea.  The man took the mug and raised an eyebrow.  "What are these chunks in it?" he called as Bags went toward the back to get Grizelda up and finish getting dressed.

"That's called ice." Bags called from the other room It's frozen water. Cools down the tea.  I didn't know if you wanted warm tea or cool tea, so I guessed."

Grizelda came out, her long brown hair tied in a ponytail, her nails polished to a gleam, her face made up with just the slightest hint of color.  She was wearing a long and flowing dress, covered in bright colors.  "Greetings, Sir Knight." she said. "And good morning to you."

"Greetings, ma'am. I'm not really a knight, just an guard of the king.  You can call me Harv.  And don't think me rude but I didn't expect simple gypsies to have such manners.  And this 'ice'.  Where did it come from?"

"Would you have a seat, Harv?"

"No, we really must be going, and quickly.  The king's schedule is very full."  In concession to manners, he removed his helm.  He had the face of a simple farm boy, hair brown and full, eyes bright and curious.  "Where did this ice come from?" he asked again, sipping his tea.

"Oh, it's just a little experiment a friend of ours is working on.  Something he calls 'fridgeration'."

"Fridgeration.  Hmmm."  Harv moved the word around and tasted it.  "I heard there were three of you here, but so far I've only seen two.  Is the third one the one who created this ice?"

"Yes."  "No."  Grizelda and Bags looked at each other.  Grizelda nodded at Bags to be the one to untangle the mess.

Bags said "He didn't exactly create ice. Ice has been around for a long time.  He's not here right now, though.  He left the pub we were at last night and hasn't been shown up.  We figure he's ..umm.. busy."

Harv took a minute just looking at the two hosts.  Then he nodded. "Well, if he doesn't show up soon, you might want to alert the guard, which would be me.  We don't get much trouble here in Tears, and we'd like to make sure it stays that way."  he sat down his mug, hitched up his helmet and sat it back on his head.  "Besides, I have some ideas of my own, and someone that can create 'ice' would be interesting to talk to, don't you think?"

Grizelda nodded.  "Oh, most definitely.  He's interesting all right."  She led the way to the door and opened it. "If he doesn't show up soon, we'll come find you.  I'm concerned something might have happened."

Harv stepped out into the morning sun. "No need to be concerned, ma'am.  I'm sure he's just out catting about and will show up in due time."  Bags and Grizelda stepped out of the wagon behind him, blinking the sun out of their eyes.

"How did the city get it's name?"  asked Grizelda.  "Tears is such a sad name, and this place seems to have an almost carnival atmosphere."

"Ah. Excellent question."  Harv kept an easy pace, and nodded at the few folks he met on the street.  It seemed he was well liked as everyone appeared to know his name, and he theirs.  "Tears, in it's early days, before the wall, was just a little desert village.  Then, one day... well.. a year, actually, bandits came swooping out of the forest.  This was before the desert appeared, of course, otherwise I would have had the bandits swooping out of the desert."

"Of course." said Grizelda.  Bags marched at the rear, preferring to let Grizelda do the friendly talk.  His eyes were constantly on the move, observing, noticing, making note of exits and opportunities.

"Over the course of thirty years," Harv continued " the bandits came just as the town had begun to get themselves back on their feet. They would rob and murder and burn whatever they could find, leaving just enough to allow the folk to rebuild."

"How odd.  How did the bandits know when to attack?"  

"That has never been explained, but you're right, it's very odd, or so I always thought. The folks in the town just called it Tears.  They figured there was no need to call it anything else, since it would just be torn down again in a few months."

"And the wall?" asked Bags.

"Ah.  That was a stroke of genius, but it didn't come from a person actually living in Tears.  One day, out of the forest came a wizard, or so the story goes, who conjured all the trees of the forest to wrap themselves around the town like a blanket, and to grow a hard shell, like a turtle.  I don't know the truth of that, of course.  It was supposed to have happened so long ago, nobody remembers exactly the details."

"I suspect the truth is that someone just got tired of being robbed and pulled or chopped all the trees down, built the wall, covered it with cement, and there you have it.  No magic or mystery at all."

"But," pondered Bags, "Wouldn't the bandits have heard about it, and rushed to put a stop to it?"

"One would have thought so, yes.  But they didn't.  Just another mystery about the City of Tears.  There are others, like how can a town so small survive out here in the desert.  The answer to that is simple.  We trade, just like everyone else.  The nearest village is about one day's ride away, and there are others not as close, but close enough."

"Another is, where do we get our water?  That's a trade secret, of course.  If I told you, I'd be violating one of our trade rules."

"Perfectly understandable." Grizelda winked at Bags. "We'll just continue to get it as we always have, and support the commerce of Tears."

"And it is appreciated." Harv replied.  "You can see that we are not a rich city, barely above a town, really.  Most of our buildings are just straw and wood, some are stone.  The mansion, for example.  It's basically just a simple two story house that the King uses.  Easier to heat and cool in the winter and summer.  No need to house prisoners there, since we don't get many, and it's much more comfortable to entertain guests such as yourselves inside a cozy wooden house, than some big imposing stone structure, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." said Grizelda.

The city of Tears was as Harv described it.  Nothing fancy, shops, stalls, wheeled carts, a few actual houses, but primarily just one large shopping community.  Bags was had a nagging feeling he was missing something but couldn't quite put his finger on it.  Nothing sinister, just something that wasn't quite... right.  

"Are there schools?" asked Grizelda.  "I don't see many children, so I was wondering if they were at school."

"Ah." said Harv. "There are schools, but not in the city.  We take them to another village, the one that's a day away I mentioned previously.  They spend the week there, learn, then come back to spend a week here.  This just happens to be the week they are there, rather than here.  That village does nothing but teach, and in return, they trade that skill for what they need.  That village is very wealthy, compared to us."

"I hope we're here long enough to meet some of the children.  I do love the sound of children at play." Grizelda looked over at Bags, who just rolled his eyes.

"You will be.  I believe the king is wanting to contract Mr. Bags' services for a period of not less than a year."

"A year?" Bags exclaimed.  "A whole year? I don't think we've ever been in one place for a year before."

"Ah?" said Harv.  "You must lead an adventurous life, indeed.  However, if there is not an agreement reached, then you will have to move on, as ever household's head in the city has to have gainful employment. If you don't work, you can't stay."

"Then I'd have to say it was darn well about time we stayed in one place for a while." Grizelda added. "Wouldn't you agree, dear?"  She looked hard at Bags, pinning him to the answer.

"Why yes, dear." Bags answer dripped with agreement, "I do believe it's time we spent more than just a few days in one place.  I'm sure our friend Pockets would agree as well." In a quieter voice, just below normal hearing he added "We might have to nail him to the ground, but he'll agree."

"Good!" said Harv.  "It's important that we all get along here, as getting along is the basis of our city.  Why, we haven't had a major crime here in years.  Any one that remembers the last time remembers the punishment for anything serious."

"Since we weren't here, what's the punishment?" asked Bags.

"You get placed atop the wall, and slowly impaled all the way down.  You did notice that the wall had a pointed top?" Harv asked.

"Umm. Yes."

"Did you also notice that it was razor sharp?  For anyone committing and convicted of a serious crime, they get to straddle the wall.  No ifs, ands or buts.  No appeal.  Very simple.  And it keeps order"

"But what if an innocent man is convicted?" asked Grizelda, eyes wide from what her imagination had been telling her.

"If someone is innocent, it always comes out during the trial, which is really just meeting the king.  He's very perceptive.  Some have said uncanny.  And there are those that say he's down right spooky."

"And this is the king we're going to meet this morning?"

"Yep.  And this is the place."  Harv said.

The house they had stopped in front of was just as plain as all the other buildings around it.  Two story, with dark wood overlays on simple light wood panels.  The roof was peaked slightly over the second story, and thatched with dark green branches of unknown origin.  They couldn't have come from the forest, as the forest did not exist anymore.  "Just another mystery" thought Bags.

Harv noticed where Bags was looking. "I see you're noticing the thatching.  The reason why it's so green is because it's not really thatching."  he waited, obviously expecting a question.

'Okay, I'll bite', thought Bags. "It's not?" he asked.

"No.  What you are looking at is in actuality the top branches of a tree. Inside the mansion there is an actual, growing tree, whose branches hold up the roof."

"Okay." said Bags, working hard to be impressed.

"I'm sure it's lovely" said Grizelda.

"Shall we go inside and meet the king?" asked Harv, who opened the plain ordinary front door to the plain ordinary mansion with a tree inside of it.
*********************************
The door opened into a large, expansive room, filled with thick wooden furniture, rough hewn from solid logs.

Harv stood at the door, behind Grizelda and Bags, allowing them a bit of privacy of thought to take in what the house contained.

There was a table carved from one half of a tree trunk, at least five feet wide and twelve feet long, which occupied one entire side of the room to the right of the doorway. It had matching high back chairs, created from branches, limbs, planks of wood, all brown and yellow grain, pushed in, waiting for people to take their seat.  This must be the dining area.

To the left of the door, there was a long stairway, also carved, it seemed, from a single curving branch, cut in half.  The treads were single logs, chopped in half.  It curved up and away to the second story, and coming to rest at the smaller third floor.

Under and past the stairway to the left, the single room of the first level moved out and away to dissolve into two hallways.  The walls of each hall contained portraits of men, women and pictures of plants and flowers.  The hallways went their own way, off into other parts of the house.

The wall directly across from the door, across a span of thirty or forty feet, was a wall of glass, rising up to meet the second story, and if eyes could be trusted, continuing up to the second and the third.  Through the glass could be seen large cook stoves, another enormous table with it's own chairs.  Shelves were arranged out on this cook area to hold the stuff for preparing breakfasts, lunches and dinners.  The entire area was shaded from the sun by a large compliment of awnings, which appeared to be able to be rolled back to let in the sun.

And in the middle of the main room stood the tree.  It's trunk was easily nine feet across, which gave either an incredible dimension to the size of the room, or gave the trunk a dwarfed appearance making is seem thinner than it really was.

"Oh my."  whispered Grizelda.  "This is amazing"

"Yes! Isn't it!" came a voice from the second floor.  A man appeared at the stairway, and seemed to be drifting down, gently, like a leaf, over the stair treads.

He was a thin man, about six foot tall, balding, with a large forehead and large brown-gray eyes. His hands were long and thin, as well, and his knuckles were bulbous, like walnuts on strings.  He carried on his face a large and friendly smile framed by generous full lips, and which hovered below a nose not small, but regal in aspect and bulged slightly on the end.

He wore a robe of satiny reds and blacks, tied at the waist with a single rope.  He carried in his hands a horn of some sort, which curved in a spiral and ended in a large bell up and above his head.  It had three valves, obviously to modify the sound, and a mouth piece to blow into.  One of his hands was fingering the valves, playing invisible music as he floated down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom, he placed the horn, bell down, on a solid wood stand, obviously carved specifically for this purpose.  Once this was done, he crossed to the three at the door, arms spread, robe flowing out to the sides.

"Hullo, hullo, hullo!" He exclaimed.  He reached out one of his hands and clasped Bags' hand in his own.  "Welcome to my house.  You might know, or not, depending on how much Harv told you, that I'm Jorge One, or just Jorge.  At one time I probably had a last name, but it's been so long that I've been called Jorge One, that I've pretty much forgotten what ever it was.  Come and sit on the patio with me."  He turned from the door and flitted across the room towards the glass doors at the other end.  He had just passed the forward edge of the tree trunk when he turned and waved expansively.  "Well?  Come on!"

Harv, smiling like a devil's imp, said "You heard the man.  We mustn't keep him waiting."  and taking off his helm, he led the other two across the room.

Bags turned to Grizelda and whispered out the side of his mouth.  "This should be interesting, to say the least."

"This is an incredible place, Bags.  Gods above, do you see the tapestries? Do you see those sculptures? Where do you think he got all of them?"

"I bet if we ask, he'll tell us the whole story." Bags said with a smirk. "He strikes me as a man that isn't going to hold much back, good or bad.  Straight shooter, if you ask me.  Something we don't run into much."

"You can tell that already?" Grizelda asked.

"Sure." said Bags. "Look how he moves, look how ready he was to welcome us into his house.  He knew we were coming and had no fear about him at all.  He carried himself as if nothing could stop him, and I suspect he's right.  Always believed there was nothing more powerful than an honest man, just never saw one before.  Course, there's nothing less trustworthy, either."

"Isn't that two opposing ideas?" asked Grizelda.

"Nope.  An honest man will fool you every time.  He'll appear to be one thing, and suddenly become something else."

With Harv bringing up the rear, grinning like a mad monk, the three crossed under the canopy of the tree in the house.  Looking up, they could see there was no roof, exactly, just the sun pouring down, speckled, through the leaves.  They could see parts clouds drifting high above in the blue sky.

"What happens when it rains?" Bags asked.

"We just toss a tarp over the top.  Or, that's what we think we'll do.  Don't know, really."  Harv scratched his head.  "We've never had to deal with it, before."

"It's never rained here?" asked Grizelda.

The great glass door to the patio was open and Jorge One replied.  "Never is a very long time.  For that matter, it's probably so long we might not find the end of it.  Let's just say that it hasn't rained in at least thirty years.  Come on out, pull up a chair.  Let's chat a bit."

Outside was not as grand as the inside, but it was still pretty grand, all in all.  The awnings were red and white and green and bits of yellow.  The sun rained down on the awnings and spread like water across the patio, coloring all it covered.  Jorge sat under a yellow stripe, spread out with his feet propped on a chair, eating a carrot he had plucked from a bowl.

"Sit, sit, sit." he said. "Have a carrot if you'd like.  Or a radish.  Or some lettuce.  I grow it all here, myself."

Bags and Grizelda sat at the table on the edges of two of the massive chairs.  Harv stood by the door.

"Pop, is it all right if I dress down a bit." Harv said. "This armor is pretty hot today."

"Sure, son." Jorge said.  "Just hurry back down. I'm going to need you to test this youngster.  See what he's made of."

Bags and Grizelda's mouth stood open.

"Yes, Harv is my son.  Legitimate ruler of Tears, except he doesn't want to be.  Aw well.. someone will come along who will want the job, or at least is worthy of it."

"Um.  Okay.  Doesn't he just sort of inherit the job when you're... uh.. dead?" Bags asked.

"Doesn't work that way, at least not with me.  In my head, what good is a job if you don't enjoy doing it?  What good is life if you don't enjoy doing it.  My motto is 'If it ain't fun, why do it?'.  So no, unless Harv really wants this job, he doesn't have to have it.  He's qualified, of course.  I'm very proud of my son.  Got a good head on his shoulders.  Can't play a horn worth a shit, but a good kid, all in all."

"Makes sense, I reckon." Bags answered.  "But what if nobody comes along?"

"Good question, but one that is totally defeatist in thought. What if nobody comes along?  Son, everybody eventually comes along, so that means that somebody will.  It's simple arithmetic.  Simple statistics."  Jorge munched a carrot, letting that thought linger in the air.

"Now then," he said. "You know my name is Jorge, you know I'm the king of this place, and I know you're Bags and Grizelda.  I know you're at space 27 in the thoroughfare of vendors.  I know that you, Grizelda, are set up as a fortune teller.  You were warned that they tend to kill real fortune tellers here, I imagine?"

Grizelda coughed gently and said "Yes, your majesty.  I did hear something about that."

"Please.. just call me Jorge." said the King.  "That rule is something that was set up by the fortune tellers themselves.  I mean, who am I to judge who is telling a real fortune or who is telling a fake one?"

"You're the king, so why wouldn't you judge?",  asked Bags.

"Too much work.  I don't set here in judgment.  Well... rarely, anyway. Only if I have to, but by then the judgment is already in the eye of the guilty... or the innocent.  I suppose that Harv told you about the wall?"

"Yeah, I told 'em".  Harv was standing at the door, dressed in a simple tunic, suntanned arms crossed over his chest, hair flowing all around his face. "They were duly impressed, I think."

"Harv!  About time you showed up.  I was starting to bore myself telling stories and such.  Bags, Harv is pretty much the best swordsman we have.  He doesn't want the job of Weapons Master either, which would mean that he has to be in charge of the other 4 men that guard this place.  I suspect that he would rather just run around looking important."

"Pops, it's not that." Harv defended, "I just think I need to spend my youth being young.  You know.  Having fun, making out, getting drunk.  That sort of thing."

Jorge just shook his head, chewing another carrot. "Kids these days.  What are you going to do with them?  Bags, there's a practice area out back a little further.  Why don't you and Harv go back there and play a bit, so Harv can come back and let me know if I ought to hire you or not?  I'll entertain Grizelda with stories of my evil youth, my marriages, show her around.  I think she liked my tapestries."

Harv crossed the patio and stood where the stones of the patio met the sand of the backyard.  "Come on, Bags.  She's safe with dad.  The worst she'll do is fall asleep, and the most she'll do is laugh till she pees her pants."  He disappeared into the sun.

Bags stood, stretched, and looked at Grizelda, who said "Go on. Make me proud. Just don't get beat up to much.  I'll be fine, I think."

"Go on, Bags.  She'll be okee doke, I promise." said the king, casually snatching a bit of broccoli.

"All right."  He bent, kissed Grizelda, then followed the direction Harv went and stopped just before leaving the shade and turned.  "You call me if you need me, okay?"  Grizelda waved him off by blowing him a kiss.

"You two certainly love each other, don't you?" Jorge said.  "He's very protective of you, that's for sure."  Grizelda didn't answer, but blushed a bit.  "He'll ask, someday.  I think he just needs to feel he can give you a life you'll be proud of."

"Ask what?" Grizelda asked, trying to cover her embarrassment.

"Hmph.  So coy. I'm too old for games." Jorge got up and crossed to the door.  "Well, you want to take the grand tour or not?"

Grizelda got up and said "You don't have to ask me twice, Jorge!"

Jorge linked his arm in hers and said, "I think we're gonna be good friends, Griz.  I like you already, and I like Bags already.  You're good folks.  Now..." he guided her through the glass door.  "let's talk about your other friend.  Pockets, I think his name is.  I think he may be in a bit of trouble."
***********************************

***********************************
There are some things that mankind was not meant to see.  The end of the Universe.  The center of the human soul.  Pockets sitting naked and cross-legged on a three legged stool.

He was in his environment, made by his own hands and understood by his own mind.  In the wagon he had carved his cave.  By any other standards, cramped in a 4 feet by 8 feet area, but by his standards, it was only limited by his imagination.  On one long wall of his cabin was covered with paper, upon which hundreds of doodles, drawings, scratches and marks were drawn.  The only spot that wasn't covered was the doorway that led to the rest of the wagon.

On the opposing wall, a window, centered, was surrounded with crystals of all shapes and sizes catching the sun and sprinkling rainbows all through the room.

The light reflected off of bits of wire, was captured in mugs of waters and oils, trapped by mazes of wood and funneled through tubes of different diameters and lengths to be changed and diverted by lenses of polished glass.

One of the shorter walls contained his cot, a thin thing with a blanket and a pillow.  The other wall had nothing on it at all except a large red circle with a dot in the center.

Sitting on his stool in front of his tiny work bench, Pockets was mumbling to himself.  His mind was a-whirl with thoughts that was unbound by common convention and filled to the brim with possibilities of everything.

"A is for aardvark, b is for bear. G is for growly tummy, and h is for hair."  It was an old song he learned as a child and his outside voice would sing it to his inside mind while it went spiraling up and out into the heavens.

"You know, it's possible to bring the water to the surface through a spiral and create a reservoir that could recreate the forest.  But then again, it's an awful lot of work, and I don't know anyone that would want to do that much.  But then again, what if there was an underground cave that had been capturing the water for years and years"  he mumbled.  

He was doodling on one of his thousands of pieces of paper, scavenged from some unknown place and used and erased and used and erased hundreds of times.  He was doodling what looked to the untrained eye like a bird's wing, except it was connected to a frame, that in turn was connected to a fairly accurate drawing of a human torso.  He stopped and lifted his head away from the doodle.

"No, that would never do. The foot pounds required to make the thing work would be more than the average six foot human could manage, even if the human had hollow bones and no body to speak of.  For that matter, the less body, the less body mass, but that would mean less muscle mass.  Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm."  He took the drawing and carefully moved it to a pile already precariously tilted.  On top of it he placed a large stone to help the stack keep it's balance.  

He leaned back against the paper wall and watched the light play on the crystals.  It was what he liked to do, and when Bags and Grizelda weren't here, it was what he was most likely to do, because it meant he didn't have to be in his body any more.  He could crawl out and play in the universe.

In his mind, he soared up and out of the wagon, far above the walls, far above the desert.  He looked down and around and could see all there was to see.  He was looking for something, and he knew when he found it, he would find it.

He traveled across the tiny kingdom, spying on the folks that milled about, buying and selling, stealing and getting caught.  His eyes latched onto shiny things and, after inspecting them briefly, lost interest and went back to just drifting, drifting.

Back in his body, his other mind was aware that he wasn't really doing any of this. His other mind was the grownup Pockets, the one that would occasionally mention how dangerous or how foolish it was to be doing this or thinking that.  Pockets had long ago learned to ignore this voice, because it was usually boring, no matter that it had a problem with being right more often than not.

His soaring mind, though, was traveling across walls and through doorways.  It found a wall made of stone, quite a bit like the cellar he was stuck in a while back, so it traveled down the wall until it found a crack.  

It squeezed through the crack and found itself in a dinning hall.  The sort of dinning hall that would be found in a proper castle, in a larger kingdom.  His mind fluttered like a butterfly on a breeze, around and behind old tapestries, under chairs and tables.  It touched upon candlesticks that seemed to be made of pure gold, which it filed away to examine when it had hands, and maybe cart away.  Gold was useful stuff, since it could be stretched miles thin and was soft and pliable. Not to mention it would bring in a lot of money.

Up and away from the tables he floated across the floor, following the lines between the wooden boards. The line he was following went all the way to one of the stone walls and abruptly ended.  He turned and followed the wall, which in turn also abruptly ended at a small alcove.  His mind hovered in that alcove, examining the stone work, which was impressive.  Each stone had been carved to meet it's brother at a precise angle to give the curve of the alcove a clean and simple form.  At the bottom, there was more wood floor, but more importantly, there was a circle of metal, possibly iron, imbedded in it.  

From past experience with dungeons, Pockets knew that where there was a circle of iron embedded in the floor, it usually meant there was a door attached to the circle, and that the door led down.

Now he knew the where, and possibly the what.  He still didn't have a clue to the why but that would reveal itself in time.  His mind drifted back out of the alcove and just hung in air, examining all it could see.  

Directly across from the place he hovered, he saw another alcove, so he just pushed his drifting mind towards it.  Over tables and under chairs, once frightening a scurrying mouse, he reached the niche in the wall.  There was no ring on the floor but there was a curious hole in the wall.  If he had possessed a hand, rather than just a mind, he could have put his fist into it, but not very far.  Looking deep into the hole, he could see tiny points scattered around inside of it, just peeking out from their hidden places.  They looked to Pockets like the teeth on well polished gears, but it could just as well be shards of crystalline quartz, reflecting the light, if there had been any light, and there wasn't.

Back in the wagon, Pockets other mind rang an alarm bell.  Someone was inside the wagon!  It wasn't Bags, because the step was too light, and it wasn't Grizelda, because it didn't smell like Grizelda.  His wandering mind came flitting back like a moth on fire, shook hands with it's partner in the body, and decided the best thing to do was to hide under the bed.

Safely tucked away, Pockets could feel the vibrations of more than one set of boots.  There were.. two people here, he estimated by the feel of the floor board shake and the sound echoing through the grain.  One large and masculine, by the stride and rhythm of the step, the other small and definitely feminine because the step was so light, so light.

From under the bed, Pockets saw two sets of boots enter his room.  One large pair, well shined, black and well heeled. The other was a smaller set, tan in color with pointed toes.  He knew the second set on sight.  Chibi.

As much as he wanted to crawl out from under the bed to accept her apology and to explain why he wasn't there when she came back, something told him to stay put.  It was one of those rare moments when his more mature brain won the argument and reason won out over impulse.

"Can you believe this crap?" came Chibi's whisper.  "How can anyone live like this? It's a pigsty."

"Oh, I don't know." replied the other voice, a deeper, scratchy whisper, as if a wolf could talk.  "It has a certain appeal, if you were a madman genius."  Black boots stepped toward the bed. "Look here.  If one were to squint their eyes just a bit, one could see this definitely had military applications. Imagine this cylinder attached to this mechanism.  I believe your boyfriend was working on a device to through an object over long distance using a cord stretched to high tension."

"So?" asked Chibi. "And he's not my boyfriend, bud.  He's just a guy that found your little gizmo.  If you hadn't paid me, I wouldn't have even paid him mind at all."

Pockets less mature mind sighed and cried and died a bit at that. He thought he was doing so well, too.

"I don't know, Chibi.  I could have sworn I saw a little spark in your eyes when you were sitting with him."

"Well, okay.  Maybe just a little.  He was kind of cute, but way, way too weird.  Smart to the point of being almost scary."

Pockets less mature mind quit crying and wiped it's nose on it's sleeve and beamed a boyish smile at the more mature brain, triumphant.

"My point exactly, my dear." said black boots.  "See here.  He's got one idea here for a tube that has a dart in it." Pockets could hear blackie pick up something from his table.  "Now, if you take this curved piece and attach it like so..." a click was heard.  "and if you pull this back," another click, "and pull this little lever thing." There was a twang and a thunk against the far wall.  From under the bed, Pockets could see the dart sticking out of the wall, near the dot.  

"Imagine what that would do to a human body?  Quite impressive.  I wonder if that's what he had in mind for it?"

No, thought Pockets, it was supposed to help an average dart player play darts more accurately by allowing them to see the path the dart was going to take by projecting a beam of light from one of his crystals along the path of the tube.  What a moron.  To think that something like this might be used against another human being.  Where was the honor in that?

"I think," said blackie, "that I'll just have to take this along with me."  The boots moved away from his table.  "Now, where do you suppose he might have hidden my little toy?"

"I don't know.", said Chibi.  "This place is so small I couldn't swing a decent sized rat in here.  I searched his jacket out in the ... I guess it was the living room.  Nice of him to have left it there.  I don't see any spot not covered on his table, and there's nothing else to look in.  We've searched the whole place."

"How about the bed?" asked blackie.  "Maybe he sleeps with it." Tan boots crossed over to the bed and the sounds of pillow being pulled apart and blankets being tossed drifted down.

"Not in the bed," said Chibi.  "But what about under it?"

Both of Pocket's minds knew they were in trouble now, and the only thing they could think to say was "Run away!"
*********************************

Harv led Bags to a small practice yard in the back of the mansion.  It was a small fenced in area, about twenty feet by twenty feet square.  There were racks where practice swords, maces and other hack and slash things were kept.  Old armor was place near the fence, to be used in the place of the real thing, as old armor doesn't care as much if it gets dented.  The ground was raked soft sand, so that any fall would not leave as painful a bruise as hard sand would.  

Harv picked up one of the wasters and tossed it to Bags, who caught it with ease.  

"You ever play with these, old man?" asked Harv with a smile.

"Nope.  Never did.  Most of the guys I played with were more intent on removing one of my body parts." Bags answered.

Harv swung his round a bit, getting the feel, getting the balance. "Well, let's see if you can keep up." And he stepped toward Bags, swinging his weapon from low to high.

"Easy block, junior." Bags replied, bringing his own blade from low to high, twisting just enough so that Harv's attack passed cleanly away from him, but then Bags carried through, full circle to slap against Harv side.  "You gotta carry it all the way full circle.  You get to use the momentum from your opponent that way."

That's the way the session went. Harv would attack, using youthful vigor as if it were a tool, and Bags would sidestep, block, redirect every single time, usually landing a reply blow somewhere that would leave a reminding sting on Harv's legs, arms, and once a gentle tap on the head.  "That's so you don't forget me when you're dead." Bags said.

Twice during the session Harv found himself flat on his back, having done what he thought was a sidestep, only to be tripped up by Bags' blade or his own feet trying to avoid another sting.  "It's a dance, junior.  You gotta watch the steps of your partner and let your feet do what they know to do."

"I'm trying, dammit."

"Chum, there ain't no such thing as try. In this game, it's either do, or be done." Bags said, right before slapping a hard backhand on Harv's back side.  "The whole thing is like this: if someone draws a weapon on you, be it sword, mace, or tree limb, they aims to do you damage.  It's likely they will, but you just make sure they have more damage than you have.  Remember, if both of you die, nobody wins, so make sure you're the one left standing."

Bags did a quick twirl to avoid a savage jab from Harv, brought his own blade around with a solid whack on Harv's back, driving the boy to his knees. "And now you see who's standing, and who's dead."  Bags quickly reversed his blade in his hand and it was now under Harv's chin.  "And that's how it's done, junior."

Harv was panting from the workout.  Bags was breaking a sweat, but breathing slow and normal.

Harv looked up at Bags and said "So... have you had enough?"

"Sure.  It was a good start. You got some nice moves, for a beginner.  I think that you just haven't had anyone try to kill you.  There's some good lessons in that, you know, when someone is trying to kill you." Bags put out a hand to help the boy up.

Harv accepted the hand and got to his feet.  "I'll say this for you.  Pop was right when he sent me to find you. How long have you been doing this?"

"What this?  Staying alive?  All my life, Harv, all my life.  Been in fights and tussles since I can remember, and probably before that.  Never had anyone teach me how, just had to do what I had to do."

"Nobody to teach you?  You have moves that I've never seen before, and damn fast.  How many men have you had to kill?"

"I dunno.  Never really stopped to think about it.  Reckon I had to kill all that I had to, and let live some that I didn't.  There are folks out there that want to live as badly as I do, and those are the ones that I usually end up shaking the hand of and walk away from."

"Hmm.  I'll have to think about that one."  Harv walked to one of the benches set against the wall.  "You have any enemies?  Someone out there that wants to kill you?"

Bags joined him, and brushed his unruly reddish mop away from his face.  "Not that I know of.  I don't think I have an enemy in the world."

"What about the men that you killed?"

"Well," said Bags thoughtfully, "If they're dead, they aren't rightly my enemies, are they.  They're just dead."

"But before they were dead?  Didn't you want to kill them"  Harv asked earnestly.

"Harv, you sure seem intent on the subject of enemies and killing folks.  Look."  Bags took a breath.  "In a right and true world, nobody wants to kill anybody.  But the world ain't right and true all the time.  There are folks that want what you have, and there are folks that want what they think you have, and there are folks that just imagine you have anything at all and they want it.  Doesn't make them your enemy, anymore than one dog trying to drink out of another's bowl becomes the enemy of the other dog.  It just makes them sad and angry folk that believe they ain't got what you do."

"So.. why..."

"Why did I have to kill them?  Cuz they were trying to kill me, plain and simple.  I have never started a fight in my life, but if I'm in one, I'll sure as hell be the one to finish it, and I plan to be the one left standing.  Let me ask you one.  What do you think you'd die for?"

Harv looked a bit confused.  "What do you mean?"

"Well," Bags pondered. "Would you die for your father?"

"You mean if he was in danger?" Harv asked.

"No.  I mean, would you trade your life for him?  Would you put your life in danger to keep him from harm. Would you die for him?"

"Sure. I love him.. I mean, he's my father."

Bags stood up and stretched the kink out of his back.  "Easy answer. But search your heart for a while.  Ask your self that and make sure you know the answer.  Would you die for your land?"

"Die for my... sure I would, if someone was trying to take it away."

"Why?" Bags asked.

"Because it's my land." Harv continued to wear the confused look.

"But Harv, it's only land.  You can find land anywhere.  Here, it's a desert, not worth much more than sand and wind and spit.  What is there about the land that you'd die for?"

"Bags, this is my land, and not only my land, but my father's land. It's the land that my mother is buried under.  It's the land that has existed in my family for generations.  It's the memories that it contains."

"Stupid boy, the land doesn't contain memories. Your head does.  You can carry the memories with you no matter where you go. Try again.  Would you die for your land?"

Harv thought while Bags crossed over to a cistern and drew some water using a ladle nearby.  After drinking his fill, he brought the full ladle back to the boy.

"See, Harv, if you're going to be killing someone, remember why you're doing it.  I've lived this long by NOT wanting to kill someone.  I don't have much that I'd kill for. I'd kill for three things.  Me, cuz I don't want to die, and if someone is trying to make me die, I'll do my best to make them die first.  For Griz, cuz I love her and she's my whole life. Without her, no memory I have will be worth the brain I carry it in.  And then there's Pockets, who is such a pack of trouble sometimes I wonder if he's worth it.  But then again, I know he is, he's just kinda hard to take sometimes. He's like... he's like the kid brother I never had."  Harv gave a questioning look. "Pockets is the guy that invented the fridge ration...  the ice making thing."  Harv nodded in final understanding.

"That's the only thing worth killing for. Love, and the connection that goes with it. The very same thing it's worth dying for.  So while you have your head all wrapped around killing, wrap your head around what it is that's really worth dying for.  Everything else is replaceable.  Everything."

"But," Harv protested, "what about protecting your things? Keeping someone else from taking what you've worked for?"

"Ah! That's a different thing, though." explained Bags.  "Protecting something is not the same as being ready to die for it.  In protecting something, you have to know when to lay down your toys and walk away, because as hard as you protect something, sometimes it's more intelligent to just leave it be, go on with you life, and live it. Find something else to protect.  Things are sometimes worth protecting, but rarely are things worth dying for. Knowing the difference is what's kept me, Griz and Pockets alive"

"I think I understand." said Harv.  "Things are just that. Things. Things can be replaced. That I understand.  But how bout this.  What if you want your things back after you've walked away?"

"What would you do?" asked Bags.  "Once again, are you willing to die to get them back?  That's the real question, sonny.  What you're willing to die for, because no matter how good you think you are, there is always going to be someone just a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit better, who is more willing to die than you are."

Harv looked downtrodden, as if one of his fantasies had just been shattered.  Perhaps it had.  Bags saw the look on the boy's face and sat next to him.  He clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"You're still young, Harv, and I'm here to tell you that there will probably be more than one opportunity for you to find out what's worth living for, and what's worth dying for.  You've got some good moves on you, yourself, and some of them remind me of me when I was your age.  Hell, when I was your age, I was getting tossed out of some pub or cathouse at least once a week.  That's where I learned my lesson.  That's where I spect you'll learn yours, cuz I seriously doubt you'll pay much attention to anything an old fart like me will tell you."

Harv blushed deeply.  "Cathouses?  You mean brothels?  Well.. we have one here, but it's not very.... um... good."

Bags raised one of his bushy eyebrows and said, "Not very good? How in the seven hells can a cathouse not be very good.. or even just merely good.  At the very least the worst I've ever been in has been tolerable, but I'd never rate one as not being very good.  This I gotta see."

It was Harv's turn to raise an eyebrow, and Bags' turn to blush.

"Oh, I'd be going there with Grizelda."  Harv's other eyebrow went up.  

"Now get that out of your head.  We wouldn't be going for that, youngster.  It's just that when it comes to cathouses, Griz knows her stuff.  That's where we met, in a cathouse in a town a long ways from here.  I was getting tossed out of it, and she... well.. don't you be telling her I told you this, but she was one of the girls.  I didn't know she was sweet on me, what with me being as ugly as I am, but when I got tossed out, I was pretty beat up.  She picked me out of the gutter, cleaned me up, got me healthy again.  I owe her my life in ways I could never repay. Pockets, too, I reckon.

"Tell me about Pockets." Harv asked.

Bags leaned back against the wall.  "Pockets is... well, he's kinda hard to describe.  He and me have been together since kids.  Raised in the same orphanage, y'see.  Friends since then, me protecting him, and him figuring ways out of one scrape or another.  He's not a fighter, he's a thinker."

Bags smiled in remembrance of days long gone.  "Yeah. He's got a mind on him, always thinking of some strange thought or another.  Where he comes up with some of his ideas I'll never know.  He's got his own sense of reality, that's for sure.  But I'll tell you this, there's not another man on the planet that I'd trust more at my back."  Bags expression turned cloudy.

"What's wrong?" asked Harv.

"Funny thing. I was thinking bout Pockets, and I just got the chills.  Somewhere in the back of my head I coulda swore I heard him say 'Run Away'."  He looked at Harv with a sharp gaze.  "I think he may be in trouble.  Again."
**************************************

Jorge guided Grizelda through the glass door, to stop before the tree.  "What do you think of my house?" He asked, looking up into the branches.

"I think," Grizelda said "that it may be the most amazing thing I've ever seen.  Just having a tree in the house amazes me, not to mention a tree this large."

"Yes.  I rather like it."  He walked up to the tree and tapped on it's rough bark.  "This is one of the last trees from the forest this village was built from.  No, I think it IS the last tree.  When my predecessor's predecessor saw the forest being torn down, he decided to build this house around the tree, and here's it's been ever since."

"You know," Jorge said, casually looking up at the tree, "I've been watching you folk, the three of you, since you registered at the gate.  It's not often we have a jack of all trades, a fortune teller and a weapon's master check in.  It caught my interest, I must admit."

Grizelda didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.  Jorge filled the empty space by taking her hand and pulling her toward the hallway. "Come with me, look at some of my artwork, some of the tapestries."

There were two halls, one on the left, and one on the right.  Each held any number of paintings and portraits.  Jorge took her down the nearest one, the one on the right.  "Look here," he said, "this was my father, or at least the best I could remember.  He died when I was eight."  The portrait was of a gray haired man, high forehead and aquiline nose leading down to bearded chin, sitting with hands crossed, dressed in purple robes. His steel blue eyes were focused somewhere up and to the right of the artist. It wasn't what one would call a great portrait, but for an amateur’s attempt, it was quite good.

"It's very nice." said Grizelda, looking close at the brushstrokes, the blend of color and light."

"Such the diplomat.  It's how I see him in my minds eye.  Stern and severe, quite the taskmaster, or so I thought.  Perhaps he was just the product of his raising." Jorge turned towards Grizelda. "As are we all."

"Take Bags, for example.  Is Bags his real name?"

Grizelda shrugged. "As far as I know.  He claims that's what he remembers, but I suspect it's just the name that he adopted because of that bag he always carries. He says at the orphanage, he had no name but Timothy, but later the nuns called him Timothy Bags, so that became his name."

"Yes, " mused Jorge.  "I did notice that bag of his.  It's almost like it's a part of him.  After a while you hardly notice it."  He stroked the portrait of his father.  "Later, Dad." he said, and moved on down the hall.  He showed her paintings of flowers he said he had grown in his garden, portraits of colorful folks he had called in from the Midway.  "Bags is the product of his raising, even if that raising was of his own making.  He is what he made of himself.  Timothy Bags, weapons master.  He's a very gentle man, I gathered that from the way he moved, the look in his eyes.  Is he?"

"Yes.  Very much so." Grizelda answered.

"I figured as much.  Why do you think, or how do you think, a man as gentle as Bags became so proficient in his art of death?"

"I prefer to think of it as protection." Grizelda offered.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Jorge.  "But protection from what?  Protection from whom?  I believe a gentle man learns these arts not to protect himself from the world, but to protect the world from himself."

"How do you mean?  I'm not sure I follow you." Grizelda questioned.

"Look at it this way," he said, "to gain the proficiency I believe that Bags has, he had to work very hard to develop the discipline to control himself in the way he does.  He is disciplined, isn't he?  Cautious in all he says and does?  Careful in manner and mood?"

"Yes..." Grizelda admitted.

"So, a man with that much control doesn't learn to have that control to control the world outside of himself.  He learns that much control to control the world inside of himself.  To protect the world from himself.  I believe that your Timothy Bags can be a very dangerous man."

"Bags would never hurt ..." she protested.  Jorge raised a hand to stop her.

"I agree.  To those he cares about, he would move the moon and fight the tigers that would feast upon your hearts and soul.  But to those that would stop him from doing what he knows is right... to those people, he would be a very dangerous person, indeed."

"I suppose you're right." Grizelda said doubtfully.  She didn't like to think of the man she loved, the man she had spent many a night with as being dangerous.  She preferred to think of him as the gentle lover, the slow spoken, thoughtful man he had always been to her.

"I want to show you something.  Then after I do, I want to talk about Pockets."

At the end of the hall, they came to a plain wooden door, set off to the side.

"This is the sculpture room.  It's where I create my dreams," he opened the door, "and some of my nightmares."

They walked into a room that was populated by statues of animals, plants, people.  Here and there were examples of horrible art, not that the art itself was horrible, just that the images were.  Sculptures of people being tortured, being torn apart.  Of animals with spikes through their head and their hearts. Sculptures of pain, of loss, of anguish and agony.

"What do you think?" asked Jorge.

"I think..." Grizelda stopped and thought.  She was beginning to wonder what in the seven hells the king was talking about.  He never seemed to settle on one subject, and dammit, when was he going to get to Pockets?

"Don't pretty it up, girl.  Tell me your honest thoughts."

"All right."  she turned to look directly at him.  "I think this is pretty disturbing.  Not something I'd want the average public to look at. They might get the idea there was something... not quite right with you."

Jorge just stood there, looking at her with a cheshire smile on his face.  His eyes twinkled with a bit of madness.  "Go on." he urged.

"I mean, some of them are very nice. Some of them have a distinct beauty about them.  That one over there, for example."

She pointed to a statue of a woman, old and crippled, who was being crushed beneath a stone twice her size.  It was obvious she struggled with it, and strove to hold it up, but it was just as obvious she would never win out against the weight above her.

"That one has some incredibly tragic beauty about it, a sign of struggle against the inevitable.  The face is of an old woman, yes, but you can see the woman she used to be, youthful and lovely.  In it's own way, it's a very good piece of art, but in it's own way it's disturbing as hell to look at, as if it's a reminder to us all that we will never really win."

She pointed to another. "There's that one, the one showing a lion eating a child while it's mother looked on in terror.  It's superbly done, the musculature is well defined and the movement is captured at the exact right moment to bring the viewer to the same emotions as you have the mother displaying. It's horrible and lovely at the same time."

"There are some here I'm not sure I understand, and some that are downright wrong.  I mean, what's this one about?  You have a man in the stage of what? Melting? Merging into something with claws and a tail while the human part of him is screaming?  You have statues of beheadings and people being pulled apart.  I'm sorry, Jorge.  Some of these are just terrible.  Beautiful work, yes, but terrible in intent, and very, very hard to look at."

"Yes." said Jorge, mildly excited. "That's exactly right.  That's exactly why I have them here, back in this room."  He paced through the room, stroking one, and then another. He stopped, and gazed off into the distance.  "These are where I put the bad thoughts, because sometimes they just happen.  They happen to all of us, you know.  I believe though, that the more responsibility a person has the more bad thoughts he may have."  He turned again to look at Grizelda. "Do you believe that is true?"

"What has this got to do with us?" Grizelda asked. "You said you thought that Pockets might be in trouble. What about that? What sort of trouble?"

"In a moment.  Do you believe that the more responsibility a person has, the more nightmares he may have?"

"I suppose." She admitted, her voice becoming a bit strident with impatience. "I would imagine the more responsibility a person has, the more they may fear what may go wrong.  It would take a great deal of control to not give into that fear."

"Exactly!" Jorge said. "Let's get out of this place.  It gives me the willies."  He led the way back to the hallway, turning after Grizelda was out to close the door tightly.  He pulled from his robe a key, and locked the door behind him.  "I don't like to go into there, but I wanted you to know me.  I'm not a bad or a crazy person.  At least, I don't think so.  

"I never wanted to be king.  I wanted to be a horn player.  But here I am, chosen by the king before me.  Sometimes the position requires me to make decisions that are not ...pleasant."  Jorge appeared to have fallen into himself, lost his luster and appeared to be just an old gray man.

"Gee, your majesty.  That's rough." Grizelda said, not hiding any of the sarcasm she felt. She was moving down the hall towards the main room.  "But isn't that what being a king is all about?  Making tough decisions?"  She was thinking to herself that she had no earthly idea what that was all about.

Jorge stopped at the doorway and gazed hard at Grizelda.  He seemed to pull from inside of himself some inside strength, to gain back some of his former charm and joy.  "Yes, you're exactly right, Grizelda."  he smiled a shy smile at her. "Sorry... I seemed to have gotten lost for a minute back there.  Thanks for bringing me back to now.  Bags is a lucky man to have you in his life.  Pockets too, I would imagine."

Grizelda turned to face the old king, who was standing in the entry to the hallway.  Her hands were balled into fists "Now then, you said you believed that Pockets was in trouble.  Tell me what you were talking about."

"Yes.  About Pockets." The king moved past Grizelda, and seated himself at the great dining table.  "From the moment you three registered, I've had you watched. Like I said, you caught my curiosity."

"My people told me about your visit to the pub.  They saw Pockets leave the pub with that woman, Chibi.  She's a rather shady character, and we've never been able to find out exactly what she does.  Oh, she works in Swineheart's, that part is true.  But she's got something else going on, that's obvious.  Late night comings and goings.  We've followed her, but she just disappears. Very sneaky, that one."

"When my men got to a point where they could follow Pockets out the back, he was already gone.  They figured he had just gone home with Chibi. They sat outside of Chibi's home for quite a while, and when they didn't detect any movement in the place, they suspected he had been kidnapped.  That really raised my curiosity, since you three had just entered the gates that very day.  Chibi obviously wanted something from Pockets, though we don't know what." He looked very hard at Grizelda, examining every breath, every blush, searching for truth.  "I don't suppose he told you anything that might give a clue?"

Grizelda thought about telling the king about Pockets' little windup toy, but decided discretion was the better part of valor. She sat down directly opposite the king. "He came in and told us he had been kidnapped and held captive in a stone building.  He said he escaped through a storm drain. Other than that, he didn't tell us much more."

Jorge looked hard at Grizelda. "He didn't say anything else?  He didn't mention why he had been taken, what Chibi wanted with him?"

"Pockets is... he's rather odd, to tell the truth, your majesty.  He tends to drift off into worlds of his own, and sometimes he has no interest at all in the things that go on in this world.  We asked him the same things you are asking me, but he didn't appear to be particularly interested or concerned about it.  When he gets like that, we've learned not to push him.  If he feels he's being pushed into a corner, he'll just... kind of withdraw into himself.  He'll disappear."

"Ah.  That's too bad.  And that's very interesting.  Disassociate personality disorder. I imagine he would be fun at a party" Jorge mused while he stroked his beard.

"You have no idea." Grizelda smiled back.

Jorge pondered and hummed a bit.  "A stone building, you said?  There's not many stone buildings here.  There's not much stone to build them with."

Grizelda suddenly gasped and shivered.  "What's wrong?" asked Jorge.  

"I don't know.  I just had a terrible feeling about Pockets.  There's something wrong.  I heard him very clearly saying 'Run away'!"  Grizelda had turned ashen.

At that exact moment Bags burst through the door, followed by Harv.  "Griz? Did you feel it?"

Grizelda stood up, went over and hugged Bags, hard.  "Yes!  Pockets is in trouble, Bags.  We need to find him, quickly." She turned toward Jorge, who had risen when Bags entered. "Jorge, what stone building contains a cellar?"
************************************************
There were three stone buildings in the kingdom.  One was the old keep, where there were still ceremonies held on occasion.  Another was an old barracks, not used since the forest dried up and most of the enemies moved somewhere greener.  The third was a cold room, used in the place of refrigeration.  Each one had a lower level, or a cellar.  Each one had a drain.

Harv, Bags and Grizelda had left the Mansion just minutes ago.  Harv had been directed by the king to take them to the each of the locations and help them in whatever way he could. "Just don't get killed.  You're my only son", Jorge admonished.

"The king's not coming?" asked Bags.

"Father doesn't go anywhere.  He just tends to want to stay in the mansion.  He can be a bit... weird at times." Harv explained.

"I noticed that." said Grizelda, who tossed Bags a bit "I'll talk to you about this later" wink.  "Harv, where is your mother?  Your father never mentioned her to me, and I just didn't feel right asking."

Harv looked a bit embarrassed and said, "Mother left years ago.  I don't know the details... father won't talk about it with me.  One day I woke up, and she was just ... gone."

"I'm so sorry." Grizelda said.  "That must have been very rough on you."

"Yeah." said Bags. "Trust me, I know what it's like to grow up without a mother.  Or a father.  I'm sorry, kid."

Harv just shrugged it off, saying "It was a very long time ago.  There's really nothing much to say."

They trudged on for a bit longer, then Harv broke the uncomfortable silence with, "Look, there's three of us." said Harv.  "Let's split up check each location out."

"And if he's not in any of them?" worried Grizelda.

"It's safer to go together, Harv. Slower, but safer. And don't worry, Griz.  We'll find him.  We always do."

"I know." Grizelda sniffed.  "I'm just worried that one day, we won't quite make it, or this connection we all have will just be gone."

"It'll be all right, honey.  I've been with Pockets for so long, I could find him blindfolded dropped in a well." He gave Grizelda a reassuring hug.

"I know." she replied.  "I just hope he's not the one blindfolded and dropped in a well."  She clenched her hands and growled. "That Chibi woman.  She better hope I don't get my hands on her."

"She better hope." agreed Bags.

"I think we should try the old barracks first." Harv advised "It's one of the furthest points, and we can backtrack to the other two.  It's not to far away, just about a fifteen minute walk.  The Keep is next to it, and the cold room is just past the Keep."

Both he and Bags were carrying real swords, not wasters, and they marched with a steady cadence of military men.  Harv was dressed in his armor again, and had the cheerful outlook of someone looking for a fight and knowing they were going to find it.

"Tell me about this connection you two have with Pockets.  I've never seen anything like it." Harv said.

Grizelda explained, "It's just something we do.  I haven't seen any other example of it either, to tell the truth.  If Bags or Pockets gets in trouble, I just seem to feel them or hear them.  Though it doesn't work with Pockets, if Bags gets lost, I can find him no matter where he is.  Bags is better with Pockets than I am, but I think it's just because they've been together longer."

"How odd." mused Harv.  He asked Bags, "Have you or Pockets ever heard Grizelda?"

"Nope." Bags said.

"That's because I rarely get into trouble, and the trouble I do get into, I can get out of." Grizelda explained.

"Ah." said Harv.

The trek would take them round ways through the kingdom, then along the wall, and then back behind the Mansion.  There wasn't a way to get to it straight from the Mansion, and part of the trip took them through the Midway.  The attention they received was impressive, with Harv wearing his shining armor and helm, the swords that Bags and he were carrying, then Grizelda, marching in step with them, dressed in her finest.  More than one bowed to them as they went by.

"What the hell is that all about?" asked Bags. "Why are they bowing?"

"They must think you are visiting dignitaries or something."  said Harv.  "Not that they would know.  We haven't had any dignitaries here before."

"Hmph." grumbled Bags.  He didn't feel comfortable with attention, and least not the attention of an entire town.  He could feel the stares on him like twin searchlights, and a trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulders.  "I'll be glad when I'm just a nobody again.", he grumbled.

When the trio reached the turn in the Midway that would take them to the wall, they were stopped by a tall man, wearing dark robes and a black skullcap, from which flowed dark hair, tied back.  Harv greeted the man with a salute and a handshake.

"Chancellor!  How are you?"  Harv turned to his companions and said "This is Chancellor Beegle.  He runs the day to day business of the kingdom. Taxes, payments, entertainment... things like that."  He turned back to Beegle and introduced Bags and Grizelda, saying "They've lost their friend, and the King has sent me to help them find him."

Beegle raised his eyebrows, bushy and black, like dark hairy clouds. "Oh my! I hope it isn't anything foul.  We haven't had a crime here in... oh, a good long while."  He reached a long fingered hand to stroke his chin and asked, "Do you think I should sent the boys with you?"

Harv turned back to Bags and Grizelda and explained, "The boys are the other guards.  They wander through town and help keep the peace.  That's one of the reasons we have such little crime.  They originally started out as trouble makers, but the Chancellor took them under his wing and reformed them."  To Beegle he said, "No thanks, Chancellor.  Hopefully we'll find him and all will be well.  Hopefully there is nothing foul about this at all.  However if it is, I will come running for you at once."

"Where are you headed?" asked Beegle.

"To the old Barracks.  We think he may have gotten lost and is out there." Harv lied.  Bags looked at Grizelda and raised an eyebrow, which Grizelda answered with her own.

"The old Barracks, eh?", Beegle mused. "There shouldn't be much out there but must and dust I should imagine.  How about I send the boys out that way, if I run into them, just in case there is any trouble?"

"That would be most welcome, Chancellor, but I'm sure we won't need them." Harv said.

"Well, be that as it may, I will still mention it to them."  He passed a gaze over Bags and said "You are new here, yes?  I don't remember seeing you here before."

"Yes, your Lordship." said Bags, bowing. "We are newly arrived just yesterday, and we fear our friend may have wandered out and gotten lost.  The king was kind enough to lend us the aid of his son to help us find him."  There was a small cough from Grizelda.  "And this is my" there was a brief pause, then "... intended, Grizelda." which brought a gasp from the intended. "My name is Bags, your Lordship."

Grizelda stepped up and grabbed Bags' hand, hard, in that "There's some more we need to talk about." grip.  "Very pleased to meet you, your Lordship." Grizelda curtsied.

"And what is the name of your friend who is lost?  Perhaps I will see someone who has seen a wandering new person, and has knowledge of his wear abouts."

"His name is Pockets, your Lordship." Grizelda said.  "I'm near worried sick of where he might have got himself off to."

"Well, then," said Beegle, "I won't delay you any further.  If I hear of your friend, I will pass it onto the boys to bring it to you."  To Harv he said "If you run into any trouble, just whistle.  The boys will come running."

"Thank you, your Lordship. We do appreciate all your help."  Bags bowed and Grizelda curtsied again.

"Good day." said Beegle and went on his way into the Midway.

"Creepy guy." said Bags.

"Aw, he's not so bad." Harv defended.  "Just very stern.  We'd be totally bankrupt without him.  Father is a good people person, just not a very good financial person.  You'd be amazed at the changes that Beegle has caused.  Before him, there was crime all over the place.  When he reformed the boys, it was the luckiest thing for us.  Crime became almost totally non-existent."

"And how about you two?" he went on. "Who would have thought that you two would know such high and might speech. I almost get the feeling you have dealt with Chancellors before."

"Just a bit, here and there." said Bags, feeling there was no need to go into the past.

"Intended." said Grizelda.  Bags blushed furiously.  "Intended?" she said again.

"It was going to happen sooner or later." Bags said.

"Intended." she sighed.

"This is it." said Harv.  They stood before a low stone building, about twenty five feet wide, and at least that deep.  "It looks small from out here, but it's quite roomy inside.  I used to play in it when I was a child, pretending to be a soldier. Towards the back, in the kitchen, there's a trapdoor that leads down to the cellar."

He walked up to it and examined the wooden door, which was covered in cobwebs.  "I don't think there has been anyone use this place for a long time.  Look at the door.  If it had been opened, the webs would have been broken."

"Yeah.  So maybe it's not this place." said Bags, who then turned to Grizelda.  "Griz? You wanna check?" he asked.

Grizelda kissed him on the cheek as she walked past, muttering "Intended"  

Bags said "You can cut that out now.  I think Pockets is a bit more important."

Harv looked confused.  "I thought you two were married."

"No," explained Grizelda. "and it's been seven long years waiting to hear some form of proposal."  She walked up to the door.  "But first, we best find Pockets."

Grizelda closed her eyes and placed her hands on the door, disturbing the cobwebs.  The flapped against the breeze her hands made like silken flags torn loose from their moorings.

"What's she doing?" asked Harv.

"She's looking for Pockets.  Shhhh." Bags replied.

"Okay." said Harv, who just watched, curious.

Grizelda stood still as stone, head cocked as if listening for something, eyes squinted in concentration.  Her lips moved without a sound, speaking noiseless words to an ear that wasn't there.

Minutes passed and then she said, without moving from the door, "I almost feel him here.  Almost, but not quite.  It's like he's here, but he isn't."  Tears dripped from her eyes in frustration.  "Bags, I just don't know.  I agree with Harv that this door hasn't been used in a very long time, but Pockets is almost in there.  I don't know how to explain it."

"Well then," said Bags, "there's nothin' for it but to almost look."  He crossed over and stood next to Grizelda, grabbed the door ring and pushed against it.  The door did not budge.  "Is this thing locked?"

"It shouldn't be." Harv said as he came up to lend his shoulder.  He bounced against it and nothing happened. "If it is, it's locked from the inside, but I don't see how that could be.  Like I said, nobody has used this place for years."

"Get out of the way." said Bags.

"Bags," said Harv, "If it is locked, it would take a battering ram to break it down. You're just wasting your time."

"Sonny, you ain't seen nothin' yet." Bags growled.  He stepped a pace back from the door and then got very quiet.

"Griz, he can't..." Harv began. Griz cut him off with a quick "Shhhh.  He needs to concentrate."

A hum, low and deep came from Bags.  It rhythmically grew and bounced around and grew till it seemed to fill all the space around him.  When it reached a point at which it seemed the sound itself would break against the stone, Bags spun till he was facing away from the door, and lashing his left leg out to the side, impacted the wooden door with a loud crack!

Harv just stood with his mouth open as the door folded around itself.  Bags did not aim for the spot where the door was bolted.  He had aimed for the lower half of the door, which had splintered and disintegrated.  The top half, already weakened and sagging, followed the lower with another kick from Bags.

"Where there's a will, there's always a way." Bags said, as he removed the iron bar that was used to bolt the door that was no longer there.

"You will teach me that, won't you?" Harv stammered.  Bags looked at him and said, "Maybe.  Once you figure out what's worth dyin' for."

The three of them entered the Barracks. It was musty and dusty and old.  "This way." said Harv.  "The kitchen is this way."

At the far end, there was a doorway that, apparently led into the kitchen.  Harv walked through it, gave a yelp, and then backed out.  Grizelda, fearing the worst, screamed at him "What did you see?"  Harv vomited on the floor and stood there, spent and retching.

Bags leapt through the door.  It was darkened, but there was enough light to see Pockets.

The little man was tied to a barrel, stripped naked.  He appeared to have been whipped many times with a flail.  Blood pooled around the barrel and it looked to be about all there could be in any one human.  His face was a mass of bruises, his eyes swollen shut, his lips cut and oozing blood still.

Grizelda screamed again, and her hands flew up to her mouth.  Bags flew over to Pockets and untied him, and gently lowered him to the ground. Bags placed his ear carefully on the little man's chest, listening for a sound, any sound, that would indicate there was a Pockets somewhere still inside the quiet and battered body.

Bags raised his head and nodded, once.  Grizelda sank to her knees and said "Thank the Gods and Goddesses."

From his bag, Bags brought his water flask and dribbled a bit onto Pockets lips.  A tongue came out, shyly, once.  Bags leaned down and placed his ear to his partners lips.  Then he looked back at Grizelda and smiled, grimly.

"What?  What did he say?" Grizelda asked, tearfully, fearfully.

Bags choked back a sob, and said "He said 'Oh hi, Bags.  I knew you would come.'".  And then Bags could say no more, because he didn't have the words beyond the pain.
***********************************************************************
Harv appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, looking wan and pale.  "Is he..."

"He's alive." said Bags.  "He's pretty bad off, but he's alive."  His voice was still choked with emotion, and his face was frozen and cold.  "This is not a good thing, Harv, not a good thing at all."

"I know."  Knowing that Pockets was not dead made him braver, and he came into the kitchen. He looked at Bags, holding the still body of Pockets in his arms.  "I thought he would be taller, from the way you talked about him."

Grizelda spoke, a quiet and dangerous growl. "He's a giant, compared to most people.  In some ways he can be irritating, yes, but he's got the heart and soul of..."  her emotion got the better of her and she could not go on for a bit.

"Harv, Pockets may be a pain in the ass, but he's our pain in the ass.  A little weird, a little larcenous, but he's bout the best person you'd ever want at your back."  He poured a bit of water on the corner of his shirt, and cleaned the blood away from Pockets' face.  "We've got to get him to a healer, Harv."  Bags eyes were cold, unblinking, and glazed.  Harv could not hold that stare for long.

"I know, but do you think it's safe to move him?" he said, turning his head away.  Grizelda was sniffing, and he could see that her face too, held the signs of the beginning of anger.  "Are you two going to be all right?" he asked quietly.

Grizelda rose from where she fell onto her knees.  "Harv, we are going to be fine.  All three of us.  The person that did this is definitely NOT going to be all right."  She crossed over to Bags and Pockets, and stroked the little man's brow.  "You go out now, Harv.  You go out and you run to the healer, and you tell him what you see here.  You have him bring a cot, towels, clean water, and all the healing herbs he's got.  You run and do that, because Bags and I are going to be right here, protecting our friend."  She turned back to Pockets.

Harv nodded to her back, looked Bags in the eyes and said, "I'll be as quick as I can, and quicker if it's possible."  He turned and ran out of sight.

Grizelda said "Bags, who ever did this took a very long time.  No broken bones, no damage to his little head.  These were evil people."

Bags nodded and said "Yup.  That they are, Griz.  And I 'spect if we find that Chibi bitch, we'll find some answers."

Grizelda replied, "Bitch is not something I'd call her.  It's an insult to dogs.  I agree though, finding her is something I personally would like to do. Preferably in a locked room or a dark alley"  A serious, non-humorous grin spread on her tear stained face.  "I have a few things I'd like to explain to her, in person."

Bags gave her an nod of agreement, but said "Now, now, Griz.  I think we might let the local authorities handle it.  At least, afterwards."  He turned thoughtful. "Pockets said that he figured Chibi wanted his little do da, that windup thingy.  From the look of him, I'd say he didn't give them much detail about it." He indicated the room they were in with a wave. "Look around.  There aren't even any clothes here.  I'd guess they caught him naked and drug him here." He paused, then added, "In broad daylight.  Through at least part of this town that was populated by merchants."

Grizelda said "Gods, I wish Pockets was here to ask.  He'd have this thing figured out in no time.  How did they get him into this room?  The door was locked and unused for years.  What's so important about a toy he got out of a game would cause someone to kidnap him and torture..." her voice choked again.

Bags stood up.  "Griz, these are questions we're not gonna answer just sitting here.  You know Pockets.  He'll survive. I don't think I've ever seen him quite this beat up, but he'll survive.  Right now his brain is probably floating out there, looking back at us, saying something like 'It's so obvious!'"  He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, blinking back tears.  "I'd like to have the answers to those questions before he woke up, though.  After the healer shows up, do you think you'll be all right if it's just you and him?  I want to take Harv and go ask a few people a few questions."

Grizelda held Pockets head in her lap, held one of his cold hands in hers and said "Honey, Pockets and I will be just fine. Don't wait for the healer or Harv.  You go and ask your questions your way, move heaven and hell, then come back here and let me know which buncha bastards I'm gonna kick the asses of.  But leave me your knife, just in case."

Bags nodded, reached down into his boot and pulled out a thin stiletto.  He flipped it to Grizelda, who expertly caught it.  He turned to leave, but Grizelda called out to him.  "Bags? If you find Chibi, don't hurt her, all right?"

Bags turned back with a questioning look, "No?"

Grizelda nodded and said "No.  I want to explain our position in person.  All right?"

Bags smiled back and said "Whatever you want, my love.  I don't envy her, even a little bit."  And then he was gone.

Grizelda cradled Pockets head in her lap and said "Oh, Pockets... I don't know what you've gone and gotten yourself into.  It may be the first time you ever got into trouble without actually doing anything to cause it, and look where it's gotten you."  She looked up at the ceiling, and said "If you are out there somewhere, like Bags said, you just make sure you find your way back, you hear?  Because, even though I don't relish the thought, you know we'll come to whatever hell you're in, and drag your skinny ass back here."

*

Pockets' wandering mind was, as Bags had guessed, hovering around.  He saw the two of them sitting there and was gently touched with the emotion they showed.  He heard the discussion about Chibi, and he saw Harv leave for the Healer.  He liked Harv, found him a genuine person, and dubbed him The Harv, because Harv was the only Harv that Pockets had ever known.

He flittered around, discovered the door to the cellar, hidden under one of the barrels that were littered around the kitchen. "So much for the locked door mystery", he thought.  He flittered back to where Grizelda was and moved his consciousness close to her.  "Don't worry, Griz," he pushed at her, "I'll be fine.  That old body of mine is just worn out and tired.  I'll be back."  Invisible lips kissed her cheek, and he saw her raise a hand to the spot, eyes wide in wonder.  He nodded a head that wasn't there, and then up through the ceiling he rose.

He stayed up there for a few minutes, getting his bearings.  Off in the distance he could see the shrinking form of Bags, out on his quest for answers.  He also saw a group of men, dressed in black, moving in the direction of the Barracks.

He thought about diving back into his body so he could warn Grizelda, but then thought better of it.  One reason was that as long as Beegle thought him near dead, no harm would come to Grizelda or Bags.  The other was he wasn't sure if he could make that body do much right now anyway.  

"Bastards certainly did a number on that ol' shell."  He knew his body would heal, and though he felt some attachment to it, it was a distant attachment, like a suitcase put up in a closet till next time it was needed. "Next time I'll be more careful of the things I pull out of a claw game."  He gave a chuckle and said "Yeah... sure I will."

A pair of figures approaching also helped to relieve any fear for Grizelda's safety.  "Ah! And here comes The Harv with The Healer.  Fat lot of good that quack will do.  Smoke and herbs and words and such.  Long as he doesn't do that leeches thing, or tries to bleed me, I'll be right as rain in a day or six."  He turned to look down at the Barracks roof and yelled, "Griz!  Do NOT let that quack bleed me or put those nasty leeches on me!  If you do, I will be most upset.  What's even worse, is that he might actually finish killing me!  So, no Bleeding and NO leeches!"  

He shuddered at the thought of leaches, let that pass, then he spun in the air a bit, deciding which way to go.  He picked the direction of the Keep and pushed himself towards it.  He had only been in it briefly the previous time he was kidnapped, and wanted to check it out in more depth, so to speak.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to the backstroke, or the Squiderian crawl as he floated on the wind.  Since he couldn't decide, he just did both, at the same time.  "Life is so easy, when you don't have to worry about living."

He drifted on the breezes, taking notes of areas of warm air and areas of cooler air and did some quick and easy calculations based upon air density and wind drift.  He wasn't calculating for any reason other than it's what he did.  He put the information away in his memory, just in case it ever came in handy.  Or not.

The top of the Keep was basically a ten feet by ten feet square box sitting upon one corner of a larger square box.  It was, of course, stone, and castellated with a flagpole set just off to the right of center to allow a spiral staircase to run from the roof down into the depths of the Keep.  Pockets loved spiral anything, and so he pushed himself down that staircase at speed, silently going 'Wheee' all the while.  

He flittered onto the landing of the third floor, and had he been in a body, would have found himself splat against the far wall.  Instead, he smoothly sailed into the wall, and through it.  "Well, buggers." he thought to himself, hovering just outside the wall of the Castle.

Instead of drifting back through the wall, he instead floated along it, looking in the windows and making invisible faces at the folks inside that couldn't see him.  "It appears," he said to nobody, "that they are preparing for some big to-do, as they busier than they really ought to be.  And oh so serious."  He drifted into a convenient open window and settled upon an ottoman, watching a group of musicians practice. "This," he thought, "is more like it." as he crossed his ethereal legs and sat back to listen.

It was quartet, three musicians and one vocalist.  They were singing some rather bawdy tune, containing something about a blue ribbon and the location of it. It was a high spirited song, and the players enjoyed playing it for nobody but themselves.

When it was done, Pockets applauded with hands that weren't there, and whistled though lips nobody could see.  He stopped immediately when he saw the effect his actions were having on the vocalist.

"'ere now," she said, accent thick but understandable, "wot's this?" She turned back to the musicians, ran her hand through her thick red hair, and said "Did any of you 'ear sumethin' just then?  Sounded like applause?"  The other three just shrugged their shoulders.  None of them had heard a thing.

The vocalist scratched her cheek in though for a second, then shrugged it away as well.  "Mebbee it was somethin' that floated up from outside.  Oh well, least someone is 'aving fun! Besides us, I mean." she laughed  She looked around the room once again, and it seemed her eyes may have lighted on the spot occupied by Pockets. "All, right, lads.  'ow did that feels to you?"

The quartet started a discussion about harmonies, whose voice was not quite blended in, whether the guitar was truly in tune, and what time the coronation was, and if they'd ever get fed.

"Coronation?" Pockets mused.  

The red-haired vocalist turned directly at him.  "You!" she said and walked directly over to where he was hovering.  "'oo are you, and wot do you want?  And I'll tell you straight out, if you ain't a friendly ghost, you're in for one 'elluva fight!"

"Um, this is extremely unusual." Pockets thought.

"Not as unusual as wot I'm gonna do if you don' gimme sum answers.  I'll tie you into such a knot it'll take you 3 more lifetimes to get your innards unraveled.  If you had any."

"Wow!" said Pockets directly at her. "Can you hear me? Can you see me?  I've never known anyone that could see me when I went out a-wanderin'"

"Yeah, I can 'ear you, so there's no need to shout.  And no, I can't see you, which is prob'ly a good thing, since most folk don' look so good when they're dead anyways."

"Oh," said Pockets.  "I'm not dead.  Just mostly dead."

"Just mostly dead, eh?  'old on a minute."  She turned back to the musicians, who were sitting or standing, bored and waiting.  "Fellers, I've got a not quite dead spook 'ere.  This may take a bit o' time to hash it all out.  Step out and give us a mo' would you?"

The guitar player came over to her.  He was a burly man, and the affection that showed in his eyes was evident.  "All right, luv.  Me and the boys will step out to Swineheart’s for a bit o' food."

"Just make sure that's all you get, Bruce.  We need a bit more work on that bridge." she said.

Bruce bent down, kissed the back of her neck, which got the shiver he wanted said "I'll work on any bridge you want, m'luv."  then he looked at the empty space where Pockets was drifting and said "Best o' luck to ye, Mr. Spook.", then he and the other two musician left through the door.

"M'name's Suzy.  This group is called Queen's Gamboni, after my father, the great Gamboni.  We travel all over this world, playing for Kings, Queens, or just for anyone that will feed us.  I've seen an terrible lot of things, and I've even been involved in a few of them.  You, Mr. Spook, are the first Not Quite dead ghost I've ever met.  Care to share with me yer story?  Bet it would make a heck of a song."

"I bet it would too!" said Pockets, excitedly.  "Okay, I'll tell you, but I want something in return.  When I'm done, I want you to get in touch with a woman named Grizelda.  She's at the old Barracks with my.. umm.. body.  The king knows her, and the king's son knows her. Tell Griz that Pockets says the key is bags. Oh, this is sooo much fun! I've been able to spook folk, but never hold a conversation with them!"

"A woman named Grizelda at the old barracks, the key is Bags. I don't see much of a trouble with that." said Suzy.  "Now then, what's yer story?"
**********************
*********************
Grizelda heard movement in the outer room. "Bags?", she called, then figured that he was probably in the middle his questions.  "Harv?"  she called out.  When the figure appeared at the door, it was neither Bags, nor Harv, but a skinny, pimple faced young man of about twenty three, dressed all in black leather, and wearing rings on each of his fingers.

"She's back here, Cor." He stood, truculent and staring.  His gaze took in Grizelda's face, her cleavage, and the body of Pockets.  And he smiled.

"Who are you?" Grizelda demanded.  She wanted to rise, but didn't want to let go of Pockets.  She believed that the touch was important, so that Pockets could find his way back.

"Oh, that's not important, Missus, who I am." smirked pimpleface.  "What's important, Missus, is who you are, and what you're doin' with our boy there?"

"You're boy?" Grizelda started?  "What do you mean, 'you're boy'?"

"What he means, ma'am," came another voice, "is that we would like to know what you're doing cradling a suspect in a robbery?"  The man behind the voice was tall, darkly handsome with chiseled features and a mop of well kept dark hair.  His black eyes shone with a malevolence that was counter pointed by a bright and shining smile.  He too, was dressed in black leather, and on his belt he wore a vicious looking knife, which he fondled lovingly.

"Robbery?" Grizelda exclaimed, growing a bit angry.  "Pockets was not involved in a robbery.  As you can plainly see, he's been a victim of a vicious beating.  There is no way he could have done a robbery."

"I'm sorry ma'am.  We have half a dozen witnesses that place this...'Pockets' did you say?  ...Pockets at the scene committing a robbery.  The theft of..." he pulled up a sheet of paper and read from it. "...a valuable part of the kingdom's history."  He rolled the sheet back up and placed it in his back pocket.  "In short, he has committed a crime against the king, and all the peoples of the kingdom of Tears."

"But that's impossible!" protested Grizelda.  "Look at him!  He's been tied up and beaten.  You should be looking... wait... who are you? Did the Chancellor send you here?"

"Yes, ma'am." said the dark one.  There were five others with him, Grizelda could see them in the background.  "We're the Chancellor's boys, we keep the peace in Tears."

"I'll bet you do." muttered Grizelda.

"I'm sorry ma'am?  What was that?"

"Nothing, sorry.  You would be Cor, right?  Short for Corwin?"

"That's who I am.  Now, I believe we asked who you are, and what you are doing with our suspect?" asked the apparent leader of the 'boys'.

"We just arrived yesterday." Grizelda explained, wishing that Bags was here.  "This is Pockets, and I'm Grizelda. He's one of my... He's a friend, who went missing earlier today while I was visiting the king."

"The king?" Corwin laughed.  "You were visiting the king?  You?"  He looked at his companions and said "I guess the king's tastes have rather deteriorated over the years." He was joined in his derision of Grizelda by the laughter of his chums.

"Young man, if I didn't have to take care of my friend here," Grizelda was starting to become very angry, and her eyes flashed red, "I'd stand up and show you a bit of manners I don't believe your parents ever did."  She fingered the knife that Bags had left for her.

Corwin answered with a dark snarl.  He and Grizelda locked eyes for a long time, and the tension grew in the air, screaming release.

It came in the form of a familiar voice, back near the entrance.  "Griz! Is everything all right?  I see the Boys are here."

Corwin's eyebrows raised and he made a pointed gesture towards Pockets, then drew his finger across his own throat, then raised that same finger to his lips.  "Do we have an understanding, Ma'am?" he whispered harshly.

"For now, you little shit." came Grizelda's whispered reply.  "Harv! We're back here!  Corwin and his boys were kind enough to keep me company till you returned."  Harv muscled his way through the group till he was standing next to where Grizelda sat with Pocket's head in her lap.  "I told them that you could vouch for me. It seems there is a bit of a mix up." Grizelda said.  "They seem to think that Pockets was involved in some sort of a robbery.  They say they've got witnesses."

"Robbery?" Harv raised his eyebrows and looked up at Corwin.  "This man couldn't steal a stick of candy from a baby.  What sort of witnesses do you have."

Corwin, looking very uncomfortable, flashed irritation in his eyes an brought the rolled up paper from his pocket.  He glance over it briefly, and then smiled apologetically. He bowed to Grizelda and said graciously, "I'm sorry ma'am.  The warrant here says pickpocket, rather than the name Pocket.  My mistake." To Harv he said, "I'm glad you're here, your highness.  It allows me and the boys to continue looking for this pickpocket."  He bowed to the kneeling figures and said, "Come on, boys. It seems this is a case of mistaken identity, after all."  To Grizelda he said "Again, I'm sorry to have caused you a fright, ma'am.  We'll find who we're looking for, don't you worry."  He gave her one last hard glare, out of the sight of Harv, and left.

"Harv," Grizelda said, "It wasn't a pickpocket.  They said that Pockets had stolen some sort of historical thing."  She took a breath, composing herself.  She made a decision and "I think I know what they were looking for.  Pockets showed us this little toy he won in a game on the Midway.  It didn't do much, just wind up and tick. That has to be what they are looking for.  Pockets mentioned that Chibi may have wanted it yesterday, when he was taken the first time." She looked down at the still form and continued.  "I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier.  The way we three live, it's hard to know who to trust."

Harv sat down next to her and said, "Grizelda, it's ok.  Looking at Pockets here, having talked with you and Bags, I can tell that you are good people.  Maybe a bit different from having lived on your own, but good people.  Father is a bit weird, and you don't really know me from anyone at all.  I don't blame you for not trusting."  

He rubbed his cheek in much the same way his father had, and then said "It was a windup thing?"  Grizelda nodded.  "And he said he won it in a game?"

"Yes.  Our night at the pub, he came in all excited and showed it to us.  It was about the size of an egg, and had a brass key in it.  He said he won it in a claw game."  She didn't tell that it was a game that Pockets had rigged specifically to win the doodad, but why complicate things.

"How very odd," Harv mused.  "Odder still that he thinks it was why he was kidnapped in the first place. I know about Chibi, she's one of the pub girls.  I'd hate to think she was mixed up in all this."

"Where's the healer?" asked Grizelda.  "Didn't he come with you?"

"That's odd." said Harv.  "He was right behind me."

"And he still is, my boy."  Beegle showed up right then, healer in tow.  "Oh my, oh my.  Is this the chap you were looking for?"  Beegle stepped up to Pockets side, but did not bend down.  "He does look a sight, doesn't he?  Any idea what happened, or who did this?"

The healer, an older woman with graying hair and a short stubby nose came up and examined the wounds.  She tried to move Grizelda out of the way, but to no avail, as their eyes locked and Grizelda won out.  The old healer muttered "Probably just as well.  The dying need their comforting." and started to back out.

Grizelda reached out one strong hand and grabbed the arm of the healer, holding it in a steel grip.  "This man will not die, damn you!" she hissed.  "You will dress his wounds and you will leave me whatever pain herbs you have, and then you will go, and I'll not hear one word from you about dying, ever again."  She locked eyes with the healer once again.  "Do you hear me?"

Cowed, the old woman nodded wordlessly.  She moved to her kit, a bag of herbs, dressings and vials of colored vapors.  She set about the task of cleaning the wounds, tsking and cooing and awing at the depth of the damage done to the body.

"Chancellor," said Harv, "we don't know who did this or why, but we may have a clue.  Have you ever heard of a wind up device, about the size of an egg?"

Beegles drew his hand across his chin, which made a raspy sound, like snakes in dry grass. "Wind up device?  About the shape of an egg?  Let's step out a bit, let the women work. It does sound familiar to me, but I'm not quite sure..." his voice faded a bit as he and Harv moved into the other room.

It took quite a while, but when the healer was done, Pockets looked just like Pockets again, except covered from shoulders to hips with bandages.  There was a smell from him of salves mixed with pigs fat, which wasn't terribly pleasant, but at least he looked like himself again.  Grizelda had taken care of his face herself, making sure every trace of dried blood had been washed away, and being extra tender around his broken lips and swollen eyes.  One of his feet was a bandaged as well, as who ever had done this had seen fit to remove one of his toes.  

"I imagine that will keep him from dancing for a while", said Grizelda grimly.  She glared at the other occupants of the room, daring anyone of them to say something in agreement.  Nobody did.

When she was done, the old woman stood up and packed her things away. "Missus, I'm dreadful sorry." she said.  She then came back to Grizelda and took one of the younger woman's hands. "You're right and I was wrong.  He may be on the brink of the shadows, but he's not crossed yet."

She looked deep into Grizelda's eyes.  "You come from the witchy folk, don't you?"  Grizelda flicked her eyes toward the Chancellor, and then back to the healer.  "Well, it don't matter much if you do or you don't.  The strength of your bond to this boy is real and true. You hold onto him, and he'll come back.  Mark my words. Just don't you let go."  She winked at Grizelda, then shifted her eyes to the Chancellor and back.  The Chancellor was deep in conversation with Harv.

The old woman stared deep into Grizelda's eyes, then raised her right hand to her left earlobe, and quickly pinched it between forefinger and thumb.  Grizelda's eyes grew wide with recognition.  "Sister?" she whispered.

The old woman nodded, briefly, then reached over and kissed one of Grizelda's cheeks. "Does anyone know?" the old woman whispered back.

"About me?  No... not all of it.  There's the man I love, and this one. They know a little." Grizelda nodded at the form of Pockets.  "I suspect he knows, but then I also suspect half the time he's crazy."

"Ah." said the old woman, nodding sagely. "If he is, then either he doesn't care, or no one will believe him."

Grizelda nodded back.  "I don't think either of them care what I am, as long as I am.  The bond here is very great, Sister."

The old woman stroked the ruined face of Pockets and said, in a gentle voice, "Not often to find a bond like that.  I can see it in your face, and I can feel it from this young man here.  Your hand is the only thing keeping him around."  She stood up and sniffed the air.  "He's not here, Sister." she said.  "Does he go wanderin'?"

"I wouldn't put anything past this one, Sister." Griz said.

"Blessed be, on you and yours.  And don't let go." said the old healer.  Then she was gone.  Grizelda could hear a brief conversation between the healer and the Chancellor.

Harv poked his head back in, and said "The Chancellor wants to know if there is anything you need.  The healer said that Pockets is not to be moved, under any circumstances, until he's able to open his eyes."

Grizelda thought about it, and said, "Well, this is a kitchen.  How about some wood for a fire and something to cook?  I imagine that when Bags gets back, he'll want to eat something."

"I'll see about it."  He disappeared briefly, then poked his head back in.  "Not a problem there.  He'll send some of his boys back with the wood and food later."

"Um, Harv... could you do it, please." Grizelda pleaded. "I don't really trust the Chancellor's 'Boys'.  We did not get off on a good footing."

"I'll see." said Harv, a bit doubtfully.

Just then, a tremendous shouting and noise erupted from the front.  Grizelda could hear what sounded like a stringed instrument being banged about and a few very off color curses.

A woman's voice, sultry and lyrical said "'ello, luv.  I 'eard there was a place a bit less drafty to practice in.  The ol' Keep was nice and all, but, y'see, I 'ave this chest condition..."

Grizelda called out, "Harv?  Who's here?  Is Bags back?"

Harv looked back into the hall, and turned back with a shy grin.  "Um. No.  But I don't think you'll have any problem getting help.  Erk!"  He was shoved out of the way by a red-haired  hurricane, dressed in a flowing green gown, which did little to hide a burgeoning cleavage.

"Why, 'ello Missus.  I hopes you don't mind, but we needed a warmer place to practice.  We checked with the king, and he thinks it's an all right deal as well.  My name is Suzy, and we're Queen's Gamboni."  Suzy pushed a stray hair back into place and blew a note of annoyance.  Then she noticed Pockets laying there, and melted.  

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," she said in a voice as soft as a goose down pillow.  "Is that what you look like, all beat up and shot to hell?"  She cocked her head and nodded. "Oh, that is a shame and curses on who ever did this turrible thing!" She looked over to Grizelda.  "Well, don't you worry, Grizelda.  We're 'ere now, and we'll keep you company till he gets better." She winked and nodded over her shoulder back towards the front room. "And safe, too."

"Who ARE you people?" demanded the Chancellor.  "What are you doing here?"

Suzy straightened up and said "Why, luv,  We're Queen's Gamboni, didn't you 'ear me the first time?  Don't you remember meeting me in the main 'all of the Keep?"  Suzy steamrolled over to the Chancellor and looked up at him from her imposing five foot height. "We're 'ere to play at the Coronation."

"Coronation?" asked Harv.

"Coronation?" echoed the Chancellor. "There must be some mistake. Excuse me, Harv.  This is a matter that needs to be straightened out."  He bowed to the ladies and exited.

"I seriously doubts that he could get straightened out if you was to tie all his arms and legs to 'orses and told 'em to 'ie and Git."  Suzy looked up to the heavens and smiled.  "Not a bad idea to try, though..."

"Seriously, Suzy." asked Grizelda.  "Why are you here?  My friend is very ill, and I don't know if he needs all the fuss and bother and noise."

"Deary," replied the singer, "all this noise and fuss and bother is exactly what your friend Pockets needs." She sat down next to Grizelda, took her hand and said, "And you're as lovely as I imagined you were.  What a lovely, sweet soul you have."  She looked over at Harv and said "And you must be The 'arve. Young strappin' lad you are, too."

Suzy stretched out her legs, and her black buckled shoes showed beneath white petticoats.  "I 'spects that Bags will be 'ere shortly.  From what I've 'eard about him, I'd surely be disappointed if I missed his entrance."  She gave a strong wink at Grizelda, and said "If you knows what I mean."

Grizelda was very confused. "Look. I appreciate you being here and all, but who are you? How do you know Pockets? How do you know me and Harv and Bags?  What are you doing here?"

Harv said 'And it's just Harv, not The Harv."

"Oh dear. Where are my manners?  I'm sure you're all a puzzle and a fluster.  Your good friend sent me here to make sure you were safe and sound and taken care of.  'e said you were not to let go of his 'and till he was able to open his eyes.  'e said that you were the way back. So's 'ere we are, dear!  To take care of you till he was able to find his way back!"

"Who sent you? Who did you say?" Grizelda suspected, but did not quite dare hope.

"Why," said Suzy, "Pockets 'imself, of course. 'e's right here, 'cept you can't see 'im, and apparently can't 'ear 'im.  'e says to say 'ellow."

"Excuse me... Suzy, is it?  But I've had a very trying day today.  Too many odd things have been happening, so I'm going to have to ask you to prove what you say."

"Fair enough, missus, fair enough." Suzy cocked her head to the side and said "All right.  that should do it."  She turned back to look hard at Grizelda and said "Pockets says the key is Bags."

"Not good enough." Grizelda said. "You already know my name, and Bags name."

"Coo! You are a distrustful one, ain't ya?"  Suzy cocked her head again and said "Okay, we'll give that ago."  She looked again at Grizelda and in a slow voice said "It wasn't so bad being naked in the desert, but it was a pain in the arse getting the sand outta my jacket.  Whatever that means."

Grizelda almost let go of Pockets hand, and substituted a one handed hug of Suzy instead.  She was crying and the tears were not ones of pain this time.  Harv looked confused, and said so.

"Harv, it's a very long story, and someday I promise I'll tell it.  Pockets would never go anywhere without his jacket, his pockets, see, and right before we got here, he and Bags had to trek through the desert, naked.  The only thing he had to wear was his jacket."

"Ah" said Harv, totally uncomprehending.

"Thank you, Suzy.  Thank you, thank you." She wiped the tears away. "Tell Pockets I did hear him, but it was so faint, I couldn't make out the words."

"Tell 'im yerself, dear.  He's right here, with us." Suzy replied.

"Oh! Then that's all right then.  Pockets, what did you mean when you said that Bags was the key?"

Suzy listened and relayed.  "Bags is NOT the key, says 'e.  The Key is bags.. as in Bags' bag."

"Well, that makes no sense at all." said Harv.

Suzy listened for a long time, and drew a deep breath. "Hokay.  This is gonna take a while.  Mind if we brews some tea?"

Grizelda said "Not at all.  I'd get up and do it myself, if there were any wood, and, as you can see," she indicated the grip she had on Pockets, "I'm a bit indisposed."

"No worries!" said Suzy, rising from her position like the whirlwind she was. "Bruce, Bill! Go gather some wood.  Carlie, go fetch me 'erbs an bring 'em back, quick like."  She turned back to Grizelda. "We're a good bunch, dear.  Truly we are.  You're Pockets is a good man, if a bit odd." She turned to Harv.  "'arve?  Be a dear and go find us some chairs, would you?"  Harv shrugged and left.

When the two women were alone, Suzy said "I 'ad to get the boy out of earshot.  Some of the tale is not for 'is ears."

"Tale?  What tale?"

"Pockets says 'e's figgerd the whole thing out.  From beginning to end, says 'e.  And see, it all starts with the Queen's death."

"Her death?" asked Grizelda, incredulous.  "Harv said she left."

"Well, dear, death is a way of leaving, that's true.  But the Queen.  She didn't go of her own free will."  Suzy took another cleavage expanding breath, and let it out all at once, saying, "She was murdered, and murdered most foul"
***************************
***************************
Bags stopped by the wagon first.  He was looking for something very important, something that his life wouldn't be the same with out.  Pockets jacket.

The first thing that caught his eye was that the door was standing wide open, flapping mildly when a breeze caught it..  It struck him then, that feeling of violation.  It just fired his anger. He stepped inside to survey the damage.

The interior of the wagon was, as he expected, wrecked.  Not a pillow unshredded, not a cabinet door left unhinged, not a plate or mug left unbroken.  What was missing?  Here and there his eye could see spaces where things used to be, but not the things themselves.  In his state of mind, he couldn't quite remember what those missing things were.  "All in good time", he thought.  He wandered through the mess to his and Grizelda's room.

There was less damage here, but the signs of human rodents were still evident.  The bed was overturned, the pillow was unstuffed.  Cabinets were opened and Grizelda's make up was scattered and powders were sprinkled across the floor from door to window.  He salvaged what he could and dropped them into the bag at his side.

"She's just not gonna be happy with all this mess." said Bags, morosely.  He walked to the small platform that held the bed up and kicked at the corner near the head.  A hidden door popped open and he knelt down to reach into it.  He pulled out a bracelet, studded with rubies.  "Wouldn't do to have lost this."  He reached in again, stretching as much of his arm in as he could.  He pulled out another object, smaller and more square.  Both of them went into his neverfull bag.

He stood up, looked around at the place and silently said goodbye to it.  Even if he could get it back into some shape, he's not sure if he'd want to sleep in it again.  He was pretty darn sure that Grizelda wouldn't.  Years of lovemaking, good sleep, afternoon naps were all gone, just because people couldn't keep their mitts off of their own greed and curiosity.

Back in the main room, he stopped and looked carefully for the jacket.  Though the place was a mess, the pile of black fabric covered in pockets from nap to hem just wasn't to be seen.  He moved some of the ruin looking under and around destroyed pillows and cushions, his lips curled into a sneer of pure distaste.  It was like hunting for the one live child amidst a pile of corpses, something that Bags had personal experience with.  He gave up in the main room and moved on to Pockets room.

Here the damage was so apparent, Bags almost didn't recognize it.  All the wall papers were shredded, torn and littered on the floor. Pockets workbench was upended and one of it's legs were shattered.  The bed, ripped away from the floor.  

Of all the damage, none was as horrible to Bags as the sight of a few drops of red on the floor.  His mouth turned up in a rictus, the corner of his eyes crinkled, and his cheeks grew an uncharacteristic rosy.  "Yeah," he said. "We won't be coming back here."

The jacket was nowhere to be seen, so he left the wagon, cold fury.  He stopped at the Office by the Gate and told Gray man that the space they used to have was available.

"Leavin' so soon?" Asked the man, with his eyebrows raised in bushy flags.

"Nope." said Bags.  "Got a bit of cleaning to do.  It's gonna take a while."  He turned to leave.

"Where's the missus and your friend, the Tradesman?" Grey man asked.

"Busy.  We'll stop by on our way out."  He opened the door, turned back. "Say hello to Bessie for us." and left.

He walked up the Midway, watching everything. People stared at him, and he stared back.  Some dropped their eyes, some held his stare.  Those he marked for questions later.  He wandered up and found the claw game that Pockets had talked about.

It was just a large red box, almost as tall as Bags himself.  Large holes dotted the side, filled isinglass.  Bags could barely make out the items inside through the almost translucent windows.  The images were warped and discolored.  He shook his head, in wonder that Pockets could tell there was anything in there of value.  

He saw long thin slots spaced equally from bottom to top. He looked in and could see the prizes inside though the filtered light the isinglass holes provided.  He could see small poppets and cheap trinkets, leather bracelets and basic junk.  There were a couple of shinys in there, interspersed with the dross, as attractors to those who might want to play.

"Give it a go, chum? Win yer lady a shiny?"  A short, squat man chewing something dark and nasty looked up at him.  Stains ran down one side of his chin, caused from the habit he had of spitting on the ground, and letting the slime stay where it was. "Only a copper."

Bags dug into his neverfull, and pulled on one and gave it to the man. "Left wheel moves it to and fro, right wheel moves it back to front.  When yer've got it where yer wants it, pull the green lever"  He then left Bags to the game, to apparently talk to the girl running the candy stand next door.

Bags played with the wheels, turning them back and forth, seeing the effect they had on the claw, which was suspended from a small a-frame by a leather cord.  The left wheel, he found, maneuvered the a-frame so that it moved to the left and right.  The right wheel moved it either towards him or away from him.  He could see that the lever released the claw, but what happened after that, he couldn't tell.

He turned both wheels until he had the claw positioned over one of the shiny bits on the bottom.  He pulled the green lever and the claw dropped, not quite over the shiny, but near enough to catch it with one of it's fingers.  "Now what?" he wondered.

The fat man was to preoccupied to notice him, so Bags had to tap him on his shoulder to get his attention.  The girl at the candy stand looked at Bags in honest relief and mouthed the words "Thank you."

"'Scuse me, sir, but now that I have the claw down, how do I get it back up?" He asked.

The fat man came back around to the front of the machine and pointed to a small button on the side.  "See that?  You just pull it.  Sheesh, how hard can it be?"

Bags pulled the button and saw the claw raise up, the shiny dangling on one of it's fingers.  He gently turned the right wheel till the claw was positioned over a small hopper, then pulled the green lever again.  The claw dropped and deposited the shiny in the hopper.

"Hmph." said Bags. "Way too much work.  No wonder Pockets liked it."  The shiny turned out to be a tiny and polished ring, copper, beaten till it was paper thin and topped by a sliver of isinglass.  It was perfect for a child, but seemed like an incredible waste of a copper to Bags.

He walked over to fat man, interrupting the flirting that was going on.  "Say, I was wondering.  Where do you get the things you put in the box?"

Fat man looked Bags up and down, noticed the sword on his back, and the bag on his side.  "Yer not thinkin of setting up, taking my trade away, are yer?  I mean, yer don't look like a carn, but yer never knows."

Bags shook his head. "Nope.  Not my type of bag.  I tend more towards blades myself.  But I know a guy, see, who might be able to beat whatever price you're paying for this junk."  He held up the ring.

"Hrm. Well, seein' as how it don't hardly cost me anything, that would be hard to beat.  Mostly I just makes 'em myself.  Takes one copper to make five rings, a sliver of ising and there yer haves it.  Every so often I can get holds of somethin tossed out into the garbage of the keep, something really shiny, or unusual, yer know?  I drops that into the box to spark an int'rest."

"The garbage of the Keep... hmmm." Bags mused.  "Do you remember a wind up thing?  Bout the size of an egg?"

Fat man rubbed the top of his oily head and said "Yeah. Stayed in the box for years, was the best draw I never had."

"What happened to it?" Bags asked.

Fat man looked at Bags and said "Yer sure asks alots of questions, you know?" He rubbed the fingers and the thumb of his left hand together.  "This is takin up a lot of my val'ble time."

Bags reached into his neverfull and pulled out a flat sheaf that looked like paper.  "Would this pay for your valuable time?" he asked.

"Holy! Is that what I thinks it is?"  Fat man snatched the leaf and tasted it, bent it, and shoved it into some unknown spot in his trousers.  "Bud, ask away.  Yer just paid for a week of my time."

"What happened to the wind up thing?" Bags asked again.

"Some runt came by yesteday and won it, just as I was closin' up."  Bags didn't react to the word 'runt', no matter how much he wanted to. Instead he asked another question.

"Was there anyone else interested in it? I mean, did anyone else try to win it?"  

"Was there?  Mister, yer'd a sworn it was the golden goose egg, the folks that tried to win it.  The Chancellor tried hisself a couple o' times.  Then there was this skinny git from up at the pub.  She was down here every chance she could get, playin' and playin'.  I'm gonna miss her."

"Skinny git?  Blonde hair, with red in it?  Odd shaped eyes?" Bags asked, interested.

"Yep, that's the one.  Works over at the pub when she gets a mind to it.  Never did catch her name, but I sure would have liked to have given that one the ride of her life."

Bags gave the fat man a gaze, and said "I'm sure you would have.  Thanks for the information." He flipped the ring to the girl at the candy stand, winked at her, caught her winking back, and left, heading for the pub.

Swineheart's was quiet, with just a few patrons milling about.  The skittle game lay dormant, waiting for anyone to decide to take a turn.  Damien was cleaning the bar with a rag, and waved at Bags when he entered.

"What'll you have, chum?" he asked as Bags sat down.  

"Just an ale." Bags answered.

Damien brought the foamy mug and placed it on the bar.  "Looks like you've got a story to tell." he said.

"Maybe I will, once it's all over." Bags said, foam mustache fading.  "Mind if I ask you some questions?"

"Long as it's not 'What's a nice guy like me doing in a place like this', fire away. Where's your friends?"

"Busy." Bags explained.  "Pockets, the guy I was with, had the hots for that waitress, whatever her name was."

"Chibi. A bitch and a half.  Tell your friend to stay way from her."  Damien said, then he noticed the look on Bags' face.  "Ah.  He already didn't, did he?"

"You got it." said Bags.  "I think she took something from him, and he wants it back.  You could call it a family heirloom."  He paused while a bit more ale found it's way in.  "You know where she lives?"

Damien laughed.  "She lives with whomever she thinks is gonna be her next meal ticket, that's where she lives.  She comes in when I need help, stays for a few days, then hits the road when she's found a sucker to take care of her."

"Okay, I get the picture." Bags said. "Do you have any idea where she's living now?"

"Well," Damien looked around to see if anyone was listening, "you didn't hear it from me, but rumor has it she's been staying with one of the Chancellor's boys.  That Corwin.  Now there's a nasty punk."

"I thought the Chancellor's boys kept peace in this town?  Didn't he bring them up from street toughs?" Bags asked.

"Oh, sure.  They bring peace... for a price."  he was whispering now, leaning close in. "Look.. once a punk, always a punk and a punk with power is a dangerous punk."  He stood back up, making sure nobody saw him whispering.  "Hell," he said, "I have to pay them a quarter of my weekly take, just so they don't break the place up.  The only reason there isn't crime in Tears is because they are the crime.  Nobody else lives long enough to commit any."

"Hmm." said Bags, thoughtfully.  "Any idea where Corwin lives?"

"Bud, if I tell you, then you'll go up there, then you'll be dead, and I'll be out one paying customer."  Damien shook his head and started to move away.

"What if I make it worth your while?", and he pulled another slim slip of paper thin material from his bag.  He slapped it on the counter.

Damien scooped it up, smelled it, and hissed "Are you crazy?  Don't go flashing this much gold around here." Even so, he slipped it into his tunic.  "Look.. what you do is your business.  I'd miss seeing you round here.  We could use the new blood."  He looked left and right and hunkered back down on the bar next to Bags.

"Corwin moves around.  Last I knew, he lived in a place next to the Keep, close to where the Chancellor lives, but that was a while ago.  He could have moved by now."

Bags nodded. "Thanks." he said.  Then he nodded towards the back door.  "Any idea where that leads?"

"What?  The back door?" Damien asked.  "It leads to an alley, is all.  One way leads to the midway, the other way leads through a maze of dead ends to what we call the other side of the tracks.  Not exactly a place nice folks go."

Bags thought for the barest of a minute.  Then he hunkered down and looked Damien in the eyes and said "Well, I'm not exactly nice folk. Draw me a map."
*************
Bedraggled and rundown, cast out buildings that housed the folks that were invisible.  Bags blinked in the sunlight, after having navigated the near pitch-black of the maze.  Here and there broken windows and shattered doors gaped at him, in wonder at the visitor.

"Ain't this a pretty sight." he murmured, wiping the odd cobweb off his trouser legs.  

The street he was on was narrow, and the buildings leaned into it as if gravity had decided they weren't even worth the effort. He glanced back at the alley, wondering what sort of mad mind created the twist and turns of it, and why?  

"Pockets would probably tell me it was art, and then ramble on about the significance and who started the movement."  He stretched out his back, adjusted the sword and shifted his neverfull and looked.

Piled outside of doors were heaps of garbage, clothes, broken furniture.  Here and there were sleeping remnants of society, those people, like this street, that the world had forgotten.  All of them turned away from his gaze, except one.  

She was an old crone, hunchbacked and dressed in a gray shapeless shift.  A red and white bandana was tied over her head to keep her long gray hair out of the way.  Nose like a beak, mouth open to reveal as few teeth as possible, because there just weren't that many.  

"And what you looking at, buddy?" She asked Bags.

Bags crossed the street and began, politely, "Ma'am, I'm..."

"Ma'am? Did you just call me Ma'am?  Where in the seven hells do you think you are, bud? This ain't no tea party here.  You call me BeJay, like every one else does. You call me Ma'am again, and I'll poof you into nothingness, just like all the other youngsters that come here."  She shook her fist at him, meaning business.

"All right... BeJay." Bags said hesitantly. "I'm looking for anything that might prove there was a man kidnapped here last night.  The man was my friend, and he may be dying."

"Well, that's certainly the absolute wrong thing to go looking for." she said.  "Why not look for a bit of hookey smoke, or a lady fair along the streets where the righteous live?"  She looked him up and down, taking in his musculature and the weapon on his back.  "You're a fighter, ain't ya?"

"BeJay, today, I'm a hunter.  And I'm hunting bad men.  Ever heard of a man named Corwin?"

"Corwin?" the old woman laughed, showing a mouthful of gums. "Hell, bud, who hasn't heard of Corwin, the bastard son of the Chancellor?"  She reached up into her bandana and pulled out an old, bent cigar.  "Bastard son of the Chancellor Corwin comes down here to kick us around every so often.  So yeah, I've heard of a 'man' named Corwin."  The tone she used on the word man showed she thought of him as anything but.  "Every so often he brings his bitch down here to hump." She sniggered at that.

"Where does he go to..umm.. hump?" asked Bags.

"He and that skinny bitch go down into the drains.  See that grate over there?" she pointed at a spot about ten feet away.  It was partially covered by an old crate and a cloth, but it was there, rusty and heavy looking.  "Don't let it fool ya.  The strength in it was gone years ago, probably bout the time you were suckin you're first tit."

Bags walked over to the grating and pushed the crate to the side.  A noise came from inside the crate, and an old man crawled out, cursing.

"Winston, quit your whining and get your skinny ass up stairs." BeJay yelled at the man.  "There's dishes to do.  Did you think I didn't know where you were hiding, you lazy bastard?"

Winston disappeared into one of the broken doors and Bags heard him tromping up a stairway, cursing all the way.

"Why do you care about your friend, buddy?" BeJay asked.  "If Corwin took him, there's probably nuthing you can do, cept call the next of kin and the undertaker."

Bags reached down and pulled the grating from it's place.  He slung it to the side and turned back to BeJay.

"Lady, I am his next of kin." He sneered back at her.

"Oh! Hey! I'm sorry.  The way you were dressed I thought you were a bounty hunter."  She crossed over to Bags and touched his arm.  

When she spoke this time, there was none of the previous harshness.  She spoke like a mother who has lost her own children. "Look. I'm sorry I was rough on ya.  Life here," she wave her old arms to indicate the street. "ain't no bed of roses.  The folks that have to live here, hell, most of 'em would have given up long ago."

"If I didn't push 'em to remember they were still human, some of them wouldn't even get up in the morning.  They'd just lay down and die.  See, this is the Tears this place was named for, far as I'm concerned.  We're the folks that are just forgot."

She let go of Bags' arm and turned away.  "But I don't forget you, you stupid bunch of lazy good for nothings!" she said this with arm raised and fist shaking.  "And I can whip any of you, and don't you forget it!"  She turned back to Bags.

"Your friend, if he's still alive... When you go down there, just follow the right hand turn.  That will take you to where you're looking for.  But you be careful.  He's not a person you want to turn your back on.  Not even the sort of person you want to have facing you, even."

"BeJay," Bags said, deadly serious. "I'm not going to sit down to tea with him.  My friend is safe, though half-dead."

"So... you're going after revenge?"  BeJay got a hungry gleam in her eye.

"No.  I'm going after a jacket."  Bags started to go down under the city, stopped halfway, turned back and said, "I won't forget you."

BeJay started at that, and for half a second a tear appeared in one of her rheumy eyes.  "Go to hell." she said, turned and walked away.

Down he went, under the city, into the winding tunnels that connected all the drains.  He faced first one way, the way that led under the Midway, turned and started the other direction.  That way led towards the Keep.

He trudged through years of muck and slime, with side tunnels leading off to the sides.  There was a strange glow from the mold on the walls, so Bags had enough light to see by. "Wonder what Pockets would make of it?" he thought.

Every hundred yards or so a grating would appear over head, adding to the light.  When Bags came to a right hand turn, he took it, trusting the old woman's advice.  He walked what felt like a couple of miles and the route dead ended in a set of stone stairs going up to a wooden trap door.

"Stone." he said. "This must be the place."  He climbed the stairs, carefully lifted the wooden door and peered around.  There wasn't anyone around, so he quickly climbed out of the hole, and placed the door back on it's ledges.

He was in an tiny alcove at one end of a stone hallway that ran about one hundred fifty feet, then turned to the left.  He could see doorways dotting the walls on his left side, and thin slit windows on his right.  He walked carefully down the hallway, softly as in any forest he'd been in.  He stopped at the first door and listened.  Nothing came to his ears, so he gently opened it.

It led to a balcony that peered down one floor to the next, which appeared to be a large hall.  Across the way, he could see another balcony, like the one he was on.  Bags noted that the balcony had doorways interspersed by blank walls.  "Those must be rooms", he thought.

The hall was buzzing with activity, people coming and going.  He spied the Chancellor at one end, talking to a small man dressed in red livery.  The man nodded a few times and then left. The Chancellor seemed to contemplate something, then turned and looked up. Bags quickly ducked back into the hallway, fairly sure he had not been seen.

Back in the hallway, walked to the next door, placed his ear against it, and listened.  Inside he didn't hear any movement, so he carefully pushed the door open.  It opened into a room, not very large, but large enough for a bed, a table, two chairs, and an ornate dressing screen.  On the back of one of the chairs was a black lump, folded roughly.  It was a recognizable lump, and Bags' heart beat quicker for it.

He had just about reached the jacket, when he heard a woman's voice saying "And what do we have here?"

Bags didn't turn, instead he just said, "I came for the jacket."  He reached down and took it from the chair.

"Well, you can't have it.  It's mine. It's a souvenir."  Chibi marched over to him with her hands on her hips, and looked up at him truculently.

Bags took a whole and entire minute to think about the situation.  He was inside a stone fortress, inside a room where any moment now, someone could come wandering in.  He took that entire minute and made his decision.

His right hand, the one not holding the jacket, flashed out and clipped Chibi on the chin.  The look of surprise on her face right before she crumpled brought him a sparse moment of pleasure.  "You've got an appointment." he said.  

He carefully placed the jacket into his neverfull, and tossed Chibi unceremoniously over one shoulder.  He then placed the chair upright again where it had fallen when Chibi collapsed into it, turned and carefully made his way back down the hallway to the alcove.

Looking back, he made sure no alarm had been raised.  He figured it hadn't, because there had only been the noise of Chibi falling onto a hard stone floor.  He lifted the wood door, and went down into the drains.

Down in the drains again, he came to the intersection where he had previously turned right.  He thought about it for a minute, and turned right, to go down the way he had not been before.

"If I'm right, this will take me under the barracks."  He smiled a bit and then said to the unconscious body he carried, "Maybe a bit of Pockets has rubbed off on me, huh?"  He walked a few paces further, then stopped, smiled broader and said.  "Naw, never happen."
**********
"You want to do wot?" Suzy cried out. "Oh, 'ell no. That is just not going to 'appen!"

Grizelda looked up with a start, and asked "What? What's going on?"

Suzy looked cross and replied "Oh, your cheeky friend thought he'd just take over my body and tell you the story with my mouth.  It ain't going to happen, pure and simple. Once you 'ave a spook take you over, then you don't know what they're gonner 'ave you do. Cluck like a chicken, bark like a dog, or worse.  So, that's a not done thing with me, Mr. Spook.  You just get it out of your head."

Grizelda looked on as an apparent argument was going on.  She looked down at Pockets' body and just shook her head.  "You have just got to learn some manners, Pockets. You can't go moving into someone else's house while they still live there"

"Ain't that the truth!" agreed Suzy.  Bruce had come in to see what the shouting was all about. He was smoking a long stemmed clay pipe, and the smoke smelled a bit of ... well, it smelled of whiskey.  Grizelda mentioned it.

"It's better that way, Missus." He explained. "Makes the 'bacco smoother tasting, don't you see?"  He nodded to Pockets.  "'He was done a might fair wrong, I can see that.  I hope we catch the buggers that did it to 'im"

"You know," said Grizelda, "if we delay much longer, Harv will be back, and he's going to find out his mother died, anyway."

Suzy was still locked into argument with her spook.  "Try it if you want, friend.  No skin off'n my nose.  You just won't be using my body, and that's what matters to me. I'll warn you, though, you won't be likin' it all that much." She looked down at Pocket's body.  "Nope, I don't ken you'll be likin' it much at all."

Grizelda asked what was going on.  Suzy explained, "'e wants to join his body again.  It don't matter much to me, but it's gonner hurt like a sonuvabitch.  'e says 'e don't care, it would be faster than talkin' through me."

Grizelda nodded, and asked. "How's he going to do that? Just jump in like an old suit?"

Suzy looked at Grizelda and smiled. "Nothing that simple, Griz dear.  See, he was near death when 'e left, so the 'tachment was very slim anyway.  In the past few hours, 'is body's come back from the brink of the shadows, so the door is kinda shut to him, so's to speak.  You're actin' as the conduit, which is why you weren't ever supposed to let go."  She walked over to Grizelda and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"See, there's gotta be a loved one to act as conduit.  The bond has to be strong enough that the body reacts from ... I guess you'd call it memory.  It's more receptive to a loved one's touch than to the spirit that used to inhabit it.  Go figger, but that's the way it works.  Maybe once the spirit has left, it's really supposed to go back."  She shrugged.  "I dunno.  It might feel like a tingle, just so's you know."

"Um." Grizelda said, uncertainly, "Okay."

Grizelda felt a tingle, for sure, starting at a spot just above her eyebrows, at the crown of her head.  It traveled down her cheek and to her left arm.  From there it moved down to the hand that was holding Pocket's hand. Then it left her completely.

The body gave a jerk, drew in a great breath and screamed.  "I told you that you wouldn't like it much", said Suzy.

"Griz, Griz, Griz!" said Pockets, voice loud and in pain.

"Yes, baby. I'm here. I'm here. I know it hurts."  She squeezed his hand harder, and tears started to leak from her anew.

"Oh, Griz! It hurts like a million bagillion fires!"  Pockets started to cry, himself. "Don't tell anyone I cried, okay?"

"Okay, I won't." promised Grizelda. "You try to sleep, some, all right."  She looked at Suzy.  "Do you have something to help him sleep, something to remove the pain?"

Suzy thought a bit, then rummaged through the stores that the healer left.  She came up with something in a violet colored flask.  "I think this'll do it.  It'll knock him out, quick like, if it's what I think it is.  If not, then it won't matter much."

"Why is that?" asked Grizelda.

"Cuz it'll kill him." Suzy replied as she tipped a bit into Pockets' mouth.

After a very short while, Pockets ragged breath smoothed, and his tortured brow unraveled.  His eyes opened and he looked up at Grizelda.

"Thanks, Griz.  I feel much better.  I think I'll sleep now." he said in a more normal tone.  The pain was still there, but she could tell it was farther away now.

"Good, honey. You sleep.  You'll feel much better when you wake." She said to him.

"Don't leave me yet, Okay?"  

"I won't.  I'll be right here."

"Good."  he closed his eyes, then opened them again.  "Griz?"

"Yes, honey?"

"What happened to my toe?" he asked, before sleep took him and his snores began.

"Well," said Grizelda, "we're not going to find out much from him."

"No indeedy," agreed Suzy. "We don't need to. Let 'im sleep.  'e told me bout the whole thing, back in the Keep.  It's wot made me come to see you.  'e's quite a talker, 'e is.  'ow long have you folk been together?"

"Over seven years." Grizelda answered.

Suzy just shook her head, looking at Grizelda with something akin to awe.  "'mazing.  And you didn't kill him."

Grizelda grinned and said, "Had crossed my mind a time or two.  But no."

Suzy repeated "'mazing, truly tis."  She shrugged and said "Well, takes all kinds, they say.  Anyway, this is the tale."

"e said this is about power, and it could be about power an' how absolute power corrupts absolutely.  But it's not. It's about a small man who had just a little power, and how that is far worse, as a little power creates the desire for more."  

"'e said it's like this.  The Chancellor decided to take over the kingdom about sixteen years ago, 'e figgers. That was when the plan was 'atched.  The Chancellor started to steal from the coffers of this place and hid it away in a secret place.  The queen found out about it, the Chancellor did 'er in, 'id the body, and that's about that."

Grizelda nodded and hummed as she thought.  "That made sense," she said, "as both the boy and the king didn't know where she went.  Harv just said she went away."

"Aye" said Suzy.  "And now we knows what a bastard the Chancellor is, though I suspected as much, and I wouldn't put it past him."

Harv walked in just then, carrying three chairs.  "I snuck these out of the Keep, and I want to tell you, there is some doing going on over there.  I'm amazed that I had no knowledge of this at all.  I asked around and found out that Father had ordered this started just yesterday." He cast a long glance at Grizelda and Pockets. "Just about the time you folks showed up.  Odd, huh?"

"You only found three?" asked Suzy. "Cor, when we were there, there were chairs all over the place!"

"Right now, they are being placed in the Great Hall for the banquet.  Apparently there is a coronation going on, but I'll be damned if I know anything more about it."

"How odd." said Grizelda.  "I'm sure it has nothing to do with us, Harv.  Perhaps the king is going to surprise you."

"Oh, it'd be a surprise, that's for sure.  I don't want the job.  Maybe he's picked out someone else."

"Maybe." Grizelda agreed.  She stood, stretching a bit.

"How's the patient?" asked Harv.

"'e's much more 'imself, now.  Sleeping like a babe, 'e is.  Course, when 'e wakes up, 'e's gonner wish 'e was still sleepin'"

"Did he give any indication of what's going on?" Harv asked.

"Um." said Grizelda.  "Harv, he did.  There's parts that you might not want to hear, though."

"What?  My father is a crazy person? The kingdom's near bankrupt?  That's no surprise. What can you tell me that I don't already know?"

The two women exchanged glances.  "The kingdom's near bankrupt?" Grizelda asked.

"Has been for almost 20 years.  Every year, we lose more and more of the treasury.  Father has fired the accountants, even had a few beheaded.  Upset him more than he let on, and even that didn't stop it.  We've been losing money so fast, that we couldn't pay our laborers a decent wage and had to lay a number off.  If you've been to the... um... less than pleasant side of town, you'd have seen the folks there. Barely making it, if they are making it at all.  Very tragic." Harv shook his head in sadness.

"It's been eating away at father horribly.  At first he though that mother had run away with part of the treasury, but when it continued, he knew it couldn't be.  I sometimes feel sorry for him, with all he's been through."

"Harv, take a seat." Grizelda said.  "You need to listen hear this.  It will answer a lot of questions. You may not like it, you may not believe it, but you need to hear it."

Harv sat down and said "All right."  He assumed a 'tell me anything' posture. "Tell me."

Suzy then told him the story she told Grizelda.

"The Chancellor killed my mother?" Harv asked incredulous. "The CHANCELLOR?"  He stood up and paced the floor.  "The Chancellor has brought nothing to this kingdom but good!  He took a rough and tumble town, where there wasn't any order or law..." he laughed, "Lord knows Father couldn't do that. The Chancellor took a bunch of street toughs and turned them into his arm of the law.  Sure, they may be a bit rough around the edges, and sure, most of the townsfolk are scared of them..." he faded then, realizing what he was saying. He sat down, heavily. "They aren't the good guys, are they?"

"No, son." came a voice from the doorway. "They aren't."  The three in the kitchen turned towards the voice.  Jorge stood there, with Bruce, Bill, and Carlie behind him.

He came into the kitchen a bit further.  Suzy immediately rose and bowed.  "Yer Majesty!  Um.. excuse the shape of the place.  If we'd 'ave known you were coming..."

Jorge interrupted her, saying "Suzy, I'm a man, just like every other man.  This job is just like every other job, except it causes more nightmares than I want."  He turned to his son.  "Harv, you're right.  I could have done better managing this kingdom.  I could have been more involved, but I wasn't.  I left it all in the hands of Beegles.  Obviously I was pretty stupid."

"Father, how could you know?  He had me fooled too, you know." Harv consoled.

"A easy mistake, yer Majesty," said Bruce, from behind. "Anyone could 'a made it."

"Jorge, a snake is still a snake.  I didn't like him from the start.  Maybe he was all right in the beginning, but come on.  Surely you saw something in him all these years." said Grizelda.

"Griz," said Jorge, "one of the things I value you for is your mouth." He saw the look on their faces.  "For her honesty."

"When I heard you three had checked in, you, Bags and Pockets, of course I had you checked out.  I mean, really... a Master Swordsman, a Master Journeyman, and a Fortune Teller?  How often does that happen?"

"Jorge.  The Chancellor killed your wife." Grizelda said.

"I know.  I heard." A look of sadness crossed his face like a veil. "I guess I should have suspected something, but how would I have known?  He was my most trusted ..."  He looked at Harv.  "Son, I'm sorry.  I know I should be raging, I know I should be asking for his head.  It was just so long ago, I just can't work up the rage." He shook his head in misery.  "I'm sorry.", he said again to Harv.

"Father." Harv began.  He stopped and crossed over to his father and placed his arm around him.  "Dad," he said softly. "I know what you mean.  I have memories of her too, but you're right.  It was a long time ago, and if there's one thing you taught me, it's that there is a place and time for everything.  If I ran out of here, yelling for his blood, it wouldn't be justice, it would be murder.  YOU taught me that.  He should have a fair trial, before the King.  That's you, dad.  The king."

"No." said Jorge.  "Not after tomorrow.  Tomorrow, I pick a new king." He saw the look on everyone's face. "Look. I'm tired.  I'm really very, very tired.  I want to travel again. I want to play my horn.  I want to learn to enjoy life again. Perhaps even remarry.  I don't know."  He looked at Harv.  "I do know that I don't want to be king anymore.  It's not fun, and it's time to leave."

"And that's what the coronation is for?" Grizelda asked.

Jorge nodded.  "Yes." he said. "Tomorrow I will step down and there will be a new king.  The unexpected benefit is that the new king will rule more justly that I will over the trial of the Chancellor.  I suspect that I wouldn't be able to do an objective job."

"Look, you Majesty... Harv." Grizelda stood there with her arms crossed, looking at the two sad sacks. "I understand that shock takes a number of forms.  Tomorrow, or even later today, the both of you may be in a murderous rage, ready to chop the head off Beegle and his boys.  That's not my concern.  You do whatever you want to."

"I have two people that ARE my concern.  There's Pockets, who is near dead, and mercifully asleep.  There's Bags, who is out there somewhere, and may be in danger.  If the Chancellor or his boys get any idea we know what happened..." there was a loud crash from the other room.  Everyone ran to see where the noise came from.

Bags stood there, Pockets' jacket in hand.  Chibi was sprawled on the floor, still unconscious.  He looked at all the faces and, after a long pause, tossed the jacket to Grizelda, put his hands on his hips and said "What?"
*****************************************
Grizelda was woken in the night by the sound of sobs.  She rose, checked on Bags, who was snoring softly, eyes partially open.  That always disturbed her, but it showed that he was always ready for whatever came, and he had never failed yet.  She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

She walked across the little kitchen and checked on Pockets.  She had no idea what was going through his mind as he slept, so deeply.  He barely breathed when he slept, something she had noticed before.  His wounds were healing nicely, due to some salve that the healer had left, but he still had to sleep on his stomach.  In a day or two, he might be able to talk without screaming or crying.  Maybe.  She started to rise when Pockets hand grabbed her arm.  She gave a little cry in alarm.

"Pockets! You should be asleep."

"I'll go back in a sec, Griz." he hissed though clenched teeth.  "This hurts like nothing I can describe.  But listen."  He breathed in and out sharply, fighting pain.  "Bad guys are gonna try to kill the king, I think.  Be careful, k?"

"Don't you worry, hon." She stroked his arm. "We know all about the Chancellor."

"Beware... Corwin. He's a beast." Pockets gritted out.

"We know, dear.  He's a real bad one.  We'll take care of him."

"Nooo." Pockets moaned.  "Psychotic with no pain sensors.  Only way to stop him," another sharp intake of breath, "kill him."

Grizelda leaned down close to Pockets ear and whispered. "Dear heart, after what he did to you, there isn't any way that Bags will let him walk the earth.  Corwin did the one thing that nobody should do.  He messed with one of my boys.  I'll be careful, don't you worry.  And I'll warn the king about what you said, ok?  You go back to sleep."  She kissed his ear and stood up, looking down at him, shaking her head, cold anger building.

She still heard the sobbing, so she followed the sound.  In a corner of the kitchen, sitting on one of the chairs, she found Harv.  He was sitting alone, face in his hands.  Every so often a soft sob would escape from him.  He didn't see her standing at the doorway as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

She crossed over to him and said, "Oh honey. I'm so sorry." She wrapped her arm around him, passing the warmth of her overlarge heart to him.

He buried his face in her bosom and just sobbed quietly like a baby for a few minutes.  "I'm so sorry, Griz. I'm so sorry. I wanted to be strong, like my Father, but I just want to kill the son of a bitch.  I just want to cause him as much pain as he caused my father.  He thought she left because of him.  I just want to see him suffer." he broke into a new bout of sobbing.  "I'm so sorry."

She patted the back of his head, letting him get it all out. "It's all right honey.  I know exactly how you feel.  I still feel that way, after seeing what that bastard Corwin did to Pockets." She cooed "Shhhh.  Shhhh. It's ok, it's ok."  She sighed broadly, and said, "Don't you worry, Harv.  Between Bags and me and you, they'll all get what's coming to them. You have my promise."

Harv pulled his head away and looked up at her.  "He's so incredibly strong, you know?  My father.  I don't know how he's held together."

Another voice came from the doorway.  "Oh, not all that strong, son.  Many are the time I thought about just ending it.  I had means.  I could have killed myself a dozen times over."  Jorge smiled standing with arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe. He smiled sourly and added, "Of course, it would have only taken once."

Grizelda looked up at Jorge and said, "I think you and your son have some things to talk about."

Jorge nodded and said "I think so too.  I know I may seem very distant to you, Griz.  Understand though.  I thought my wife had left me.  I did not know what I had done wrong, I only knew that it was something I had done.  Now I find out that she was murdered?  And the man that did it was the man I put in charge?  It's just hard to wrap around, you know?  I'm trying to convince myself that I didn't kill her by proxy."

Griz snorted in derision. "You men and your guilt. Always looking for something to take the blame for, just because you think the world revolves around you."  

She stood from her chair, walked over to Jorge and said, "Your Majesty." She took a deep breath, and said, "That's just crap.  You didn't killer her.  The Chancellor did.  You had nothing to do with it, you didn't even know it was done.  So please spare me your sad sack routine of 'poor me, I'm such a bad man'.  You locked yourself up in that mansion and you just sort of ran from the world. Not because you are particularly brave.  But because you AREN'T particularly brave.  It takes guts to face a world that is mean and hard and harsh."  She gathered up Pockets jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"Now," she continued, "Pockets said that someone it going to try to kill you, your majesty.  Pockets says a lot of things, and a lot of times there is no proof of what he says, but I'll tell you this.  In all the years I've been with him, he's been crazy, he's been silly, sometimes he's even been stupid, but he's very rarely wrong.  Unless he does it on purpose, that is.  So you be careful.  Don't open the door to anyone."  She turned away, took a few steps into the other room, then came back.

"You two have hid away your pain for so long, that when someone scratched the wound, you didn't know what to do with it.  Harv, you want to kill the man, but you didn't go running out and do it, like some mad child.  You showed restraint.  Maybe you should be king.  Think about it." She turned to Jorge. "And you... you should take a lesson from your son.  Get out in the world. Get out and start living. Quit making scary statues."  She turned away from the door. "Couple bloody emotional retards..."

"Where are you going?" Harv asked.

"I've going to go have a little chat with a black widow."  She left the Barracks, pulling the door shut behind her.

Behind the barracks was a small stable, and tied by a long cord to the center post of the stable was Chibi.  Hands tied behind her back, feet hobbled by having them tied to a board, she could walk by waddling.  She had been crying, her eyes red and rough, her nose running.  Grizelda didn't care.  She walked over to where Chibi was sitting and sleeping.  Grizelda woke Chibi with a rough kick to the legs.

"Wake up, you snake.  We're going to have a little tea party."

"What do you want, you bitch?" asked Chibi.

"I'm sorry, dear." Grizelda said. "You're the bitch here."  She aimed a kick at Chibi's ribs and was gratified with a solid hit.

"What do you want?" Chibi cried.  "I already told you I was sorry!" The tears leaked freely from her eyes.

"Sorry? You're Sorry!" Grizelda knelt down and grabbed Chibi's hair. "You almost killed one of my men." she said savagely.  "You and your dog, Corwin."  She slammed Chibi's head down onto the hard earth with a thunk. "Now, I'm not going to kill you.  I don't kill anyone. But I want you to understand something, and I want you to understand it really, really good." Grizelda took Chibi's head in her hands and made sure the girls eyes were staring directly into hers. "Pretty soon I will loosen your bonds.  I won't untie you, I'll just loosen them.  You will escape. You will get away, and you will keep going.  I don't care where you go, and I don't care how far." She let go of the girl's head and stood up.  "If I ever, and I mean ever, see you face again I'm going to break my rule.  Just once.  Just for you."  She looked down at the girl, tied up and crying.  "I want you to nod.  Once.  Just to let me know you do, indeed, understand that your life is in my hands."

The girl nodded, once.

 "Good.  Now, I'm going out for a walk.  I want to see what this town has to offer, since, thanks to you, I'm going to be here for a while." She stooped down and loosened the cords binding the girl's hands.  Then she stood, turned away and left.

The night was clear, the moon was just on the side of coming off being full, and the stars shone twinkly down on her.  "God, I love this type of night." she said.

She walked, angry and tense, hoping the night would take it all away, just for a little bit.  In the short distance, she could see the Keep.  Its lights were blazing and she could see evidence of activity.  "Coronation... " she mused.  She believed she knew what was going to happen, she just wasn't sure if it was something she wanted.

Her walks took her through the outskirts of the town, where some of the little cottages were that the townies lived in.  Here and there were lights on, and as she passed by some of the houses, she could hear the sounds of laughter, adult and children.  She smiled at the thought, and also felt a bit of sadness at it, like a dream that you remember but know you'll never reach.

There was one well-defined road that led into and out of the town to and from the Keep.  She followed it at a leisurely pace, just thinking, or trying not to.  Just letting the moon and stars bathe her with healing.

She wandered the trails of her memory while she walked, drifting back over the good, the bad, and sometimes, the very ugly.  All of it brought good feelings, because they survived it.  They always survived, sometimes because of Bags skill, sometimes because of Pockets' genius, sometimes because Grizelda just knew what word to say when and where.  She rarely admitted it to herself, but the belief that they were either blessed or cursed by the Gods and Goddesses was always lurking in the back of her mind.  She shrugged that thought away.  "Doesn't really make matter in the end, does it?"

She walked down into the closed Midway.  The various stands and shops were covered with large tarps, or shut down with panels of wood.  It was quiet and oddly comforting.  She was alone and wrapped in the night.  Sounds filtered down to her from the pub, hidden in its alley way. She was tempted to drop in, just for a quick one.  "Maybe later," she thought. She walked down the road in the opposite direction, through the silent shops.

After a few miles, she crossed to the far edge of the Midway. Turning around, looking back the way she came, she could almost make out the main gate. The road didn't end there, though. It continued further out, to where there were cottages and outbuildings, warehouses and other buildings used to support the residents.  She walked quietly past these places, realizing that some were homes and farms.  She passed a blacksmith's shop, which she noted so she could tell Pockets when he got better.  

Her nose caught the scent of something floral, something familiar. It wafted towards her from a little bit further down the road.  It was coming from a low building with a flat roof.  Windows ran along the outside at regular intervals, four to each side of the front door. There was a small porch on the front, with a single lantern hung near the door.  The lantern was lit and gave a soft glow.  Grizelda went up to the steps and knocked on the door.

The woman who opened it raised her eyes in surprise.  Her hair, shoulder length, framing an oval face, was a mousey brown, curled slightly. Her hazel eyes, bright and pretty were almond shaped. She had a smallish nose, thinnish lips covering wide mouth which opened into gentle smile.

"We don't often get women here... but it takes all kinds.  Welcome, come in.  I'm Stace." Stace held the door open for Grizelda, who stepped carefully in, looking around the place as she entered.

"I'm Grizelda, Stace. I'm not a customer.  I'm a .. I used to be ... I used to have the same job."  She didn't know why that was so hard to say.  "I used to be a prostitute." See?  Easy.

"Oh! Well, then, double welcome, Sister!" Stace gave her a tentative hug.  "Are you looking for work, or just looking?  Do you need a place to stay?"

"No, Stace, not looking for work." Grizelda smiled at the bubbly woman. "Not looking for a place to stay either.  I travel with two men..." she saw the grin on Stace widen, "Two GOOD men, one of which I hope will ask me to marry him."  

Stace shrugged, whatever.  "And the other?"

"He's... he's more like a kid, really.  Not stupid, just rather... no, I don't think I'd call him innocent, actually.  He's just hard to explain."

"Sister!" said Stace. "No explanations required here.  We all have things in our past, in our present and our future.  Here, let me show you around a bit, and you can tell me what brings you here. We're rather small, but I'd like to think we're pretty clean."

The interior was, or used to be fairly pretty.  Red and gold colors adorned the walls in patterns, and here and there were tasteful pictures hung.  The room just to the left of the door, the parlor, had four overstuffed chairs, most of which were occupied by women in various stages of undress.  It too, had the red and gold motive.  There were small tables to the left of each chair. Lamps hung from the walls, turned down so that the light was subdued.  Straight from the door ran a short hall, that turned left and right, and led to other rooms, used for business, and when not used for business, were the sleeping quarters for the girls.  In the back was the kitchen, where the tour ended.

"It's very nice." said Grizelda.  "It brings back a lot of memories."  She and Stace sat over mugs of cocoa spiced with cinnamon.  

"So, you and Bags are lovers, and Pockets is this madman genius who can make anything work.  And you just travel around, city to city?"

Griz nodded. "That sounds pretty boring, doesn't it?" She smiled. "Oh, I could tell you some pretty wild adventures, let me tell you."  Feeling a warmth toward the woman, Grizelda told Stace about Pockets' run-in with Chibi.

"Chibi?" Stace became interested. "Skinny woman, but five foot nothing? Snotty attitude? Not able to be trusted facing her?"

Grizelda nodded again.  "That's the one."

Stace said, "Oh my... Did Pockets come out with his pockets intact? My advice is to stay away from that one, Griz.  She's just bad news.  Heavy into drama, and she'll drag you down into it if she can."

Grizelda debated telling the rest of the story, but decided against it.  She didn't know this woman.  "I'll keep that in mind." she said.  "So what's the story on you're place?" she redirected.  "With the kingdom so far away from every place else, you must not get very much business here."

"Oh, it's all right.  We get a little business, and as you might imagine, we're not really popular with some of the townsfolk here.  For some, that just makes us that much sweeter." She shrugged.  "I don't know though.  I keep thinking there's something not quite right here.  Every year there are fewer and fewer customers."  She leaned in closer. "If I didn't know better, I'd think this kingdom is just about to fold."  She dropped her voice to a bare whisper. "I'm thinking about packing it up and moving on."  Stace leaned back, draped on arm over her chair and asked, "What's it like to the east?  What was business like?"

Grizelda just said "Not bad.  By now they may be looking for some new blood.", and at the same time she was pondering just how much if anything to tell her new friend.  Once again, she decided to say nothing.  Tomorrow, she knew, would always be another day.

"Stace, I need to go.  I just went out for a short walk tonight to clear my head... see the town.  I didn't know this place was here, but I'm glad to find it.  Almost like coming home, you know?"  Grizelda rose to leave.

Stace saw her out through the front door.  "Honey, you are welcome here anytime you want.  I can't promise I'll be here when you come back, all things being the way they are and all.  If I am, I may just have to convince you to stay on." Stace opened the door and gave Grizelda another hug.  "If I'm not, you might find yourself with the deed to this place."  She smiled largely and said.  "Don't be a stranger, you hear?"

Grizelda, returned the hug and gave Stace a kiss on the cheek.  "I won't.  We're going to be here for a while."  She turned and walked off the porch, waving to the woman behind her.

Somehow, she felt lighter, walking back through the town, and as she walked, she sang some of the songs she remembered from her childhood.  The moon had shifted its position quite a bit, and the stars had spun a bit more, but they still shined down with a benevolence and guided her steps through the night.

She almost stopped in at the pub.  Almost, but then she decided that she had spent far too much time with Stace.  She trudged back up the path to the Barracks, and noticed the Keep dark and quiet now.  

Before she went back into the Barracks, she stopped by the stable, and sure enough, Chibi was gone.  She knew Corwin and his boys were still around, somewhere, and figured Chibi ran right to them.  She went into the Barracks and made sure the door was barred, and the trapdoor to the drain was closed and also blocked.

She snuggled down with Bags, happy with her position in life, happy with the world, regardless of tomorrow. Right now, all was right with her world, and if she was right, it was going to just get better.

"Bags?" she whispered.  Bags muttered in his sleep and shifted.  "Bags." She poked him gently.  

"What, Griz?" he said, a bit grumpy.  "I just got done crawling through drains carrying a slut over my shoulder. Tomorrow I have to go kill some bad guys.  Can't I get a little sleep first?"

"I just wanted you to know that, no matter what happens tomorrow, you have made me a very happy life, and I couldn't want any other." She said, leaning on one elbow and smiling.  "I love you for it."  She kissed him on the lips.

"I love you too, Griz."  Bags' voice showed he was fading quickly.

"Bags?"  She poked him again. "Bags?"

"What, babe?  What do you want?"

"You are gonna kill the bad guys tomorrow, yes?"

"Fuckin a, hon.  Now get to sleep!"

"And that just makes me smile", said Grizelda. She lay down next to her man, smiled and faded to sleep.
***************

Bags was the first one up, and had coffee brewing in the kitchen. Out in the front, the members of Queens Gamboni slept huddled together, blankets drawn over and around their bodies to keep the cold of the stone floor away. Harv and his father slept on the two cots that were scrounged up.  

Grizelda made sounds of getting up and getting dressed.  She came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning.  "Morning, Bags."  

Bags nodded her direction. "Long night, dear?"

Grizelda nodded over an extra large yawn. "Yep.  Went out and about last night. You know how sometimes I can't sleep."  She made a pot of tea for herself and poured a mug of it.  She sat next to Bags and blew on her mug, cooling it.  "How's Pockets?"

Bags looked over at his unconscious partner.  "I guess he's fine.  He hasn't shifted or moaned for a while. I'd say he was healing."

"Good." Grizelda replied. "I'm not to worried.  He's looked worse." They looked at the still form of Pockets, asleep. The welts on his back had faded quite a bit. There was a smile on his face and a thin rivulet of drool leaked from one side of his mouth.  He was snoring softly, the snores punctuated occasionally with murmurs and giggles.

"Looks pretty normal to me." said Bags wryly.

Grizelda smiled over her tea.  "By the way, I let Chibi go."

Bags turned with a question on his face. "So I wouldn't have to kill her, dear.  You know how I feel about killing." she explained.

"Ah", he said, nodding.  He understood this about his mate.  Loving, kind, gentle, stubborn, and cranky at times.  She was all of these things, which, according to Bags, made her just about perfect.  

He had also seen her with blood in her eye, a murderous intent on her face.  This made her a scary person, in Pockets estimation.  Bags disagreed, because no matter how often he had seen that side of her, and that was very rare, he knew that Grizelda would not act without thinking, that she would not let that side of her rule the side that makes decisions.  It was something that raised her esteem in his eyes, and was something that was one of the multitude that he had grown to love in her.

From the other room, the soft sound of music filtered through. A guitar, playing low. A sweet and clear soprano came drifting through the building.  Bags just dropped his jaw and listened.  Grizelda stopped in the middle of midsip and joined Bags in no vocal appreciation.  Soon, the guitar was joined by a fiddle, playing gently, and a pipe, picking up the melody line.  The song ran its lyrical way, speaking of lovers parted, finding each other by the moonlight and swearing their undying love.

When the singing was done, Suzy appeared at the door, hair a bit disheveled.  "Sorry, luvs.  Needed an early morning warm up.  'ope it didn't sound too rough.  Is that tea?"  Suzy plopped herself down in a chair and grabbed a mug from a shelf, blew the dust out of it, wiped it with a rag, then poured the hot fragrant liquid into it. "Ahhhhhh." she said. "If only we 'ad some honey."

The other members came flowing in, Bruce in the middle of combing his beard, Bill rubbing sleep from his eyes, and Carlie stretching and yawning.  Of the four, Carlie was the youngest one, a lovely blonde girl with clear blue eyes and full lips.  She smiled at Grizelda and said "Morn' Mum."  Carlie helped herself to a mug of tea as well.

"Doesn't anyone drink coffee?"  Bruce asked.  Bags blew out a mug and handed it him.  Bruce nodded thanks and lit his pipe.  "T'was afraid I'd be the only civilized man in the place." he said, which brought a soft backhand to the head from Suzy.  Bruce winked at Bags and said "'Ceptin' you, of course, me love."

The morning went on in gentle talk and gibes, a bit of singing, coffee, tea and Pockets snoring and murmurs.  Every so often one of the crew would rise and check on him, make sure he was comfortable, change his dressing, and dose him with more painkiller.

"I think 'e'll be fine.  'e seems to be healing remarkably fast." Suzy looked at Bags. "Yer a fighting man, I can tell.  Is your friend here some sort of wizard or sumthin'?  'e ain't quite natur'l, if you pardon me saying so."

Bags and Grizelda exchanged long, meaningful looks at each other, then burst into laughing. Their laughter caused Pockets to rouse, turn his head and go "Shhhh.  Baby's sleeping", which pushed them even deeper, but quieter and more restrained.  Suzy and the musicians just looked at them as if they were not quite all there, with Bill saying "What's so funny?" which started the two off again in quiet, painful gulps of snorts.

Carlie excused herself to the outhouse.  Bruce made mention that they'd all be out there soon enough, so not to take all day, luv.  Carlie passed back an evil look reserved just for him, and Suzy elbowed him in the ribs.

When Grizelda finally ran out of steam, she wiped her eyes and apologized.  "We're sorry." she chuckled.  "Truly we are.  Most folks tend to notice that Pockets is a bit.. peculiar right from the git go, and with how you and he met..." she snorted just a tad.  "Did you really have to ask?"  This brought a fresh set of giggles from her.

"Well, I guess it was a bit... unusual, for sure and true." Suzy said. "But look 'ere.  See 'ow 'e's healin'.  These were wounds that would have taken down a bear.  You're friends just sleeping though it all."  She poked Pockets, gently.  He murmured something then turned his head away.  "Of course, 'e is 'eavily drugged."

"Good thing, too, if you ask me." said Bill.  "Otherwise he'd be screamin his fool head off in pain"

"Yes." echoed Jorge, entering the room, followed by Harv.  "What that poor boy went through." he shook his head.  "And I thought I had nightmares."  He crossed the room to sit by Pockets' side.  "I think, that when he wakes up, Mr. Pockets and I will have a number of interesting discussions."  Harv brought two mugs, steaming for his father and himself.  Jorge looked up at Grizelda and said "Griz.  You are the most incredible woman I've ever know.  Harv and I spoke at great length last night. I think it was the most... adult conversation I'd ever had with him, and quite likely the longest."

Harv looked at Bags and said "I think I understand what you finally mean about dying for something. If I'd have run out of here last night, I probably would have been killed.  That wouldn't have brought mother back. Nothing really will, will it?"

Bags reached over and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.  "Nope.  She's gone, where ever she is. You dying wouldn't have made it better.  It would have made it worse."

"I know that now.  My father is alive, and he's worth dying for.  The dead are already dead," he choked up a bit, "no sense in me joining them."  He looked over at Grizelda.  "Griz, did Pockets tell you who was going to try to kill my father?" he asked in earnest.

"No, Harv." Grizelda just shook her head. "He just said 'bad guys'.  I expect it means Corwin or one of his bunch."

"Well," said Harv.  "We'll be ready for him."  Bags nodded and added "Yup."

That was when Carlie came running in eyes red and nose running and smelling of smoke.  Bags stood immediately, and Grizelda rose and crossed over to the girl.  "What's wrong, honey?  What happened?"

"I was in the .. the.. the.. " the girl sniffed, trying to catch her breath.  

"The outhouse?" Grizelda prompted.  Carlie nodded her head. "Yes. I was out there and suddenly it filled up with smoke!  I screamed and got dressed as quickly as I could, and when I came out here, the whole field was on fire!  I ran into to tell you, but now I don't know what to do!"

Bags walked out to the front room.  Down the length of the room, just near the door, smoke was starting to pour through the cracks under and around the opening.  Looking above the door, he could see wisps starting up there as well. "Ah hell." he said and walked back into the kitchen.

"Harv, help me with Pockets, and be careful of his wounds.  I mean very careful." He bent down to pick up his friend, and Harv moved to help him.

Grizelda stepped in and asked "What's going on, Bags?  What did you see?"

Bags looked over his shoulder at her as he muscled Pockets on his make shift litter through the kitchen door "Bastards sat fire to the building, I figure.  Roof will be dropping in on top of us any minute."  As if to prove his point, smoke was beginning to thicken in the outer room.  "We're going out the way I came in.  I figger it's how Pockets got brought here in the first place.  All of us are going down into the drains."  Placing the litter on the floor, he and Harv shoved the heavy cover off the drain.  Bags looked at Harv in the eye and said, "We're taking the fight to them, son."
******************************************
"Be careful with his head, Bags.  Watch your step, it's slick!" Grizelda cautioned.

Bags looked back at Harv and said "You should realize that every time she says my name, she's really yelling at you."

Bags and Harv were carrying the litter, followed by Grizelda, who gasped at each slip, each misstep.  Behind her was Jorge, who in turn was followed by Queen's Gamboni, each carrying their own instruments.

Grizelda's cautious statements were justified.  The drain was a tight place with slick moss and slippery stone.  Getting Pockets down the stairs from the Barracks, Bags lost his footing, the litter dropped to the steps and slid down, past Bags, who stood with wide eyes as Pockets bounced down the stairs and slid twelve feet further on damp stone.

Grizelda muscled them out of the way to examine her charge, who briefly opened his eyes, smiled an idiots smile and said "Whee" and promptly went back to snoring.

"No 'arm done, apparently." said Suzy.  They had all crowded in the little space to see what sort of damage had been done.  

"No, and there won't be, will there, boys?"  Grizelda stood up and glared at Bags and Harv, with the 'Harm one hair" threat of a mother hen in full armor.

Since then, Grizelda had been after the men for every step they took.  It was starting to wear on Bags, who answered every caution with a clenched "Yes, dear" from his teeth.

The troupe made their way to the left-hand turn that would take them under the Keep.  Bags told Harv to put Pockets down, carefully, he stressed, looking Grizelda in the eye.  She had no eyes except for Pockets.

"Griz," he said.  I reckon you best stay here with Pockets, since I know you wouldn't get a moment's peace if you didn't.  Jorge, I don't know if it's safe for you in the Keep or not.  If Griz is right, and Pockets is right, someone will try to kill you up there.  Or down here."

Jorge stepped forward and adjusted his robes. His head was held high, his eyes were clear.  The man Grizelda saw standing uncertain in the sculpture room was gone.  He didn't step forward as Jorge, man hiding in a mansion.  He stepped forwards as Jorge, King of Tears.

"Bags, I am still King here.  If I am to die, I will die as King, and if I'm to live, it will also be as King.  I will tell you one thing, however.  Them sonsabitches are gonna know what it's like to have a King pissed off."  He turned down the left-hand corridor and walked the short way to the stone stairs that led up.  Once there, in the darkness, he turned and said, in a deep and booming voice, "Well?".

"Okay then."  He went over to Grizelda and kissed her hard.  He looked her in the eyes as deep as a man can get with a woman and said "Honey?"

"Yes, Bags?" she replied.

"You still got that knife?"

"Yep." she affirmed. "And if anyone comes near us, I'll cut his balls six ways to Sunday."

"That's why I love you, Griz.  Always the delicate flower."  He hugged her with all the length of his arms and told her, "Don't wait up." And left to follow the King.

Queen's Gamboni passed by Grizelda, and each of them reached out to touch her.  For each touch she said "Blessed be" and each one nodded.  Only Suzy stopped long enough to give her a hug.

"M'lady," she said.  "I feel a kinship wit' you.  Be 'ere when it's all said and done with, all right?"  She hugged Grizelda, kissed her on the cheek and gave a "Blessed be" to Grizelda before it could be spoke.  Then Suzy gathered up her skirts and followed the pack.

Harv was the last one.  He looked at Grizelda and she at him.  There were beads of sweat on his brow, despite the chilled dampness in the air.  

"Griz, I'm scared.  It's one thing to imagine going to fight, and very much another to actually go do it."

Griz came over and put her arm around Harv.  "Harv, you think about this.  Pockets, here.  Laying almost dead.  Bags, off to fight someone younger than him, by a lot of years.  He may not come back, and he will need your arm there.  Then there's your father.  He is not the man I met in the mansion.  He's the King, Harv.  He's the King.  And you, Harv, are his son.  Can you be any less a man than he is?"

From down the way, Bags yelled "Harv!"

"Do you not think that Bags is scared?  Right now his heart is beating, oh, a million times a minute!  He knows he may die.  He knows he may never see me or Pockets or sunlight or anything ever again.  He's told me before, in the quiet when he doesn't think anyone else hears him that it is fear that's kept him alive.  Fear that I'll come drag his skinny ass from whatever hell he's in, and then he'd never hear the end of it for getting himself killed."

Harv laughed, lightly.  "As he said to me, 'It's worth dying for'".

"Yes, Harv.  It is.  Now go be a hero.  I saw how that Carlie looked at you." She grabbed his ear and tweaked it.  "Blessed be, Harv.  And come back alive, or I'll drag your skinny ass back too." She slapped his cheek and bent over Pockets saying "That goes for you too, little runt."  Pockets murmured happily in his no-mans land of dreams.

"Bout time, junior. I figured you were gonna miss the party." said Bags. "What were you doing back there?  Novenas?"

"Nope.  Just figuring out what was worth dying for, boss." Harv grinned up at the big man.

"Your Majesty, I suggest you let me and Harv go up first." Bags suggested.  Before Jorge could protest, he added, "You are the King, okay, fine.  But you are also unarmed. If there is a bad guy up there, I'd rather he meet me first, because he'd be meeting me last."

Jorge stepped back from the stone steps and said "Lead the way, General"  

Bags gave a humph in response, and climbed the steps.  He pushed the wooden door up slightly and looked down the hall.  No one was about.  He turned back and whispered back, "Look.  This opens in to a hallway, one level above the Great Hall.  There's a doorway about thirty feet in that leads to a room.  I'm going to go check to see if that room is empty, then I'll come back for you folks."

"Suzy, you get your people to keep their instruments quiet.  I don't know how much noise will travel in this place, and I don't know if anyone is nearby.  Everyone got that?"

Whispered agreements rose up at him.  Bags looked at Harv and counted on his fingers. One. Two. Three.  

The door was quietly opened as wide as it could go, and Bags and Harv hurriedly stepped away from it and then put it back in it's place.

Quickly, silently, they moved down the hall, past the open door that lead to the balcony, without stopping to look inside of it.  They got to the door of the room where Bags found Chibi and stopped.  After a moment's of listening, Bags pushed it open.

And found Chibi, sitting on a chair, facing them.

"Why hello, Bags." she said, sweetness and light so that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.  "Please come in.  And I see you brought Harv. Now nice."  

Bags was frozen with indecision.  He was found out, he knew, and he figured he had about one second to do something about it.

It was one second too late.  Behind the two men another voice said "Yes, please, Mr. Bags.  Do come in. I'll admit, we're a bit surprised to see you, but then again this works out just as well."  Bags could feel something very pointy pushing at his back, urging him inside.  "No funny business, all right.  See, I don't really care if I kill you or not, but I'd hate to put the cleaners out."

Bags and Harv were ushered into the small room, which became very crowded by the time Corwin and three of his boys came in.

"Now then, isn't this just cozy.  Have a sit, gents."  Corwin motioned for the two men to move against the wall and sit down against it.  Harv looked to Bags to take his cue.  Bags nodded, slightly, and the two men did as they were told.

"Where's the rest of the dogs, Corwin.  It is Corwin, isn't it?  Or do you prefer Cor, as in apple, as in rotten to the..."

"Cor's my name, all right." Tall and abrasive, he leaned back against the door. Chibi joined him there and he tossed an arm around her shoulders. His chums stood on either side of him. one next to him, two next to Chibi.

Bags sized them up.  The one next to Corwin was tall, had bad skin, and a way of smiling so that you think his teeth would fall out any moment.  The squint to his eyes meant that he couldn't see very well.  There was also an unnatural way he held his right arm, which indicated it had been broken sometime in the past and had not healed well.

The two next to Chibi were cut from the same mold as each other.  Short, stocky, low of brow. Not very intelligent, Bags thought.  But knowing that assumptions can get you killed, he also assumed they were just as likely geniuses.  Very mean looking and fairly strong geniuses with mean sparkles in their eyes... bloodlust.

"You look different without your robes, Cor." Bags said.  "That was you in the pub that first night, right? You met Chibi and Pockets in the outskirts and brought him here, tortured him, then drug him through the drains again to put him in the Barracks for safe keeping."

"Very good!" chuckled Corwin. "Very good indeed! That may be the longest sentence you ever made, I think."  He crossed to where Bags sat, squatted down on his haunches and looked the older man square in the eyes, all the while keeping a thin blade pointed at Bags' heart.  "I may have misjudged you, sir." he said. "You are not the simple muscle bumpkin I took you for."

Corwin looked at Harv and said, "I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in this, Harv.  You're a good kid, really you are.  Once you had left the kingdom, and you were going to leave the kingdom, I know, we were going to kill the king, such as he is, and dump him with your mother.  I can see now why this man attracted you so.  He's twice the man your father is."

Harv spat in Corwin's face.  "That makes him four times the man you are, you murderer."

"Yes.  I'm a murderer." Corwin calmly wiped the spittle off his face. "So what?  Everyone needs a hobby." He rose, crossed to one of the chairs and sat.  "Bags?  Be a good boy and toss your bag to Chibi.  Chibi love, I want you to go through it and find that little trinket Beegle is all hot and bothered about.  Then I want you to take that little trinket to Beegle, tell him that the payment is due.  When you get the gold, come back here, help me dispose of these bodies, and we're gone, shed of this place forever."

Bags unloosed the bag from around his neck.  He gently tossed it to Chibi.  "Good luck," he said.  To Corwin, "What makes you think it's in my bag?  Pockets was the last one with it."

Chibi opened the bag and looked deep into it.

Corwin smiled, flipped the knife in his hand, and said, "Simple deduction, dear Bags. It wasn't in that cracker box of a wagon.  Your Pockets didn't have it on him, wasn't anywhere in that rag he calls a jacket.  Your Grizelda didn't mention it when I threatened her life.  She's a tough one, that one is."  

He leaned back in his chair.  "I knew that you three wouldn't let it out of your reach for long.  Since it was nowhere else to be found. Except. Your. Bag."  He rocked the chair back on it's legs.  "Chibi, it can't be that hard. The bag isn't that big.  Reach in and grab it, you stupid cow."

Chibi just looked at Corwin and said, "But Cor! It's empty... there's nothing in it!"

Corwin stood up, walked over to Chibi and grabbed the bag. "That's impossible. With all the crap he shoved into it, it can't be empty.  

The others crowded around Corwin and Chibi, trying to see what the trick was, and Bags caught Harv eye, pointed two fingers to the left, nodded and pushed away from the wall, charging straight at Corwin, swinging his blade overhead in an arc.  Harv did the same, and rushed at the two next to Chibi, sword drawn.

Caught by surprise, Corwin dropped the bag, and tried to recover his knife. By the time he had, he was even more surprised to see his chum, nearly beside him, and a new and warm and sticky pain in his belly.

Bags pinned Corwin's knife hand against the wall, and said "Sonny, though they say it's not the size that counts, today I says it is.  Never bring a pig sticker when you go hunting bear."

Harv had slain one of the dark twins and was wrestling with the other, bashing his head against the flagstones of the floor.  It was apparent the man was unconscious, but somehow that fact didn't matter to Harv.

When the bag fell, it fell open.  There was a tinkly sound and Chibi's eyes were drawn to a small, egg shaped object that fell out of the bag. Quick as a cat, she snatched it and without a look back ran through the doorway.

Corwin's eyes were glazing over.  Bags smiled as he said, "You feel that?  Those are your guts, hanging down.  That heaviness where your belt usually is, is your intestines.  A gut wound like this can take a man days to die.  Have a long life."  Bags let go of the younger man, who just sagged down to the floor.

Bags walked over to Harv, tapped him on the shoulder, and ducked back when Harv came up swinging. "It's over Champ.  We won.  We didn't kill the bitch, but the bad guys are dead."

"All of 'em?" asked Harv, breathing heavily.  He looked around.  "I'm surprised it was that easy."

"Well.. we had the advantage.  They thought they had us out-numbered." Bags smiled and clapped the younger man on his shoulder. "Let's go get the others.  This is a bit of a grizzly scene."  He said this in response to Harv decidedly greener complexion after he saw what took the place of Corwin's belly.  

Out in the hall, Harv stopped by one of the slit windows to breathe.  Then he straightened, turned and looked at Bags.  "Bags?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Weren't there six of the Chancellor's Boys?" Harv said.

The two men looked at each other, eyes widened just a bit just before they both took off running for the trap door down to the drain.
**********************************************************
Short hair rising above chartreuse gown, Chibi ran through the hallway, clutching the windup in her hand.  She got as far as the first stairway and stopped.  From her mind she pulled an idea.  A typical idea for Chibi. Something not quite devious, but something very sneaky.  And something that was entirely about her.

She raised one thin finger to her bottom lip and played with it while she thought.  She should, by all means, take the windup to the Chancellor, just as Corwin had demanded.  She should, she really should.  

Corwin was a wonderful lover.  Okay, maybe he was a bit rough at times, but he was, after all a man.  A man who could get her what she wanted, anything she wanted.  He had the muscle and the drive and the anger to force him to be the king of any situation.  

She didn't love him, but she had told him she did.  She saw in him security, a means to an end, a way to be safe and taken care of.

But he was boring.  He pretended to be intelligent, and he would become very angry every time she corrected his grammar or pointed out something that should have been obvious.  

Still he was a good provider.  With enough money, he could afford to treat her like a queen.

Of course... with enough money, she could treat herself like a queen, and not have to share it with anyone.

She smiled a wicked smile as she ran up the staircase, instead of down.  Down would have led her to the Chancellor.  Up would lead her to a secret room that she had seen twice before when she and the Chancellor met in the dark... and they met without Corwin knowing it.

The secret room was the old treasury room that had been abandoned when Jorge became King.  The Chancellor had been slowly stealing from the new treasury room and hiding the gold there for many years.  In it was enough gold to keep the kingdom running for years, and bring in new trade from across the desert.  Without it, the kingdom did well enough, being generally self-sufficient, as long as trade was fairly stable and fair.

Years ago, the Chancellor had decided he should be king.  Obviously Jorge was not fit to rule. Too soft, too easy. This Kingdom could be a grand place, a center of civilization with just the right hand guiding it.  That had to be the hand of Beegle, the Chancellor.

So he began his plan.  He found a village tough, Corwin, and brought him up as his own.  The boy's rough attitude and bullying nature was a perfect compliment to the Chancellor, and the perfect tool.  With him, the Chancellor created a sense of fear, of over taxation, of strife.  And it was done all in the name of the king.  The rumor was spread that the kingdom was going bankrupt.  The safe circle of domestic tranquility had been broken.  The only fly in the ointment was the Queen.  She caught Beegle on one of her late night wanderings, hiding gold in the old treasury room.  It was an easy thing to overpower her and hide her away with the stolen gold.

The Chancellor had laid the plan out well.  With the advent of this ridiculous coronation, it provided the perfect opportunity to get the King in a position alone, in the Keep.  

When the King showed up, Corwin would assassinate him, hide the body in the drains, and the Chancellor would then hold court in the king's absence, claiming the king had, once again, suffered one of his many breakdowns, and would not come out of the mansion.

After a while, the chancellor would claim the position of ruler, as the king apparently would never come to lead his people again.  Then the body would be disposed of for good, and eventually the people would accept the Chancellor as the only king.  Of course, something would have to be done with the King's brat, but that would be an easy thing.

All that was needed was the key, which the Chancellor had been lost years ago. Beegle had told his boys to keep their eyes open for it. Eventually, Chibi, having actually seen the key, caught sight of it in a game on the Midway.  It was only fate that presented itself in the form of the moron, Pockets, who had the luck to snag it and carry it away.

Chibi now had the key.  She chuckled to herself as she flew past the second floor landing.  One more staircase to climb and she'd be almost home free.  She'd unlock the door, gather up all the gold and jewels she could carry, and if she was lucky, would be able to carry more than she could carry, if she could find a bag.  Then she would slip out the back way, and leave this dying kingdom and travel... anywhere!  She'd set herself up with some old fart about to die, and live in a life of luxury till the day she died.

"If I'm lucky, maybe Corwin got himself killed, this time." she said, as she mounted the first steps of the next stairway.  A shadow above her caused her to slow, steady her breathing, act nonchalant.

It was Doree, one of the maids, bringing down another tablecloth.  They knew each other, and had actually played with each other when they were children.  As Doree came closer, she smiled broadly and curtsied, knowing that Chibi had the ear of the Chancellor.

"Hello m'lady." she said.

"Hello Doree." Chibi said.  "More tablecloths?"

"Yes'm.  Some wine spilled and there were replacements called for." Doree explained.

"Ah.  Are there any more?  Just in case?"  Chibi asked.

"Yes'm.  In the linen on the third floor, nice and fresh."

"Good!  Excellent" Chibi chirped. No need to find a bag, now.  "Thank you, Doree.  Carry on."

"Thank you, m'lady.  Always nice to see you."  Doree continued on her way.

"And you, Doree." Chibi began to climb the steps again.

From below, Chibi heard the unmistakable syllable "Bitch". Chibi just laughed.  Sticks and stones. Gold forgives all sins.

Up she flew, turning on the third landing and running down the hall.  She stopped by the linen and grabbed one of the spare tablecloths.

When she came to the mid-point, she stopped, turned to her right and saw one small alcove.  It was the one with the wooden trapdoor.  She turned back around, and saw the twin alcove, just across the way.

She stepped into the opening and ran her hand down the right wall.  Her fingers found the indentation an inch above the floor and slipped inside.  She got bit by something, and pulled her fingers out quickly, one of them pricked slightly with a drop of blood on the end.  She placed it into her mouth and sucked the pain away.

She didn't care.  She was this close.  She could feel the rush in her ears as her pulse pounded, as the adrenaline pushed all else away.  She held the windup to her eyes and matched its egg shape to the indentation.  She slipped it inside and gave the brass key a turn, and another, and another.

The windup started to tick, tick, tick, and there was a soft grinding as dust sifted away, and stone gears began to complain and whine against having been woken after such a long slumber.

Slowly a crack formed at the base of the alcove.  A thin section of the wall, only two foot wide started to rise into a slot in the ceiling. Higher and higher it rose, until there was a square opening at the bottom.  The grinding stopped, the secret door stopped, and the ticking stopped.

"More!" Chibi commanded.  The door did not appear to hear her.  She reached over and gave the key a whack with the palm of her hand.  The grinding started; the door rose another six inches and then stopped again.  "Good enough for me." said Chibi. She sank down to her knees and started to crawl through the opening.  

Through the opening, soft light filtered through ruined ceiling and everywhere shine was evident.  On gold, on jewels, on coins, in Chibi's eyes.  She paused, entranced. Starving dog, shown fresh meat, she was.  She felt her mouth watering.

"This is it, Chibi girl," she said.  "This is what mamma's little girl has been waiting for all her life.  It's all here, and it's all for me!"  She crawled forward to claim her prize, dragging the tablecloth behind her.

The tablecloth, having a mind of its own, snagged a thread on a corner of a not quite flat flagstone. It pulled just enough so that when the tension snapped, it flew just an inch above the floor and settled over the brass key.

Chibi was halfway through the opening when she felt the slight drag on the table cloth.  She tugged and the tablecloth tugged back.  She tugged harder, saying "Look! I'll be damned if one tiny snag is going to keep me from what's mine!  And it's all mine!"

At that point, the cloth came loose, and unfortunately for Chibi, it pulled the key with it.  With a quick squeal and a slam of stone on stone, the door once again closed, seamlessly.  If anything else was said from the now bisected Chibi, it was heard only by the Queen, whose skull smiled quietly, in the dark.
******************************************************
It was dark below the wooden trap door leading down to the drains.  It was also empty below the wooden trap door.  There was nobody waiting for Bags and Harv as they hurriedly lifted the door and flew down the stairs.

It wasn't noiseless though.  In the distance the sounds of sobbing could be heard, combined with the sounds of low voices talking.  Bags and Harv carefully approached the intersection where Grizelda had been left, not knowing what to expect, and not knowing where the others went.

They stopped in the darkness of the corner and Bags held up his hand for silence.  He wanted to know what he was up against.

"All right now, say it again." came a mans voice.

A younger man's voice "I'm sorry we caused you so much pain, I promise never to do it again.  And if I do, my life is yours, from this day forth till the day it pours."

"Pretty bad rhymin' there, m'love." A woman's voice.  "Don't you think you could do a bit better?"  Suzy.

Bags stepped around the corner, followed by Harv.  His eyebrows went up, and Harv started to snicker.

The image they were greeted with was one of Pockets, sleeping like a babe on his litter, smile on his round face.  Grizelda, always watchful was close at hand, and was sitting on... it looked like a person.  A young man to be exact, who was bleeding from a large lump on his forehead, and apparently unconscious.

A bit further down the way, Bruce, Suzy, and Bill had another man pinned up against the wall.  Bruce had his pipe in one hand, pointing at the young man, and a short, but stout club in the other.  Jorge and Carlie were standing off to one side.  The King was wearing his robes, a bit worse for wear having a large rip down the left side.  He was also wearing a smirk of indulgence.  Cassie had one hand over her mouth and was doing her very best to stifle little yelps of laughter.

The young man pinned up against the wall was wearing a robe and hood, quite a bit like he had that night in the pub.  His eyes were wide and he was not smiling at all.  A thin trickle of blood ran down one of his cheeks.

"Now listen, lad," said Bruce, "this here is no game.  You and yer chum came sneakin' out of the dark with the insidious plan to do bodily harm to us all."  

He poked his pipe stem out at the trapped man, who shrieked a bit and turned his head.  The pipe stem slipped against his cheek and left a line of red there, which shortly started to ooze.

"Now, me 'n my friends here are gonna let you go.  Where you go, doesn't matter to me, as long as I ne'er see yer face again?  Got it?"

"Yes sir!" said the trapped man.  "You'll never see me again! I promise!"

Bags cleared his throat and Harv moved over to where Carlie stood.

All heads turned toward the noise and Grizelda jumped off the unconscious lad, ran over to Bags, and throwing her arms around his neck, whispered in his ear, "I wasn't worried. Not one bit."  She gave him a kiss that he would remember, stepped back and gasped.

"And where did all this blood come from?  It better not be yours, that's for sure.  And do you have any idea what it will take to get it out?"

Bags looked down at his shirt.  It was, indeed, covered with blood.  He smiled at Grizelda and said, gently, "Corwin's.  Maybe a little bit of mine, but not enough to count.  Mostly his.  Nice to see you too, Griz."  He looked around and said "What happened here?"

Bruce stepped up and said, "Oh, they thought they'd be clever monkeys, they did.  Came slippin' up the other direction, thinking they were gonna be guarding this side.  One of them took a poke at yer missus.. and well.. you can see what that got him."  He pointed to the man on the ground.  "Nasty right hook she's got, sir. Somethin to be proud of, I'd say."

"You're telling me." agreed Bags.  "And this one?" He pointed at the other man, still held against the wall by a combination of Bill's arm and Suzy's meanest stare.  Bags had to admit that if she looked at him like that, he'd be up against the wall, too.

"Oh, he was behind the other one. Not very graceful, that one.  He tripped when his chum went down.  Pity that, because yer Griz just planted a heel in his back side and he just couldn't seem to get back up after that.  Well... not till we came a'runnin'.  He put up such a catterwallerin." Bruce looked back at the young man and shook his head. "His momma is probably turnin' over in her grave, such an embarrassment he is."

Bags nodded, once, then asked, "What was that trick with your pipe?  How did you cut him like that?"

"Like this."  Bruce ran his thumb from bowl to stem and the pipe grew a six inch blade.  "I had it made special. When you go travelin' as much as we do, surprise is the best weapon you got."

"Ah." said Bags. "Carry on, then.  I need to sit down."  He crossed to where Pockets lay, and sat down next to him.  Grizelda sat down and took one of his hands.  "I was concerned, you know.  Not worried." she said.

"I know, honey." Bags kissed her brow, when she lay her head on his shoulder.

"What about Chibi?" she said.

"Got away." Bags replied.  "Got away while we were busy killing bad guys for you."

"That's too bad." Grizelda said.  "Would have liked to have had more of a chat with her." She sighed. "Oh well, I'm sure she'll get what she deserves."

"Yeah," said Bags.  "Without that Corwin around, she'll pretty much be between a rock and a hard place. I didn't find anyone that liked her."

Harv was speaking animatedly with his father, who stood listening, a proud smile on his face.  "And then Bags pointed with two fingers and nodded.  It was so great, Dad!  I knew exactly what to do.  They never knew what happened.  We just hit them and they fell down. It was so cool!"  He was so excited, he was almost dancing. "I found something out, too.  Even though I know they killed mother, it wasn't revenge I was doing."

"Oh?" said the King.

"No.. no.. it was.. well.. it was for you, Dad.  It was for the kingdom.  It was something worth dying for, like Bags said."  Harv nodded in Bags' direction, and Bags nodded back.  "It did feel good, though.  Bashing that bastard's head in." he admitted sheepishly.

Jorge walked over to Bags and said, "Bags, it's time we got this show on the road.  By now, the Chancellor probably thinks we're dead. Let's go see what all this is about."

"Umm.. what about me?" said the man against the wall.

Bruce looked over at Bags.  Bags looked up at Bruce and said "Don't look at me.  He's your problem."

Bruce walked over to the teary eyed, bloody cheeked youngster and said, "Boyo, it's time you ran home.  When you get there, you burn this robe, you clean your face, and you find yourself a respectable job. If I hears any differn't, I'll be teachin' you part two of this singin' lesson.  You got that?"  Bruce jabbed the pipe in the younger man's midriff, getting an appropriate 'oof' out of him.  "I didn't hear you."

"Yes sir!" shouted the younger man.  Bruce nodded at Bill, who let the man go.  Suzy still held him with her baleful glare.

"You better run, boy.  I've seen her set better men then you ablaze with that look."  The younger looked from Suzy to Bruce, from Bruce to Suzy, back to Bruce, said "Thank you, sir!" and, lifting his skirt, ran off down the corridor.

Suzy dusted her hands together saying "Teach 'im to pick on us defenseless old folks, won't it now?"

Bruce nodded and said "Yes it will, m'love.  I have a feeling we just scared the life INTO him."

Grizelda looked at Pockets and said, "He's not ready to be alone yet, Bags."

Bags kissed Grizelda and said "I know, honey.  You watch him.  We'll be back when it's all over."  He stood up, walked over to stand next to Jorge and said, "Lead on, your Majesty."

Jorge turned to Harv and asked, "Coming, son?"

Harv looked over from where he and Carlie had been in conversation.  She seemed all starry-eyed, unable to move from Harv's side.  Harv said "Dad, if it's all right with you, I'll stay down here with Grizelda."  He looked at Bruce and Suzy and asked, "Is it all right if Carlie stays down here with me? She says she just feels safer by my side."

Bruce hmphed, muttering something about losing the fiddle, but Suzy poked him in the side, hushing him. "Certes it's all right.  She's been a bit tired lately, 'aven't you dear?  I'm sure all this excitement has just worn you down to a nubbin'."  She took Bruce's arm and pulled him in the direction the King was going. "Come'n, you old sour.  Let the young ones know what we already know, aye?"

Bill just tagged along behind, but he looked back at where Harv and Carlie were, and catching Harv's eye, gave him a knowing wink.

Pockets in slumberland, moved restlessly and, with a cherubic grin, murmured "I just love the waltz, don't you?"
*************************************
"Citizens of Tears. You have been gathered here today to witness a coronation."  The great Hall was filled with merchants, farmers, worKing folk.  They sat, stood, slouched and wondered why they had been called to the Keep.  

The Great Hall of the Keep was a large rectangle, some fifty foot or more on the long side, a little under twenty-five feet on the short side. The walls were decorated with red and gold tapestries depicting various scenes of the history of Tears.  There were tapestries that even had images going back to when the desert was a forest.

The center of the Hall was a table, rectangular as well, covered in white linen and running almost thirty feet long. There was enough room for twenty chairs on each side, with one on each end.  It used to be used for visiting dignitaries from neighboring Kingdoms back when there were neighboring Kingdoms.

Most of the chairs were filled with towns folks, but there were some empty spaces.  The general attitude of the Hall was one of irritation, from having been pulled from their place of business to a place where very little was done.

At the far end of the Great Hall was the throne, large and wooden, magnificent in mass, and ornately carved. The seat and was red velvet. Upon the seat sat the Chancellor, well appointed in his velvet gowns, and wearing a peaked black cap on his head.  He raised his hand for silence, and gradually the grumbles in the Hall died down.

"Now, I know many of you are not happy about being pulled here from your money making establishments.  I, myself, was not entirely pleased about today's event.  I have many things that are needed to be attended to."

There were a few comments about taxing and buggering, and a few chuckles rose from that.

The Chancellor rose, waited for the din to die down, stepped forward one step and continued. "We all know the King has not appointed an heir to the throne, so this was a complete surprise to me as well. The King has ordered a coronation for today.  The event was to have occurred several hours ago, at noon.  It is well past three o'clock, and most of the day has been wasted."   He scanned the audience to see what sort of reaction was there.  What he saw was complete boredom combined with a number of nodding heads and a few shouts of agreement.

"The King has not come out of his mansion, and, to all appearances will not.  I sent a messenger there an hour ago.  The messenger returned and told me the King will not answer the door, nor will his son, Harv."  

He took a dramatic pace to the left, reached up, stroked his chin in thought, turned to the audience and went on.  "My good people of Tears!  I believe that your King is no longer capable of running your Kingdom!  It is with a heavy heart that I feel I must perform the duty set before me.  I feel, in all fairness to you, that I, your Chancellor, must assume the throne and rule in his place!"  Dead silence reached him.

"What say you?" He asked. "You know that for many years, the Kingdom has been near bankruptcy. You, as the financial leaders of our Kingdom have had to suffer the burden of paying for the many, many areas of upkeep and repair, the burden of paying for protection from outside forces that would see us overrun and destroyed.  You have watched as the education levels of your children have dropped and seen areas of the Kingdom fall to ruin and waste, only to be taken over by the very dregs of society that you pay to be protected from!"

There were quite a few nods of agreement at that.  There were a very few voices raised in protest, saying that the same payments for protection were what created the Kingdom's wastelands, but the Chancellor chose to ignore those.

"What I offer you is this:  With me as your new ruler, I will beat back the tide of poverty that has ruined this Kingdom.  I will rid our town of the scum that inhabit the wastelands, I will fill our coffers once again, establish new routes of trade with neighboring Kingdoms, maKing us the prosperous place we were many, many years ago!"

He watched as there were pockets of debate.  He could feel there were large groups against him, but he was safe in the knowledge that his Boys would quell any type of rebellion.  A word here, a little light violence there, and all would be as it should be.  Him as ruler.

He did have the Kingdom's best interests in mind.  He truly did want it to be prosperous and grow.  He wanted to be remembered as the King that saved Tears from destruction.  He just wanted it to be done his way, with blind, unquestioning obedience to the King.  Which meant him.

"This is not something for debate.  I have been your Chancellor for many years, and the running of the Kingdom is something I am well familiar with.  It will be my honor, it will be my duty, it will be my sworn oath to you that I..."

"Blah, blah, blah.  It will be your sworn oath to them that you'll beat them into submission if they don't follow you." A voice rose from behind the throne and grew in volume.  "Do these people know how much you've stolen from them?" Bags stepped into view.  "Do these people know that your 'Boys' are nothing more than thugs used as a weapon against them?"

The Chancellor crossed over to Bags and said "I have never...!"

Bags replied, "Yeah?  Perhaps that's your problem.  Maybe you should."  He placed his hand against the flat of the Chancellor's chest and shoved him, pushing him back into the throne. "Now pipe down, bub, or you're gonna be in a world of hurt."

He stood and looked out over the throng of people.  "Are you folks nothing more than cattle to be milked, butchered and used as fodder for this man?  Gods and Goddesses, folks.  I've smelled better stink downwind of a sheep shearing."  He stepped down from the throne's pedestal and sat, feet flat on the floor, with one arm on his knee.

"Now look.  This guy, this Beegle, has been in control of you since he took over.  His Boys were his trained army, and if any of you got out of line, missed a tax payment or whatever, he sent them to have a little chat with you."  He scanned the crowd.  "Well?  Am I right?"

There were some grumbles of agreement and more than a few nods of the head. "I know I'm right. I've seen  his petty type of ruler before.  Take from the people just a bit. Then talk about security and how the bad and evil invaders are just outside the gates.  How many of you have been outside the gates?"

Nobody moved.  "Oh, come on now!  Nobody?  Anybody?"  Again, not a single person said or did anything.

"What a buncha .... Well, I've been outside the gates. In fact, I'm one of the evil invaders you were warned about." He turned and pointed to the Chancellor.

"This man sent his 'Boys' to kill my best friend.  He sent his 'Boys' to kill the King."  There were quite a number of gasps at that. "He intends to steal the Kingdom and rule it with his 'Boys', and you will be his faithful milKing cows, for him to milk till you have nothing left to give. Is that what you want?  Is that the life you want to lead?  For you?  For your children?"

The Chancellor rose and said "What a pack of lies!  What proof do you have that any of this is true?"

Bags turned to stare the Chancellor down.  Their eyes locked in a brief battle.  Slowly the Chancellor gave ground and resumed sitting.  Bags crossed over to him and said "I told you to pipe down."  He reached up, grabbed the Chancellors nose and gave it quite a tweak.  Tears immediately sprung from the Chancellor's eyes, and a squeal of pain erupted from his lips.

Bags turned back to the crowd, who had no idea what to make of what was going on, but it was a far better show then they had hoped for.  Every seat at the table was now full, and the place was silent, waiting for the second act.

"Now, I know you think your King has forgotten you. He hasn't.  I'll agree that he has been holed up in that mansion of his for far too long. I'll agree that he may have appeared to not care, and be pretty much concerned with raising vegetables..."

"I believe I can take it from here, Bags."  Jorge, King of Tears, stepped forward.  Another gasp rose from the audience.  

Here was not the King they had expected, shabby and old and worn.  This was a King, dressed in his finery, wearing the crown of office.  Jorge stood tall, walked tall and determined.  He stood before the people of Tears, and examined them.  Each and ever person in that Hall later described their feeling as they told about how the King, King Jorge, looked at them, in their own eyes with his eyes, and smiled.  They all agreed it was a marvelous thing, it was a sense of pride, a sense of dignity.  As he looked at them, each and every person sat a bit straighter, a bit taller.

Jorge spread his hands.  "My people.  I have, I fear, failed you in the worst way.  Many years ago, I was a good King.  Perhaps not a great King, but a good King.  We traded with the towns and villages outside our Kingdom and had many friends we could depend upon.  The market was always abuzz with peoples that were a bit strange, agreed, but friendly, and bringing their own money to spend on our goods, in the hopes that we would visit their own towns, villages and Kingdoms, and spend our own money with them."

"And not just money!  We spent time, we laughed, we danced, we sat with them at our tables and traded tales of ways of life!" He paused and let his mind fade back, briefly.  A tear came to his eye.  

"That all changed when my wife left me.  I let my misery take control of my life.  I did to you the one thing that a King, a father, a husband, should never do to his subjects, his children... his wife."  He wiped the tear away, but continued on, still smiling, but a bit sadly.  "I went away from you and locked myself in my mansion.  I left you in the hands of strangers to raise you up as they saw fit.  I was selfish, and for that, I'm truly, truly sorry.  I cannot repair the damage I have done by myself.  No one man can."  

Not a sound was made in the Hall.  Not a whisper, not a scrape of a chair.  This was far too good a show to interrupt. All eyes were on the King.

Jorge continued, "I was wrong.  My wife did not leave me.  She was murdered, and she was murdered by this man, this... Beegle."  He turned and pointed at the Chancellor, who was red faced and straining to figure someway out.  The knuckles on his hands were white with the tension.

The sound in the Hall was furious.  Everyone had heard the tale of how the King's wife had left him. There were even bets that she did not leave alone, and even more bets as to who she left with.  The noise of a hundred voices was deafening, and it all stopped when the King raised his right hand for silence.

"I turn to you, my people of Tears.  I have failed you in a horrible and unjust way.  Today, though, I start anew.  I step down as your King.  It is time for a change, you see.  You have need of strong leadership.  I no longer have that.  You have need of someone with far sight and a sense of adventure.  I agree with the Chancellor.  We need to re-establish trade again.  We need to open our doors and tear down our walls."  He stopped to listen to the sounds of agreement, then raised his hand again.

"Only I'm not the man to do it.  I have picked my successor. I have selected this man, Timothy Bags, to be your King!" He turned and pointed to Bags, whose jaw dropped with such speed that his jaw popped.  

The King winked at Bags, and turned to the Chancellor.  "You, sir.  You, Beegle, are Chancellor no more."  

He crossed to the throne, pulled back his right hand and laid a backhanded slap against the Chancellor that rung through the Hall.  The force was enough that it knocked the Chancellor.. the ex-Chancellor out of the throne. "Get out of my Kingdom. I considered having you placed on the wall, but I do not want your stink around.  Get out, and do not ever come back."

Beegle crab walked towards the back of the throne, but was stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder.  He looked up and saw the face of Bruce, who just shook his head and said "Not this way, laddie. Out the front, like the rest of us commoners."  Bruce helped Beegle to his feet, and then helped him on the way with a well placed boot on the seat of Beegle's trousers.  Bruce then dusted his hands together, turned to Suzy and said "I ain't never dethroned anyone before." He smiled. "Kinda fun, y'know?"

The crowd in the Hall was riotous, applauding and whistling, stomping and laughing.  It was, after all, the best entertainment they had ever seen.  Truth be told, not a single one of them really cared who was King.  Down to ever person, they truly believed that it just didn't matter, as long as business was business, their own personal life was left to them, and they could get up in the morning and have their scrambles and sausage in peace.  Well, that, and that Beegle was gone.  He gave them the creeps, anyway.

It should be said that Beegle, for as much as he was hated, was helped generously out of the Hall that day.  Everyone wanted to say goodbye in their own special way.  When he finally went through the Gate, he was fairly naked, very bruised, and suffered pain in areas not spoken about in public.

Bags approached the King, placed his mouth close to Jorge's ear and whispered "You can't be serious. You gotta be kidding? Me?  King?"

Jorge, not whispering at all replied, "I am very serious.  These past three days... Good lord! It's only been three days! Incredible!  Anyway, these past three days have shown me that you are exactly the sort of King these people need."  Bags looked dubious. "They've grown lazy, even in their fear.  You are the sort to bring excitement back, to attract new blood, to find the lost neighbors.  I truly believe that, Bags.  You may not have been born to rule, but you were raised to rule."

Bags looked the King straight in the eyes. "And what if I refuse?" he asked.

The King sat back, crossed his legs, brushed away an invisible dust mote, and said "Then I imagine I'd have to appoint Pockets.  I imagine he'd jump at the chance to play with his own little Kingdom."

A brief image of what Pockets would be like, of what he would do, flashed through Bag's mind. "Oh, hell no." he said softly. Defeated he nodded to the King and replied "Okay, you bastard. You win.  I'll be your lousy King."

Jorge stood, removed the crown from his head and placed it on Bags'.  "No Bags. You won't be a lousy King.  You'll be a great King."  Jorge then turned to the Hall and announced, "My people, I present to you your King."  He stepped down from the pedestal, and Bags, reluctantly and most uncomfortably took the throne.

Jorge took a knee, still facing the populace, and said "I present King Timothy, the First."

A cheer that shook the Hall, rattled the tapestries and caused dust to sift down into the drains went up.  King Timothy just shook his head.  "Bugger me." was all he said.  Well, that and "Pockets, sometimes you just piss me off."

Down in the drains, the roar of the crowd in the Hall was enough to rouse Pockets. He opened his eyes, saw Griz, Harv and Carlie.  "Hi." he said.

Griz went over to him, brushed a stray hair from his forehead and said "Hi, yourself. How do you feel?"

"Like I stood to close to the event horizon, and some of me isn't quite here anymore."  Seeing Griz's puzzled expression, he added.  "Beat up really bad, but other than that, okay."

"Good.  Well.. better. At least you're still with us." Griz said.

"Aw Griz! You know I'd never leave you and Bags. You're my very bestest friends in the whole world.  I love you guys."  He paused and ran a tongue over dry lips.  "Umm.  I guess we won?"

Griz smiled at Pockets, a bit of tear in her eye.  "Yes, honey, I guess we did."

Pockets smiled, closed his eyes and murmured "I knew you guys would. I knew Bags would do it."  Soft snores followed.
*****************************
"I'm sorry.  Could you say that again?"  Grizelda blinked her eyes, not quite sure she heard what she thought she heard.

Bags shuffled his feet, looked up at the ceiling of the drain and said "Jorge went and made me king."

"King? He made you King."  She stood up from where she was sitting, put her hands on her hips and repeated "He made YOU king."

Harv and Carlie were sitting in against the wall, holding hands and just watching.  Grizelda turned to look at the two and Harv shrugged and said "Well, he knew I wasn't going to do it."

"Harv, did you know about this?" Grizelda demanded.

"No, Griz." Harv shook his head in denial. "Dad and I never talked about it, except the one time he mentioned it and I told him flat out that I wasn't going to do it.  I told him that I wasn't done seeing the world yet.  I... Um... I may have been a bit harsher than that."

"Hmph." Grizelda turned back to Bags.  "I'm sure you tried to talk him out of it." she said.

"He did offer an alternative."

"Oh?  And that was?"  Her eyebrow raised, a smile started to form.

"He offered to make Pockets the King." Bags mumbled.

"Pockets?" Grizelda exclaimed.  "I love the little guy, but Oh, hell no!  Can you imagine what he'd be like as King?"

"Yeah," Bags admitted.  "That's why I accepted."

"He made you King AND you accepted?" Grizelda looked at Harv. "Pinch me, Harv.  I've got to be dreaming."

"Griz, don't rub it in.  I didn't want it."  Bags sighed.  "Anyway, there's nothing for it now.  I've accepted, that's the way it is.  Now, we've got to go up to the Coronation.  We're expected."

"Why are WE expected?" Grizelda grumbled. "You're the King. YOU'RE expected.  Somebody needs to stay with Pockets."

Bags sighed, reached into his pocket, and presented Grizelda with the small box he pulled out of the wreckage of the wagon.  She took the box and opened it.  She blinked, closed the box, closed her eyes, opened the box again, and opened her eyes.  There was a shine in them. She raised her gaze to Bags, who just shrugged.

"We're expected because if I'm going to be King, you're going to be the Queen.  My Queen." Bags said.

"Bags, are you asking me to marry you?"  Grizelda asked, incredulous.

"I reckon so." said Bags.

"Well, you sure are picking a shitty way to ask."  She turned to Carlie and said, "Don't you think he's picking a shitty way to ask?"

Carlie, all a-smile, said "Bags, you're picking a shitty way to ask."

Harv started to put in his two cents worth when Bags said, a bit louder than he intended, "All right!".  Grizelda gave a start. Bags does not raise his voice very often.  Softer then, he said "All right." and started to take a knee.

"Oh, not here, dear." She handed the box back to Bags.  "Oh, I'll say yes, and I say yes, but not right here."  

She turned to Harv again and said, "Harv?  Be a dear and grab the front of this litter.  Let's get Pockets out of this damp place.  I really think he'd be more comfortable up stairs."  

Harv hesitated for one single solitary second, which prompted Grizelda to holler at him, "Let's move it Junior! Didn't you hear the King?  There's a coronation to go to!"

Wrestling the litter up the stairs was much easier than getting him down the stairs back at the Barracks.  For one thing, the stairs were a bit wider here, allowing two to take the head of the litter and two to take the foot.  For another, Grizelda was a tough taskmaster, and very motivated.

Pockets was laid in a feather bed that was in a room other than the one now occupied by the once living Corwin.  He was tucked in, brow kissed and bid to rest.  Carlie said she could stay with him, but Grizelda wouldn't hear of it.  

"I will, most assuredly, have a fiddler at my wedding, dear.  Not to mention that I will have two maids of honor there.  Suzy and you.  Pockets will be fine."

"I wish he could be there." grumbled Bags from the doorway.  "He is, after all, my best friend."

"Oh, we'll have to have a special celebration when he gets better, that's for sure! He's going to be upset enough that he missed you proposing to me." Grizelda looked at Pockets, laying asleep.  "He looks just like an angel, doesn't he.  Look at him smile."

"Oh yeah.  A short, bald, little angel that can't keep out of trouble.  Just his luck to be unconscious through this all this." Bags said, from the door.  "Come on, Griz. Let's get this shindig over with."

Grizelda stood there looking at Bags.  Her stare made him feel decidedly uncomfortable.  "What?" he asked finally? "What's wrong? What did I do now?"

"Timothy Bags, if you think I'm going down to my wedding, your coronation, OUR coronation, looking and smelling like a sewer rat, smelling of slime and Goddess knows what, you have another think coming.  And that goes for you too! Gods and Goddesses, Bags, you're still covered in blood!"  She snapped her fingers at Harv, who jumped to.

"Harv, take Bags and get him cleaned up and dressed in... something more presentable.  I'm sure there are some sort of royal clothes here that would fit him.  He wears a size.. umm.. skinny.  And get him a bath, too, because I know men.  He would just as soon put on clean clothes over a dirty body.  I'm going to get married standing next to a man that I can stand to stand next to, and that means one that smells good."

Harv saluted her, took Bags arm and said "C'mon old man... I'll show you where the good stuff is.  The Royal chambers are just down the hallway."

"Grizelda, they are waiting for us!" Bags complained.

"And they can wait a bit more.  Is there ale? Beer? Wine?  Is there music?" Bags nodded.  "Then they are fairly entertained, I'd say."

When Bags didn't move, she emphasized, "Quit your stalling, you big baby.  Go get cleaned up, you hear?  The world will wait."  She turned to Carlie and said, "Let's see if we can make something I can wear.  This old shift I'm wearing is not a wedding dress.  Maybe we can make something from these sheets."

Harv said, as he drug Bags out the door. "Griz?  How bout if you come with me and I show you where mother used to dress.  I bet you could wear some of her things.  They were put away inside a chest when she... when she left."

There was a long pause while Grizelda looked at Harv, a choke caught in her throat, a tear in her eye.  Finally she said, "Oh Harv.  Are you sure?"

Harv let go of Bags' elbow, crossed over to Grizelda, dropped to one knee and said "My Queen, it would be my pleasure and my honor if you would.  Mother is... was ... just a memory.  I think she would be proud to have them worn again.  Especially by you."

Griz placed her hand under his chin and raised his head, pulling the rest of his body with it.  "Never kneel before me, Harv. Okay?" He nodded, somberly.  She kissed his cheek, and said "Thank you, Harv.  It would be my pleasure.  I'll wear them proudly."

Grizelda tucked the blankets around the sleeping Pockets, and said "All right, Your Majesty.  Lead on!"

It took a while to get Bags bathed, combed, shaved, dressed, not quite approved of, re-dressed, finally approved by Grizelda.  She bathed in a different chamber of course, and demanded that every change Bags went through was examined by her.  

Harv would patiently wait outside while Bags bravely went into the Queen's chamber for inspection.  Every time Bags came out, he would sigh, and say "Almost, she says.  It's always almost.", then he would march back to his own chamber, followed by Harv to make the change that Grizelda requested.

"You must love her very much." Harv said during one of the alterations.

Bags nodded while he adjusted his tie and said "Bub, there aren't any words for it.  The closest I could get is that... umm.. well, before I met her, it was like I had no breath.  When she walked into my life, suddenly I could breathe again, even though it was like I had never taken a breath before."  he shrugged.  "Just no way to explain in words how I feel with her in my life."  He straightened the belt with the ceremonial short sword, and said "Hell, she is my life.  Pockets too, I imagine.  Sometimes he'll babble on for hours about all sorts of crazy stuff, then she'll look at him... just look at him... and he'll calm right down and speak plain."  He looked in the mirror, and had to admit, if only to himself, that he did indeed like how he looked.

Tall and straight, wearing hunter green and gold fleur-de-lis patterned vest over white pleated shirt, and black string tie.  His burgundy trousers, also very dark, were trimmed in gold, as was his belt.  Over his shoulders he wore a simple dark green cloak that was closed at the neck by gold clasps.

"Not bad, huh?" He asked Harv, who nodded and said, "Just like a King, your Majesty."

The comment caused Bags to turn and look hard at Harv. "I guess I'll have to get used to that, won't I?"

Harv nodded, and said, "Bags, You are the King. It just hasn't been finalized yet.  You'll do fine."

Bags sighed, just as the door opened and Grizelda stepped in.  Both men just stared, but the expressions on their faces gave her all the indication she needed that she cleaned up very nicely indeed.

From lightly ruffled collar to flowing hem, she was dressed in green and gold velvet, to match Bags.  The simple gown conformed to her figure, accentuating the curves and giving her an illusion of height.  She twirled one, to show off, and curtsied, once.  "I can see that I'm acceptable", she smiled.  "You two can close your mouths now."

Carlie appeared behind her, smiling as well.  "I think we better go, Majesty.  That dress will get very heavy, very quickly."

Grizelda nodded and sighed.  "I imagine you're right, dear."  She held out her arm to Bags and said, "Shall we?"

Bags stepped forward, and took her arm.  "Yes, m'love.  Let's".  

With Harv and Carlie in tow, the truly royal couple walked arm in arm to join the reception, where, true to form, Bags dropped to one knee and proposed, in front of a cheering townsfolk.

Jorge performed the wedding ceremony, pronouncing them man and wife.  It was a simple thing, with Harv and Bruce on the side of Bags, Suzy and Carlie on the side of Grizelda.  There were tears and laughter, hugs and congratulations. It was a joyous ceremony, one that left Grizelda with a smile it would take weeks to remove.

Bags took the throne for the Coronation.  Grizelda settled herself to his side, standing comfortably while Jorge took the crown from a velvet cushion and placed it on Bags' head.  Jorge took a smaller version, no less ornate, and placed it on Grizelda's head.

He then bowed low, and pronounced them as the ruling heirs to all those assembled.  Standing before them he also announced, "I shall be leaving Tears.  I've locked myself away too long and I've lost touch with the rest of the world.  So I'm leaving to see what there is in the world and how the world has changed.  I will stay long enough for the transition between myself and King Timothy, and to assure that they have settled into the Mansion."

Grizelda spoke, her voice a few octaves above her normal pitch.  "The Mansion? We're going to live in the Mansion?"

Jorge nodded and said "Where else? It is the royal residence, after all."

Bags sat and nodded, then said "Well, dear." he said to Grizelda, "I reckon you finally got what you wanted all along.  You've been pestering me to find a place to settle for years now."

Grizelda just smiled.

Suzy stepped forward and said "It is far, far to quiet here!  Bruce, strum up a cheery tune.  Let's get this party started!"
***************************
Time moved, the world turned, the universe tumbled in it's slow way.  Bags and Grizelda settled into the Mansion, making it their own. Grizelda cleaned and dusted and changed the environment to the point where signs Jorge was evident only in the statuary room.  The old king nodded over her improvements, and agreed it was the way things should be.  

Jorge and Harv had moved into the Keep, despite Grizelda's assurances that they would always be welcome in the Mansion.  

Jorge declined, saying "No, no, dear.  For me, this was a house of sadness, a trap of depression, don't you see?  You and Bags will make it a place of light, of laughter.  Perhaps in time I can visit and not feel like there are old ghosts flitting around."  Harv agreed, and in a shy smile admitted that the Keep would give him a certain amount of privacy, now that he found something, or, to be more accurate, someone, that has caught his interest.

Queen's Gamboni stayed around for the few days the Mansion was going through it's personality change.  Suzy and Grizelda arranged, re-arranged, compared notes, became fast friends.  Bags and Bruce and Bill were the mules, lifting barges of tables, and toting bales of tapestries to be hung, moved, shifted, adjusted.  It was done with the best of humor and Bags and Bruce spoke of past battles, and compared adventures.  It was discovered that the men did have a lot in common, and not just from the women they loved.

Bill and Jorge became good friends.  Jorge, the talker, Bill the listener, sometimes trading places, and sometimes just sitting and remembering times gone past. Bill taught Jorge to juggle a little, and Jorge would let Bill tootle a bit on the horn.  

They spent a few hours playing a card game that they had just invented, and caught each other cheating at rules they just made up.  It was like they were brothers, long lost, that had just found each other.  Both of them would laugh at the energy of youth, giving sage advice when asked, or just quietly letting the young fools do what young fools do best. Find their own way.

Harv and Carlie would disappear for hours at a time, arrive in time for dinner, and help when they were asked.  They had eyes for each other, and it seemed their hearts beat as one.  

Pockets was healing faster than anyone would have thought possible, but he hadn't left the Keep.  He and Jorge seemed to get along famously, exchanging ideas that each had thought about, exchanging flights of fancy, and laughing over things that would just puzzle those that witnessed the discussion.

Grizelda approached him one day, and said "Pockets.  Are you all right?  I've seen you walking the hallways and standing on the top of the Keep.  Why don't you come down to the Mansion?"

Pockets would smile, and nod and said he would, but Grizelda could see that there had been a change in him, something... sadder.  She thought at first it was because he had missed all the fun of the coronation, but Pockets said it wasn't so.

"Something got lost, Griz." he explained, with an uncharacteristically sad smile. "I think, pretty soon, I may have to go looking for it.  Not now, but maybe very soon."

When Grizelda asked for more details, he would just give a small shake his head and would say "I don't know how to explain it, Griz.  That's all I know."  It concerned Grizelda that Pockets, who she had never known to not be able to explain anything would be at a loss of words.

She mentioned it to Bags, who said, "Well, hon. He has just come back from the dead.  I don't believe in all that driftin' around and talking through Suzy mumbo jumbo, but comin' back from the dead has got to change a person.  He'll come around.  Don't be so concerned."

Grizelda nodded, but silently felt that there was something... not quite right.

Regardless of Grizelda's worries, it was a magical few days.  When they weren't working or talking or forging friendships, there many parties given by the merchants and other townsfolk of Tears, welcoming the new King and Queen.  There was song and dance, music provided by Queen's Gamboni, who had been proclaimed the Royal Musicians.  It was at one of these parties that Grizelda proclaimed something she felt of importance.

"My good People of Tears.  It has been too long that you have lived under the weight of your name, so it's time for a new one.  King Timothy and I have spoken together, and we have decided that your Kingdom will no longer be called the City of Tears.  From henceforth, the name of this Kingdom will be Tears of Joy!"

The name was received with a lot of huzzahs and applause, which pleased Grizelda immensely.  Truth be told, though, the residents continued to think of the name as simply Tears.  It didn't matter to them one whit if it was called Tears, Tears of Joy, or Elric's Last Stop, which by the way was the original name given to it, three hundred years ago.

When all the partying was done, and the Mansion was arranged to the ladies approval, the time for parting had arrived.  It was announced that Queen's Gamboni would travel south.  They had heard of a village of shopkeepers that they would like to visit.  

"Tis a strange place, I 'ear." explained Suzy. "Magical and wondrous strange I've 'eard, but sufferin' from the same drought that 'as this place so bone dry.  So, we figgers that they might be needin' a bit 'o music so's that where we're 'eading."

Jorge decided he would travel with them.  He would, he said, rather travel with friends than with strangers.  Queen's Gamboni agreed, and even mentioned that they might be able to arrange to include a bit of horn work in some of their pieces.

Harv and Carlie broke gently apart, with tears and words of undying love.  Promises of letters to be sent by fastest messenger were exchanged, hands held for the longest time, eyes locked in the eternal change of heart energy that the young is always so full of.

The time finally came.  Loaded wagons and fed mules waited at the front Gates while dear friends exchanged hugs, kisses, handshakes and the last few tears and laughs before parting.  Then, with a "Gidyap" from Bruce, the parting grew and waves were seen growing smaller and smaller till the dust and distance swallowed them.

The business of running the town commenced.  Bags met with the merchants and announced the creation of Guilds.  This was an idea that Bruce had passed on, and Bags wished he had his new friend to advise him.  Bags told the merchants to come to a decision as to who would be the head of each guild, and gave them until the end of the week to get back to them.  If they had not appointed a head, then Bags said he would do it for them.  The merchants left with the feeling that their new King meant business, but it was business that was going to be good.  

Bags had laid out a plan for increasing revenue by lowering taxation for a while, to encourage buying, and to get money back into circulation. He also told them that there would be a gradual tax increase, one that would be voted in by a majority of the people.  He stressed the term gradual, and explained it was to develop education, provide for a working militia, and establish trade with neighboring kingdoms and villages.

When it was pointed out there were no neighboring kingdoms and villages, Bags just smiled and said "I reckon we'll have to go find 'em, won't we?"

Bags and Grizelda invited BeJay to the Mansion.  The old woman arrived at dusk, suspicious and wary, looking left and right.  Grizelda hugged the old woman as if she were a sister.

"What the hell did you do that for?  We don't know each other, and I sure as hell don't know you."  BeJay said, pushing Grizelda away.

Bags smiled and said "She's pretty protective, Griz.  Takes a bit of getting used to."  To BeJay he said, "BeJay, I told you I wouldn't forget you, and I haven't.  I know that you are pretty darn sure you want to keep my nose out of your business, so I'm gonna.  Here's the deal.  What do you need?  Not what do you want... that could be anything. But what do you really need in the outskirts?"

BeJay looked askance at Bags, hands on her hips.  She spit once on the ground.  She scratched at the stubble on her chin and gave a small chuckle.  "You serious?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Well, then, yer Majesties, now you can hug me." and she gave Grizelda such a hug that gave lie to the BeJay’s frailty of age.  Then she turned and looked at Bags and said "And if you expect me to bows to you, sonny, you're gonna be pretty disappointed."

Bags just laughed and said, "That's the last thing I would expect.  Now.. what do you folks need?"

BeJay shook her head and said "Nuthin'. To be left alone.  Maybe some medicines if we needs 'em.  There's some young folks there that shouldn't be.  Maybe some help for them, to get them back on the road to life."  She squinted an eye at Bags.  "Pretty much to just be left alone, though.  If we need something, we'll come ask you for it.  How's that?"

Bags nodded and said "That's just fine, BeJay. You ask, we'll help."

"But not until!  We sure don't want some clod footed dumbassed bastards trompin' through our homes."

"Not until," Bags agreed.  

BeJay spit in the palm of her hand, and held it out.  "Shake on it, and we gotta deal."  Bags shook on it, and the old woman turned to fade into the darkness.

"Come visit any time!" Grizelda said.

"Don't count on it." came the reply, hidden in the darkness.

That night, there was one more visitor.  A knock to the door of the Mansion produced Stace when Bags opened the door.  "Griz!"  You got company he yelled.

From the back, Grizelda arrived, wiping her hands on a towel.  "Stace!" she cried.  She ran forward and gave Stace a backbreaking hug and kiss. "Come in, oh, do come in! Things have been so busy, I just haven't had the time to come visit!"

Stace took a few tentative steps in, looking around. "So I heard. So.. should I call you Your Majesty?  Or what?"

"Call me Griz.  That's what my friends call me." Grizelda led the woman to a chair where they sat and started the talk that causes men to doubt their existence.  Bags, still standing at the door, cleared his throat.

"OH!" Grizelda said with a bit of guilt.  "Stace, this is my husband, Bags.  Bags, this is Stace.  She runs the local.. umm.. "

"Cathouse." said Stace.  "Call it what it is. It's a brothel." Stace walked over to Bags, curtsied and said "Your Majesty".

Bags turned his eyes up to the ceiling. "Just Bags is fine, Stace.  That 'your majesty' crap is for the regular folks.  Friends call me Bags."

"All right... Bags." Stace said.

Bags nodded and said "Griz, there's a meeting at the pub, and now that you got company, I'm gonna go.  Okay?"

Griz just waved and said, "Like you've ever needed my permission to visit a pub.  Get outta here. Our girl talk would just drive you crazy anyway."

Bags nodded, said "Probably crazier, anyway."  He blew a kiss towards Grizelda, who caught it, ate it, and blew one back. With a smile, Bags left, closing the door behind him.

Grizelda and Stace sat at the table, holding hands.  "So, what brings you to my humble home?" asked Grizelda.

"Humble my ass, Griz.  I like what you've done with the place."  Stace looked around, taking in the tasteful decorations that had a definite feminine flair to them.  "Look.  I'll get straight to the point. I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Grizelda asked.  "Where to? Why?"

"Ah, Griz.  I'm tired of this place.  The people are boring me, and the business is boring me even more.  Ever since you came that night, telling me tales about other places, I realized that I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of here."  She smiled. "So I'm going."

"When?" Grizelda asked.

"Tomorrow.  Maybe tonight.  Soon as I get a bit of business finished.  I don't know where I'm going, but I'm going there. I'm looking right now for someone, anyone, that is going anywhere but here."

"Ah." said Grizelda.  She understood completely.  There was a time, years ago, just as she met Bags she had made the very same decision.

"And," Stace continued, "I want you to take over the business."

"What?" Griz exclaimed. "You want what?"

"I am giving you the business.  The building, the girls, the customers. They'll all be yours as soon as I shake the dust of this place out of my boots."

"Ummm.. Stace, I'm a bit busy here. Queen?  King?  Kingdom?  Really busy."

"Oh hell, Griz.  I know all that.  You know as well as I do that once it gets rolling, your Bags will have it all under control and there will be long periods of boredom, interspersed by short periods of ... nothing much.  Making decisions, judgments, getting folks married, stuff like that. King stuff.  You'll be there in the background, of course, making decisions.  You know how men are... they'd button their fly backwards if we weren't here to tell them which hole to poke in."

Grizelda chuckled.  "Bags isn't like that.  Really he isn't.  Much." she grinned.  

Grizelda though about it.  Stace was right, she saw.  Once the initial confusion was done with, what would she do?  She could settle into the routine of keeping house, but that wouldn't satisfy, now would it?  She's always been in the middle of something and cleaning the windows and making dinner just simply would not fill the bill.

"All right.  However, I'm going to stay here till you've found whoever you're riding with.  This place isn't quite settled yet, and Bags still needs me on his arm.  Deal?"

"Deal." Stace said.  

The rest of the night was spent with chat, drink, singing of bawdy songs from the business.  There were tales of customers and the silly things they do, the other girls.  Stace let Grizelda know about some of the troubles she had running the business, but assured her that they were things that would be taken care of if some of the things Bags put in place came through.

"Your man is a pretty smart cookie.  We used to have Guilds here a long time ago, but they were disbanded by Beegle.  That was when I knew there was something wrong.  The money just seemed to dry up right around then."  She looked hard at Grizelda. "Is he really going to go find other towns and set up trade with them?"

"It's what he does, Stace.  He and Pockets could find every little out of the way..." she stopped. "Stace, you just gave me an idea.  Thank you, thank you!" She kissed her friend full on the lips.  It was returned in kind and Grizelda looked at Stace in shock.

Stace just shrugged and said, "Takes all kinds, Griz.  Takes all kinds."

Bags came home that night just as Stace was leaving.  Grizelda met him at the door with a hug and a kiss.  Bags noticed that she was even more chipper than usual and mentioned it.

"You know how I've been worried about Pockets?  How sad he has seemed?  How he mentioned how he feels he has lost something?"

"Yeah." Bags replied.  "I told you not to worry about it. He'll be fine."

"I know what you told me, but I couldn't help it." she said. "But listen." She told him about Stace's offer of the business, which caused Bags to raise an eyebrow.  Grizelda explained the reasoning behind it, and Bags had to agree.  She would be pretty bored just being a housewife, Queen or not.  Grizelda was never one to just be a pretty picture standing in the window.

"So, I was thinking. Pockets mentioned that he felt he would be leaving.  You know that he's always been a bit... odd."  Bags had to nod at that. "He's always seemed to be able to pull answers out of thin air, and we've never been able to explain it." Bags nodded in agreement at that too.

"Stace is leaving and she needs someone to go with her.  WE need someone that can find those villages and towns and kingdoms and get trade started right?"

"Well yeah," Bags agreed. "But Pockets?  He'll cause more trouble than trade, Griz. You know how he is."

Grizelda nodded, smiling bigger. "Yes! Exactly. He needs someone that can make sure he's taken care of. Someone that will protect the world from him."

"Well, yeah. Ok.. I can see what you're getting at.  Okay, I agree. Pockets may be odd at times, but he's a good business man, once he makes sense.  So who would we..." It was obvious.  "I'll talk to Harv first thing in the morning, Okay."

Grizelda hugged Bags, saying "Thanks, honey.  I really think this could be the best thing for him.  He wants to go looking. Let's give him the chance."

Bags nodded and said "Whatever.  I just hope he doesn't start a war."

The next day the idea was presented to Pockets, who appeared to brighten at the idea.  He also had a presentation of his own.  He led the couple to the third floor where he pointed to an alcove that was decorated with a small hole about an inch above the floor and a pair of legs that looked very familiar.

"That is just nasty." said Grizelda.

"She had it coming, though."  said Bags.

"I told you she had cooties." said Pockets. He retrieved the key from the floor where it lay tangled inside a corner of table cloth.  Inserting it into it's keyhole, he gave a little twist and the door raised up off the floor.  Of course, it drug the corpse with it, making little disgusting sticky sounds as it went, but the shine inside could not be denied.

Bags looked at the dangling legs and said, "Now, that's just gotta be cleaned up before we walk in there."  He looked into the room.  He looked at Pockets, at Grizelda and back into the room.  "Is that gold?" he asked.

Later that day, a much happier Bags and Grizelda gathered Pockets, Harv, and Stace at the gate.  The plan had been discussed and agreed upon.  Stace liked Harv, had even had ... er.. business dealings with him, so she was perfectly comfortable with the idea.  Pockets was almost his old jubilant self. Not quite, though.  There was still a sense of sadness in his eyes that Grizelda saw, and even Bags took note of.

He walked up to his friend and placed his hand on the little man's shoulder.  "You be good, do you hear?  Don't cause too much trouble out there."

Pockets smiled up at his old friend and said, with a bit of a tear.  "I'll cause just enough, I promise!" He wrapped his arms around Bags and said "I love you, chum.  I'll be good."  

Pockets crossed to Grizelda and said, "Thanks Griz.  I know this was your idea.  Maybe I'll find that missing piece out there."  She couldn't reply.  Her eyes were leaking and she had a lump too large to speak around.  The most she could do was wrap Pockets up in her hug, lay a kiss that he would never forget on his lips and whisper through her tears, "You come back, okay?? Don't you go gettin' yourself killed. I'll drag your skinny ass back here if I have to."  Then she had to turn away, the emotion pulled to hard on her.

Pockets stood close to her back and whispered just so she could hear.  "Neither death nor hell itself could stay me from coming back to you, m'love.  You have always been the only woman for me."  He stood on tiptoes and kissed the back of her neck. "Have you told Bags yet?"

Grizelda turned sharply, looked at Pockets and whispered "You KNOW?"

Pockets grinned his famous impish grin, and just nodded.  He patted his belly, winked, and walked to where Harv and Stace were waiting.  Boarding the wagon, he said "I hope we find a place to eat out here. I'm already getting hungry!"

Bags and Grizelda stood and watched as the wagon got smaller and smaller.  As soon as it was out of sight and Bags could speak, he asked, "What was he saying to you, right before he left.  You sure had a surprised look on your face."

Grizelda looked up at her lover, The King of Tears of Joy, and asked, in a quiet voice. "How would you feel about being a father?"

The end... so Far.