"And, sir, here's all of the records regarding those who were arrested, today. Most of them seem to be males and either gnomes, humans, or half-elves… there's two dwarves as well."

Kiran Mani shouldered the bag containing over a dozen scrolls, feeling rather exasperated. "Thank you, Max, that will do." The young assistant inclined his head of fiery ginger hair. Kiran's dark eyes flickered toward the window as the Constable of the Northchester watch returned his employee's gesture with a nod. The sun had moved significantly towards the west in the sky. He had now been at headquarters for several hours, and for several hours before that Kiran had been out on the streets, ever-vigilantly assessing his surroundings for signs of evil.

The paladin had spent the morning patrolling the southwest of the city of Northchester, where not much had taken place other than children playing in places they ought not to be playing, a fistfight at midday in the Yowling Bobcat Tavern, a wagon with a broken axle requiring assistance and a vandalized music shop that specialized in string instruments. However, he had returned to headquarters to check on his employees only to learn of a fiasco in which a particularly rowdy group under the influence of an illegal potion that caused hallucinations, excitability, wrath, impulsiveness and rage had caused a lot of trouble in Havers Marketplace. The young constable had accompanied a squadron of his men in apprehending the deviants, who had thrown turnips, squash and potatoes at bystanders, broken clay pots, upset tables and booths in their drug-induced rampage. They had ultimately arrested all of the miscreants, but the question remained of where they had obtained the Draught of Rage. He would need to get members of the Special Operations Task Force, colloquially known as the rogues, to investigate whether one of the suspects was proficient in brewing such a concoction, and if not, where they had gotten it. Kiran let out a low breath, tapping his quill against his desk, as he reread the report written by an employee on the matter yet again as though hoping to see something new. All he noticed, however, was a few spelling errors.

Because it was an unseasonably warm day for January, Kiran could hear many outside from his office, savoring the crisp wintry air and the lack of the brutal wind that frequently buffeted northern Cancalia. The man sighed, wishing he, too, was out there and not confined to his office with paperwork. Off in the distance, the bells of the Pelorian cathedral began to clash and clang out the melodic tune of the national anthem, a sign that it had reached the top of another hour. The paladin hummed along with the song. When it reached a crescendo, the chime commenced. DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!

Four o'clock. The end of his shift; the deputy constable would be covering the City Watch Headquarters until nine that night. He let out a long, low breath. Even though the paladin enjoyed his job, it has been a trying few hours from when he had spent his lunch break back at the palace-like mansion of Ivan Benoit, the Duke of Northchester and the younger brother of Cancalia's king, until now. Lunch break itself had been exasperating between the muddy road, the unwanted cheese in his stew, and going to check on the refugees from the halfling land of Drémeadow only to find Folco Foxtrot sitting on the top step of the stairway leading up to the massive attic that housed the 200 refugees, evidently having been banished from the makeshift classroom that had been set up for the children and adolescents. That paladin had done his best to admonish the youth without coming across as overbearing, but received a manner of haughty and stone-faced defensiveness.

"That's our bell," Kiran said to Max. His assistant, rather than bidding him farewell, however, remained standing, staring at the constable. Kiran was on the verge of asking what was wrong when he remembered that Max had some of his pay due to him; there had been an error in calculations by those who dealt with the pay of lower-ranked Watch employees. He strolled over to his desk, pulling open the near-flat center drawer. Sifting an owl quill, a pheasant quill and papers with no relevance to the current moment, he extricated a small green pouch. He picked it up and shook it slightly before handing it to the lad. "Here is the pay that was due to you; I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you."

The younger man nodded, then drew open the moss-colored pouch to confirm the amount. "Thank you, sir," he said finally. "See you tomorrow."

"You're welcome," the constable told his subordinate, "have a good night. I should be in the office around lunchtime, unless anything major comes up." After his assistant departed, Kiran checked that everything in his office containing private documents was properly locked and tidy, then shouldered the bag Max had given him and left for the Duke's

.~~~~

As he passed through Awning Square, the marketplace just to the south of the Duke's gates, the paladin noticed a sizeable group of the refugee children. They varied in age, but Kiran noticed that the group was comprised primarily of older adolescents and their younger siblings. To his dismay, there was also an air of discord; several were visibly quarreling while others looked uncomfortable. It was atypical for there to be outright arguments among the peaceful folk. From what he had discerned during over three weeks of exile, cold, blizzards, dearth in game, and the everlasting fear that the group of nearly two hundred halflings he had taken upon himself to protect- after all, it was partially his fault they had to flee their homeland in the first place- halflings did not generally manifest explicit rivalry and contention, favoring a more subtle approach to conflict. It took serious difficulties indeed to induce outright arguments among the peaceable race. Then again, these were mere children and teenagers who might not have mastered the art of delicacy in dispute….

Moving closer to the bickering youngsters, who were standing in a haphazard circle, in hopes of gleaning whether he needed to concern himself with whatever had happened, Kiran caught several words that caused further concern.

"…oughtn't we to tell somebody? Something could happen to him."

"…you worry overmuch…"

The paladin frowned, moving even closer. The squabbling children took no notice.

" It'll be fine, Lindo's looking for him!" one of them, a boy in his late teens named Tumis Wooling, insisted emphatically. "Stop worrying so much!"

"Aye," concurred Tumis' sister Lydia, twirling one of her braids on her finger. "Really, the fool ought not to have run off like that."

One of the younger members of the group, Geronimo said doubtfully, "I think you lot hurt his feelings. Maybe that's why Lindo went to look for him? To say sorry? Didn't you say they were best friends?" Kiran's brow furrowed. He was beginning to get an inkling of who was being discussed. He only hoped he was wrong.

Tumis flapped his hand dismissively. "He'll get over it!"

"Aren't you afraid he's angry at you?" asked Geronimo, sniffling slightly, "since…"

"Please," interjected Lydia. "He was already angry about class."

"You mean when he got in trouble?" replied Geronimo. Kiran's heart sank even further. His theory had grown much stronger; it just needed confirmation. If it was who he thought it was… if he had gone off on his own…

A sullen-looking Donna Tofty snapped, "Never you mind. I don't think anything more of it than that he's making a big fuss over noth- Roxy, stop it!" Five-year-old Roxetta, who had been toying with one of the rips in her cousin's skirt, jumped and relinquished her grip.

"Maybe Folco just went back to the Duke's attic," Clotis put in.

Kiran's stomach seemed to drop out from under him at the mention of the name- the very confirmation he needed. With a swift stride forward that brought him directly behind a taciturn girl named Fern Gardenoff, Kiran demanded "Where is His Highness?"

Nearly every child in the group startled. Fern whirled around, wide-eyed. None of them replied, but simply stared, a few of them stammering slightly, looking alarmed at the look on Kiran's face. "Well? He shouldn't be alone!"

"He went that way," replied Misa Salinger bravely, pointing the complete opposite direction of Duke Ivan's. The young man felt his stomach clench.

"He might have doubled back where we could not see?" suggested Clotis.

"That's what Lindo thought," Lydia added, taking heart from the initiative of her brother and friend. "He said he would check the attic." Kiran frowned at them. What was going through their minds? Why weren't they more concerned? Ought they not to have figured out the dangers of the young prince wandering off by himself? They're just kids… a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. At the same time, if anything happened to him…

His thoughts were broken by a small child's voice from the level of his knee. "What if Prince Folco and Lindo get lost?" asked Roxy. Kiran's eyes widened slightly. Was that the worst they all thought could happen? Folco Foxtrot had many enemies who would happily see him dead, quite possibly his own family included, and he was considered a traitor by his homeland. And it's my fault, Kiran thought, he wouldn't even be in so much danger were it not for me… no, but I didn't do anything wrong either. I was accused unjustly. Those kids might not realize though… or they do but don't want to…

"He wouldn't… you know… run away?" asked Brenner Wooling dubiously.

Kiran said "well, the main priority now is finding where Folco has gone off to, now, isn't it?" He stared intently down at the young halflings, who ranged in height from around knee-level to his waist. The children fell silent. "Listen closely ," he added sharply, "I want you all to keep an eye out for him, and if you see him, tell him I need to speak with him and wish him to come to me as soon as possible. Don't stay out too late. Be sure to be back in time for dinner's distribution. Make sure word gets to me if anyone sees him… or Lindo, for that matter. In fact, if you see Lindo, ask him to come speak with me. Do you understand?" The children glanced sideways at each other, their faces varying from guilt to exasperation to slight fear. "Well?" There was a chorus of nods and mumbles of assent. "Thank you," the paladin said in dismissal, sighing slightly, his brain abuzz with activity. "I will speak with you all later."

This could be very well be nothing; however, Kiran Mani felt very responsible for anything that happened with anyone in this group, particularly Folco. Folco Foxtrot might only be a nineteen-year-old halfling kid struggling to cope with the disaster that had befallen them all as much as the rest, possibly even more as the son of Drémeadow's king and queen, but he was the refugees' reluctant leader and the one glimmer of normality when it came to their life after New Years. His safety was critical for both Kiran's peace of mind and the morale of the group of refugees struggling to obtain a sense of normality and safety after their lives had essentially had been destroyed.

The catalyst of what led to the plight of the refugees was burned into his memory like a brand on flesh. Just over a month ago, the paladin had been dispatched to the city of Hardscrabble in Drémeadow by the Duke's son Hector to discuss medical supplies with the hobbits' king. After he'd reached Drémeadow and neared the dwelling of the royal family, Kiran's divinely given intuition had told him some evil yet to be revealed was afoot. However, after investigations revealed nothing amiss, the paladin had ignored his misgivings. Then came the abrupt, calamitous end of his stay.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is very loosely based off of a D&D campaign my best friend and I played. The term "hobbit" is borrowed from Tolkien until such time as we devise an appropriate name for the small folk.