CHAPTER THREE: BRIGIT'S FIRST HOLIDAY

The most awkward two weeks of Brigit's life flashed past after the first night was over and conquered. She was simply too busy to notice the perpetual danger she was in.

Never mind the fact that in the hallways every day she passed Iron Knuckles and Stalfos and other nasty things that she had been told time and time again were the bane of all civilized folk. She had halls to sweep and floors to mop. She had walls to wash and windows to shine. Every night when she collapsed onto her bed, she fell asleep instantly.

But the pay was well worth it, she noted. His Majesty paid her very well. Almost absurdly well. Far more than any ordinary housemaid should ever earn. But then again, she was no ordinary maidservant.

It almost chilled her heart that her high wages were peril compensation.

Almost.

"Today is the day, Loki," she said to her beloved cat as she slipped on her cleanest, nicest dress. She did not put an apron over it. Instead, she tied her kerchief once again against the dusty road.

"Prrr," replied Loki.

"Today is my first day of leave!" she said happily, patting her purse that was now full of shining rupees. "What shall I buy in the village today, Loki?"

Loki looked up at her intently, golden eyes wide and hopeful. "Mrow."

"Books, then," she said. "And perhaps a new dress or shoes if I can wrangle it… and soap! Soap for me, instead of the coarse things for the laundry!"

In truth, Brigit Andremede shuddered at the prospect of asking the laundresses for washing-soap again. Female moblins were no better than their male counterparts.

Once again, she gathered her shoulderbag and packed what little she could need for the road. Inside went her bottle of water and her personal notes about what she could purchase to make the spartan room more livable.

"I'm leaving, Loki. Behave and remember your guile when dealing with the castle vermin!"

"Prrow."

Loki jumped off of the bed, rubbing against her legs. Brigit almost tripped, but she sighed.

"Loki, I know I can shut the door. You know how to let yourself out!" she protested, distantly wondering how the cat managed the feat day after day. But Loki persisted, purring loudly like a grain grinder full of rocks.

"Fine! Fine! You can come! But behave yourself!

And with that, Brigit stooped and with a single hand, picked the cat up and held him at face-level.

"You've been eating," she said.

"Gmmrow."

And it was true. The cat felt heavier than before, though he did not look fat in the least. Distantly, Brigit was reminded of the rare wolfos patrolling the middle halls. The weight was not carried in fat so much as in muscle, which indicated that Loki had indeed been hunting, and had indeed been successful.

Brigit shook her head. She had stumbled across the remains of various large vermin, such as giant rats and keese, but she highly doubted it was Loki that had consumed those kills. Her suspicions hinged a bit more to the side of cannibalism.

Loki scrambled to the bag, jumping from Brigit's hand with what might have been enthusiasm if the animal had not been a cat. Brigit gave the room one last look as she shut the door behind her. The castle seemed strangely empty as she made her way down to the stables, as if all the residents had suddenly gone into hiding. Though this did not unnerve Brigit at all, she did wonder what event was calling everybody away from their posts... or what was causing the entire complex to hide behind closed doors.

The stables themselves were tiny things, just beyond the lever-lifts that were raised to bypass the deadly lava lake below the floating castle. There were only five horses there, though they were never abused or ill-cared for. Nevertheless, Brigit had politely requested a mount to travel to town on. It would make such things faster and would permit her to carry a bit more.

"Easy, girl."

Brigit tried to be soothing as she approached the already-tacked mare tied up in preparation for her. Distantly, she wondered who had prepared the horse. It was a handsome specimen, with a coat as black as black: identical to all four of the other horses in the stables. Quietly, she tied her bag to the rings on the saddle and undid the slip-knot tethering the beast to the stable door.

"Miss Andremede. A moment, if you please."

Brigit's blood froze as she registered that voice on her ears. She took a deep breath to calm herself and while turning around, giving the most polite curtsey she could manage with a horse's reins in hand.

"Good-morning, Your Majesty. How may I be of service?"

Her smile seemed not to even phase the King of Evil's serious stare. Then, after another moment's standoff, he smiled as well: the beast's smirk that made Brigit's skin crawl.

"Child, you have no services to perform today," he said, honey in his tone. "It is your holiday. Is it too much for me to see you off?"

His voice was appalling, Brigit noted. How could this man make himself sound so… benevolent? If she didn't know better, she would have passed him off for a concerned uncle. But even she knew the virtues of vigilance. Thus her smile stayed.

"Not at all, your Majesty. I am honored to be in your presence, as always."

She curtseyed again, pleading for Faore above to grant her courage. His Majesty simply shrugged and regarded her again. "Miss Andremede, when do you expect to be back?"

"I will be back by nightfall, sire, unless I become delayed," Brigit replied. "If I am not stopped on the way. It is not far."

"Very good," the giant man said, looking down upon her short form imperiously, though he did not project himself as terrifyingly as previous meetings. "For you shall not be delayed. Hold out your hand."

And Brigit did so, almost afraid of what the man was talking about. Out of his cloak, King Ganondorf pulled a small icon of black iron on a chain and pressed it into Brigit's hand, never breaking his bewitching gaze. Brigit accepted it a bit quicker than she would have liked, but she felt as if she were adequately resisting what unearthly influence this great and terrible man had over her soul.

"This is my mark upon you," he said. "Wear it well. All that lies under my power knows this sigil and will not attack its bearer. Do not remove it. Keep it with you always when abroad, or I cannot guarantee your safety beyond my castle gates."

Brigit nodded, feeling the honey-stare break upon her, an ounce of genuine honesty ringing in her ears. It hardly sounded as if he was honestly concerned for her, but she did feel that he spoke the truth. Quietly, she slipped the chain over her dress, the darkened iron settling at her breast like a sturdy pendant. It felt cold and heavy there, but she knew better than to complain.

Then the King of Evil smiled black sweetness again- that horrible, haunting smile that felt as if it would have foiled an army of women if he were but fifteen years younger and had his health behind him. He straightened up tall and looked down upon the small Hylian in his service, regarding her as an unruly niece.

"Go, be off with you. Be back no later than two hours past sundown, and be mindful of what you speak of."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

And with that, she settled onto the great black horse from a nearby mounting block and was away as fast as her steed could carry her. Crossing the border from the castle to the fields, the pale gloaming brightened and the birds began to sing again, albeit quietly. Brigit quivered in her bowels, cursing the Goddesses for making the Great King of Evil a Great King of Subtlety as well.

But the Rupees jangled in the purse by her side, and that almost reminded her that her high wages were peril compensation.

Almost.

Kakariko was quite close to the Castle, now that she thought of it. Especially when reached by horse, and even more so when that horse was swift. The mount she had been given (after all, she had been taught to ride in return for mucking stables as a girl) was huge, with long legs and even, steady paces. It flew across the ground at an incredible speed with no sign of fatigue nor sweat, sable coat shining in the mounting dawn light.

I think I shall call her Fleet, she idly mused but pushed away the possibility that she was riding some summoned tireless demon and not truly a horse. Patting her satchel bag, she gazed up at the heavy wooden gates, erected to repel monsters. Monsters she now saw every day, even worked alongside. She touched the cold, heavy iron around her neck, and for a moment, felt unspeakably filthy.

But she washed her hands of it and called up to the doorman at the top of the tower. "Excuse me!" she said, calming her horse. "Open the gates, please!"

The helmeted man only squinted down at her, frowning at her black horse. "Who are you, and what business do you have in Kakariko?"

"My name is Brigit Andremede! Daughter of Gastel Andremede the stonecutter! I'm on leave from my work!"

"What is your work?"

"I am a housemaid, of course!"

The pause was quite awkward; none of them had seen a 'housemaid' who paraded up to the gates on such a magnificent steed yet wore such modest dress. But the request was eventually cleared and she was granted entry to the Village Square, where she handed off her horse to a nearby groom and pressed a customary blue rupee into his hands for the service.

"Where may I find my father, sir?" she asked a guard, one who she had done work for in the past. "Is he in?"

The man only looked sadly at her. "My, Miss Brigit. It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, though his tone was unfitting of his words. "I'm afraid you won't see your dear papa for a while yet."

"Oh? Why?"

Pushing up the cloth that tied back his hair, the guard just shrugged. "A caravan left Kakariko three days ago, and he left with it. Said he had to find work. May be going to work for some men beyond Death Mountain for a while."

"He's… out of Hyrule?"

"If the caravan's been unmolested. I can only pray he has good luck on the road. It's risky out there these days."

"I do hope so," Brigit mumbled. "Is there any chance I may write him a letter?"

"If you have a quick errand-rider, perhaps."

"Thank you for the help, then. I wish you a good day!"

And she was off in search of a pen and paper and a horse that might keep a pace other than Fleet. Loki poked his head out of the bag, blinking in the sun. As Brigit pushed him back inside, she felt the full pouch of rupees and decided at least a few would be for the swiftest rider in town.

She half-prayed that old Talon would be at least sober enough to accept her terms.

"Brigit, child. Tell me of this work you do these days," Impa the village guardian asked as the girl in question fastened her purchases to her saddlebags. She was leaving early, barely midmorning… there was nothing in Kakariko. She had few friends, and her father was nowhere to be found. Her letter was written. Her spoils were acquired. There was nothing else to do.

Ganondorf smiled in anticipation as he watched the proceedings from afar. From his eye placed around Brigit's neck, there was nothing that she saw that he did not see, nothing that she heard that he did not overhear. Of course, it only worked when he wished to pay explicit attention to her and never inside the bounds of his own fortress. But that was plenty for his purposes. He saw Impa, leader of the Shiekah, and almost laughed at how perfect it was.

Of course the girl was some sort of agent. She was going to report everything to that woman, and she would use his weaknesses against him. Start a rebellion. Storm the least-protected part of his palace. Of course, it would be futile and the spy would be executed in the end, but what was a girl's life in the grand scheme of power?
"I work as a maid, Ma'am," Brigit said, putting her act up with what he supposed was Shiekah-trained talent. "I earn an honest living."

The older woman only crossed her arms sternly. "For whom do you work?" she asked, eyes surprised. "Few require such a service outside of the village. Or at least, few that I know of."

"I work for a powerful man," she said neutrally. "He is very careful to stay out of everybody's knowledge, so I know little of him. But I do know my pay is honest and fair for my position."

"It is a rather high wage for a housemaid."

"I am no ordinary servant," Brigit said. "His tasks are many, and I work where few others would dare to go."

Impa nodded curiously. "I am sure you do," she said. "Where does this gentleman live?"

"It is not my place to say."

Ganondorf, behind his iron eye, choked. Why? Why had a spy blatantly refused to disclose information? It was impossible! What was she doing? Why was she acting…?

"Then, his name? Surely you can tell me that?"

"I cannot and I will not."

… Loyal?

"Why in the name of the goddesses," Impa frowned, "would you keep his name a secret?"

Brigit's smile did not leave as she stepped upon the mounting-block. "Because he is who shelters me and feeds me, and he would not appreciate it if I talked willy-nilly about his doings."

"Still, young one…"

"I shan't. You of all must understand the pact between a master and his servant, Ma'am. I won't break it. He's hired me fair and square. To act less fair in return wouldn't be proper."

Impa looked extremely hard at Brigit. But then she nodded in resignation, though her eyes stared with distrust at the iron symbol around Brigit's neck. "Go to your master, then. I will not pry into your affairs."

Brigit, with a good-bye and a smile, mounted her magnificent black charger and trotted out of the front gate, light bags full of bath-soap and books for her bare shelf. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, bright and full of promise. From the look on her face, Impa hardly believed that Brigit had survived, but as she became but a speck in the distance it hardly seemed to matter.

Ganondorf forced the vision from his sight.

Brigit stopped squarely upon the gritty path, furrowing her brow at the blotch before her. A moment ago she had been thinking about her almost-dry canteen and the sun that was not half-past noon in the sky. Yet, as she squinted down from the top of the hillock, her mind now tried to invent possible causes for the strange occurrence she beheld.

There was a figure sitting about the dirt-patch below her, head pointed up as if watching the clouds. The torso (from her distance, she could barely tell male or female) was stiff and rigid, and the thing had no arms that she could see. All in all, it was a funny, cylindrical silhouette that seemed totally unsuited for a living thing.

Curiouser, she learned that the Thing had two white tusks poking out from it's blunted snout as she drew nearer.

"Hello?" she called, trotting Fleet nearer. "Hello! Are you all right there?"

The Thing lowered its head sadly, looking at Brigit as she dismounted. To her horror, The Thing happened to be Buzak, sitting forlorn in the dust. His trouble was quite obvious. Somebody had shoved a barrel on him, pinning his arms to his sides. While he was quite strong (she assumed,) only a Goron could break the metal hoops that wrapped around him.

"Oh dear," Brigit said.

The moblin turned a disgraced eye her way, beetle-black dulled with despair. "You've come to laugh too, pinkling?"

Brigit shook her head, trying to gauge how under the heavens a barrel could be stuffed past a Moblin's shoulders. "No," said Brigit. "Er, that can't be very comfortable."

"It isn't."

Something in his tone made Brigit's heart sink. "Does this… does this happen often?"

"More often than I would like it to."

For once, Brigit gave a frown. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was born small. Nobody else is sorry."

"No, please," Brigit said very quickly, feeling absolutely horrid for the monster's drooping ears and limp tail. "You can't possibly be all right in that thing!"

He gave a soft, wheezing snort and looked at her with more dry humor than Brigit originally credited to a monster. "Pinkling, do you think I'm going to show my face at the castle gate, stuck like this?"

"Of course not," Brigit said, horrified. "Here, bend over. Maybe I can yank it free."

Buzak looked at her incredulously. "You would do that?"

"Please, hold still…"

She placed both hands on the mouth of the barrel as he bent over, and braced her feet against the grit.

"One…. Two… three… pull!"

She tugged with all of her might, careful not to pull out any fur by mistake. Yet, the thing didn't budge. "Oof!"

"If you can't, then don't hurt yourself."

Brigit only rolled up her sleeves and rubbed her hands together. "If brute strength won't do it, I'll have to find another way," she said. "Wait a moment, please."

Buzak looked ahead as Brigit darted over to where her horse was grazing nonchalantly, and took a large bottle from the saddlebag.

"What is that?" Buzak asked, looking at the milky-yellow substance within in suspicion.

"It's bathing oil. You're supposed to use it after you wash away the soap," Brigit said. "But it should work well enough for grease."

And she poured a small amount inside in the gaps between Buzak's arms and the wood. Then she rotated the barrel around Buzak's form to make sure the grease was even. All the while, the Moblin sat paralyzed like a grotesque model for an ugly garment.

"Now, I'll try and ease it off while turning it, like a screw," Brigit said. "Maybe that will work."

Brigit wiped her hands free of grease and took the mouth of the barrel again, this time nearly kneeling on the ground for support. "One… Two… Three… twist!"

A minute passed, Brigit groaning under exertion. Slowly, the wood began to slip free of Buzak's furred abdomen, further up his chest. Brigit, spurred by the success, twisted harder despite the protests of her arms.

"I don't think it will move anymore," Buzak said flatly. "It's stuck for good."

"No! No! It just moved! Look, see!" rejoiced Brigit, short of breath. "Hold on, let me try some more… One, two, three!"

With a squelching pop, the wooden planks pulled free, sending Brigit reeling backward. Buzak collapsed on the dirt, torso streaked with dust and oil.

"I told you I would do it," Brigit boasted. "Now you can go back to the castle without looking foolish!"

The Moblin looked at her very hard, but the corners of his jowls upturned to reveal a toothy, sardonic grin. "Pinkling, that's not the last of my problems today!"

"Oh?" replied Brigit, hands scuffed and dress gritty. She pocketed the bottle and slowly attempted to stretch out her strained arms before reaching to collect Fleet. "Really?"

Buzak straightened up to his full height. "You're useful, for a human," he said gruffly. "But it's not your business."

"Flattered that you find me useful for things other than eating," said Brigit. "And it is my business. I just pulled you out of a barrel; I'd like to know how you got there in the first place!"

He grimaced in a strange fashion as they stood there in the middle of the field's sun. "Never got a taste for pinkling," he admitted. "Nothing really tasty to me about them. Too squashy, too bland, too scrawny. Lots of others like it, though."

"Stop avoiding the question."

A defeated look fell resoundingly on Buzak. "Mates of mine have got… something… of mine. And they won't give it back."

"You tried?"

Buzak pointed to the barrel with a single horn-shod claw.

"… Oh," squeaked Brigit, sentence falling lamely. "What did they take?"

"A small thing," Buzak elaborated. "A bone-knife. Nothing to you, but it means more to my kind."

A family heirloom… of sorts, Brigit thought. Is it so valuable that he can't go back without it?

"There's no helping it," Brigit concluding. "We'll simply have to get it back if it's that important to you."

Springing to his hooves, the moblin stood menacingly tall, eyes wide in amazement and fear. "You would… help me do this?"

"Sir, they took away your things and then shoved you into a barrel. That's hardly polite. I've got nowhere else to be…"

She gathered Fleet and looked for a nearby rock to help herself on. A small hillock provided the necessary height, and soon she was looking eye to eye with the Moblin rather than up at him.

"Is it far?" she asked. "Can you keep up?"

The moblin snorted.

"A simple task, Pinkling."

Brigit looked behind her at the nearly solid-thick woods that closed the Forest Meadow from the outside world. It had not been far at all; Buzak knew a short cut that did away with all the nonsense about trying to traverse the Lost Woods. But Fleet had refused to enter the trees.

"You're shivering," Buzak laughed in his rough tone. "Scared?"

"Yes," Brigit admitted. "But… we have to get your thing back."

But the monster only shook his head. "You'd risk becoming a Stalfos, torn apart by wolfos, or being eaten by my kind?"

Brigit fingered the heavy iron sigil. "I don't think I have to worry about that," she said. "I think I may have to worry about finding my way out."

She looked at the maze-like hedges with a bit of unease.

"Me too."

"What? You weren't paying attention to the maze?"

"I thought you were."

Brigit sighed. "Goddesses, preserve me."

"You're better off praying that Blun and Kart don't find you," Buzak advised. "Or me."

The girl paused to carefully look around the corner. Nothing. "Why?"

"Barrel," reminded Buzak. "And… they put me down enough anyway. You won't help."

"Am I embarrassing?"

"Look, pinkling," the moblin said. "Think about it this way. How would it look if a cucco pulled you out of a barrel? You do eat cuccos?"

Brigit blushed fiercely. "…Oh. I see."

"You're a fierce, brave warrior cucco. But still a cucco."

"Ssh!"

Brigit grabbed Buzak's clawed hand and motioned to pull him behind the hedges. He was not moved at all by her small stature, but complied due to that it was a warning. It was no later than they had hidden that a pair of black and yellowish moblins thundered past, spears held in thorny grips. They were at least three heads taller than Buzak, and twice as wide. They were also many, many times more malodorous. Brigit almost gagged, but she held her breath and endured the stench.

Brigit had never seen Buzak so clearly compared to his kin. Brigit had never noticed before, but Buzak was much lighter than the patrolling guards; he lacked the distinctive fat, and the heavy belly. In combination with his short stature, he was truly a dwarf.

Though she wondered why he never seemed to fight back. Although he had not the sheer mass of his fellows, he was much leaner and muscled-looking than the piggish patrol (even if one of them had the jowls of an ugly dog, not a hog). Distantly, Brigit wondered exactly how strong a moblin was— Buzak was able to keep pace with a speedy horse over rough terrain. Possibly his overly-developed musculature was simple compensation for his lack of height.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a stirring in her bag. Loki was awake. Brigit undid the clasp, revealing a cat's head poking out of the front flap. He bounded to the ground, shaking his mussed fur.

"Must you let… your cat out of the bag?"

"Would you like being in a bag?" Brigit countered.

"Hmn. Point taken."

Brigit bent down to her cat. "Loki, you must stay close. We can't be seen."

"Prrow," said Loki.

Buzak raised a furry eyebrow. "You talk to your cat?" he asked, skeptical. "He's not… he's not one of your kind."

"You're not a hylian, either," Brigit said, continuing forward carefully. "I talk to you."

"I can talk back."

"I like to imagine that Loki can, too," replied Brigit curtly. "On the subject of talking, you speak better than most of your kind."

Buzak paused very deliberately, shifting his weight from one hoof to another. And he looked down at her, puzzled. "You notice."

"I do."

"You notice that I do not speak like Blun or Kart."

His eyes seemed bright. Brigit nodded in affirmation.

"Yes."

"I try."

And that was all he said.

"That seems mean."

Brigit looked up from around the bush, staring at the white object dangling from a hempen cord. The knife had been placed in an extremely insulting spot for Buzak. Namely, in the branches of a tall tree. And although he was over six feet tall, Buzak was short for a moblin.

"It is," said Buzak.

Brigit dusted off her sleeves and tightened her kerchief, pulling the hem of her skirt up immodestly. "You might want to stay here," she suggested. "I'm going to get that knife for you.

Loki mewled softly, draped around Brigit's shoulder like a living fur boa. She set him down, only to see the small animal run directly for the tree instead of the bushes.

"You've got a smart cat," Buzak mused, wiggling his snout. "Or it could just like shining things."

"Ssh!"

Brigit tugged Buzak's arm, signaling to move back into the bushes; he was too massive to simply pull back into the cover. The moblin ducked into the shadow of an enormous elm. "What is it?"

"It's Blun or Kart," she whispered. "The yellow one with the little black nose."

"Kart," said Buzak. "Dogfaces are forest dwellers. My kind are just stationed here."

"Ssh!"

The huge, yellow and tan moblin passed them by, idling in the clearing. He did not notice them, but paused lamely, scratched his behind, and sat down by the tree, clutching his spear. A slimy rope of drool dribbled from his boxy mouth, and he did not look like he was going to move anytime soon.

In fact, it almost looked like he expected Buzak to show up and beg for his whatever-it-was back. It was getting late in the day, Brigit rationalized, and to them Buzak would have to return to them sooner or later.

As it happened, sooner. "What are we going to do?" whispered Brigit, gritting her teeth. "And what about Loki?"

The cat was still scratching his way up the tree, unnoticed. Bearing in mind the unpickiness of Moblin eating habits, Brigit had no desire to explore what would happen to her poor pet if he was caught.

"Hang the cat," Buzak cursed. "He'll see us eventually. I can't guarantee your safety, Pinkling, and…"

"Hear us is more likely! Shush!" hissed Brigit, fingering the iron sigil. "Don't worry about me. Either way, you need that thing-a-majig back, and we need it in time to get back to the castle, so what are we going to do?"

Buzak paused, black eyes falling to the leaf litter. He ran a clawed hand through his thick mane and contorted his bushy eyebrows as if deep in thought. And soon he spoke again, businesslike and resolute.

"One of us will have to distract him while the other retrieves it," he said. "Better he see only one of us than both of us. I have a higher chance of surviving an encounter…"

"I'll do it," said Brigit. "I'm in no danger from him."

"Are you a fool? He's twice again your size, pinkling!"

Brigit frowned at him meaningfully and dusted off her skirts. "Please trust me, Buzak," she said. "You circle around here while I keep him busy. Snag your treasure with a stick, and make a run for it. I'll retrieve Loki, and we'll be off again."

The moblin flinched slightly at the mention of his name, but he slowly nodded. "If you really believe you can do it, small one, then power to you," he said. "Go."

Carefully, Brigit stepped out of the brush. She was mindful not to reveal the presence of Buzak, but really that was not so much on her mind as the sheer size and noxious odor of Kart the moblin. By comparison, Buzak smelled like rosewater and spice.

"Good afternoon!" she said with a grin. "And how are you today?"

Kart startled to attention and immediately retook his full height—all nine feet of it. Brigit could only see the bottom of his slimy muzzle. "Who?"

"Oh, I'm nobody," Brigit said steadily. Buzak was sneaking around with a branch, she could see that. "I was just wondering if you could help me, sir."

"No help for pinklings," he said, snorting through filth. "No trespassers, either."

"I'm not trespassing," Brigit insisted. "I'm lost. Here, here's a map."

She unfurled the little parchment roadmap she carried. "Where am I right now, sir?"

The moblin stared at her, at the black iron symbol she wore, and then at the map. "Here," he said, pointing to the big blurry area marked off as dangerous. In the background, Buzak had begun to lift the object from its catch.

"I see," Brigit said, voice wavering a bit. She smiled harder. "And how would be the quickest way to get to the Zora spring from here?"

Kart scratched his head, squinting down at the paper. He stooped a bit, but the blast of foul breath almost made Brigit retch. "Have to go around," he said. "Unless you swim through fishhole."

"What's a fishhole?"

Buzak struggled to free the tightly snagged hemp, but he was making progress. Brigit managed to steal a look in his direction while Kart was off guard, silently pleading 'please hurry up.'

It was odd how a boar's face could make such an expression, but the wrinkled snout and importunate eyes clearly replied 'I'm hurrying, but I need more time!'

"Fishhole here, here, here," Kart said consisely, pointing a grimy claw at several spots in the forest. "Fish swim from Zora lake, but only fish. Too deep for me, too deep for pinklings."

"Then how do I go around?"

Kart stared at her, about to point it out, but he gave an enraged snarl that made Brigit jump back. "Too many questions!" he squealed. "You go!"

"Now, there's no need to get mad..."

He stamped his foot, and the ground shook. "You go!"

And then a complicated series of events happened. The vibration through the ground met the tree. The tree dropped Buzak's knife. It also dropped Loki right onto Kart's face. The moblin howled and the cat yowled and they both flailed, but the cat was the one who connected and scratched at the moblin's face. Kart clawed at the cat, who by then had jumped off just as kart's blind struggle collided headfirst with the tree. Loki jumped back onto Brigit's shoulders, hissing and spitting angrily.

"Run!" screamed Brigit, and she gathered her skirts to take off into the forest just as Kart got up, roaring with violence. She made about two strides before Buzak scooped her up and unceremoniously hefted her over one shoulder like a sack of grain. Loki dug his claws into her dress to hang on.

She would have screamed for him to put her down, but Kart was chasing them so being put down seemed like a very bad idea at the time.

"Ow!" she cried as a branch grazed her flailing legs. "Watch where you're going!"

Buzak puffed, tearing the ground under him. "Is he gaining?"

"No!"

"Good!"

He sprang off a high ravine and landed with a thud, black hooves cutting deep into the moss. They nearly squashed a small russet-haired child in green, wearing a ridiculous pointy cap. The boy almost stretched his freckles his mouth opened so wide to scream.

"Sorry!" Brigit apologized as they continued to flee. "Excuse us!"

And he ran until they finally reached the edge of the woods. It was growing hazy in the early evening, but they had made it. Kart was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, they had lost him a while back. And they had made it in time to get back well before Brigit's curfew.

"Buzak? Would you please put me down now?"

And he did, very carefully. Loki jumped to the ground, and from the ground into her bag while Brigit dusted herself off and picked leaves out of her hair. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble," he said tersely. "You are very light."

She looked around. And sure enough, there was Fleet. As if he had followed them on the edge of the forest. A little creepy, but welcome. She took the reins. "Well, that was exciting," she said.

"You are crazy!" Buzak puffed, catching his breath. "You almost were eaten!"

"But it turned out well in the end." She paused. "Um..."

Buzak lifted her on top of the big horse without asking at all.

"Thank you again."

"You are very light."

And so they all went back to the castle, tired but very grateful to have won their little quest.

Brigit sat in her chair and looked at her room. It was less bare now, had more books, and she had a supply of soap to use when she next washed up. It almost began to feel like home, she thought. As sort of horrifying as that seemed. In the basement she had seen the awful curses that guarded the entrance to His Majesty's private tower, the vicious traps he had put all over the place to guard it. She lived in the same building as that.

But one would never be able to tell from the contents of her room alone. Loki purred on her lap, sprawled over her skirts. His lap, the cat claimed.

She turned the bone-knife over in her hands. Buzak had told her to keep it, and hide it so if they came after it again they wouldn't be able to find it. He had been worried that they would give him a beating again for seeking her help.

Brigit told him that Kart wouldn't tell anybody, for he had been the one outsmarted by, in his words, 'a pinkling and the runt,' and if he wanted to keep his dignity he'd also keep his slobbery mouth shut. If moblins had much dignity, anyway.

She put it down on the table and wondered which book she would read.

It didn't help that she already had read all of the booklender's books.

Oh well. At least she had had an adventure. Dangerous, yes. Scary? Yes. But she still stood by that it had been interesting. Maybe even fun, in some ways. In between the danger. And she really had made one good friend out of it.

Maybe there was more to this job than just the peril compensation wages.

It was exciting.

Maybe someday she would write about it.