Chapter Summary:Six months before reaching Trostenwald, Molly finds two starving travelers on the side of the road.
Chapter Six:
In the Circus (ft. Mollymauk)
Snow was falling. It was coming down heavily, sticking like soft burrs in Mollymauk's curls as he wandered through a winter wood. The temperature had dropped overnight, and frozen fractals snapped under the pressure of his boots. The forest had been calling his name since the first tent peg went into the ground, and when the morning light illuminated black branches against a milky-white sky, Molly had sloughed his chores, thrown on an extra coat, and eloped into the trees.
And it was beautiful in its own stark way. There'd been icefall the night before, and every surface glistened as though encased in a petticoat of jewels. There was a hush to it all. It stilled his heart, usually a whirling dervish of energy, and though he usually preferred heat and volume and the feverish movement of a crowd, sometimes…sometimes, the stillness called to him, too. In those times, the name Mollymauk Tealeaf seemed like his own, and the quiet didn't scare him.
He reached a narrow pathway where the undergrowth grew sparse, probably a game trail where deer ambled on the way to hidden thickets. Molly's head was high as he passed a dense, low-hanging bush which he might have taken no notice of had the toe of his boot not caught an unevenness of surface. He stumbled, staggering to one knee in the snow.
'Clumsy, even walking in a straight line,' he thought with a chuckle, and started pushing himself upright. However, instead of hard earth, his hand pressed down on a leather-clad foot.
His first reaction was to jerk back. He could see a huddled shape obscured by the bush's thick branches, and Molly's first thought was that the poor bastard had frozen to death. But how? The town of Harthwaite wasn't far, and it was hard to imagine losing yourself in this tame copse of woods. Feeling under obligation to make at least some kind of identification, Molly attempted to drag the body out into the open. Two things happened almost at once. First, he heard a faint metallic sound, and then the man moved. Molly fell straight onto his backside.
"Well, I'll be damned. You aren't dead, are you?" He drew nearer, with both more caution and more eagerness.
His cheerfulness died as he brushed away the snow. The guy was in bad shape. His limbs were stiff, his eyelids bruised blue pockets, and his lips had no color at all. Mollymauk sat back on his heels. Obviously, he couldn't leave the man here. He didn't have much coin, but there was a silver or two in his pocket and a handful of coppers. Enough to get a meal and a warm bed if Molly could get the guy back into town.
He took a firmer grip on the man's legs. "Sorry, buddy," he said. "First things first. You've got to come out from under the bush."
A strong tug moved the man a few inches, but after that Molly encountered resistance. It was like something was holding the body in place. Molly gave another experimental tug, and this time he saw the chain. With a sinking sensation, he recognized it as a foothold trap, a snare with a metal mouth held open by a spring. If he moved aside that shabby coat, would he find a mangled arm or worse? Steeling himself, he pulled back the concealing fabric.
He was prepared for pulverized bones or a wound, messy with congealed blood. What he wasn't prepared for was a child. She was braced against the man's chest so that no part of her face or neck was exposed. All he could see was a fringe of dark hair. Worst of all, it was clear she was the one caught in the trap.
The story was coming together. Somehow, the kid had gotten caught in the snare. No doubt her father attempted to free her but hadn't been able to do so. Rather than abandon her, he'd offered the only protection available – the warmth of his own body. What Molly didn't understand was, if he couldn't release the trap, why not return to the village to get help? And if he had been afraid to leave her, why not light a fire to protect them both from the cold?
Molly tried to rouse the man, going so far as to slap his face and pinch his ear. Nothing. Finally Molly drew his boot knife and began sawing at the bush. That was when he saw the cat. It gave a thin, tired cry, startling him. He looked up, seeing the animal hunkered down in the snow. "Well, hello," Molly said.
Of course, the cat had nothing to say, so Molly went back to the bush. He was sweating by the time he'd cleared away the obstruction, so he took off his outer layer and laid it over the man and his child. Afterward, he pressed his fingers to their necks. The father was ice cold, but Molly could feel his pulse. He had a harder time with the girl. Then, faint and thready, his fingers detected a heartbeat.
"Still some time," he muttered. "But not much."
The foothold trap was much as he'd expected. There was no release mechanism, which meant it was magically operated. Which was fine. Magic was smart, but Molly had already learned that smart could often be subverted by savvy . Which is why he ignored the magically reinforced hinge and instead followed the chain to ground. With a little digging, he found the peg, and – surprise, surprise – there was no magic here. Because, of course there wasn't. Nasty as this thing was, it was meant for a beast, not a person. That still didn't make it easy. The anchoring peg had been pressed deep, and it required a very stressful hour of digging to free it from the ground. It was such an effort that, when the chain finally did come free, Molly almost cried with relief.
"Next," he said to the cat, only to discover it had curled itself around the man's neck. He got a fire popping and crackling, then dragged the man as close as he dared. "Time to get warm, buddy."
The guy started shifting. Not much. A few spasmatic twitches of muscle, a tiny groan, and the movement of eyes behind translucent lids. They cracked open, hazy and barely cognizant but alive. Molly grinned fiercely.
"Hey. Welcome back to the land of the living."
The man's eyes were a vivid blue. They traveled slowly over the landscape of Molly's face, then drifted to the fire. For a moment, they closed against the warmth. Sharp cheekbones jutted, frostbitten and raw, and his lank ginger hair hung like straw on a scarecrow, lifeless. Molly's heart compressed with pity.
"I know this is hard to understand," he told the frozen man, "but I was able to free your girl. We need to get back to civilization, but I can't carry you both, so we're going to get you warmed up enough to walk. I've got a fire going, but I'm also going to give you a cuddle, alright?"
Chucking his embroidered coat, he added it to the pile and crawled under. He was instantly shivering, all heat leeched from his body, but even though his teeth were chattering, he nestled closer. Eventually, the man began to squirm and make uncomfortable noises, circulation returning with pain. It was when he actively struggled that Molly felt ready to make a go at getting back to Gustav and the others.
Disentangling himself, he hauled the man into a sitting position. "You with me?"
The man blinked without much awareness, but at least his muscles were working again. His hand, which had been locked in a death grip, rose to press the back of his daughter's neck.
"That's right," Molly soothed. "Your girl. We've got to get her out of here. So, you ready to walk?"
The man clumsily attempted to get to his knees. He couldn't, not with the child.
Molly extended his arms. "Here, I'm stronger. Let me carry her."
He didn't know what to expect. Dull incomprehension, maybe, or passive obedience. What he didn't expect was the anger kindled in the man's eyes. Beside them, the cat arched its back and hissed. Why? What did this guy think he was going to do? Hurt her?
Molly didn't want to wrestle an enfeebled man. Instead, he made his voice soft and compelling. "You're too weak to bear her weight, and I'm worried if we don't get help soon, she could die. You're going to have to trust me."
There was a tense moment, and then the man loosened his grip. Molly took the little bundle.
"That's it. I've got her."
Keeping hold of the girl, Mollymauk hauled the man to his feet. At first, he almost dragged all three of them to the ground. After a moment, though, he steadied, and they began their long, lurching journey out of the woods. Eventually, the trees thinned, and the stripes of the carnival tent came into view. Molly could see activity, and one particular silhouette made his chest ache with gratefulness. "Yasha!"
She immediately began moving in his direction. "What's this?" she asked when she reached them.
Molly let her take the child and stretched out his back with a groan. "Found them in the woods. The kid was caught in a foothold trap."
"They're in rough shape."
"You can say that again." He looked with concern at the man, who'd sunk to his knees as soon as they stopped moving. "I thought we could call the crownsguard and find out if they have people in Harthwaite."
"I don't think involving the crownsguard is a good idea," said Yasha.
"Why not?"
"Because," said Yasha, pulling away the wrapping obscuring the girl's face. "Child or not, I have a feeling this one wouldn't be welcome in any village."
Folded against the girl's neck were two overlarge ears, and just peeking out of chapped lips were the tips of pointy teeth. Moly knew what he was looking at. He just couldn't make any sense of it. "Well, that's a surprise," he said.
Yasha wasn't the kind of person to roll her eyes, but her level expression conveyed her feelings about the depth of his understatement. "You didn't look?"
"I was trying to keep them from freezing to death! Plus this guy had a death grip on her. What kind of person sacrifices themselves for a goblin? I thought she was his kid."
"Sacrificed?"
"He could have left her," Molly said, more soberly now. "It was…" He stumbled over his explanation, as he had little frame of reference for what he'd witnessed. There was no cradle in his memory, no hearth. "Tender," he decided. "I'm not making it up, Yasha. He was protecting her."
"Then perhaps we should do the same, at least until we know their story. But Gustav won't like it."
Molly grimaced. It was inevitable that not every town or province welcomed a traveling carnival. In those places, they conducted their business and moved on quickly. Molly wasn't sure what kind of town Harthwaite was, but it was suggestive that a pair of crownsguard had shown up before they even pinned the first flyer. Chances were, Gustav wouldn't delight in additional complications. And yet… Molly's chin set stubbornly. He hadn't saved these people just to dump them now.
"I know that look," said Yasha. "And I'll support you."
Molly smiled. "That means a lot to me, you know."
"It may not be so bad as you think. Gustav is a compassionate man."
Molly's mouth twitched. "He's been known to help strays before."
Yasha swatted his arm. "You're not a stray. Now take this girl. I think the other one is going to need my help."
"Right," said Molly. He pulled up the goblin's hood, and the two of them made their way down the hill, toward an uncertain future.
Edwina Greenhand was an ancient crone. On performance nights, she peddled elixirs of dubious and colorful effects, but in another life the woman had been an herbalist, and she often cared for the minor ailments of the circus troupe. Edwina took one look at the people Yasha and Molly brought to her and snapped into action. "Take them into community tent and build up the fire. Yasha, fetch blankets. Also, stop by my tent. You'll find a warming pan tucked under the bedroll. Bring that, too. We'll need it."
"Right," Yasha said and disappeared.
"They can't stay in those wet clothes. You strip him, Molly, and I'll take the girl." Molly attempted to warn her, but she'd already peeled back the hood. He watched her freeze. Then she cleared her throat and started unfastening buttons. "No doubt this is quite a tale, but we don't have time for it now."
When he'd seen the man's sharp cheekbones, his sunken eyes, Molly had known to expect the physique of poverty, yet when they peeled away the bottommost layers, his heart sank. These people weren't merely scrawny, but nearly emaciated, their skin stretched tight over their hip bones and across the boney knobs of their ribs. It was clear the specter of starvation loomed here, and had for some time.
"Damn," Molly remarked, and for the first time he felt doubt. Hypothermia was hard on even a healthy body. Could ones so weakened possibly have a chance?
He looked to Edwina, who shook her head. "Don't give me eyes like that, Mollymauk Tealeaf. I'll do my best, but I have no miracles. If you want one of those, you'd better pray."
"Is there any chance at all?" He looked at the somnolent faces. "Or are we being cruel not letting them just sink down and sleep?"
Edwina slapped his shoulder, hard enough for Molly to exclaim, "Ow! What –?" but the halfling woman thrust a boney finger under his nose, cutting off further protest. "Now, you listen to me, young man. Death isn't something you invite to your door. You have to fight it. According to you, these two fought to survive. They're losing, there's no doubt about that. But I'll be damned if I decide it's time to let the Stranger trespass the gates and take what he pleases when they haven't. Are you?"
"No," Molly said immediately. "I won't."
He could see the approval on her face. "Then fill that pan and hand it to me."
It took ages. Hours of fighting that thin, stalking shadow Edwina had called the Stranger. First they went to battle with coals and warm water and wool. Molly spooned tea down their throats, massaging with his fingers to ease its passage. He warmed rolls of blankets packed under their armpits and groin. He helped a grim-faced Edwina free the goblin girl from the her footwear, revealing a misshapen foot and several frostbitten toes.
Edwina frowned. "The cold is all that saved this. There's almost no swelling. I can't fix what's crushed, but I can maneuver the rest back into line. She'll walk again, if she lives."
Yasha, who was sitting with the girl's leg propped in her lap, ran her thumbs over the arch of each green foot, and there was a brief moment when they almost seemed to glow. The next blink it was gone, leaving Molly unsure what he'd seen. He caught Yasha's eye, and she didn't look away, but she did touch a finger to her lips. Which, okay. Molly could keep secrets, even ones he didn't understand.
It was as the light was sinking into the woods and shadows began filling spaces between tents, carts, and outbuildings, that Gustav finally made an appearance. Molly had been waiting for him all afternoon, eyes jerking to the tent flap every time it moved. Finally, the familiar face squinted into the room, zeroing in on the two strangers. Molly tried to read his expression. Was he angry? Curious? The features of his usually lively face were too rigid to tell.
Molly drew himself up. Time to face the music.
The strong, dark ale put a welcome heat in Mollymauk's belly. For the first time all day, his muscles relaxed, and he sunk down on the bench, luxuriating in the relief of it. Gustav shoved a plate of cold meat and cheese in his direction. "Eat that," he said. "You look done in."
Molly obeyed with relish. He hadn't realized how famished he was. Gustav watched him down his food and wipe his mouth with a satisfied, gusty sigh. "Thank you, Gustav," he said, both for the food and the chance to get his feet beneath him before this conversation happened.
"Don't mention it. Now, though, Molly, I want to hear. What kind of trouble have you brought here, and how likely is it to bite me in the ass?"
"Literally or figuratively?" Molly asked. Gustav gave him a look, and he huffed, spreading his arms. "I don't know, Gustav. I don't know either of them from Adam."
"And yet you couldn't leave them," Gustav said.
Molly shook his head. "You know me. Better than I know myself, sometimes. So, yeah. No."
Gustav sighed. "Well, it is a unique kettle of fish. Tell me the whole thing, start to finish. In case I need to know."
Molly did, including the identity of their smaller guest. Afterward, Gustav reached into his pocket, drew out a pipe and tobacco pouch, and took the time to pack and light it. Molly knew it for the ritual it was and waited. It wasn't until the smoke was drifting between his lips that Gustav answered. "There's a chance, a good chance, these people are personae non gratae in these parts, even more than we are. Best case scenario, we end up with two dependents. At worst, I end up having to explain to crownsguard why I'm harboring undesirables. Does that sound wise?"
Gustav's points were good ones. And yet… "We were all undesirables in some way. Maybe, somehow, these two are my chance to pay it forward."
"They may not even live," Gustav warned.
"Then I'll bury them myself. Yasha will help me," he added, because virtually any endeavor seemed more reasonable when Yasha was involved. As a final measure, he cleared his throat and said, "Please, Gustav."
It was enough. Gustav passed a hand through his ashy brown hair, tapped twice on his pipe, and said, "Alright. They're free to stay, Mollymauk. In your care."
"Thank you," Molly said, and he stood. Now that he'd eaten, he felt energized. Time to get to work.
The man and the goblin didn't die, though there were moments when that was in doubt. On one particularly bad night, when fever had set in, the tiny goblin began to convulse under Yasha's hands. Molly had been forced to pin her companion, who, despite being sick himself, emerged from febrile unconsciousness to try and reach her.
As Edwina worked in tandem with Yasha, Molly tried to calm him. "It's alright," he said, stroking sweaty bangs and refusing to break contact with those frenzied blue eyes. "She's going to be fine."
Edwina didn't make a liar of him. Using every trick she'd learned, the woman drew the goblin back from the brink, and the very next morning she woke for the first time. Molly was the only one there when her eyes opened. When he saw panic began to build, he rolled her in the direction of her friend. Once she saw him, the tension ran out of her. Molly moved them onto the same bedroll after that, and they began to improve much quicker.
Feeding and hydrating them by the spoonful, Molly spent long nights sitting with them. It became a war of attrition. But it was a war Molly was determined to win, and finally the day came when the man was not just awake but truly aware.
"Hey," Molly said.
And in a voice that was rasping and thin, the man swallowed and whispered back, "Hey."
The man was hunched by the fire, a bowl of broth in his lap. He gazed around the tent with amazement and incomprehension. Molly understood. The poor guy had gone to ground in a snowbank. Now here he was, being hovered over by a purple tiefling.
The man shivered, and, without thinking, Molly drew the edges of his coat closer together. Only afterward did he think better of it. He'd grown so used to taking care of this man it had became second nature, but now that he was awake, new boundaries would need to be drawn. They were, after all, strangers to one another. And yet Molly wasn't able to easily erase these last days from his mind. "Sorry," he said. "Habit."
The man stared, but not with contempt or fear. He seemed more…bewildered.
Which begged the question. "Do you know who I am?" Molly asked. He wasn't really surprised when the man shook his head. It was disappointing, even if it was expected. "No memory at all?"
The man looked down at his lap, his brow furrowed in thought. "You." His voice was so hoarse it was almost painful to listen to. "You were in the forest. There was a fire and…and a coat." He tugged at the jacket draped over him even now, colorful with its patches of patterned fabric. Moly had gotten into the habit of settling it over him while he slept, and when he woke that morning, he'd been clutching it so tightly Molly hadn't even attempted to get it back.
He held up his hands. "Guilty as charged."
"I see you in my memories. Or maybe my dreams." The man touched his forehead. "Confused."
"I'm not surprised. You've been very sick."
"You cared for me," said the man. It was a question, though it had the wrong inflection.
"You seemed in need of help," said Molly simply. "I came upon you in the woods and brought you here to see our medic. It's been several days now, and Edwina says both you and your friend will recover. Minus a few toes on her part, but essentially intact. You're welcome."
"Thank you," the man said belatedly. "Are you a…circus person?"
Molly laughed. "You could say that. I read the cards, draw the crowds, occasionally do a bit of fancy swordsmanship. But enough about me. I want to hear about you." He saw the way the man's eyes strayed to the blankets by his hip where the goblin girl was sleeping soundly. "We know about her, but you don't have to worry. No one is going to hurt her. You're safe."
The look the man gave him was blatantly disbelieving. "Forgive me if I doubt you," he said, and there was a bite to his voice for the first time. "We've found few so forgiving of her race, no matter how decent they seem otherwise."
"You're here, aren't you?"
"And what will we be required to pay for this kindness? I don't have anything." He plucked at his ill-fitting shirt. "At least, nothing I believe anyone would want."
Molly was quick to disabuse him of that notion. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one here expects repayment."
"I know how the world operates. You don't have to tell me half-truths."
The bitterness in this man's voice and the implied accusation sent a thread of anger through Molly. "Look," he said. "Doubt me all you want, but the carnival has already put themselves out for you, and I'll be damned if I let you slander them. Of course the world is a steaming pile of garbage a lot of the time, but the people here are good people, and none of us helped you because we expected to get something out of it."
There was silence for a long time, both of them retreating to their corners to consider what the other had brought to the table. Molly was starting to feel guilty for getting mad, when the man said, "I'm sorry."
Molly let out a breath. "Nah, I'm sorry. You've got every reason to be suspicious. It's just, this place is my home, and I can get a little touchy when it comes to family."
"Loyalty is important," the man said with such underlying melancholy it sent Molly's mood plunging.
"Just, eat your soup, okay? It's going to get cold." Molly didn't know if the man believed a word he'd said, but he attempted to lift the spoon. However, the tremors in his hands were so bad that he couldn't balance the utensil, and, after a few tries, he gave up. Molly scooted closer. "Here. Let me."
"You – do not have to – to –"
"Who do you think's been doing it these last few days?" Molly asked, then, seeing the humiliation and helplessness on the other's face, he spoke more gently. "Please. It's a small thing."
The man allowed Molly to take the bowl from his lap. They didn't speak for the first few spoonfuls, but eventually, very quietly, the man said, "Thank you."
Molly sensed this 'thank you' was for more than just soup. Nonetheless, he exercised no pressure, making sure to keep his voice light and undemanding. "Don't mention it. I'm Mollymauk Tealeaf, by the way."
"It's a colorful name."
"Well, I'm a colorful person," he said, tilting his head in a way that set the charms on his horns jingling.
Another of those distinct pauses. "I'm…Caleb."
And just like that, the face he'd watched for signs of fever, the hands he'd massaged to restore circulation, all of it had a name. 'I guess I won't be naming you,' Molly thought with good humor. Still, 'Caleb' suited him.
"I've been worried about you, Caleb. I though you might die on me before I got a chance to hear what brought you into those woods." He looked toward the goblin. "I thought she was your daughter, the way you were wrapped around her. You saved her life, you know."
"You have it backward," Caleb said. "She saved me."
He told Molly the story between tiny sips of broth. It had many twists and turns. There was a prison, a fire, and an escape. There was hunger, and – as the season turned – cold. Finally, there'd been the snap of a trap, a squeal of pain, frantic attempts at freedom hindered by physical weakness, and finally, resignation.
"When it came down to it, I couldn't leave her. Not for noble reasons. Selfish ones. I couldn't bare to go on living alone."
The bowl lay, forgotten, to one side. "That's quite a story," Molly said.
"It had a different ending than expected," Caleb admitted. "More than anything, I'm thankful Nott survived. She deserves to live."
"Nott?"
A strange expression crossed Caleb's face. It wasn't a smile, but it flirted with the edges of the same feeling, like a bud promising a flower. "Nott the Brave, actually. Her name suits her very much. She is not like other goblins. She's been hurt far more than she hurts."
Molly had to admire the protectiveness in his voice. Here this guy was, barely able to sit upright, and he sounded ready to fight anybody who took exception to his friend. Selfish? Sure, probably. Molly could tell that Caleb was fragile mentally as well as physically, but there was a strand of steel running through him, and it seemed it was wrapped around a goblin named Nott.
"You don't have to worry," Molly reassured. "This is a carnival. We're all weird. Nobody will bat an eyelash, at least once they get to know her."
"Are we intended to get to know you?"
"Do you mean, can you stay? Definitely, at the moment. As for later, I suspect that will be your decision to make."
"I can tell you're a kind person, Mollymauk. So I feel it is only fair to warn you. I am not a good person. I'm garbage, and if it were not for Nott, it probably would have been better for you to let me die in the snow."
This tone was so somber, so convinced of its own truth, and yet Molly was unconvinced. Actions spoke louder than words, and the only proof Molly had of Caleb's character was self-sacrifice. Hardly the act of a garbage person. Which is why he leaned back, hands behind his head, and said, "A bit melodramatic, don't you think?"
It was almost comical how wide Caleb's eyes stretched. "Was?"
"Look," Mollymauk said, leaning forward. "I'm not gonna go digging around in your past to figure out why you think you're such a bad person. In truth, I'm not much a fan of the past. So, tell me, do you plan to do any deliberate harm to this carnival or anyone in it?"
Caleb stared. "No."
"No thefts, assaults, arsons, or vandalism?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then let's just wait and see," Molly said. "And if things turn out to be a problem, we'll deal with it then."
"It may be you come to regret that decision, Mollymauk Tealeaf," Caleb said.
"Oh, shut up and take a nap, why don't you? I can see your eyelids drooping from here."
He had to help Caleb stretch out on his bedroll, nudging Nott safely under his arm for good measure. Blinking heavily, Caleb said, "Mollymauk?
"Yes, Caleb?"
"Whatever happens…thank you again."
Molly's eyes softened. He yanked the blanket more snuggly in place. "Yeah, yeah. No problem. Now you two sleep tight."
Molly had fallen asleep in the communal tent. To be honest, he hadn't slept much of anywhere else, what with his charges needing such constant monitoring. However, with Caleb's return to consciousness, he'd been planning to give himself the night off – go into town for a few drinks, take a hot bath, and turn into his own bunk for once. However, it seemed he'd drifted off, and when he woke up, it was to a tent filled with blue shadow.
His arms had broken out in goosebumps, and he rubbed them bracingly. The firepit had died down to coals, and it was frigid. At first, he wasn't sure what had woken him, but then he heard suppressed grunts and a bitten off moan coming from the bundle of blankets where Caleb and Nott slept.
His first thought was that the fever had returned, but as Molly approached, he saw that wasn't the case. Caleb was moving restlessly, his expression twitching with fear even though his eyes remained closed. While Molly watched, he let out another gasping cry. "No, get out, stop!" and his grasping hands clenched and unclenched as though responding to an unseen calamity. His hair was damp against his forehead, and then – horrifyingly – his panicked expression morphed into despair, and he began to cry.
"Hey, hey," Molly heard himself saying, going to his knees without thinking. He even dared shaking Caleb, wanting to wrestle him out of whatever space in his mind had made him break down like this.
Caleb came awake, his eyes wild with emotion, and his chest, still thin and wont to struggle in its duties, laboring. His gaze swept the room, transported with fear, until he saw Molly. He scrabbled, grabbing for the tiefling. "I killed them."
"Killed? Killed who?"
"My parents."
'It's probably not true,' Molly thought. 'The poor guy just woke up from a dreadful nightmare, and he's not thinking clearly.' Yet the desolate look on Caleb's face as he pressed his forehead into their joined hands, and his hollow sounding cries, made it hard not to wonder. 'What happened to you?'
"Caleb," he said. "It was just a dream. You're here at the Fletching & Moondrop Carnival, with me, Molly."
Caleb lifted his head. His cheeks were streaked, but he was no longer crying. "Mollymauk."
Again with the questions that weren't really questions. "Yeah, it's me."
Caleb withdrew his hands. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to bother you. It was…I was dreaming."
"You didn't bother me. I was worried. Are you alright?"
He asked this because, as the panic fled, it left something even more chilling in its wake: Emptiness. Molly gazed into that blankness, and, without warning, he was thrown back into the days of his own invalidity, when a great nothingness had stretched out in front of him like the long shadow of a grave, and he could still pick dirt from under his fingernails and smell it on his breath. He saw some echo of that nothingness in Caleb's face, and his response was panic.
He scrapped in his pocket, drawing out a handkerchief, and shoved it against Caleb's face. "Blow," he demanded.
It was unexpected enough that Caleb's eyes widened, but when Molly didn't pull away, he gave a weak snuffle to clear his sinuses. Molly sloppily moped the rest of his face, drying it of tears, then yanked Caleb into a seated position.
"Molly, what –"
"Just go with it," Molly said. "This will definitely help."
He pulled Caleb into an embrace. It was too tight, he knew it was too tight, especially for someone who had been so sick, but Molly was shoving back against more than just Caleb's memories. That they had encroached so near had scared him, and he thought if he could squeeze the hurt out of Caleb, then maybe he could keep them both from being consumed.
Stupid, but it didn't stop him from gripping Caleb's neck like his life depended on it and blurting, "You're okay. I'm with you, and we're both fine."
Initially stiff, Caleb began to loosen, until finally he brought up his arms to circle Molly's back. Exhaling, his shoulders lost their tension. "You are very strange, Mollymauk Tealeaf."
Molly choked on a giggle. "Sorry, sorry. I panicked. Is this alright?"
Caleb let his head fall against Molly's shoulder. "It's alright."
There was a goblin staring at him.
She was sitting on a cushion in front of the firepit, holding a bowl of porridge. Her foot was wrapped in a swathe of bandages, and she was glaring at Molly with a pair of yellow eyes he swore were refracting the light of the fire like a wolf or a weasel. It made it impossible not to know her for what she was, even without the teeth or the way her elongated ears twitched at the sounds of people socializing in other parts of the tent.
To Yasha, Molly whispered, "Why is she looking at me like that? I'm starting to feel like a rabbit."
Yasha whispered back, "Perhaps it's because you were wrapped around Caleb when she woke up."
Blood rushed to Molly's ears. "He had a nightmare, okay? And you know I get a little clingy when I'm worried."
Yasha, who had grown used to disentangling Molly from her person whenever the man was fretting, nodded solemnly. "I think it's nice how attached you've gotten. You could use another friend besides me."
"I'm not attached. And I have lots of friends. Tons! Everyone likes me."
"I can tell you relate to him. He does have a bit of that look, the one you had in the beginning."
"Empty," Molly murmured.
"Yes," she said. "It easy to draw the comparison, at least for people who really know you."
His shoulders slumped. "Is that bad?"
"No. That's empathy. Maybe you can even help him. So don't feel bad about comforting a person who had a nightmare or laying the foundation for a new relationship. You just need to remember one thing."
"What's that?"
"She doesn't know any of that, and, judging by the way she's squeezing his hand, that protective streak runs both ways."
"What does she think I'm going to do, eat him?"
"Use your head," said Yasha. "These are socially isolated, systematically abused people. I'm sure you can imagine what kind of exploitation she's seen and endured. And you and I are strangers who have her totally in our power."
"So how do we explain that she's safe?"
"I doubt explanations will cut it," Yasha said. "We'll have to show her."
They'd recovered enough to be given simple work to do. It was a relief. Not only was Nott restless and irritable with inactivity, but she also kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. So when the halfling crone, Edwina, declared she and Caleb fit to do light chores, Nott had jumped at the opportunity. Still off balance with her missing toes, she'd been given a length of old cordage and instructed to mend it. Splicing the frayed ends took dexterous hands and attention to detail, which kept her occupied. Yet she couldn't help but fret.
Caleb was gone, off with that Mollymauk character, and she didn't like it. Caleb was so bright and talented – talented in ways these people didn't even know – but even though Caleb was smart and good, Nott wasn't delusional. Her Caleb was like one of those beautiful panes of glass that temples had instead of windows, all glittery with color and shaped into patterns that showed important histories. But Caleb had been mishandled, and now there were cracks running through him like spiders' webs. Too much pressure and he would shatter. What if these people took advantage of him?
Or else… What if Caleb decided he liked it here with these people who were more like his own kind and less like a dirty goblin who stole things and got them run out of villages to freeze in the forest? What if he decided he wanted Molly to be his friend and left Nott behind like she'd always secretly feared he would?
"Mrrp."
The sound drew her out of her anxious spiral. She scratched behind Frumpkin's ears. "Did Caleb send you to check on me?" The animal stepped into her lap and tucked himself into a comfortable roll. He started to purr, and the heaviness and warmth of the feline body calmed her immediately. She buried her fingers in his fur and whispered into his soft ear, "I love you, Caleb."
"He's a very affectionate cat," someone said.
Nott's eyebrows slammed down, a hiss lodged in her throat. She looked up, ready to glare whoever it was away, but her resolve faltered when she saw the big, dark-haired woman who always hung around Molly. She was called Yasha, and despite her size, she'd never been anything but careful with Nott. Even her voice was quiet, and she moved with a smoothness that reminded Nott of a deer, slow and deliberate, but able to leap powerfully into motion at any time.
Nott looked down at Frumpkin. "He's Caleb's."
Yasha sat down across from her. She did it slowly, giving Nott time to say something if she didn't like it. Nott stayed silent. Yasha scratched Frumpkin beneath the chin. The animal leaned into it, his purring intensifying.
"I ate him once," Nott blurted, for lack of anything better to say.
Yasha blinked. "You…"
"Ate him, yes." Nott felt a bead of sweat go down her back. She was terrible at small talk. "And after Caleb brought him back, Frumpkin refused to sleep beside me for weeks. But we've made up by now."
Yasha was quiet for a long moment as she considered. "I had wondered. Those books we found tucked in his coat, and the cat, of course."
A surge of panic went through Nott. Had she said too much? Had she given Caleb away?
"Relax," Yasha said. "If you want it to be a secret, I won't tell anyone."
"Even Molly?" Molly and Yasha were friends. Maybe even as close as Nott and Caleb. Would she tell him?
"You know," said Yasha. "I think you're misjudging Molly. He's a good person."
Frustration made Nott stubborn. "I don't think he's that great."
Yasha didn't answer. Instead, she opened a journal she'd been holding and started flipping through it. Flashes of color caught Nott's eye, and she leaned forward curiously. "What are those?"
"Flowers," Yasha said, shifting out of the way so Nott could see the dried blossoms. A faint perfume wafted in her direction as Yasha turned the pages. "I collect them from the places we travel."
Nott perked up. She'd had a collection once, before those bastards in the jail took everything. "Why do you collect them?"
"I suppose I find them pretty. Something to remind me of happier times. Plus, all girls like flowers, don't they?"
Nott prevaricated, uncertain. "Um?"
"Would you like one, Nott? This bunch would go with your eyes."
The offer took Nott so much by surprise she didn't know how to respond. Why offer it to her? All girls… But Nott wasn't a proper girl. "I'm a goblin," she blurted.
Yasha tilted her head. "Do goblins not like flowers?"
"Not most of them, no," said Nott. She touched the sprig of yellow flowers. Maybe, if she asked, Caleb would let her keep it between the pages of his spellbook. She looked at Yasha. "Are you really not…disgusted with me, or scared, or something?"
"I think it's better to reserve judgement until I see how people behave," Yasha said.
She was talking about Molly. Nott felt a pang of guilt, which annoyed her. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
Yasha shrugged. "Would you like help with that rope? It will make time go faster." She reached for the coil laying across Nott's lap, and in doing so, their hands brushed. And rather than yanking away, Yasha let her hand settle there for just a moment, applying gentle pressure. Nott stared. Caleb had been the only one who…
Maybe Nott was a little fragile herself. "Okay," she said quietly.
They worked together for the rest of the afternoon.
Caleb had been set to peel potatoes in the mess tent, and it was taking up a great deal of his attention. The knife felt strange in his hand, and the potatoes – still quite fresh this early in the winter – were rough against his skin, which was still over sensitive after his episode last night. He could feel every grain of dirt, and the puckered eyes had a horrifying quality to them, but Caleb kept on doggedly. This was the task he'd been given, and so he must do it.
'After all they've given you,' he told himself, 'and all they've done for Nott, you can peel some damn potatoes.'
Bo, or Bo the Breaker as he had introduced himself, was leading meal preparation today. He came over to inspect Caleb's work. "Not bad," he said. "At least you're not taking half the flesh off like that lazy scoundrel Mollymauk. Lad's too flighty by half to give them the proper attention."
"'Perhaps his skills lie elsewhere," Caleb said, because he felt compelled to say something in Molly's defense, even if it was clear from the fondness in Bo's voice he meant no harm.
Bo gave Caleb's back a bracing pat (Caleb tried desperately to hide his wince) and pulled a bowl filled with nuts nearer. "Don't be shy about nibbling while you work," he said. "You need to put on more weight."
Then he left, thankfully. The carnival, Caleb had discovered, was full of colorful characters. Some were solitary and aloof, like the Knot sisters, who had barely looked in Caleb's direction when they came in for lunch. Others were flamboyant and eager to be friendly. It was overwhelming after so long isolated from any person expect for Nott.
Speaking of Nott, he wondered how she was. He'd sent Frumpkin to check on here, and now he blinked into his familiar's body to reassure himself she was alright. What he saw made him smile, his thumb poised against the knife handle. Yasha, the big woman with the gentle hands, wasn't one he expected to forge a friendship with Nott. Still, it was sweet. He blinked back into himself, not wanting to invade their privacy, and was surprised to find someone talking to him.
It was a dwarvish girl with blond hair done up in braids. "I said, can you hear me?"
He cleared his throat. "I can now. What can I do for you, Miss – ah?"
"Toya," she said. "Why are you wearing Molly's coat?"
Caleb looked down at the garment, which he'd been plucking between his fingers. He flattened it, smoothing the wrinkles. There was a blue spider embroidered to the right of his fingers, a constellation of stars by his left. It had been with him since he woke up, and he hadn't thought to question its origin. "Molly's coat?"
"Well, yeah!" Toya laughed. "It's kind of hard to mistake."
No doubt. Likely, Molly had given it up sometime during his convalescence, and because of Caleb's clinginess, he hadn't asked for it back. Caleb would have to correct that, though thinking of it gave him a pang of loss. He felt safer in the obscuring folds of a heavy coat like this one, and his own had apparently been too ruined to salvage. Still, he couldn't cling to someone else's things for security. He needed to heal, get stronger. If something went wrong and they had to leave suddenly, Caleb would need to be well enough to do so.
Now if only the buzzing beneath his skin would stop.
He came back to himself with Toya staring at him. "Did you…need something?"
"Oh! Yes. I was supposed to tell you that Gustav says, if you're feeling better, he'd like to talk to you in his office." She whispered, "It's not really an office. It's where he and Desmond sleep, but there's a desk and a big chest full of papers and books, so maybe it's kind of like an office."
Caleb looked at the half peeled potato in his hands. A hot, prickling sensation crept up his spine. Gustav Fletching was the carnival master. Was this when he would be told they had to leave? Or, despite Molly's reassurances, was this when Gustav would lay out his terms? With Nott still so weak, Caleb would agree to almost anything, but the memories associated with such a prospect stirred uneasily in him, bringing up silt and dead leaves, mudding the waters of his mind until he felt choked.
"Mister Caleb?" It was Toya, who sounded worried. "Are you okay? I could go get Molly."
"No. I am well," Caleb said, setting down the knife with care on the table's surface. It was pitted and smooth with many hundreds of meals. "Can you tell me where I can find Gustav's tent?"
After so long in the tent's moody lighting, the intensity of the morning was almost too much. Caleb stared until he started shivering, then realized he'd drawn Molly's coat around himself and was clutching it. With an effort, he forced himself to release the sleeves, to loosen his hands. Steady.
To get to Gustav's office, he had to cross the common area between the circus's residential spaces. It was a large clearing, open to the sky. A horse was tied nearby and flicked its ears at him. Caleb made his way slowly, feeling the wobble of his legs, which were still growing used to supporting his weight. It left him with a feeling of drunkenness, a lack of control, and he began to wish he'd stayed in the tent and hidden with the potatoes.
Halfway across, he passed the firepit. At the sight of it, Caleb froze. It brought the dream back, the image of floating cinders rising in the evening sky above the cottage of his boyhood home. The glow of the ashes left in the aftermath, vivid in his mind's eye in spite of the veil of madness that had already come down at that point. He stared, and from the depth of the firepit, he heard screams…
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, steely as an iron manacle.
Fear blazed through Caleb, who was no longer between the tents of the Fletching & Moondrop Carnival. He was somewhere else, a wailing wreck of a man, and they were about to drag him away and lock him inside cold, clinical walls of confusion and abuse. Terrified, he lashed out, and for the first time in a long time, he had strength enough to call on the stores of magic within. Fire spurted from his fingers, and somebody shouted with alarm. The hand that gripped him was gone, but Caleb's legs collapsed, sending him sprawling to his knees. A strangled, panicked sound escaped him as he grappled to bring past and present together.
People were running. The common area filled. Some were familiar faces. A horrified Edwina, who'd pressed her hands over her mouth. Bo the Breaker, still wearing an apron and a rolling pin. Desmond, the bald man with the scared face. Why did they all look so upset?
Two crownsguard came sprinting into the clearing, weapons in hand. They went to their wounded comrade, who was holding a blackened sleeve. He pointed to Caleb. "That man burned me!"
No. Oh, no. Caleb could feel his breathing picking up. He could see it now. While he'd been staring off into the fire, this soldier had approached him. Angry at begin ignored, the guard had grabbed his arm. And Caleb had attacked him. With fire.
The two uninjured soldiers began to walk toward him. "Sir," one said. "Assaulting an officer of the empire is a felony offence. If you know what's good for you, you won't bring down further condemnation upon yourself by resisting arrest."
Caleb was thinking of manacles, of iron bars and filthy, insect-ridden hay when the flap of another tent was thrown back and a new man arrived, being dragged by Toya, whose face was white as milk. This new person wore a floppy hat and had long, curly hair tied back with a string. Gold earrings hung from his ears, and when he saw the crownsguard, his eyes turned smoldering. He stalked forward. "Gentlemen."
The soldiers stopped. They seemed to know this man. "Master Gustav," one said, not aggressively but very firmly indeed. "One of your people just attacked a fellow crownsguard. Do you have anything to say about this?"
Gustav glanced at Caleb, who was shivering on the ground. "Get Molly," he said to Toya, and she darted off. To the guards, he said, "Gentleman, I gave you my permission to post yourself anywhere you wished on nights the carnival is performing. I even gave you leave to tour our camp when we first arrived, despite the infringement on our privacy. But I did not give you the right to wander our tents at any hour you please. So why are you here?"
"Just an inspection," said a soldier. "Not that it matters."
"Damned if it does!" Desmond shouted. "We have a right to defend ourselves against trespassers!"
"He set my shirt on fire!" countered the crownsguard who'd been attacked. "I asked him a question."
Gustav glanced at the scorched uniform, then at Caleb. "Get up," he said.
Caleb struggled to do so. His heart was hammering, and he wondered, was this going to be it for him? After years of wondering if he deserved death but too cowardly to decide, would he now be handed over to crownsguard to make that decision for him? 'Maybe they will let Nott stay,' he thought. He was almost certain he'd seen Toya talking to a toad demon. Nott couldn't be any more problematic then that, right?
"Caleb!" He knew that voice, registered it even before Molly was there, helping him to his feet. "What happened?"
"These men were trespassing, and one of them grabbed him. He used fire to get free."
Molly's eyes widened. "Fire, huh?"
It suddenly felt important that Molly knew he'd not intentionally broken his promise. "I did not do it on purpose," Caleb said, eyes watering. Everything was so bright. The sky, white and featureless, pressed down pitilessly. He wanted to beg Molly to understand. "My mind wandered, and he startled me. I did not even know who he was."
Molly tuned to the crownsguard. "You heard him. This man has been very sick. He's had fevers for days, and, as you can see, he can barely stand on his own. He didn't mean to hurt anyone."
"It doesn't change the fact that there was injury," said the crownsguard.
Gustav had been taking this in. Now he spoke. "I have complied with every ordinance you people came up with. I've kept my people out of town except for an occasional evening at the tavern. We've disturbed no peace and endured your township's suspicion, despite having done nothing to provoke it. And while I can't ultimately stop you if you want to arrest an invalid who accidentally lashed out at you in fear, I would take it very kindly if you reconsidered, in light of the circumstances."
The words were persuasive. Caleb saw the crownsguard falter in their resolve. Even the injured man, still holding his arm, said, "Marcus, maybe we can just overlook it this time. I'm not hurt worse than a bad sunburn."
Marcus ducked his chin. "Very well," he said. Then, looking piercingly at Gustav, he said, "We're careful here in Harthwaite, but we aren't trying to do your people harm. It's our job. But no more funny business, you hear me?"
"Thank you," Gustav said, not very nicely but without hostility either. The crownsguard left, escorted out by the carnies' accusing eyes. When they were gone, Gustav said to Molly, "I want to see you in my tent. Him, too."
"He's done in," Molly said. "Can't it wait a bit, until the shock wears off?"
Gustav didn't answer but his shaking head communicated clearly enough. Once Gustav was gone, Caleb tried to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said. He touched his forehead, which felt heavy and swollen.
"It's not your fault," Yasha said. She'd come up beside them. "Those men should never have been here. It was an accident."
"I…I hurt…"
"He's going to relapse," Yasha said with concern. "Look at him."
"I know," said Molly. "But Gustav is pissed. He's not going to wait."
The two of them walked on either side of Caleb, letting him take slow steps. Somewhere along the way, Caleb realized Yasha was stroking his hair. "Thank you for looking after Nott," he said. "For the flowers."
Yasha leaned down. "Be calm," she breathed in his ear as she left them, and Caleb didn't know if she was talking to him or Mollymauk.
It was a little better inside the tent. The light wasn't so harsh, and it was quiet. There was a rug, old but well cared for, laying on the ground, and a thick quilt separated the space into sections. Both had a muffling effect, and Caleb began to calm down despite what they were here for. Molly directed him to sit on a trunk. "Gustav?"
The man emerged from the back of the tent, which Caleb assumed was a more private area, the place were he slept and ate. He was carrying a flask, which he handed to Caleb as he sat down at his desk and stretched out his legs. "Take a swig of that."
It burned going down, and as diminished as he was, bodily speaking, even one gulp was enough for him to start feeling the effects. He handed back the flask. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I have questions. Starting with your status. Are you a mage?"
It was a loaded question. Caleb could almost hear his old teachers lecturing. Mages had control, training, a craft. Once, he'd been a mage. Now he barely had the right to call himself a caster. "I can use some magic," he temporized, knowing Gustav wouldn't be interested in the Soltryce Academy's philosophy of magical hierarchy. "By training. I studied, using books."
"You're a wizard, then."
A lifetime ago. The only thing he used magic for these days was to light candles and summon Frumpkin. Frumpkin. He snapped his fingers and the animal appeared in his arms. "This is my cat," he said.
Both men were staring. "To be fair, I suspected," Molly drawled. "That cat was too damn smart."
"Gods," Gustav was saying. "A wizard and a goblin. What have you hooked us into, Molly?"
"Hey! You're my example."
"You're making me regret it," said Gustav. He massaged his temples.
It was easier to talk with Frumpkin, even about this. "Gustav, I must thank you," Caleb said. "You could have let them arrest me. I'm sorry for the trouble we have caused. I can…I can carry Nott, I'm sure." He hardened his resolve, sought strength inside, though it felt like an exhausted well. "I will collect her, and we will leave tonight."
"Like hell you will," said Molly. "I didn't nurse you back to health just to have you get yourselves killed."
Gustav said, "He's right. You have no money. You're unwell. If you leave, it will go very hard for you. Perhaps too hard."
"It does not matter," Caleb said. "Mollymauk, you have been kind. It's been a long time since I've had anyone – But I promised you. I will not do harm to this carnival. And you are not responsible for our lives."
What Gustav thought about this, Caleb didn't know. Molly certainly didn't like it, which was regretful. If he had stayed longer, Caleb thought the two of them might have become friends, and it saddened him to leave a sour taste in the tiefling's mouth instead.
Gustave turned to Molly. "I like him. Is the goblin this interesting?"
Tension went out of Molly's shoulders. "She bit the head off a rat this morning and gave the rest to Yasha as a present. They were roasting it when that nonsense with the crownsguard started."
Gustav threw an arm over his eyes and guffawed. "Oh, I am going to regret this."
Molly clapped an arm on Caleb's shoulder. "But, good news, we have a wizard! And a magic cat. Surely we can find an angle for that."
"I'll leave it to you," said Gustav. "In the meantime, find them a place to bunk. We can't have them cluttering up the common area forever."
"Wait, I do not understand," interrupted Caleb.
Gustav leaned over, and though the intensity in his eyes was a little wild, he looked kind. As kind as Molly. "Young man, the thing about a family is that you look out for one another, even when one person is in hot water. Today it was you, but tomorrow it might be me. Or Molly here. Probably it will be Molly. He's a magnet for trouble."
"Guilty as charged," Molly said cheekily.
"The point is, you're free to stay if you wish. You can stay for a season, or you can stay indefinitely. I'm sure you'll carry your weight when you're able, and I believe you when you say you'll bring no deliberate harm here."
Caleb was struggling. His throat had become thick with emotion, his chest tight. "What if, one day, harm comes looking for me?" The amulet against his chest felt heavy.
"No one is without a past," Gustav said. "So? Shall we plan a celebratory dinner?"
"Oh, yes, please," said Molly with gusto. But despite his mirth, his eyes were fixed on Caleb, and they were hopeful.
"Give me another drink from that flask," said Caleb. It burned worse than before, and he coughed. A dazed kind of smile floated up, and he let it come.
Six months after the snowy wood had passed behind them, the Fletching & Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities pulled into the city of Trostenwald. Not much of a place, aside from its reputation for excellent ale, but Molly had met some very lively characters in one of the local taverns, and that had made up for any excitement the rest of the town lacked.
"Wait," said Caleb, who was listening to this recounting as he practiced his act. A streamer of fire danced along the ground like a burning snake, zigging and zagging with practiced ease. The village children would love it. "There was a blue tiefling and a half orc, both traveling with –"
"The crabbiest woman I've ever met in my life, and that counts Orna. And the tiefling – Jester, they called her – blew the shutters straight off the panes using thaumaturgy and messed with all the lights. It was quite a show."
"I wish I could have seen it," said Nott. She was sitting on a barrel, wearing her form-fitting leotard. Not that most people would see anything but a gnomish acrobat. Nott had proven to have a bit of magical gifting herself, and under Caleb's tutelage, she'd learned to disguise herself much more effectively than covering her face with that creepy doll mask Gustav had eventually confiscated.
"I gave them a pamphlet. Maybe they'll come."
"That would be fun. Add a little spice to this place."
"You bored, Nott?" Molly asked and couldn't help but feel a pang of it himself. He loved the carnival, but sometimes he couldn't help feeling a little wanderlust.
Nott tapped her heels on the barrel. "Not really. But maybe it would cheer up Toya."
The mood dampened immediately. They were all worried about Toya. Molly flopped onto the edge of the barrel, almost dislodging Nott, who squawked. "In the meantime, do you want to make a bet?"
Caleb dropped the spell and smiled. It was something he was doing a lot more these days. Security had done wonders for him, filling out his empty spaces as surely as regular meals had filled out his cheeks. In fact, wearing that colorful sash and Molly's appropriated coat
("Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Mollymauk."
"Says who?")
he looked well and truly at home surrounded by the striped tents and the smell of roasted nuts and the sounds of raucous music. He looked well, is what Mollymauk was saying. And what a long road that had been.
Caleb put his hands on his hips. "And what kind of bet did you have in mind?"
"Just something friendly," Molly said innocently. "How about we bet on those weirdos. What kind of stir they'll make if they show up."
"That's not fair," Nott said. "We haven't even seen them."
"An arrest," Caleb said. "And I'm going to bet it will be the woman, the martial artist."
"Fine. I'm betting on the other girl, the tiefling. I've never seen such an agent for chaos in my entire life. She's bound to cause magical shenanigans. You in on this, Nott?"
She crossed her arms. "No way. It's stupid. You're going to win, and then you'll make Caleb do something dumb, and I'm going to be mad at you."
Molly clutched his chest. "Nott, I'm hurt. I am always careful with your boy. Besides, you should be thanking me. If it weren't for me, Caleb would spend all his time reading books on ancient Dwendalian farming utensils, and he would never have any fun."
"What's fun about getting thrown into a lake?" Nott demanded.
He'd forgotten about that. "Now, that wasn't completely my fault."
"He's right," said Yasha, appearing as usual with entirely too much stealth for such a big woman. "I'm the one who threw him."
"And he was drunk," Molly said.
"Enough," said Caleb. "Nott, I'm responsible for my own folly. Still, I have to say, I am interested in meeting these adventurers of yours, Mollymauk. I truly hope they come and bring their havoc with them."
"Be careful what you wish for," said Yasha.
Molly laughed, swinging an arm around Nott's shoulders and smiling at the three people closest to his heart. "Ah, well, how much trouble can they be?"