This was again one of those days when the Baron was not in a particularly pleasant mood, and there was more than one reason for that. First and foremost, however, it was due - at least in his opinion - to the fact that the new son of Herne had now accepted his destiny. So it was to be expected that this woodland deity would all too soon set him against the only sorcerer capable of standing up to Herne. As if de Belleme had nothing better to do than to deal with that rabble.
The Baron's discontent stemmed also from the fact that Belleme Castle was not exactly in a good condition. While the Baron was asleep in his sarcophagus, the servants - that is, his witches - had left, apparently without a thought of having to worry about their Master returning to a home with an intact roof and without crumbling walls. He did not even want to mention the fact that there was virtually no furniture in any of the rooms. Clearly, someone had made a good deal on it while the sorcerer was indisposed.
For this reason, Simon de Belleme, one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world - certainly the most powerful in England - was forced to put up with the fact that not only did it rain into the rooms upstairs - with the dampness spreading throughout the entire castle - but also that the wind - and whatever else - found its way into every nook and cranny of his castle. To call this unpleasant would be a great understatement.
And as a result, the Baron had come to realize that even the most powerful sorcerer - even one who was supported by a demon - could do nothing against a common cold. He had no choice but to cough and sniffle, wrap himself in his thickest robes - all of which came straight from the Holy Land, where he had not had to cope with the damp cold - and drink hot milk with honey so that he would be able to continue working.
This day now was one of the worse and Belleme did not succeed in anything particularly well. The attempt to heat the milk for his breakfast by magic had led to the cup shattering into a thousand smithereens, in addition he had also caused the bread, which he had wished to eat, to turn hard, and then he found maggots in his breakfast porridge. So it was certainly no surprise that his mood could only be described as ... pitch black.
And yet he could not afford to take the day off, for he had deadlines to keep. Or rather, he had to stick to the schedule of his demonic sponsor, who apparently rushed from meeting to meeting in the demon world and squeezed his appearances at de Belleme into the times in between. Therefore, the sorcerer had to complete his own preparations promptly, as it was absolutely not advisable to have to deal with a pissed-off demon. No matter how well the pentagram was shielded.
So the Baron sniffed and coughed his way through his incantations and by noon had actually managed to keep to his schedule - more or less. Only one more summoning and he was able to take a lunch break. In his mind, he was actually in the process of putting together his midday meal - whereby he had resolved to heat his food in a very ordinary way this time.
But whether it was due to his distraction or simply to the fact that he had to sneeze violently several times in quick succession, was impossible to determine in retrospect. The result, however, could not be ignored, because instead of the lesser demon Bumgin, whom he had actually wanted to summon, a strange ... thing had turned up in his pentagram. It was round like a pig's bladder filled with water, as big as a man's head - though it had no hair, nose, eyes or any other feature - and the color of the red clay that the Baron used ... no, not for his incantations, but for the bricks to repair the walls.
Irritated to the utmost - for in his mind he had already devoured his midday meal - the Baron was about to kick the ... thing, when - to his good fortune - it occurred to him that then he would have to renew the lines of the pentagram. However, he did not feel the slightest inclination to do so, for crawling around on the cold floor always led to terrible back pain. So he was able to restrain himself at the very last moment and then decided on the spur of the moment to simply send the ... thing back to where it had come from. One cough, one sniffle, a short incantation muttered and the pentagram was as empty as the sorcerer's belly.
"I have had it now!" de Belleme snapped. "No self-respecting dark mage can work under these circumstances. I don't care if this is my family's ancestral home, I'm moving back to the Holy Land forthwith." Saying this, he turned around and stormed out of the room to pack his belongings and then set off on his flying carpet - provided that it had not been chewed up by the moths.
Simon de Belleme was not the only one having a hard day. Once again, Edward of Wickham had to deal with a myriad of obstacles. On most days, the most pressing issue was the fact that the rest of the Wickham community seemed to have decided that they did not have to bother with what their village headman had to say. Time and again, Edward asked himself why he was toiling all day if no one was listening to him, especially since the position was also not paid. Why did he put himself through this, especially since Alison had reproached him for never having time for her? But that was no wonder, since there was always something that went wrong at Wickham.
Lately, it was especially the birds that were a nuisance, invading the vegetable garden where the village was trying to grow beets and beans and other stuff - just not cabbages, as they seemed to be very appealing to a certain bad-tempered stallion who apparently could not help but trample on them. The villagers would like to eat what they grew themselves, so they were not willing to share with the birds. Those should look for their fodder elsewhere ... and also shit somewhere else.
The simplest solution to this problem was, of course, to have someone guard the garden and scare the birds away. But since the people of Wickham always had more to deal with than they believed they could manage - especially since they also wanted to party and relax - and since the feathered pests were not very smart - most people were smarter - it was usually sufficient to set up a scarecrow. But the birds were not completely stupid, so this scarecrow had to have some resemblance to a man, and for this reason Edward was very well pleased that he had managed to find a strange ... thing down by the bank of the river on the previous day. It was the same size as a man's head and was also just as round. In addition, it had the same color as the face of a certain knight, when he was once again of the opinion that he must be agitated about the villagers. No wonder that this ... thing took its place as the head of the scarecrow.
Some prankster had then come up with the idea of sticking some bleached straw on the round ... thing, giving the scarecrow "hair". Lastly, someone else had remembered that there was an old, hole-ridden cloak in the barn, which had been dropped by one of the soldiers who were always chased away by Hood. Now the scarecrow was fitted out in such a fashion that it could do its task to perfection, which indeed was proven on the spot. That day no bird was to be seen in the vegetable garden, and in the evening Edward fell contentedly into his bed (although he always had to be careful, for his bed was hard).
But to his great chagrin, in the morning he had then to discover that the scarecrow he had so painstakingly constructed was lying dismembered on top of the vegetables, with Edward not believing for a single moment that this could be the revenge of the birds. There was no way it could be. Could it?
As a precaution, however, he retreated back into his hut and decided spontaneously to pay Alison a great deal of attention for once today. For that, he did not have to go outside.
The new day had already dawned when Will stumbled into the camp. At that very moment Robin was busy rekindling the fire, for he was hungry and no flatbread could be roasted on cold stones. His mood was not the best after having to realize that Much had eaten the last of the bread the previous night without telling anyone that new bread had to be made. As soon as he had taken a look at his friend who had just turned up, however, he immediately asked himself how the latter, in his condition - he was undoubtedly still dead drunk - was able to find the camp in the first place. Which immediately led him to the next question, for he hoped this did not imply they would have to change their location due to Will laying down a trail that even Gisburne would be able to follow.
"If yer put Gisburne on our track there's gonna be trouble," John was also already summing up Robin's concerns in a harsh tone of voice.
"No shweat," mumbled Will, who had left last night with a murderous rage burning in his belly as Nottingham's first knight had given them a run for their money. Now, however, Scarlet seemed not only dead drunk, but also in high spirits. As if he were a tomcat who had managed to catch a fat rat (Robin wondered how such a strange comparison had found its way into his head - and then put it down to Herne stuffing all sorts of things into his mind).
"Finish'd Gizzy! A shlash an' anoth'r an' anoth'r! Gone!" With a blissful smile, Will stretched out beside the fire and was asleep on the spot.
His friends - who knew from long experience they would not be able to wake him, let alone get answers to their questions - had no choice but to stare at him, dumbfounded, confused and startled, while he snored in bliss.