Grimmbros and Fürg??n stood for a while, gazing back at the wreckage of the toll bridge and drinking in the freshness of the glorious spring day that had so unexpectedly blossomed around them. Now that the unnatural winter had ended, bluebells were shooting up around their feet and the grass was full of writhing primroses, daisies and dandelions jostling for position. Small insects began to whir in the air and the sun felt luxuriously warm. Some sort of fly flew into Grimmbros' ear, its riotous buzz suddenly sounding very close. He crushed it with a finger. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to enjoy the touch of the sun on his skin and to appreciate the efforts of a small flying toad sitting on the warm folds of Fürg??n’s hat, catching an iridescent scarlet mosquito with its tongue.

  The trauma of the past few days seemed raw and cold in contrast to the abrupt change in the weather. No words were needed to arrive at the decision to head off north, away from the dismal bridge that had delayed them and let the beest get far away. Setting off at a brisk pace with Grimmbros carrying the injured wood-elbh, soon the river was out of sight. Fürg??n was the first to speak: “What happened to Razzles?”

  Grimm shrugged, “Dunno. Maybe Ebore boxed him up to taunt the poor scantling, or ate him even.”

  The renling shuddered and scowled. “Seems wrong going on without him. It was his quest really. Although, I think there was less skipping than he’d hoped. You know what I think? I think that bad jam made him ill. He looked pretty pale when you lot sent him out to see me with him there,” he angled a thumb at the elbh slung on Grimmbros’ shoulder.” “I’ve got a name you know!” grumbled the elbh, tenderly pressing his injury and wincing.

  “That’d be death make-up, you know what knohms are like. Get ’em depressed and they paint themselves all over with anything at hand.”

  “Knohms are so weird. Still, s’pose you could be right. How did those oafes get you to agree to kick me out,” said Fürg??n, looking a bit hurt.

  “I don’t know. That bad jam got to us all. Some marmalade marmalady made us all maudlin. That crazy she-oafe kept going on and on about how you were too partial to her precious preserves, so you couldn’t be trusted. She had us all sat round her table, stuffing us with toast until we agreed with her. What sense does that make?”

  The renling scowled for a moment, then stuck a grubby finger into his mouth and brandished it dramatically skyward. “We’re going that way,” he pointed emphatically to the east, “North!”

  “What’s that way?” the urgh-bane enquired.

  “Henrod Scree,” came the cheerful reply.

  *****

  Back in Tullgotha before a freshly stoked fireplace, a softly snoring Razzles sank deeper and deeper into his favourite chair, like a willing victim into warm quicksand. Depression and uncertainty had led him back here, back to the easiness of normality; tiredness and stress led him to sleep. But sleep was not having the effect anticipated. As Razzles dozed, he envisioned small spiders emerging from the cracks and corners of his sitting room, making their way purposely toward his recumbent form like bed bugs anticipating a nocturnal feast.

  The creatures climbed the legs of his chair, stepped boldly onto his body and began to produce thread. As these laid fine lines of lustrous silk from chair to knohm, others began appearing from the same peripheral openings, crevices and hiding places. At first, a small stream of tiny bodies marched knohmward and then a veritable outpouring. They began ascending every surface and structure stretching out their webs as they went. In a short while the whole room was festooned with cobwebs in multiple layers and gossamer veils and Razzles was cocooned like a caterpillar in a chrysalis. Anyone chancing upon the scene might be forgiven for assuming that the place had been abandoned for decades.

  Fitful dreams disturbed the enshrouded Razzles’ repose: in soft, hazy mist he was capering merrily toward his beloved home in the city, skipping in the sunshine. As he approached, a big cloud arose in the east. He stopped, noticing something unusual: there before the archway into the house was his favourite navel-lint and beard-hair mattress. Someone had carelessly brought it outside and discarded it on the lawn. Hurrying indoors he was dismayed to see that the floors and cupboards of his quaint, little cottage had all been gouged and scratched as if a family of gnus had been galloping around and around in circles. A pot of water was boiling untended on the stove and in danger of burning dry. He scuttled forward and in his haste to remove the scorching pot he slipped and fell heavily onto his elbow.

  A sudden movement caught Razzles’ attention, a small rodent perhaps. He picked himself up, following the creature and peeped into the bedroom, nursing his funnybone. There, in a pair of big, hefty boots was an angry- looking elbh stamping vigorously on the floor, scratching it.

  “First bed bugs!” it yelled, “Now a mouse! Ugh!”

  “Why? Where?” Razzles sputtered. Why was this elbh in his cherished home and treating the place in such a vulgar manner?

  Before he could speak, everything drained and he saw himself at an outsized, oval table piled high with afternoon tea items. Across a stack of lurid preserves and spreads were the immense figures of Norris and Ebore, stuffing assorted sweet things into their mouths, at the same time bellowing unintelligible claims as to who said what and who said someone said whatever else. Errant crumbs flew among the accusations. Grimmbros sat, head flat on the table, a buttered scone stuck to one cheek. He was mumbling something about needing an assurance that all of this was going somewhere. Everyone ignored him.

  Fürg??n, paying no heed to anyone or anything around him, sat at the far end of the table. He was precariously perched on a stool, producing music from an unseen sonic source and waving his arms, vigorously conducting a tune apparently known only to himself. And, upon a small side-table, an aberrant, stroppy elbh in boots strode round kicking teaspoons, crumpets and sugar lumps, waving its arms and remonstrating angrily with the other participants as if the victim of some scurrilous injustice.

  Razzles gazed from one to another, his head in a spin. Something darted under the table, and as he twisted to look at it he felt a muscle pull in his neck. It was that mouse again - no, not a mouse. A gerbil. Was it his gerbil? Had it escaped? A sugar cube struck him in the eye and without warning, everyone was bearing down on him demanding his input on a matter that escaped him. He felt himself shrinking into the folds of his own clothing. Ebore and Norris looked frenzied and Grimmbros kept pressing him, “Do you have a plan? Do you have some explanation as to where all of this is going? Do you? Do you?!”

  Feverish and hot under the collar, the beleaguered knohm fought for a reply and finally blurted, “Get it into your thick skull – I… I…” He paused, wrestling with what he thought he wanted to say and what he felt he was supposed to say. He could not restrain himself any longer. Against his will, better judgement and sense of reason, he spouted the words,

  "...thoust will be smouted!” It doesn’t even make sense, he realised.

  *****

  Meanwhile, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the river, Grimmbros, Fürg??n and a wood elbh whose name no one had yet bothered to ask crossed the meadowlands north east of Tullgotha. At a suitable point, they stopped to examine the elbh’s injured leg.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Mr Grimmbros sir, there's nothing for it, it's broken," the patient moaned as Grimmbros poked the limb in question with a stick. "You'll have to fix it."

  Renling and urgh-bane exchanged helpless glances and looked around themselves as if expecting a solution to somehow present itself. When their eyes met they engaged briefly in a battle of eyebrow movements and surreptitious head angling, each intended to suggest that the other had an obligation to do something. The elbh sighed loudly, wondering how it was that creatures like these hadn’t died out and become extinct long ago.

  “There's a wood ahead,” Fürg??n observed, “perhaps we can get a good strong stick and tie his leg to it. Doesn't that work?”

  Grimmbros shrugged and agreed, "Can't hurt." His Chicken-Scratching days had involved breaking things more often than fixing them, however, he had picked up a rudimentary understanding of emergency first-aid.

  “Unless it hurts!” the elbh grumbled.

  “Which I imagine it will,” returned the urgh-bane.

  The enthused renling was, nevertheless ambling off in the direction of the nearby woods with Grimmbros close behind, leaving the immobile elbh whimpering pessimistically in the grass.

  Both disappeared into the trees for a while. A distant rustling noise was heard and a loud snap, followed by a thud and some unkind laughter, soon both were returning triumphantly, stick in hand.

  "Look what Grimmbros got!" Fürg??n called out jubilantly, waving the intended splint and doing a few quick, sword-like sweeps and swashbuckling stabs at a bug in the air out of excitement.

  Soon, the dejected elbh was precariously wobbling atop Grimmbros' ample shoulders with a bit of stick stuck up one trouser leg, urgh-bane and renling feeling quite proud of themselves. In this manner the three travellers progressed, following the line of the woods for a while before the elbh stopped them. “Someone’s there,” he said.

  At the very edge of the treeline, a cloaked figure silently stood as if a natural aspect of the lush frondescence surrounding him.

  “Oi, he looks dubious,” Fürg??n muttered, but Grimm was already striding purposefully toward the stranger and so the renling followed uncertainly behind, registering further objections under his breath in case of a later need to say ‘I told you so’.

  “Ho!” Grimm called as the figure stepped forward out of the cover of the trees to meet them.

  “Hunting?” the stranger asked, rather knowingly.

  “Who’s asking?” the urgh-bane challenged.

  “He is,” Furguin pointed out, wondering why that wasn’t obvious to everyone. The figure grasped a long metal-tipped spear in his hand and wore the kind of boots that looked all purposeful and serious. Grimm strode to within a few yards of the newcomer and stared him directly in the eye.

  “You seek a foul creature in possession of an important item,” the voice issued from the shadow of the heavy grey cowl, “It heads north. You are not the only ones that appear to be in pursuit.”

  “We don't want any fowl features!” Furguin interjected, “You head north!”

  “And who exactly might you be?” Grimm enquired.

  “Yeah,” Furguin chimed in from behind Grimm, “Who exactly might you be? Exactly?”

  “Primate, in exile, of Tullgotha, Kapucha to the Capuchin monks.* I saw your quarry pass this way.”

  * The Capuchin monks were held in great respect in the city of Tullgotha, many having taken the solemn oath of incoherence.

  *****

  Shuffling uneasily within his coat of webs, the dream shifted again and Razzles found himself sitting at a school desk strewn with charts, papers and maps. He saw his name written on one. Why? Why would someone write his name? Why did it matter? For a while he thought he was alone, caught in a solitary shaft of dusty light about to be tested on something for which he hadn’t prepared.* His stomach twisted into a tight knot. But he was not alone, across from him at what seemed, at the same time, both unrealistically afar off and uncomfortably close, a committee of individuals appeared to be discussing his future, committing him to pursuits beyond his capabilities.

  * This was a recurring dream for Razzles, he would be back in school surrounded by knohmlets, however, he would always be his current age and unable to recall any of the information he was supposed to have studied. He would toss and turn, becoming hot and anxious before waking in a cold sweat. He also had dreams about flying, but he was never able to get more than a foot or two above the ground and his beard would invariably catch in something like a bramble or a thistle causing him to awaken with a startling bump.

  At a wooden lectern, a disgruntled Grimmbros was gesticulating and demanding an explanation as to why the negligent knohm didn’t appear to have a plan. To his right the cloud lady kept giving him odd ultimatums regarding a long journey and telling him he could be sent off at any time; did he have the right visor and did he have his bags packed? He didn’t. Norris was there too, but appeared to have fainted, whilst Ebore stood hands on hips, evidently expecting Razzles to assist her in some manner that would clearly strain his back.

  Again, the flustered knohm’s head was spinning, his neck hurt and the expectations upon him were too great. Fürg??n, was once more providing a stirring score. The renling seemed to have progressed to full symphonic mode now; he was dancing on the classroom globe, his sonic sources all aquiver, a piece of chalk gripped by a scrawny hand as he manoeuvred it like a conductor’s baton emphasising each note. He was clearly performing some stirring, dramatic overtures with bombastic flow and heaving grandeur. Grimmbros reached over to grip Razzles’ elbow, which made it hurt badly, pressing for elucidation, causing him to shrink back with uncharacteristic annoyance crying, “Get your hands off me you dim, dirty ape!”

  Then the dreams abruptly ended. Blackness flooded in like the thickest ink poured into water. Just the echoing sound of silent music on an imaginary wind: da, da da daah - dah - da, da da daaah!

  *****

  At the edge of the woods, Grimmbros questioned the cowled figure, “Well, Kapucha of Tullgotha, how exactly do you know about our... quarry? What do you know about this ‘item’ and this beest?”

  “Yeah, primate monkey man! And those fowl things!” the confused renling added.

  “Just that it passed this way, clutching something clearly not belonging to it. You’re off the road and from the way he has been peering into the grass you look like you're tracking something. Am I right?"

  "Don't tell him," Fürg??n hissed, "I don't like it!" He especially didn’t like being seen looking at grass and seeing nothing but an assortment of colourful bugs and animal droppings by someone who might know better.

  "You're heading the wrong way. You need to go north, through these very woods at my back." The Kapucha didn't wait for a reaction, instead he paced off along the tree line in the general direction of the toll bridge or what was left of it. Perhaps he was headed for the city beyond.

  Grimmbros and Fürg??n watched his departing back for a while and then looked at each other. They turned and peered into the mass of endless trees; the woods looked dense, overgrown. Fürg??n didn't like it, the bugs hadn’t indicated a need to ramble the woodlands, although the droppings were ambiguous, but then he didn’t like to examine them too closely anyway.

  “I don’t like it. Who does he think he is, hanging out with a bunch of monkeys doesn’t give him...”

  “There's a path!” Grimmbros interrupted, “Look! There! Let's get going. The more space we can put between ourselves and that lot back there the better. Those reprobates aren't likely to let things lie.”

  Fürg??n knew he was right, sooner or later Ignatious and Egmord would find a way to cross the river and it would likely take more than some impressively displaced underwear to keep them at bay next time.

  The path through the woods actually looked quite bright and inviting with the sun stabbing through the foliage, dappling the way with warm light. Butterflies and colourful beetles fluttered and scurried out of the way as the travellers entered. Bluebells spread a carpet of hazy violet as far as the eye could see.

  “This isn’t so bad,” the renling chirped, his spirits rising, "hidden among the trees and on our way again!”

  “Makes me almost want to wax lyrical,” Grimmbros rumbled with more than a touch of sarcasm.

  “Trust you to want to whack something. Where did you go? You know, when you vanished that time?”

  “I'll whack you in a minute. What do you mean? When I tested out the device at Tullgotha?”

  “Tested? Fiddled with it more like. Yeah, then. Look, you're walking all over the bluebells!”

  “What do you expect, the path's too small! I just vanished, alright?” Grimm didn’t know where he’d gone when he accidentally triggered the device and the woman he'd seen made him uncomfortable.

  “You know, you two are almost as annoying as all these swarming mosquitoes,” observed the elbh.

  “You want to see annoying?” retorted the renling. “Hang round long enough, you'll see annoying.”

  Fürg??n contemplated filling his air sacs to deliver a withering whistle, but restrained himself in the knowledge that his was not a craft to be employed lightly. Grimmbros saw the look on Fürg??n’s face and cuffed him roughly across the back of the head. The renling's whale-like screech would send birds flying in all directions, alerting pursuers and pursuees. Fürg??n gave a hurt look at the lack of appreciation for his self control.