Roderick was washing his face the next morning when he happened to glance out the window. A figure in black robes was galloping by, and he had what looked like a bundle of metal pipes strapped across his back.
No, not quite pipes -- they were segmented, and there was something attaching them together at one end. A tripod? He looked closer, then blinked and squinted. Yes, there was something else strapped to the figure's back, in a soft case.
And that black-cloaked figure looked familiar.
Even after the horse had disappeared from view, Roderick stood there with a frown on his face, wondering what an Evil Overlord needed with surveying equipment.
When Roderick arrived in the kitchen, the others were already there.
Cindy was humming happily in front of the cooking fire. "Take a seat," she invited. "Your breakfast will be ready in just a minute."
Roderick slid into a chair and looked inquiringly at Stan, who shook his head and said quietly, "She doesn't want to give the horses up unless we buy them back."
Roderick made a face. Barbara shrugged helplessly. Johnson had a thoughtful look on his face.
Cindy brought over plates heaping with pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns, and the five of them spent the next half hour stuffing themselves.
As they were finishing, she cleared her throat and said hesitantly, "Now, I hope this won't be too much of an inconvenience, but I do have an errand to run in town at ten o'clock, so --"
"Oh, that's okay," Barbara said quickly. "We have to get going anyway."
"Yeah, I need to go start getting our things ready," Johnson said. "Breakfast was excellent, by the way." He climbed out of his chair and headed out of the kitchen.
Blushing slightly, Cindy said, "Well, you paid last night, so we're all set. Thank you all for visiting my inn. Come again." She gathered their plates and took them to the sink. Barbara and Stan got up and headed for the stairway. Roderick followed, after helping Cindy gather the dishes.
When Roderick got up to the room, he was puzzled to notice that Johnson wasn't there. He shrugged, finished packing his backpack, and headed down to the entrance hall.
Stan and Barbara were already waiting there. "Where's Johnson?" Barbara asked.
"Out here," came a voice from outside the front gates. The voice was followed by a whinny. "Come on, let's go!"
"What?" Barbara looked at Stan. "I thought you said she wouldn't give up the horses."
"Yeah, that's what I said. That's what she said," said Stan.
"Johnson, did you steal those horses?" Barbara demanded.
"No!" Johnson was shocked. "I'm a barbarian. I don't steal, I loot."
A shout came from the kitchen. "What was that about horses?"
"Um, maybe we should go," suggested Roderick.
Barbara looked at him. "What? Roderick, he just stole these horses. If you want to be a Paladin, you can't just go breaking laws left and right."
Roderick looked stricken. "Yes, ordinarily I might agree," he admitted, "except for two things. One is that, if we don't get across the bridges before that guy posts his guards, I'll probably never become a Paladin."
Barbara looked as if she had just eaten something particularly sour. "And what's the other thing?" she asked.
Roderick pointed at Cindy, who was approaching them at a run, holding a very large rolling pin, and shouting, "You leave those horses alone!"
"I see your point," said Stan, and ran outside. Roderick followed. Barbara sputtered, but then she looked at Cindy again, fast approaching with the rolling pin, and came to a decision.
"Come on!" Johnson shouted, as Barbara ran full-tilt out of the castle gates and vaulted -- rather jarringly -- into her horse's saddle. Cindy followed, waving her rolling pin and yelling.
"Sorry," Barbara called back as the horses set off. "We'll make it up to you. I'll write a nice song about your cooking!"
"Wait!" Barbara cried.
They had gone barely half a mile, but Cindy's castle was now hidden by a bend in the road. Barbara reined her horse to a stop.
"What is it?" asked Johnson, slowing his horse and turning back to face Barbara.
"Well, it's just that we don't know where we're going," she said. "We don't want to just go charging blindly in any old direction. We've got to figure out where we are, first of all."
"Oh, I can help with that," said Roderick. He walked his horse toward Barbara, rooting around in his pouch as he did so. He came up with a brochure and handed it across to Barbara.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Travel brochure, from the castle. It's got a map."
Barbara unfolded the brochure, stared at the map for a moment, and said, "Oh, shit."
"What is it?" Stan asked.
In answer, Barbara spurred her horse into a trot. The others exchanged a curious glance, but followed.
A hundred yards farther down the road, they came around another bend. Now they could see, half a mile away, the castle headquarters of the Evil Overlords', Heroes', and Henchmen's Unions.
Barbara turned furiously to face Johnson. "You said you were an experienced outdoorsman! A great tracker, with an infallible sense of direction! You got us into this!"
"Me?" Johnson said incredulously. "You're the one who said bards knew all the countryside. Besides, it was your idea to turn left at that fork in the path."
"And it was your idea to go downstream instead of upstream!" Barbara scowled. "Follow water downstream, indeed!"
"Hey, guys --" Roderick started.
"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Johnson said reasonably. "I mean, we did find people. Follow water downstream, eventually you'll find some kind of settlement."
"Now wait just a --" Roderick said.
"As I recall," Stan put in, "it was my idea that we should hire a guide."
"A guide?" Johnson said indignantly. "You've got a barbarian with you! Best trackers in the business!"
"Well, this 'best tracker' was the one who made the first wrong turn," Barbara retorted.
Roderick's hands clenched in frustration. This resulted in him (unintentionally, as it happened) giving a strong tug to the reins.
His horse whinnied loudly, jerked its head out of the stream, and reared up on its hind legs, pawing madly at the air. Roderick, suddenly having to scramble desperately to hold on, let out an ear-splitting yell.
It was actually quite impressive.
His horse landed back on its feet, and Roderick caught his balance, only to notice that everyone was looking at him now. "Oh, good," he said, a little out of breath. "Now that I've got your attention, may I suggest that we use the map we've got, and get out of here before that guy hires his bridge guards?"
The others looked at each other. "Right," they chorused.
"But first, let's stop by the castle and hire a guide," suggested Stan.
"No," said Johnson and Barbara together.
"Maybe later," Roderick said. He walked his horse back over to Barbara and reached out his hand for the map. Reluctantly, she handed it to him, and he studied it for a moment, then pointed down a road that branched off a quarter mile ahead of them. "That looks like the best route." He looked up. "This map will take us as far as the Noelle River. We will discuss what happens after that, but we won't discuss it now. Shall we go?"
As he spurred his horse into a canter, and the others followed, Johnson said, "Wow. You took charge back there. You might make a decent Paladin after all."
Barbara snorted. "A Paladin who's a horse thief?" She moved her horse a little away from the others.
Roderick looked stricken.
Stan eased his horse closer and murmured, "Don't worry about it too much. Her conscience is bothering her, and she's taking it out on us, that's all."
Roderick frowned. "Well, what about my conscience? I'm supposed to be a Paladin. She's right, Paladins don't do things like steal horses."
"Well," said Johnson, who had moved his horse into earshot, "you didn't steal the horses. I did. You just benefited from it."
"What good is that supposed to do?" Roderick said, throwing his arms helplessly into the air (and then grabbing desperately for the reins when his horse lunged ahead). "If I benefited from it, then I might as well have done it myself."
Stan frowned. "Isn't it a Paladin's job to search out evil and make things right?"
Roderick looked puzzled. "Well, that's the point, yeah."
Stan looked thoughtfully into the distance. "Okay, so look at it this way. When you fix an evil, then that's good for you, right? Honor, glory, bards singing songs, and all that. It benefits you when you fix something that's wrong."
"Uh, right."
"And you wouldn't be able to benefit if nobody had done any evil in the first place."
"Um..." Roderick, deep in thought, didn't notice as his horse slowed and finally stopped.
Stan shrugged, reining his horse in next to Roderick's. "So by your own logic, you're just as guilty as the person who did evil in the first place. Because they did it for your benefit."
Johnson looked delighted. "Hey, I like that. Can I use that next time I'm trying to pick up a heroine in a bar?"
Stan grinned. "Be my guest."
Roderick had a troubled frown on his face. "But she... well look, she did feed them, and all that. I mean..."
By way of answer, Johnson pulled a handful of oats from his saddlebag, and stretched forward to let his horse nibble on them.
Roderick blinked, then shook his head and smiled. "Well, all right," he said. "But I still want to help that woman out when I get the chance."
"Hey!" Barbara called from ahead of them. She had already reached the fork in the road. "Are you guys coming, or what? There's someone coming! Let's go!"
Von Himmel swept down the road and reined in at the gates of Cindy's Wayside Inn. "Cindy!" he called. He twitched the reins over the hitching post and strode through the front gates.
Cindy was sitting in the overstuffed couch in front of the empty fireplace. She glanced up when she heard his voice. "Oh, hi," she said. "They took the horses."
"What?" he asked, momentarily disoriented. "Who took what horses?"
"My guests. The people you saw here last night. They took the horses that wandered in yesterday."
"Oh," he said. "So -- but, uh, if those horses just 'wandered in', then they weren't exactly yours to begin with, were they?"
"But I printed brochures!" she burst out. "I made maps of riding trails and everything! And now it's all ruined! My stables are empty!"
"You made riding-trail maps yesterday?" he said, surprised. "I didn't know you were a cartographer."
"Huh? Oh, yeah, it was my major in college. I took geography, cartography, surveying, all that stuff. Wanted to be an engineer."
"Oh, really? What changed your mind?"
She shrugged. "Found out I could make more money running a brothel. Besides, I can use some of that engineering background around here. This place is a real dump."
He stiffened. "This 'dump' belonged to my mother."
"And boy, has it gone downhill since she owned it," Cindy said smoothly.
He shook his head and sighed. "Anyway, I'm here to give you an armed escort to the bank. Since you'll be carrying so much cash, I figured this would be safer."
"Oh, how thoughtful," she said. "I assume the fact that you'll want to take most of that money off my hands has nothing to do with it."
"Well, a little," he admitted. "I do need that money pretty soon -- I already hired the guards this morning, and paid them ahead. They should have gotten on their way to their posts about half an hour ago."
The inside of the mud hut was dimly lit. The window was small -- in fact, most of the light was filtering through the hut's straw roof.
Between the dust from the dirt walls, and the dust from the straw roof, Valkirg was kept in a more-or-less constant allergy attack. And worse, the increase in dues was making it seem unlikely that he'd be able to afford more expensive office space anytime soon.
He was in a bad mood.
So when a knock came on the polished, solid-oak door, he shoved aside the paperwork he'd been working on, and said, "Yeah, get in here, Johnson."
"Um, sir?" asked a timid voice.
Valkirg looked up, and saw Pipkin, probably the scrawniest barbarian he'd ever had to work with. "What is it?" he barked.
"Uh, two things, sir," Pipkin squeaked. "First off, the men want me to let you know that they need some new gym equipment. Uh, specifically, they broke the chain on the punching bag. And second --"
"Hey, wait a minute, Pipkin," Valkirg said, scratching his beard. "I seem to recall that I sent you out to find Johnson. What -- aside from reporting problems with gym equipment -- are you doing back here?"
"Well, sir, that's the second thing. You see, the problem is... well, I couldn't find him."
Valkirg grunted. "Check the alehouse."
"I did, sir. None of the other barbarians have seen him since yesterday, sir, at the castle."
"What?" Valkirg rose slowly to his feet. "You mean to tell me that little scumbag stayed behind at the castle? You're telling he me's trying to skip out on us? Shirk his union duties?"
"Uh, well..." Pipkin shuffled his feet awkwardly.
Valkirg sneezed. "Oh, drat it! All right, go form a search party. And if the search party can't find him, report back to me. We'll find that scumsucker, if it takes the whole barbarian horde to do it!" He grinned an evil grin. "After all, the men need a new punching bag..."
Late that afternoon, a short surveyor dressed in black robes rode into the front courtyard of the castle belonging to Sir Hugo the Mad.
Sir Hugo himself agreed to come out and meet the surveyor, though more out of idle curiosity than anything else.
Sir Hugo, it should be noted, does almost everything out of idle curiosity. It is precisely this curiosity, this detached, playful, catlike curiosity, that qualifies him so exquisitely for this title of "the Mad". Two things, and two things only, does he take completely seriously; one is his daughter Gisella, and the other is real estate. -- Personality Profile: Sir Hugo the Mad, by Nate Hecate; "Overlords Monthly", Volume 112, Issue 5 (Cover Story).
Two hours later, the surveyor departed with a purse heavy with Sir Hugo's enthusiastic tips. The surveyor had presented his papers and figures extensively, and had left many of them for Sir Hugo's review.
As the surveyor was leaving, a messenger was returning with six other surveyors in tow, there to independently verify the papers and figures. Following them was a large ox-drawn cart, carrying one of the largest models of plow-blade available on the open market.
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