Cry for the Wolf, chapter 10. by Richard Walker

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The two you sent me are forfeit to you. They are mine, now. I charge you not to consider that we shall tolerate even for the space of a heartbeat any further attempts to interfere with our agents, now to include Ruggles and the one known as Patches, or our plans, which are our own and no business of yours.
Should we be further harassed or even hear of any additional plans to make trouble for us, down to the meanest member of our troupe, the same affliction that dogs Patches, nay worse, for our wrath will be terrible, can befall even you, no matter how well warded and hidden you believe yourself. Witness my Power and my willingness to use it in the person of low Patches. Any more of this foolishness will be met with the harshest retaliation at our command, as may be justified by the circumstances.

Given this 29th day of April with vexatious oaths and disparagement upon you and your tactless meddling in Great Affairs of which you know naught, this one thousandth, two-hundredth seventy-second year of the Light.


The knot of frustration and churning anxiety in Myranna's gut had been growing for the last couple of days, making her irritable and short-tempered. She couldn't understand what was taking so long. As she waited for her supper she mused in the lowering darkness on what she might do if she couldn't secure the false documents with the forged seals in time, what she would do to the miserable street rabble responsible in return, It had been days since she had sent her people out and she hadn't heard anything and time had drawn worse than short. Her troupe had picked up a rumor that the king was near and would arrive within the next few days.
A discreet 'tap, tap, tap' sounded on the door of her brightly painted wagon.
Myranna started from her reverie.
"Who is't?!"
"Bandar, m'lady! The response you have been awaiting has arrived,"
She stood up hastily, whipping her shawl about her shoulders and yanking the door open.
"What do you mean, ‘they're here'? You were to rendezvous with them elsewhere!"
The mixture of pique and relief was plain upon her face. Bandar shrugged.
"I guess someone took a greater interest than you hoped and decided to back-track us. Now they're letting us know they know where we are."
At the foot of the folding steps behind Bandar stood the scruffiest pair of miscreants wearing the oddest assortments of fine rags she'd ever laid eyes on. They were hollow-eyed and dirty, spindly and malnourished, and looked older than they probably were, creased with the hard life they led. She quickly dismissed her first inclination to conduct their business in the privacy of the wagon. She couldn't afford to replace any of the many odds and ends that might find their way into the hands of those two, nor did she wish to be bothered with ferreting out the vermin they would no doubt leave in their wake.
In a gross parody of courtesy the shorter of the two bowed and grinned, showing ruinous gums with more gaps than teeth remaining,
"Wugguws o' Woocoombe, mum."
She stared.