The Lord of Misrule

Chapter 4

"De fumo in flammam" - Out of smoke, into the flame

An uneasy quiet reigned over their stand-off. The shadow danced in and out of a patch of darkness, as if uncertain of whether to come out or stay hidden.

A moment later, a hare poked its head out and sniffed the balmy air. It skirted the sides of the bushes and scampered off. Ami felt the anvil lift off her shoulders and sighed deeply.

She then turned excitedly towards Mikael. "By Saint Korin, whatever could it be? I think this is a job for the 'Boneheaded Beadle'. Do you have your own uniform and theme music? I can play the pipe for you if you want."

Mikael knit his brows together and flashed her a scowl, before peering back to where the hare had come from. Ami considered sending another jibe his way until she saw a flash of blue and green in her peripheral vision. She squinted and made out the paunchy figure of Mawsby lumbering towards them on the dirt path, his face well-equipped with a stony frown.

"Uh oh. Looks like that lard-arse yitney is back again." This time it seemed like she was making a conscious effort to stand her ground. Mikael glanced at her and noticed that her hands were balled into fists. She looked edgy and rearing for another confrontation, probably bolstered by how she got the better of him last time.

"Oy!" Mikael called out. "Who died?"

Mikael was referring to the steely glare Mawsby fixated on the duo. Mikael's familiar nonchalant sneer had already planted itself firmly on his mouth. He seemed to have forgotten completely about the noise in the woods.

"You," Mawsby raged, incensed by Mikael's insouciant demeanor. He steadied himself and pointed directly at Mikael and Ami as if he was directing a troupe of soldiers.

"What's this?" Mikael jeered. "The fat must be coalescing in your brain. Who're you commanding, an army of rice tarts?" He chortled to himself, making sure his tone gave off the appropriate amount of mocking hostility Mawsby deserved.

Mawsby's puffy eyes and saggy jowls contorted into a piercing stare. He shifted his accusing finger to the girl. "Wench, you shall give me back my strongbox."

Ami's jade eyes flashed with confidence. "Not a chance, you fungus-brained tub-of-tallow."

"Tub-of-tallow?" Mikael repeated, surprised. "It's direct, without any unnecessary filler words. Clever; but way too many hyphens."

"I intend to charge royalties on its usage."

"How unfortunate. My personal policy is to ignore any request for payment, however legitimate."

"Your personal policy is to be a delinquent?" Mawsby filled the time by making annoyed 'clucking' sounds. He tapped his foot and growled under his breath to show his impatience.

"That's rich, coming from you. I suppose you have a quaint little story about how you inherited that strongbox from your nomadic parents, and how your traveling caravan was attacked by Mawsby's minions who were in search for the mythic holy grail, and who somehow thought that the contents of this strongbox held the clue to its secret location."

"Of all the impudence, gi—," Mawsby's grousing was interrupted yet again.

"Stop. That's not realistic," Ami said. "There's no way that delusional buffoon has any minions."

Mawsby clutched his hair in exasperation and took a threatening step forward. With her confidence now buttressed by Mawsby's previous bumbling, Ami bent her legs low and readied herself for a fight. She was about to swing for his head when Mikael abruptly stooped to the ground and picked up a sizable rock, then hurled it into the woods in one swift motion.

As he contorted his body in the direction of the woods, he dragged his boot on the dirt path. As Mikael expected, a plume of dust instantly clouded the walkway. In the ensuing confusion, Mikael darted in the other direction, grabbing Ami's hand in the process.

"Run!" he yelled. Ami squeaked in surprise as she felt herself being dragged away. With her thoughts preoccupied by a seething desire to pummel Mawsby, the sudden movement was totally unexpected and contrary to her. After gathering her wits about her, she looked back to see Mawsby coughing up a storm and howling in rage.

Their shoes thundered down the packed dirt and they ignored the surprised yelps of other travelers and horsemen using the path. She could have sworn that she had heard a pained 'oof' sound come from the woods after Mikael threw the rock. Looking back, she could faintly make out the silhouette of other figures beside Mawsby within the dust cloud. Ami's gaze fixated on the outline of the swords and axes jutting out from their silhouetted arms.

They hollered and bounded through the cloud of dust after them.