Monike had lived over 60 winters in Jama, but she couldn't remember anything like this ever happening in the village.
Sure, there had been the cave-in when she was seven, which had buried 15 villagers under mounds of snow and rock. And there had been the time where the townspeople had banded together to overthrow a corrupt mayor. But this was different.
Very different.
Ever since that stranger, Chance Goforth as he called himself, had stumbled into her inn to spread his tales of flag-hunting and cryptic messages and missing explorers, Jama had been in an uproar.
It had begun the night he'd arrived. The Delusional Man, as Monike named him in her head, had called upon the villagers to help him recover his lost companions, claiming that they could be freezing in the blizzard or captive in some wild recluse's clutches. Either way, Goforth had said, it was their responsibility to rescue them.
Somehow, his little speech had moved a fair amount of townspeople. Off they had bundled, grabbing their coats and ice axes and torches, to follow Goforth into the snow. Monike had been tempted to join them- not because she believed the story, but because she wanted to keep an eye on that crazy little man. But she'd stayed back, keeping warm drinks and soup on the stove for when the group returned.
And return they did the next day, with beards and braids iced over, and skin red and chapped.
Nothing had been seen. No-one had been found. In fact, there had not even been a trace of a cave like Goforth had described.
Monike had been right. Strangers were bad news.
Now the question was- what would happen next?
The answer had come on the Eastern Gusts.
Early morning, two days after Goforth and the villagers had returned from the sorry search, a procession was spotted in the distance.
"Five men, three horses, a pack of snow dogs, and a sledge!" Erny had told her, reporting what he'd heard from the watch tower.
For a while, the villagers had believed that these were Goforth's companions returning from wherever they'd disappeared off to. But Goforth swore they hadn't had horses or dogs with them. It was clearly another party.
By midmorning, the travellers were almost to the town outskirts, and Goforth was anxious to meet them. He claimed that he'd sent a letter back to Duke Whitefeld, telling the duke of his discovery and of the situation.
Goforth sat in the Silver Lyre, which wasn't supposed to open until mid afternoon. However, since his arrival, the villagers had been more anxious to congregate and talk. Monike had allowed them to meet in her inn, providing they bought something, of course.
A group of people gathered around as Goforth spoke.
"I tell you, it's got to be the Duke himself! I wouldn't doubt it for a minute. He's an explorer, a seeker at heart, and he is very invested in this mission. He'll want to see what is happening personally. "
Monike sighed. Every day that went by, she disliked the man more and more. Not only was he prone to exaggeration, but he talked too much. She didn't trust people who rattled on and on. True Northerners held their tongues and said only what was necessary.
"You really think the Duke would come here?" A villager asked.
"Oh, yes. He'll want to examine the cave himself and verify what's in those trunks. Plus, he will be very concerned about the welfare of my companions."
"That is, if all this is true." Monike put in, unable to keep silent. "You talk about this cavern you found, and your missing people. Then why is it that you haven't found the cavern yet?"
