Yowler Foul-Up Read Free

his own accord. …
    Muttering under his breath, the gnome took up the quill and, dipping it into the inkwell, began to write. He folded the parchment into segments, tore neatly along all the edges, and placed a number of blank pieces inside the pockets of a dark cloak he’d stolen, keeping hold of the original piece he’d written on. Then he took the quill and its grimy inkwell.
    There, he thought. That’s just about everything.
    Fastening his cloak about him, the gnome hurried from the hovel. It was going to be a busy night. …

FIVE
    W HEN MODESET REACHED THE first-floor landing, most of his staff was already out in force.
    Pegrand was dressed in the standard leather britches and scruffy doublet he always wore, hair spilling out from behind his ears while managing to avoid the top of his head completely. Flicka, Hopkirk’s daughter, and the only member of Modeset’s staff still enjoying her twenties, had settled for a pure white robe that made her look more like a sacrifice for Druids than a royal aide. Her long dark hair, pale skin, and delicate elfin features were somewhat marred by the quizzical expression that had camped out on her face since the day she was born.
    The two of them constituted quite a picture. Modeset didn’t think much of the presentation, but then, judging by their collective stare, they were just as disgusted by his choice of formal dress. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why; the armored suit might be old, but at least it wasn’t paid for.
    “Now, this evening represents my first experience of Dullitch hospitality for some time,” he said. “I want everyone to make a conscious effort, and that includes you, Pegrand.”
    “Yes, milord. Got some impressive jokes lined up for the after-dinner discussions.”
    “None of your sledgehammer wit, please.”
    “No, milord. Right you are, then. I’ll keep a zip on the monkey gag until the crockery’s collected. Do we know how many other guests are coming?”
    “Not many, I fear. It’s just us, the landlord, and supposedly one other gentleman. We’re getting special treatment by order of the throne. As I understood it, most of the guests are confined to their rooms until after the meal.”
    “Should be okay, then, as long as they don’t try to dig themselves out. Who’s the jailer?”
    “I don’t find that even remotely amusing, Pegrand.”
    “Sorry, milord.”
    “And how about you, Flicka?” said Modeset. “All ready for your first dinner in Dullitch?”
    Flicka swept back a lock of her long, ebony hair and fixed Modeset with her sparkly blue eyes. “Do I have any choice?” she said.
    “Good, good.” Modeset beamed. “We’ll descend the stairs in single file. Ladies first,” he said. “That’s you, Flicka, just in case there’s any doubt. I noticed Pegrand took a step forward then and, while he undoubtedly has the tongue of a washerwoman, he is by no means a lady.”
    Flicka rolled her eyes and took to the stairs.
    “Mind your head on that candelabra as you go,” the duke called out. “Very tasteful, isn’t it?”
    “Milord?”
    “Yes, okay, Pegrand. Down you go, then. Be sure to announce me as soon as you get to the dining hall … and no silly voices this time, I implore you.”

SIX
    A UGUSTUS VRUNAK HAD JUST climbed into bed when the doorbell clanged. Nobody else in Dullitch would have had such bad luck, he thought bitterly. And he was right: nobody else in Dullitch had a doorbell. Such was the price of being an inventor in a city that never sleeps. He’d rigged up the device on a rope-pulley system that ran from the entrance door of his cottage to a bracket above his bedroom door.
    He grimaced, swore under his breath, and waited for the small brass tinkle to subside.
Clank , clink , clink , clink ;
    Clank , clink , clink ;
    Clank , clink ;
    CLANG , clank , clink , clink , clink .
    Augustus scowled. Whoever it was, they obviously had no intention of waiting until the morning to see him. He climbed