PREVIOUSLY in Chasing Gnomes... [in the voice of Rozlyn, our protagonist]

Okay, I think I'll take charge of the catch-up this time. Hi there! I'm Rozlyn. I'd call myself a mercenary, but I haven't had a proper gig in ages, so I'm now on an impossible mission to pay off my loan shark before he finds inventive uses for my body parts. He wants me to retrieve a famous jewel called Hexapussy from a charming crime lord who's currently heading North with it.

I met up with my old crew, whose usefulness varies by the day and the mood I find myself in, and we borrowed a merchant wagon to give chase. We suffered a case of SWD (Sudden Wheel Deprivation) and spent the night at a tavern so dirty, the bed bugs get stuck in the wet patches. Now, we're ready to resume the chase. There's also the mystery of a patrol that seemed to be following us from town, but has now disappeared.

As boding goes, this is well on the way to unwell.

AND NOW, in Chasing Gnomes...


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It was approaching lunch by the time the wheel was attached. We were so drenched with sweat, the wagon interior looked like a sauna. There was at least some peace and quiet - everyone was too hot and knackered to talk. We put our heads back and waited for Harry, who was in the tavern getting some jolly road drinks.

I found my thoughts wandering heavily to the jewellery I was tasked with stealing. It's not that I worry about doing the right thing all the time. I mean, I'm no murderer for hire but I'm certainly no hero either - I accept that. Still, something about this whole venture felt wrong. I certainly needed the money, and BJJJ was giving me little choice. Thing is, when I find out I have no choice but to do something, I'm always driven to do the exact opposite. I hate to be channelled... That sounds like a sex joke.

The wagon jolted me from my thoughts as we moved off. Harry opened the partition and handed back two skins full of cold tisane, which proved to be the tastiest thing we'd consumed during our stopover (this is not saying much). The Merchant Harries were dozing in the corner, their beards meshed together. Little-John was looking around amiably with an amiable smile on his amiable face. He nodded amiably when our gazes met. I quietly resolved to burn the 'A' section of the next dictionary I encountered. Lindon was looking melancholy and Terence was sniffing his fingers.

"We're heading into the forest," called Harry.

Lindon sighed. "Hate the forest."

"What's the matter?" I asked, slapping his knee with a chuckle. "Do all the tall, upstanding things make you feel inadequate?"

He nodded and looked at me with damp eyes. "How can a man compete?"

"Dragon's arses, I was joking!" I gave him a less friendly slap. "Who are you competing with? They're trees, you numpty."

"I knew you wouldn't understand." He sniffed and it sounded like a wet army marching up his nostrils.

Someone screamed in the distance.

"I don't like the forest either," said Little-John, patting Lindon's shoulder. "It makes me feel small."

I could feel the irritation growing in my stomach. "You are small."

"Forests have trees," said Terence.

"Look," I smacked my hand on the seat. "All I'm saying is, male inadequacy is a stupid reason to not like the forest. It doesn't make any sense."

"Trees have leaves."

Another scream sounded.

"Are you saying," muttered Little-John, "me being small is like Lindon's little willy?"

"Wait a minute, nobody said anything about my willy being small!"

"Which is a miracle in itself," I said.

Lindon sniffed again. "I open up and get ridiculed for it. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist, mon femme."

"Call me mon femme again," I growled, leaning forward, "and I'll have your neck in a twist."

"DIRT'S SAKE!" roared Female Harry, jumping to her feet. "Is ye all just gunney ignore the screaming?"

On cue, a third ghostly wail drifted through the ensuing silence.

The wagon came to a halt and Harry's beard intruded from the front. "Is ye all just gunney ignore the screaming?"

I swear, dwarves are too much alike.

"I thought it was my stomach," said Little-John.

Lindon looked at the rest of us plaintively. "Somebody's in trouble. They need our help!"

Terence shrugged.

"If we stop te intervene," said Harry quietly, "we might ne'er catch Bass. Are ye willing te risk the repercussions, lass?"

Everybody looked at me, and in that moment I truly regretted being the boss. Forego the prize and submit to likely torture and humiliation at the hands of a man with a very silly name, or ignore the screams and risk another stain on my soul? My back itched, reminding me of the stains I already carried - old wounds are bastards like that. They have impeccable timing. I could see the two merchants watching our conversation with nervous expressions.

I smiled at them. "If we all run off to fight, will you two still be here with the wagon when we return?"

Merchant Harry looked simultaneously desperate for the toilet and unable to go. His wife sighed and matched my smile. "We'd love te, lass. But," she shrugged expansively, hands held up. "What my husband wants te say is 'where be the profit in that?'"

"I could tie you up, you know."

She nodded. "But ye don't wanney."

In my peripheral vision, I could see Terence holding up a speculative fist. I chose not to acknowledge it. The sideways looks he was getting from the merchants said the effect wasn't lost on them.

"Very well," I said eventually. "I bid you good journey, and apologise for any inconveniences." I turned to the old band and the new gobbit. "What do you say, fellas - shall we do something good?"

"Aye."

"Okey dokey."

"I suppose so."

*Shrug.*

I blew a kiss to them all. "Tool up - shut up Lindon - and grab your bags. Shit's about to go North."