sandtree

At this moment, I should be reading about Medieval history. But I'm not. Sucks to be you, Europe. Actually, sucks to be me, because Europe's already out of the Middle Ages, and at this rate, I'll never be.

It is time for more Magical Adventures!

Chapters One and Two
Chapters Three and Four
Chapters Five and Six

Chapter Seven – The Enemy Never Slew You

The ambassador who had awoken to the surprising news that everyone in England, Scotland, and Wales was dead, was the ambassador to Britain from Valmell. He had only been in his position for six months, and was very concerned that his job was completely forfeit now. How he was to return to Valmell and to explain that everyone in Britain had died while he was asleep, he did not know.

The ambassador’s name was Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the younger, and he had risen to his lofty position mostly because of the fame of his father, Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the elder. Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the elder had been a captain of some note, and had made a name for himself during the Icelandic Wars, some thirty years previous.

Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the younger had no such victories to his name, nor any fame other than that of association, but that was not to say that he was undeserving of his position. He was a shrewd man, intelligent, careful, and tactful. He had always performed his work admirably, until now – but really, as his valet said, how could he have done anything to prevent this?

Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the younger and his trusted valet were currently in an unenviable position, being the only two people left alive in England, Scotland, or Wales. They had no idea whatsoever as to why they had been left alive. Sir Rupert supposed that it had something to do with the fact that they were not British, but then, what had become of all the other non British people in Britain? It was all very strange.

It was frightening, too. Sir Rupert knew that if Finnegan O’Fear were behind this, he would not have left them alive by accident, and that he would likely be watching them now. Sir Rupert shuddered to think that Finnegan O’Fear had some sinister plan in store for himself and his faithful attendant. If they tried to escape, they were sure to be thwarted, and likely in a very unpleasant manner; but they could not just stay in a country devoid of all other human life, waiting for whatever Finnegan O’Fear was planning.

So now Sir Rupert Anglegard Davies the younger, and his valet, whose name was Mr. Michael Stratford, sat in the parlour, drinking brandy, and discussing their options.

“If only Macalby were not such a wretched, worthless king, he could perhaps do something about this,” Sir Rupert said angrily, when they had been sitting for hours, and had still got nowhere.

“Careful, Sir Rupert,” his valet warned mildly.

Sir Rupert snorted derisively. “As though Macalby would be spying on me now – and if he were, to own the truth, I would not really care. I was sick of him before this happened, and I am even more sick of him now.”

“So what do you plan to do?” his valet inquired, taking another sip of brandy.

Sir Rupert shrugged. “I do not believe that I will go back to work for him. Indeed, I see no point in it. I suppose this is my chance to break free of that nonsense. Macalby, at this moment, is very likely assuming that his loyal ambassador has died like everyone else in Britain. He will never know the difference if I slip off and never come back again.”

“Of course, if you slip off, I must slip off with you,” Mr. Stratford pointed out.

“Are you complaining?” Sir Rupert asked pointedly.

Mr. Stratford smiled, and inclined his head, conceding the point. “No indeed. Where are we to slip off to?”

Sir Rupert shrugged, looking into his empty glass, set it down on the table with a light clunk, and then stood up, and began pacing in a very distracted manner around the room. “Surely not to France – I can scarcely abide Bonaparte, or those revolutionaries. And not to Ireland, although we may not be able to avoid that, if Finnegan O’Fear does indeed have plans for us.” He paused, and thought.

“If Finnegan O’Fear has plans for us, we are doomed either way,” his attendant reminded him.

Sir Rupert sighed, and then chewed on his lip, staring at an invisible point on the wall opposite to him. “I think...” he began, and Mr. Stratford waited for him to continue patiently. “I think...” he continued at last, “that it would be prudent to locate the Brights.”

Mr. Stratford paused. “You think the time is right for that?”

“It feels right,” said Sir Rupert, with some conviction.

“So we are to throw our lot in with the Brights,” Mr. Stratford mused, “and hope that this revolution works.”

“I prefer to think of it as a reinstatement, really,” said Sir Rupert. “I know that the Brights are working at this moment to reinstate themselves on the throne. Frederick Bright has disappeared with his younger sister and their cousin, and they are believed to be with Joseph Sevenson, also known as Joseph O’Fear – the last surviving son of Finnegan O’Fear, of course, who has worked tirelessly against his own father – and his younger sister, Katherine O’Fear. They are obviously all together, plotting something significant.”

“And in what way can we help?” asked Mr. Stratford, who sounded sceptical. Sir Rupert knew that his valet was just as supportive of putting the Brights back in their rightful place on the throne as he was, but Mr. Stratford was a cautious man, and one who wanted all the details before he jumped into anything.

“I think,” said Sir Rupert, “that we will locate, retrieve, and bring to them, the Crown of Righteousness.”

Mr. Stratford was silent.

“What is it you are thinking?” his friend demanded at last.

“I am thinking that this will be extremely dangerous,” Mr. Stratford admitted, “and possibly impossible.”

“You always were a pessimist,” Sir Rupert grumbled.

“Not a pessimist, sir, but a realist,” said the servant. “Do we have any idea whatsoever where the Crown of Righteousness may be? Because if we do not, and this is simply a vague idea – while it is a pleasant idea, we may as well not even start on it, unless you really have information that I am ignorant of.”

Here Sir Rupert smiled in a knowing way. “I have information,” he said, and took great pleasure in saying it. “I have a great deal of information – a great deal of information indeed, and information that I believe to be known to very, very few. I am not saying that the task of retrieving the crown will be easy, but it will not be, as you put it so eloquently, impossible.”

Mr. Stratford seemed heartened at this. “Well then,” he said, standing up, and smiling at his companion. “Let us begin, shall we?”

In excellent spirits, they were about to rush off to pack their belongings and begin on their quest, when suddenly there was an explosion of light and sound, the door crashed open, there was an overwhelming smell of potatoes, and Finnegan O’Fear materialised like a wrathful Irish magician in the middle of the room.

~

Napoleon Bonaparte sat alone in his room, looking into the mirror, gazing at the empty space on his forehead where his eyebrows had once grown.

He began to weep.

~

Martha, Frederick, Adam, Mr. Sevenson and his younger sister, were on the point of leaving the tree and heading directly to France, where they hoped to find and thwart Finnegan O’Fear, when there was a rapid knock on the door. They all paused, and looked around at one another.

“Who could that be?” Katie wondered nervously.

“We could open the door and find out,” replied Frederick, making toward it.

Before his hand had reached the knob to open the door, they all cried out for him to stop.

“What?” he said, annoyed.

“We have no idea who is out there!” Martha exclaimed. “It could be anyone – it could be Pierre Noir!”

“It can’t be Pierre Noir, because the Clandestine Council has got him,” Adam pointed out. “And for that matter, it can’t be Mr. Blackstone either. Nobody else knows about this secret location, do they?”

“I don’t think so,” said Frederick, “but seeing as how you managed to find it easily enough, I wouldn’t bet on our safety.”

The person outside the door knocked again, and knocked louder.

“Whoever it is is getting impatient,” said Katie.

“Look,” said Mr. Sevenson, “think about it this way: there are five of us and one of them. Whoever it is, we stand a fair chance of defending ourselves if they mean us any harm.”

“But how do you know it’s only one person?” said Martha. “It could be twelve people! A hundred!”

Mr. Sevenson rolled his eyes. “Calm down,” he said, “I didn’t hear one hundred people knocking out there, did you?”

It took a great deal of mental effort for Martha to stop herself from picking up a chair and throwing it directly at his head. “Well obviously not,” she said slowly, “because if there were a thousand people out there, I am sure that only one of them would knock.”

“A thousand people couldn’t fit inside the tree,” Frederick reassured them, and then he opened the door.

“Frederick, no!” Martha exclaimed, but it was too late. The door had opened, and in strode a tall, red haired woman, wearing a blood red dress.

Katie screamed and fainted.

“Tut,” said the woman disapprovingly.

Mr. Sevenson looked horrified. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I might ask the same of you,” said the woman. “And you are being very impolite, you know, Joseph.”

Mr. Sevenson scowled, but said, “Everyone, this is my mother – Mrs. O’Fear.”

“Oh, excellent, this is turning into quite the family reunion,” Frederick noted sarcastically. “Do you think your father will be joining us, Joss? That would be delightful.”

Mr. Sevenson ignored him, and instead addressed his mother. “How did you find us here?”

She laughed coldly. “It was quite easy, my dear,” she replied. “You always hide in trees. You ought to be more creative.”

He shrugged, conceding the point, and then glanced down at his younger sister, who was still out cold on the parlour floor. “A little warning might have been nice,” he said. “Look what you’ve done to Katie.”

“Humph,” said Mrs. O’Fear, sweeping across the room and taking a seat on the chair that Martha had moments ago imagined throwing at Mr. Sevenson’s head. “It is Katherine’s own fault if she has such a weak constitution. I never fainted when my mother appeared.”

“Your mother died when you were born,” Mr. Sevenson pointed out.

“Um,” said Martha, “not to be rude, but we are in a hurry.”

Mrs. O’Fear seemed to notice her for the first time, and eyed her distastefully, taking in her full appearance. “You must be the Bright girl,” she said at last. “I see they did not lie – you are rather ugly.”

“Mother!” Mr. Sevenson exclaimed.

“Your face is rather square, your hair is colourless and limp,” she continued, “and your eyes look dull. You have a bad figure, bad posture, and crooked teeth. Your complexion is blotchy. You are much too tall, and your hands are not elegant in the least.”

“Madam, really,” Frederick said, becoming angry now. “Is this really necessary?”

Mrs. O’Fear ignored him. “Your nose is crooked, and your accent is unrefined. Your expression of shock is most unbecoming on a young lady. I will own, however, that your eyelashes are exactly the correct length.”

“Thank you,” said Martha.

Mr. Sevenson looked as though he wished the floor would open up and swallow his mother whole. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Am I ever finished, my dear?”

“Look,” said Adam, “I may be blind, but I’m still in this scene.”

Everyone cast him an apologetic look. Taking this as his cue to speak again, he said, “Mrs. O’Fear, would you please just tell us what you are doing here?”

“I have come to find my children, of course,” said Mrs. O’Fear, “what could be more natural? Joseph, your father has been out of his mind with worry since you left!”

“Mother,” said Mr. Sevenson, “I’ve been gone for eleven years.”

“Well, yes, but all young men have to assert their independence somehow, we quite understand, darling – but after the last of your brothers died, your father truly felt your loss.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Mr. Sevenson scowled. “And what about Katie, did you feel her loss as well?”

“Who?” said Mrs. O’Fear distractedly.

“Katie? Katherine? Your daughter?”

“Oh, of course! Now, there is no reason for you to look so furious. I have fourteen daughters, after all, and Katherine was always the most dull of them.”

“What do you mean, you have fourteen daughters?” Mr. Sevenson demanded. “The last time I checked, you only had ten!”

“Well, there have been four new ones!” Mrs. O’Fear replied, glaring at him. “You would know this, of course, if you ever bothered to pay us a visit, or even deemed to write to us every now and then. But as it is, you have missed the births of Cassandra, Frances, Gillian, and Ellen. Cassandra is six, and Ellen is one, and the others are somewhere in between. You know how difficult it is to keep track of them all, but they are healthy girls. Gillian killed a bear last week.”

Martha was so startled that she could not even collect herself enough to inquire.

“And the others, are they all still alive?” asked Mr. Sevenson anxiously.

“Of course they are all still alive, what sort of parents do you take us for?” said Mrs. O’Fear, sounding genuinely injured. “Although we are not quite sure about Sarah. She is lost somewhere in the wilds of Scandinavia.”

Mr. Sevenson groaned.

“Time is of the essence,” Adam reminded them all.

“Where are you all rushing off to?” Mrs. O’Fear wanted to know.

There was an awkward silence.

“Look, Mother, we can’t let Father take over the world. It would be disastrous. He has already killed everyone in England, Scotland, and Wales. Who knows what else he is capable of?” said Mr. Sevenson at last.

“Oh, he is capable of much more than that,” said Mrs. O’Fear fondly. “But of course, his plans would go ever so smoothly if his son would only get over this ridiculous rebellion and come back home.”

“Mother, Finnegan O’Fear is the most evil person to ever wreak havoc on the planet!” Mr. Sevenson said heatedly. Martha could tell he was growing angrier and angrier, and hoped that there would not be a brawl. She could not imagine a son coming to blows with his own mother, but then again, there was something odd about this family.

“Don’t talk about your father that way, Joseph,” Mrs. O’Fear reprimanded him. “All he wants is what is best for you, and this is the thanks he gets?”

“All he wants is to destroy the world as we know it,” Mr. Sevenson countered.

“And that whole business of changing your last name,” Mrs. O’Fear went on, ignoring him. “It really hurt your father’s feelings, you know. You are his only son and heir.”

“Through no fault of my own,” Mr. Sevenson snapped. “Would you leave now, please? If Katie comes around, I will tell her that your visit was a nightmare.”

“Leave? No indeed. I can see that you are planning to do something silly, and as your mother, I simply cannot sit back and let that happen.”

Mr. Sevenson squared his shoulders and said, “Mother, we are going to France to find Finnegan O’Fear, and we are going to destroy him!”

“To France? Your father isn’t in France, dear.”

“Not in France?” cried Martha, shocked.

“Not since this morning,” said Mrs. O’Fear, “he has gone off to England to meet with some ambassador, or diplomat, or something. I have to own, I was surprised, because I thought he had left no one in Britain alive, but your father is always full of little surprises.”

Mr. Sevenson looked rather ill. “Well then, we are going to England,” he said.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” said his mother, rising and advancing toward them all. “You are all coming with me. Mr. and Miss Bright, I’m afraid my husband has an insatiable desire to kill you both. I am very sorry, but when he gets an idea into his head like this, he won’t be satisfied until he manages to murder who he likes.”

“WHAT?” screamed Martha.

“Yes, I am afraid his appetite for murder has been growing.” Mrs. O’Fear shrugged. “After he is finished with you and your brother, he plans on murdering the entire royal family of Valmell – King Macalby, Queen Dot, Crown Prince Macalby, Crown Princess Edwina, Prince Abby, Prince Bamber, and of course the Crown Prince’s sisters Cornelia, Pompeia, and Calpurnia, and all of their children – “

“Wouldn’t it just have been easier to list everyone he didn’t plan on killing?” Adam interrupted.

“Well, regardless,” said Mrs. O’Fear. “Right now, we are going to – “

But Mrs. O’Fear never did get to say what they were going to do then. Just as she was about to tell them, Mr. Sevenson clapped his hands together, and there was a deafening crash, and a blinding flash of light. Before she knew what had happened, Martha found herself standing on a dark beach facing north-east, along with Mr. Sevenson, her brother, and Adam.

“How did you do that?” she asked, stunned.

“Magic,” said Mr. Sevenson.

“Where is Katie?” Frederick asked. It was only then that Martha noticed the girl was missing.

“I left her lying on the parlour floor back in the tree,” Mr. Sevenson replied. “She will be safer there.”

Martha was not so sure about this, but decided not to answer. “What are we going to do now?” she asked instead.

“I think we should split up,” said Mr. Sevenson. “Two of us should go to England to find Finnegan O’Fear, one of us should go to France to speak with Napoleon Bonaparte, and one of us should go back to Bogbury, to meet with the royal family and warn them that Finnegan O’Fear is planning to assassinate them all.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Martha, “first we were working tirelessly against the royal family, because we want to see Frederick as rightful King of Valmell – and now we’re warning them about assassination plots?”

“We want them off the throne, Martha, not dead,” her brother said sternly. “I think Joss’s plan is a good one. Joss and I will go to England to find Finnegan O’Fear; Adam, you can go to France and locate Napoleon Bonaparte; and Martha, you go back to Bogbury, and warn the Macalbys. Calpurnia likes you.”

“Now, wait,” said Adam, “I’m not convinced this is the best idea. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that I defeated Napoleon Bonaparte in a fight for Austria.”

“Well, you gave it back, didn’t you?” Frederick pointed out.

“Yes,” said Adam, “but he won’t have forgotten the humiliation.”

Frederick shrugged. “He sees you as a worthy opponent, and therefore will respect you. Besides, you are the only one who speaks French. Are we all agreed, then?”

“Yes,” said Martha. “No, wait – what about Mr. Blackstone? He is still out there somewhere, held captive by the Clandestine Council with Pierre Noir, for who knows what evil purpose?”

“Forget about Mr. Blackstone,” Mr. Sevenson said. “He can take care of himself. We will think about him after we’ve done everything else on the list. Are we agreed?”

This time everyone was in accord. Mr. Sevenson and Frederick dove into the ocean and began to swim north-east to England, Adam swimming off in a south-easterly direction for France, and Martha setting off inland for Bogbury.

Chapter Eight – Adam Haley and the Revenge of Napoleon Bonaparte

Adam usually preferred to take a boat to France, but if a boat were not available, he was more than capable of swimming the distance. The water was icey cold, but refreshing. He arrived on the shores of France after about seven hours of continuous swimming, and immediately made for the nearest tavern in order to dry off.

He sat at a table, a large puddle gradually forming on the floor around him, sipping on a strange French beverage, so as not to seem conspicuous. When someone passed close to him, he grabbed their sleeve to stop them.

“What?” said the person, in an annoyed French accent.

“I don’t suppose you would have any idea where one might find Napoleon Bonaparte these days?” Adam inquired politely.

“Sure,” said the French person, “he’s been sulking in Paris for the past two days. You’ll have a job getting to him, though, he won’t let anyone see him.”

“Not even his wife?”

“Especially not her.”

“How strange,” said Adam, “do you have any idea why he is hiding himself away from the world?”

The man shrugged. “Nobody knows for certain, but I did hear a rumour that he attempted to have his eyebrows reattached.”

“Pierre Noir has still got Bonaparte’s eyebrows,” Adam pointed out.

“Look, I didn’t start the rumour, I’m only telling you what I heard. Will you let go of my shirt now, please?”

Adam let the man go, and sat in silence to contemplate this turn of events for some time. Finally, he paid for his drink, and left the tavern to journey on to Paris. As luck would have it, someone had abandoned a carriage complete with horses and driver along the side of the road, so Adam climbed inside, and instructed the man to drive him as speedily as possible to Paris.

They entered the city just as the sun was rising. Adam had the man drop him off in front of the building that he remembered Napoleon hiding out in before. When Napoleon Bonaparte was seriously upset, he never went to his real residence, but to a run down flat near the outskirts of the city, so that no one would find him. This generally did not work out well.

Adam ascended the steps to the front door, and rang the bell. Within a few seconds, the door was thrown open by a footman, who looked suspicious.

“Yes?” said the footman, eyeing Adam with what could only be called suspicion.

“Good morning,” said Adam, “I am here to see the Emperor.”

The footman stiffened. “There is no Emperor at this address, monsieur. Good morning to you.” He slammed the door in his face.

This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Sighing, Adam rang the bell again, and the same footman answered.

“What do you want?” the footman asked, exasperated.

“I simply want to see Napoleon Bonaparte,” Adam answered, trying to keep his voice polite. If he could not gain entrance to the house through honest means, he would have to break in somehow, and he preferred not to expend the time or the energy on that. “Tell him that it is Adam Haley.”

“Very well,” the footman sniffed, “but I cannot imagine he will want to see you, whoever you may be.” The footman shut the door again, and Adam waited patiently on the door step until he came back.

“He says he does not want to see you.” The footman shrugged his shoulders. “He says that he is not interested in any more fights.”

“Tell him I haven’t come to fight,” Adam instructed. “Tell him it’s urgent – it’s about Finnegan O’Fear.”

The footman seemed startled at this, but said nothing, and disappeared into the house again. He was gone for much longer this time, and Adam shifted from one foot to the other as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky and the heat of it began to scorch the top of his head. Finally, the door swung open again.

“He says he will see you,” said the footman, “so it is your lucky day. The Empress will not be happy.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m meeting with Bonaparte, and not with his wife,” Adam remarked, his spirits rising upon admittance to the shabby flat.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” the footman warned, and opened the door to Bonaparte’s study, beckoning him inside.

Once inside the Emperor’s study, Adam made a hasty bow, and heard Bonaparte turn to face him. The Emperor’s missing eyebrows gave him a permanently stunned expression; but of course, Adam had no way of noticing this, because he was blind, which was important to remember.

“So we meet again, Mr. Haley,” said Bonaparte, in French, because Napoleon Bonaparte definitely could not speak English. “What do you want now? If you have changed your mind about Austria, it is too late.”

“No, your majesty, this has nothing to do with Austria,” Adam assured him. “I have come to speak to you about Finnegan O’Fear.”

“Yes, so my footman told me,” Bonaparte said, walking over to his desk, plucking a large, bejewelled crown off its surface, and placing it securely on his own head. He adjusted it to his satisfaction and then said, “Well, what is it about Finnegan O’Fear, then? If you have come to tell me that he has killed everyone in Britain, you could have spared yourself the long swim; I read it in the paper yesterday morning.”

“No, your majesty, I had assumed that your majesty was aware of that,” Adam replied. “But do you mean to tell me that you were not aware that Finnegan O’Fear was in France mere hours ago?”

Napoleon seemed shocked by this report. He meant to raise his eyebrows, but then remembered that he had none. He settled for frowning and saying, “Is that so? And what is the source of this intelligence?”

“Finnegan O’Fear’s son used some kind of blood scrying method to locate him,” Adam explained. “We were afraid that you had made a deal with him.”

“I, make a deal with Finnegan O’Fear?” Bonaparte snorted derisively. “I have no respect for that man. How stupid does one have to be to kill six of one’s sons by accident? If I had any sons, I would take better care of them than that, much better care; but unfortunately, my wife is incapable of producing any.”

“Er,” said Adam.

“So Finnegan O’Fear was in France,” Bonaparte mused, walking to the window and staring out of it at the brick wall opposite. “How very intriguing. He must have meant to assassinate me.”

“I would not doubt it,” Adam admitted, “he would love to acquire your empire, after all.”

“Of course,” said Bonaparte, and he was about to go on, when the door to the study swung open, and Josephine Bonaparte swept in. She glanced at Adam, smirked, and then sat down on a nearby couch, casting a derisive glance at her husband.

“What if I told you this was a private conversation?” Napoleon asked angrily, turning to glare at her.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “What are you doing in here that is so private?”

“Having a private conversation!” Napoleon shouted. “You have no right to be suspicious of me, you’ve been with half the men in Paris in this past fortnight!”

Adam attempted to disappear into thin air. It didn’t work.

“Oh, you are just pathetic,” Josephine sighed, examining her fingernails. “You never got over being rejected by Louis XVI’s daughter, what was her name?”

“Marie-Therese,” Napoleon said through gritted teeth, “and I was not rejected by her. What on earth would I want with one of them?”

Josephine shrugged. “Search me,” she said. “You seemed to admire her.”

“I did,” said Napoleon, “she was an unpstanding sort of person, unlike some. Marie-Therese was the only man in her family.”

“Oh, so now you’re attracted to men?” Josephine said accusingly.

“I’m sure even a man would satisfy me more than you are capable of doing,” Napoleon shot back.

“Oh really?” said Josephine, leaping to her feet. “That’s not what you said last night!”

“I wasn’t with you last night,” Napoleon reminded her.

Josephine turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that several framed pictures fell off the walls and shattered on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” said Bonaparte, looking embarrassed, “you know – women.”

“Um, right,” said Adam. “Well, putting aside women for a moment, do you think you could help us to defeat Finnegan O’Fear?”

Bonaparte contemplated this for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said at last, “but I would want something in return. I am thinking... all of Britain.”

“That I don’t think I can guarantee,” said Adam, “but I will make you a deal: you help us to defeat Finnegan O’Fear, and I will help you to defeat Pierre Noir, and to regain your eyebrows.”

Bonaparte looked rather pleased at this notion, and Adam began to feel more confident than he had mere seconds ago, during the Emperor’s marital spat.

“What do you say?”

“All right,” said Bonaparte, “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” said Adam. They shook hands. “We begin by returning to Valmell. We will rendezvous with my cousin, Martha Bright, in Bogbury, and hopefully with Mr. Sevenson and Frederick Bright as well. Are you ready?”

“Quite ready,” said Bonaparte, following Adam out of the room, and through the corridor toward the front door. “Do you think you could find me a new wife as well?”

“Er,” said Adam, “I can try.”

Check back tomorrow for the next two chapters, in which Martha meets with the idiot royalty of Valmell, and a few of our heroes come face to face with Finnegan O'Fear!