From the moment she had crashed into him, Skarra had known there was something odd about Anastasia's maiden. She was of an olive-green hue, and had a manner that was not like any Tyvern he had met. As he edged closer to her, away from the fight over the Duchess, he also noticed a few warts scattered around her face. Yet she had much more hair sprouting from her head than the average goblin, and no horns to suggest she was one of the Wyverkiiri either.
"Would you like me to show you where to take your Lady's luggage?" Skarra asked, being careful not to startle her.
The intense glare he recieved all but confirmed his suspicion. The Amphoerix had often mistreated the Drakuur, and no doubt she would hate him for the crimes of the flock. He could see the anger of all the robbed wheat farmers in the way she was sizing him up.
"There were never any potatoes 'ere, ye did nay see anything," the maiden said, her accent typical of coastal Drakuur.
"You stole the potatoes?" Skarra blurted, not sure what else to say.
Clans by the sea had a reputation for thievery, more so than farming, but potatoes had never struck him as the sort of thing anyone would bother stealing.
"Nay! Watch yer accusations, buzzard."
"Oh, I didn't mean... there were never any potatoes here."
"Not a single spud, yar?" She squinted one eye at him like one of Ordena's inquisitors about to extract a tooth for a wrong answer.
"Not one," Skarra agreed. There was not even a pot left where it ought to be.
"Aye, yer a smart bird," Anastasia's maiden said with a threatening grin. "Now ye can 'elp me get the bags to wherever they're meant to be, and there'll be nay more chirpin' out o' ye about potatoes what were nay even 'ere to begin with, yar."
Skarra led her to the top of the stairs, sharing the load of luggage. He had opted to walk instead of flying, though it was a long way up, then a short way down over the stalk's stoop, then up another to the cap where Nibbs' room was situated. At least once they were inside he could speak without being overheard by prying ears.
"Could nay have given us a more conveniently located spot, yar," the maiden grumbled as she threw the bags into the bed-cup.
"Tyvern aren't usually ones for convenience..." Skarra said in jest, but as usual his tone did not come out as planned.
Just as he was about to continue and ask her if she was indeed a Drakuur, one of the bags wriggled and bounced, then popped open and a strange sock in a coat climbed out of it.
"Oops, did I come out too soon?" the creature asked.
"It's alright, the big bird did nay see anything, did ye?" said the maiden as she removed the pot of potatoes from her skirt and sat it on the bedside shelf. "Anastasia would rip yer feathers out if ye told anyone about 'er Granny."
"That's her grandmother?"
"That's nobody, yar."
"Also known as Alphonse. Pleasure to meet you." The sock raised a sleeve.
Skarra assumed he was supposed to shake it, but when he reached towards it another sock slithered out and sunk a row of tooth-pins into his hand. The maiden and Anastasia's grandmother seemed to think it was amusing, and given the ridiculousness of it, Skarra found himself laughing along with them.
"And what can I call you?" he asked once his chest had stopped convulsing.
"Goldilocks, because me locks be goldy."
YOU ARE READING
Revolting Rose
Fantasy{Illustrated} Once upon a time Pagne planned parties in a palace of fungus, now he is planning a revolution. Success requires a cunning plan, hinging on the element of surprise, careful catering, and colourful costumes. However, an unfortunate ser...
