Chapter 3: Granny Trudy vs Ol’ Mole

It was more than an hour before Trudy consented to unlock the kitchen again. “Ma’am, really now,” Munck began.

“Ah, shut up and take the meatloaf to table five. And table seven had the soup, right over there.” Trudy shoved a prettily arranged plate into his hand, with parsley on top and aesthetic drops of sauce. Behind her, Munck could spy something else.

“Is that …”

It was beautiful. Yellow frosting with not a single crumb in sight flowed seamlessly over a perfect heart shape. Delicate white roses had been piped on top and bands of white ribbons along the sides, evenly sized and symmetrical. The buttery smell of caramel settled into Munck’s nostrils and got comfortable. A soft note of vanilla followed, comforting as the sight of a favourite armchair.

The innkeeper, who had rushed in planning to give the old woman a stern talking-to, softened instantly. “Well … it looks…”

Trudy met him with a smug face. “Wait until you taste it. Here, I made a cupcake from the batter, try it.”

The innkeeper took an uncharacteristically dainty bite. A second later someone had to bring him a chair to sink into. Hungerford looked on with mild unease, switching between Trudy’s obvious self-satisfaction and a big bald man sobbing “Perfect … perfect …” over and over. His gaze briefly but hungrily wandered over the pretty cake and Trudy tutted at him immediately. She cleaned her hands off on an apron she borrowed. “And now I better see a bed within the next five minutes!”

The innkeeper brushed away tears of nostalgic joy. “Oh, it’s just like mother used to make … Ma’am, you’ll have our very best room!”

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Trudy had slept surprisingly well. Her back only pinched a little, and of course the knee was giving its usual signs of existence. The morning cough alerted her to the fact she was still alive but at least her digestion was back on track after she had been supplied with a decent meal the night before. An even more decent breakfast awaited her when she entered the tap room. Hungerford, true to his name, was eating lightly while she feasted on sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, grilled tomatoes, and a prune pastry. After all, you wanted the sausages to visit, not set up shop in there.

During the night, Trudy had begrudgingly made up her mind to enjoy herself at least a little. The epic wizard quest she had been dragged on seemed entirely pointless, but Hungerford was right on one account: She hadn’t left the old hometown in years. At least she was going to see the capital Muirburg again, possibly for the last time. She had begun to wonder about what she was meant to do there. The boy had mentioned something about a song. She’d have his guts for garters if it was only a silly concert. It was bad enough that she had some old skipping rhyme or other stuck in her head since this morning, and she couldn’t even remember half. “Sing a song for sixpence, pocket full of lies …” No, it has been rice. Or lice?

Trudy had been so preoccupied she only half-listened as the innkeeper was giving Hungerford instructions to their next destination.

“Just walk a mile out of town, take a left at the dragon skeleton, then when you get to the crossroads don't follow the sign that says tavern, it's a goblin trap, you wanna keep northeast until you get to the cursed tower, then you run another mile to escape the ghosts that will try to flail you, and boom, you're there.”

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“Well, we’re lost,” Hungerford summed it up. He was brooding over his late master’s tattered map while Trudy had a deserved sit-down by the road. They hadn’t even gotten to the ghosts yet.

“I told you to stop and ask for directions,” she called over to him, for the fourth time.

Hungerford tried to ignore her. Their way had already taken considerably longer than expected, and the thought of having to camp out in the woods with a cranky old lady was slowly creeping into his already panicking skull. It shouldn’t be so bloody difficult to find people who had fallen out of the sky a mere few decades ago. Especially someone with a musical name such as Brabazon Molesworth. Former adventurer, the man in the inn had said, retired recently.

“There’s a house on that hill,” Trudy said. “I’m going to ask for directions.”

Hungerford squinted against the sun. Even from here the announced dwelling looked deserted by everything except roaches.

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“It doesn’t look like anyone lives there …” he tried but Trudy had already set out. Tired, Munck followed.

The house, an old-fashioned log construction held together with wood nails and luck, seemed dark, though Trudy swore she had seen light in a window. No one answered her insistent knocking. When Hungerford suggested leaving again, like normal people, she tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Trudy entered the cabin and saw …

“See, I told you, no one’s here. Now can we …”

Before he could finish his sentence, an instinct made Hungerford turn around as the door fell closed behind him, an instinct as of all rodents who realise that something is watching in the tall grass.

He ducked as a sword was swung in his direction. Grabbing Trudy by the arm, he made another heroic sidestep as the man with the sword came nearer.

“Who sent you?” a voice like thunder rang through the cabin.

How was he hiding by the door? The researcher in Munck’s brain asked. You could see him from space!

“Who? The Black Guild? The Red Guild? The Motley Crew? Ha, you’re the worst assassins I ever did see! I shall…”

The mass of muscles stepped forward and yanked the sword upwards. It might have been his nerves, but Hungerford thought he heard a crack, because the enormous man stopped suddenly. The sword clattered on the ground. “Ohhhh noooo…”

“Bad back, is it?” Granny Trudy said to the sight of a giant breaking out in cold sweat. “I got just the recipe. Is there a rolling pin about?”

“What?” said Hungerford, halfway to the door.

“I’ll just check the kitchen.”

She returned a few seconds later, rolling pin in hand, and made the man steady himself against the only table in the room. “Don’t worry, I always did this with my husband.”

“The husband who’s deceased?” Hungerford was making sure. To his abject horror, she began to roll up and down on the man’s back. A series of undignified noises followed that made colour rise to the young wizard’s face. Up close, he saw that all six foot six of the man were actually not young, about Trudy’s age, looking even older with the foot-long grey beard. He was dressed in an old tunic and breeches that had been in style before Munck was born, and now that he looked around the cabin, he did notice boxes of clothes and household effects, as if of someone moving in.

“I say, mistress, you know your way around a rolling pin. Baker?” the muscled elder asked.

“For half a century,” Trudy said with barely concealed pride when she let the man stand up. “Now if you’ve quite recovered your manners, you might tell us your name.”

“Brabazon Molesworth. People call me Mole, Ol’ Mole. I’m sneaky like one too,” he winked.

“Indeed,” Trudy said, looking up doubtfully. “I’m Ermentrude Schlagnitweit, and my young friend has some questions for you.”

“We’re not assassins!” Munck squeaked quickly.

“Good, you’d be terribly at the job,” Mole nodded. “What did you want to ask? You got lost?”

“Uh … it’s a bit personal … was there anything unusual about the circumstances of your birth, sir?”

“Not that I can think of, no.”

“Oh. Dammit, the innkeeper must have remembered this wrong …”

“Did you by any chance fall out of the sky?” Trudy hammered the point home.

“Oh yes, certainly. The crater’s still there, I think. Big bones,” Mole added almost apologetically.

Munck blinked. “But you just said there was nothing unusual…”

“It’s not that unusual. My uncle was found under a cabbage leave. Everyone thought he looked a bit like Gene the milkman, but grandma swore to her dying day…”

Trudy and Hungerford exchanged a look that agreed on a different theory.

“Have you ever heard about the prophecy pertaining to your delivery method?” Hungerford rattled off the prophecy and his mission, to which the old adventurer nodded politely. “I suppose I could come with,” he mused. “But see, I just moved in here. Was about to give the place some colour, work in the garden …”

“With your back?” Trudy interrupted.

“But there’s a destiny for you to fulfil!” Hungerford insisted with as much pathos as he could muster.

“My boy, I fulfilled my destiny thrice over! Didn’t you hear who slayed the dragon of Marbaton Mountain? Who rescued the princess of Skyff? Who planted the gardens at temple Mistril? Who retrieved the holy shopping cart of Yop?”

Munck looked at Trudy for help and when none came doubtful at the bearded man. “You did all that?”

“And more. Until I threw my back out. Took an arrow to the knee, too. Still doesn’t feel right on humid days.”

Trudy scoffed. “You think that’s annoying? Try kneading bread dough with rheumatism.” Beside her, Hungerford seemed ready to beg again. While Trudy had no desire to help him, saving him from humiliation might be considered her good deed for the week. “Now, don’t make the boy beg and come along. Will you take long to pack up? It’s already past lunchtime.”

“Then we won’t get far today. Tell you what, you two stay the night and we’ll set out in the morning.”

“And you absolutely won’t murder us in our sleep?” Munck was still not over the circumstances of their meeting.

“It wouldn’t exactly be hospitable,” Trudy said, weighing the rolling pin meaningfully in her hand.

“On my honour! We three are bound in destiny. Possibly,” Mole added, scratching his beard. “Can’t think right on an empty stomach. Let’s scare up lunch. By the way, boy, what’s your name?”

“Uh, Hungerford. Hungerford Munck,” said Hungerford Munck, embarrassed.

“I’m calling you Munck.” Ol’ Mole swung an arm around him. The sudden camaraderie made the wizard squeak again. “Mole and Munck, what a team name! You do remind me of a wizard I travelled with once, what was his name…”

Hungerford recoiled in fear of a long and convoluted tale. “Uh, we should be getting on …”

“Splendid, I’ll tell you all about it. So there we were, thirty skeletons to each one of us, I had to fight uphill both ways with our rogue on my back …”