The Best Sheep Ever

This might be the silliest story I've ever written. I had a lot of fun writing it (maybe too much fun, as this took me three damn months to finish. I hope you enjoy!

A plague of Gray Boils struck the land of Fenndwell, almost overnight. The people were struck ill, save for a lucky few. Lucky, that is, if you consider having to clean up everyone else's burst boil juices and vomit lucky. But the people were not the only ones affected by the outbreak. The herds of glimmersheep, the enchanted beasts that made Fenndwell famous, were stricken as well. The boils soiled their silvery fleece, ruining most of the magical wool.

Before falling ill, Lord Tambis IV sent out a plea for help to the governing country of Harkenal. The Harkers, a guild of adventurers and explorers, received their message but were disallowed to help by the Council of Seven. Gregory Klask, the Grandmaster of the Harkers, understanding all too well the dire situation facing the people of Fenndwell and unable to win over the hearts of the Council, sent word out to the only two people he knew could help without actually breaking his word to the Council.

They were mercenaries known on several dimensions, some of which they were legally allowed to return to. Not only were they both dangerous combatants in their own ways, they were expert investigators, famously having solved mysteries such as The Missing Emeralds of Talran, The Haunted Song of Bollanhall, and The Dread Panty-Snatcher of West-Iverland. To those who knew what to call them, they were known as ... Danger Beasts!

The first of the two was Branth. Once a man, he was now mostly wolf due to a terrible curse that was not as bad as it seemed. What was supposed to render him a savage, frothing beast only served to give him gray fur and a deep voice. Not to mention claws, which he often declined to use in favor of the ancestral sword he carried with him.

The second was Crimsalin, sorceress, genius, dragon. Definitively the brains behind Danger Beasts, she stumbled upon Branth's world when her experimental gate spell dropped her unceremoniously between him and his undead foes. A quick explaination and another spell later they were both drawn into yet another realm, unfamiliar to both.

Thus began their amazing adventures across planes, dimensions, and time. Soon, they were known for their exploits all across existence, and their foes would call them Beasts. They embraced that title, after intercepting a Nazi message that said only "Danger Beasts Are Coming" they began using it to refer to themselves.

Eventually they began to sell their services as mercenaries across the planes. Not many people knew their names, but those who did spoke of them as legend incarnate. The ones lucky enough to call upon them learned quickly that there seemed to be no problem they could not solve. Those unlucky enough to stand in their way discovered how well deserved their name was.

"So let me see if I understand you correctly," Crimsalin said to the nervous young man in front of her who spoke for the lord. "You want us to ... cure your people?"

"In a manner of speaking, ma'am," the man said.

"Cut to the heart of it, boy," Branth said, yellow eyes glaring. "You are aware we are no healers."

"Kinda the opposite, actually," Crimsalin said, flashing a sharp-toothed grin. Branth returned her knowing look with a smirk of his own. "So what does your lord think we can do for him?"

"He believes the plague is a curse, brought on by a witch." the young man said.

Branth's ears flattened and his eyes narrowed. "A witch?"

"Now, now," Crimsalin said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Not all of 'em want your fur for a potion."

"She said aphrodisiac, thank you very much," said the wolf man, shivering. "I'll not have any of that, thank you."

"Rumor is she wants our glimmersheep, and if she can't have them, she won't let us keep them either."

"Those fancy colorful things out in the fields?" Branth said. "What does she want with those?"

"Their fur is magic, sir,"

Branth sighed. "Magic sheep. Still a better stock than Maine."

"I've not heard of that land, sir," the young man said.

Branth put a clawed hand on his shoulder, and gestured with the other to the horizon. "Picture your hills, but instead of sheep, it's potatoes. Potatoes as far as the eye can see."

"And a shoreline, stinking with oversized crayfish," Crimsalin added.

"That's horrible," the young man said. "How do their people live?"

"In cold and polite bitterness," Branth growled. "I've never seen a population so miserable."

"But we're not here to talk about backwater worlds and their unreasonable rules about vigilantism," Crimsalin said. "Where is this witch? We might as well pay her a visit, see what she has to say for herself."

"Her manor is to the east," the young man said. "You may want to start there. Now if you'll excuse me," he picked up a mop and a bucket, "the lord's vomit won't clean itself up."

"Good luck, kid," Crimsalin said, somewhat sympathetically.

"Come on, then," Branth said to his partner. "We were paid in advance, let's not waste any of Klask's time."

They found themselves at the manor in no time at all. It was a sturdy cottage atop a hill, dark and rustic but strangely alluring. All around the estate the hill was covered in a thick, overgrown garden, fenced in by a high cobblestone wall. A beautiful stone archway and wrought iron gate was the only discernible entrance.

"Could you just fly over that, right into the manor?" Branth said, gesturing to the wall.

Crimsalin smirked. "Right into a magical trap? No thanks. Rule number one when dealing with other magic users, remember?"

Branth nodded reluctantly. "Keep a low profile, I know."

"And rule number two?" Crimsalin prompted.

"Have a plan, of course." Branth said, approaching the gate. "What's the plan, then?"

"Glad you asked," Crimsalin said, taking out a pair of spectacles and placing them on her snout. She gestured to her new accoutrement, as if expecting Branth to respond to them.

"Is that a new perscription?" he asked. "Quite nice, I thought you needed new ones."

"These are enchanted, you goat-yodler. Witches are known for enchantments and illusions. This will let me see what's real and what's magical misdirection."

"...Witches are also known for transformative magics," Branth said. "What happens when she turns us into fish?"

Crimsalin scrunched up her face in thought. "Right, I knew I was forgetting something."

"We'll think of something," Branth said, pushing open the gate. "Maybe we'll surprise her."

They trudged through the garden, down a flagstone path that wove drunkenly through the collection of vibrant and aromatic buds and blossoms that filled the overgrown garden. Branth had to cover his nose for the walk, the combination of many strong aromas did not do his canine sense of smell any favors.

They came upon a hedge made entirely of an exotic flower, which Branth at first mistook for a white rose. As he grew closer, he noticed the edges of the petals turned orange in the middle, and red at the tips. Their scent was warm and dry, much like cinnamon.

... Did that flower just turn toward him?

Branth barely had time to leap back as a gout of searing flame consumed the air that once surrounded him.

"Flowers of Fire! Crim, stay back!" he shouted, warding her away. He pulled his shield from its place on his back and slid it onto his arm in one fluid motion.

"Branth ..." she started to say, but he held up his clawed hand.

"Patience, girl, let me concentrate." He strode forward again, holding the sturdy shield between him and the dangerous plants. They once again unleashed a torrent of immolating flames, but they were repelled by the magic in the shield. Dashing with inhuman speed, he was soon past the treacherous topiary. Some of the flames had singed the fur of his snout and feet.

"Crim, I'll throw you my shield, it'll keep you safe," Branth said. He removed the shield from his arm and was about to toss it to her when he noticed she was walking calmly through the fire as though nothing was wrong.

"I'm a red dragon, remember?" She said to his astonished gaze.

"Oh yes. Quite right." Branth replaced the shield on his back, frowning in embarrassment.

She pointed at his nose. "You got a little black there, buddy."

"I am aware, thank you." He brushed off his nose halfheartedly.

They continued unimpeded up the path, reaching the house. The stink of incense and rot permeated the air around the heavy wooden door. Branth nodded to Crimsalin, and she nodded back adjusting her spectacles. He pushed the door open, revealing a dark room. They stepped inside, and Crimsalin brought magical light to her hand. At once, the darkness was flushed away, revealing a dozen copies of the two mercenaries standing all around them. Branth snarled and pulled his sword and shield, watching as all the other Branths did the same.

Crimsalin held him back before he could charge into the fray. "Whoa there, furface. You wanna take another look before you leap?"

Branth slapped his forehead as he realized he had just drawn his sword on a room full of mirrors.

Crimsalin patted his shoulder. "Now, now, no need to beat yourself up over it."

Branth glared at her, growling in disapproval. "There's no need to be snide. I must be ready for anything."

"You certainly aren't ready for mirrors," she grinned. "C'mon, there's a gap here. I think it's some kind of maze."

The stepped between two mirrors, and sure enough found themselves in a tight hallway lined with dozens of mirrors. The path split in two, each way leading to its own collection of corridors and passages.

"Shall we split up?" Crimsalin asked

Branth arched an eyebrow. "What for? To break everything faster?"

"We'll find the exit faster that way, dog-noggin." She took the path to the left. "Shout out if you find the exit!" Branth sighed and started down the path to the right.

Never a fool, the experienced warrior knew a trick for navigating mazes. He kept his hand to the right wall, following it at all times. The maze seemed to be devoid of any traps or other threats, so the going was slow but easy.

Pretty soon, he found himself smelling the incense and rot of the front door. He had found his way back to the beginning of the maze. He frowned, realizing that he had picked the wrong side of the maze. He gazed down Crimsalin's chosen path thoughfully, stroking his chin. Should he follow her?

A moment later, the sorceress appeared from around the corner. Branth crinkled his snout in confusion. "Did you not find the exit?"

"You mean you didn't either?" Crimsalin said in disbelief. "Ioun's third eye, you gotta be kidding me!"

"This maze must be enchanted," Branth grumbled. "Didn't you see anything with those magical glasses?"

She paused, taking off the glasses and inspecting the frames before looking quite sheepish. "My bad, these are the new prescription."

Branth's groan sounded like a whine of frustration.

She rummaged through her belt pouch, pulling out a second, almost identical pair of spectacles. She replaced the old pair with the new and glanced around. "Which way you want to go now?"

"Your way first," the wolfman growled, "and if we find the exit, you owe me lunch for a month."

She scoffed. "Whatever. It won't be on my side, I still would have found it without the glasses. My senses are attuned to magic, I live in the aether every second of the day! I can sniff out an illusion easier than you can sniff out a cheese sandwich."

She stopped a moment later glancing to one side. She put her hand on a mirror, and it passed right through.

"That's the door, isn't it?" Branth said, smugness dripping from his tone.

"Shut up," Crimsalin grumbled.

"Looks like steak for a month for me, while it seems you've got a taste for your own words."

Her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up. "I hope you choke on it, flea-feast." She stomped through the mirror to the other side, shattering the illusion  as she passed through. On the other side was a short hallway leading to another old wooden door.

Branth shook his head as he chuckled to himself. As he did, he caught strange movement in the corner of his eye. One of the mirrors behind him cast the reflection of a young woman standing beside him, her sharp gaze sending a chill down the wolf's spine.

"Crim, there's ... " he turned to her but she didn't even turn to face him. He looked back to the odd reflection, but it only reflected his image once more. With furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, he followed the spiteful dragoness.

The room beyond the new door glowed with sweltering warmth. Bright green light poured into the room through big oil lamps hanging on the wall. A long table filled the center of the room, covered in alembics and retorts. down the center of the table sat a planter with various species of plant, ranging from tiny colorful flowers to masses of tangled vines.

"Some kind of lab?" Branth mused. "This would explain the monstrosities in the garden."

Crimsalin moved to the table and leaned in close to the planter. the plants stirred at her closeness, and some of them began to lean toward her. "Yep," she said, "Definitely magical. Probably the planter, that would be easiest to maintain." She turned back to Branth. "Shall we burn it?"

He scowled disdainfully. "If we were going to do that, we wouldn't have used the front door. We're mercenaries, not savages. We will give this witch a chance to explain herself, and if we don't like what she has to say, then we can burn and stab as we see fit."

"Always such a people person," Crimsalin sneered. "You did say you were an officer in that army."

"More of an Alliance, really," Branth said. "But never mind that, if this room is not dangerous, we move on to the next."

Crimsalin's tail swished as she eyed the tables, seemingly irritated. "Nope," she said suddenly, leaning forward and unleashing a wave of fire from her maw. The flames licked at the table and apparatus.

"Blood of the Ancients, woman!" Branth cursed as he leapt away from the tables. "What's possessed you?"

"Her fireflowers singed your lovely fur," she said simply. "I don't want her to make any more, and now she can't, regardless of whether or not she lives."

"Such carelessness," he growled. "If you're so concerned with my fur, why breath flame so close to me?"

Crimsalin's grin was wicked. "When I do it, it's funny."

Branth shook his head. "A real menace. I'm only lucky you like me."

Suddnely, the flames fizzled out, revealing that the tables and plants were untouched by Crimsalin's wrath. Branth arched an eyebrow at the dragoness, who stared in disbelief at the table.

"Tell me, dear," Branth said. "If you were working on magical plants that made fire, what's the first thing you would do to your other plants and your workspace?"

Crimsalin sighed, her hand rubbing the space between her eyes. "Shut up. Why didn't you finish mage school, anyway?"

Branth was about to answer when a bright flash and puff of smoke filled the room, following the pop and rush of magical energy. When the smoke cleared, a tall, gnarled wooden figure stood before them. It made a low grumble, like the creaking of an ancient tree, as it swung its heavy clublike arm into Branth's chest, winding the warrior and pushing him back. The stubborn wolf remained on his feet, but dazed.

Crimsalin tossed a ball of flame at the creature, which puffed against its bark harmlessly. She growled in disgust as the wood monster's fist clocked her in the jaw. Reeling, she tried to line up another spell, but the magical bolt whizzed past the wood man's form.

It was about to strike her again, when it suddenly stopped, its face looking somehow surprised. It and she looked down, seemingly at nothing at first, but then Crimsalin noticed its top half slowly sliding forward off its bottom. It fell to the ground in two gangly heaps.

Branth stood on the other side of the creature, his sword gleaming in the green light of the room.

The warrior wolf bowed his head toward her. "My apologies. I shouldn't have let it hit you."

"Damn right, you shouldn't have," Crimsalin grinned, stumbling back into the table for support. "Do you think you could stop the world from spinning as well?"

"It will pass," Branth reassured her. "Shall we move on?"

Crimsalin nodded, but glanced over the table once more. She spotted a glass case, filled with samples. One of them she recognized, a clump of wool that shimmered in the light with a myriad of colors.

"Come on then, here's the door," Branth called to her.

"Yeah, coming ..." she muttered. Shaking her head to clear the last of her dizziness away, she caught up the Branth by the next door. He nodded to confirm he was ready. She nodded back, and together they kicked in the door.

On the other side of the door, a young woman with blonde hair in an elegant blue robe and steepled hat sat at a crystal ball.

"Made it, did you?" She said snidely.

"Silence, witch!" Branth snarled, his sword leveled at her. "We know about your wicked plans." He narrowed his eyes as he recognized her. "So it was you I saw in the mirror."

The witch nodded, gesturing to the crystal ball. "You weren't quiet or anything. I had plenty of time to do that."

"Never mind that," Crimsalin said. "I know your tricks, dearie. You've plagued their sheep, haven't you? I saw the sample in your lab, and I can guess what you've been doing."

"Enlighten me," the witch said, raising an eyebrow.

Crimsalin straightened up, smugly. "You're channeling your cursed plague through the sheep's magical fleece."

"Wrong," the witch said. "My 'wicked' plans involve creating the most lovely plants with which to win the Fenndwell Festival's Fairest Flora competition, magical plants division."

Crimsalin scoffed."You expect me to believe that your interests go no further than flower arrangements? Why else would you need a clump of the glimmerwool for working with herbs?"

The witch chuckled. "Maybe because I created those sheep? I work with more than just plants."

"We're supposed to believe you made those foolish things?" Branth said. "Why would a witch make magical sheep?"

"I was paid quite nicely to do so." The witch said. "My father thought they would do Fenndwell some good for tourism, but it turns out they're quite useful for practitioners of magic and make lovely clothes to boot."

"Your father?" Branth asked.

"Yes, Lord Tambis. I'm his daughter, Mezzia Tambis." She cocked her head. "Furthermore, this is the first I've heard of a plague."

"But we were told you were the cause!" Branth insisted. "And if you are the Lord's daughter, why do you live so far from the town?"

"Because my fellow Fenndwellians are a dopey lot, and I don't want them trampling my garden by accident. Especially when my plants might hurt them." She gestured to Branth's nose. "Had a run in with my fireflowers?"

"But... but your ..." Crimsalin looked defeated. "You really didn't even know about the plague? Then we just barged in and ... I almost ruined an innocent witch's lab?"

"And you broke down my door," Mezzia said pointing behind them. "I hope you can fix it, if you can't pay for it."

Branth grumbled, sheathing his sword. "If you truly aren't responsible for the misdeeds at Fenndwell, we have run out of leads on this case."

"Nevermind your case, what about this plague?" Mezzia asked. "I find it hard to believe it's affecting the sheep. My babies should be immune to disease."

"They call it the plague of gray boils. It makes the afflicted break out in puss filled boils and causes plenty of other fluids, from the sounds of things," Crimsalin told her. "Sounds like a standard magical plague, if you ask me."

Mezzia stroked her chin. "Sounds more like an alchemical affliction. Lots of fluids and such. Magical diseases have fewer ... mundane symptoms."

"Right, right," Crimsalin said, shaking her head. "I always get those confused."

"Did you do no research before you came to accuse me?" Mezzia chided. "There's an incredible difference between a witches' potion-making and true alchemy. I couldn't have pulled this off if I wanted to. Who are you two anyway?"

"Well, right now I'm feeling like we're the worst heroes," Crimsalin said.

"We are the Danger Beasts, multiplanar mercenaries," Branth said. "My name is Branth, and my colleague here is Crimsalin. We were asked by Grandmaster Klask to aid Fenndwell in stopping this plague."

Mezzia's eyes lit up. "Oh, Klask is the one who convinced me to get my witching degree! I love that old buzzard!"

Branth and Crimsalin shared a look. "Then, perhaps you'd like to help us?" Branth suggested. "Lord Tambis is among the afflicted if that means anything to you."

Mezzia smiled politely. "More worried about the sheep, to be honest."

"Is your father a cruel man?" Branth asked sincerely.

"No, no, he's sweet as a box of kittens," Mezzia said. "He's just an idiot. I can't stand idiots."

Crimsalin teleported the three of them back out to the hills of Fenndwell, right near a flock of the sheep. Mezzia walked out to one of the sheep, which ambled right up to her as though the witch was her mother. She inspected the glittering animal, paying close attention to the dark blotches on its fur.

"How bad is it?" Crimsalin asked. "We didn't have a chance to take a closer look at the sheep before we left."

Mezzia frowned. "It's jam."

Crimsalin tilted her head. "What do you mean, 'jam'? I could scrape a piece of toast on the side of the sheep and have a lovely snack?"

Branth dipped his claw in one of the boils, and sniffed it. His ears perked up and he licked his finger. "Blackberry! I love blackberry!"

"So, the sheep aren't sick, just made to look ill?" Crimsalin said.

"You seriously just blundered in to this job, didn't you?" Mezzia sighed.

"Now look here, little miss criticism," Crimsalin growled, "We had no reason to suspect what we were told might have been untrue. Do you think you could do this better than us?"

"I don't know, is that a job offer?" Mezzia grinned slyly.

"What?" Crimsalin blinked.

Mezzia shrugged. "Just a thought. It seems like you need an inquisitive mind, one who can ask the right questions and do all the research."

Crimsalin shared a glance with Branth, and turned back to the witch. "We'll consider your application."

"That didn't sound like a no," Mezzia said smugly. "So are you satisfied that my sheep are not the cause?"

"Clearly, but whoever did this took great pains to convince us otherwise," Branth said, licking the rest of the jam off his claws. "Who would want to frame you?"

"I don't know, but who could resist blaming a plague on a witch?"

"Wait," Crimsalin said, her fingers on her temple. "You said that you were going to enter some kind of festival contest with your magical plants. Does that mean that the other townsfolk know about your abilities?"

"I'm the lord's eldest daughter, top of my class, and the most learned person in town," Mezzia said flatly, "I don't know if there was a way I could be more popular."

"But didn't the lord's aide insinuate her in the spread of the plague?" Branth asked Crimsalin. "Why would he do that, if everyone knows who she is?"

"He was the only one we talked to ..." Crimsalin said, slowly realizing.

"What aide are you talking about?" Mezzia asked. "Was it an old man?"

"No, a young man, perhaps mid twenties," Branth said.

Mezzia's eyes narrowed. "That's not father's servant. Harvian would never try to incriminate me."

Branth's yellow eyes flared angrily. "We've been had! Lied to this whole time!"

Crimsalin turned her gaze toward the town, then back to Mezzia, her face a deliciously sinister grimace. "Mezzia, dear, would you like to punish the fool who would dare besmirch your name?"

Mezzia's wicked grin practically mirrored the dragoness'.

Minutes later, they were at the lord's mansion in town. The opulent building neatly dwarfed the rest of the ones in town, but was still quite plain as far as mansions went. The door broke neatly open under Branth's mighty foot. The stunned guards' protests were silenced as the lord's daughter entered behind the wolf man, followed by Crimsalin, her smug glare daring them to try their luck.

Branth hoisted one of the guards up by his leather armor. "I demand to know where the lord's aide has gone."

"Kurtz? The new kid?" The guard squealed. "He's up on the top floor -- third floor! -- tending to Lord Tambis!"

"We'd best hurry," Crimsalin said to Mezzia.

"Sorry, boys, I'll see you compensated for the trouble," Mezzia said to the guards as they hurried up the stairs.

They flew up the stairs to the third floor, and Branth crashed through the door Mezzia pointed to. Within, the young man they met earlier stood over the lord in his bed. There were tubes protruding from the sickened ruler, apparently syphoning his blood into a series of alchemical beakers and distillers. The young man cast them a dour gaze, perturbed at the disturbance.

"You've seen through my little disguise, I see," he said drolly. "Not that there's anything you can do about it now."

"What the Ever Loving Fruck are you doing here?" Crimsalin blurted out.

"He's using my father as a vessel for his plague," Mezzia scowled, "incubating it in his body and removing it from his blood to purify it."

"And putting it in the same water I brew the tea in!" the young man shouted, cackling. "And all of these stupid townsfolk think that tea will make them healthier, it's so perfect!"

"Dastardly scoundrel!" Branth snarled.

"Whoa, language!" Crimsalin scolded.

"What are you hoping to accomplish?" Branth growled, ignoring his partner's tease. "Ransom? Infamy? A wealth of glittering sheep?"

"With the plague? Nothing," the young man said, spreading his hands. "Once I stop administering it, it will fade away over a couple of days, leaving no trace."

"Then what was the point?" Branth roared.

The man raised his hand again, this time, a pistol was held in it. "You were, Danger Beasts. This was all to draw you here."

"Wait, seriously?" Crimsalin said. "This was an attempt to get our attention? But we almost didn't take the job. We literally decided if we would with Rock Paper Scissors."

"And yet you're here, like the do-gooder fools I took you for!" the man shouted.

"But why do you want us?" Branth asked from behind his shield. "What did we ever do to you?"

"I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Hansi Kurtz!"

"Hansi ... ?" Branth said absently. "That sounds familiar."

"Branth..." Crimsalin said warily. "Look at his pistol, it's a luger!"

"Wait, I know you now!" Branth said, recognition dawning on him. "You were in that Nazi occult lab we trashed a while back!"

"The fuehrer sends his regards," Hansi said coldly. "You have a lot to answer for, Danger Beasts. We were one step away from achieving immortality, and you ruined everything!"

"So it's just revenge?" Crimsalin said, unimpressed. "You crossed dimensions and planes beyond all of Earth's knowledge, and all you do is try to punish a couple of punks that busted your amateur magic lab?"

"It's more than that," Hansi snapped. "We can finish the ritual. All I need to do is bring you back, and the fuerer might still live forever!"

"Won't happen." Crimsalin scoffed. "You're basic, bitch. We're too pro for you."

"These anti-magic silver bullets say otherwise," the Nazi snickered leveling the pistol toward her. "I don't need you alive."

Branth was in front of her before the trigger was pulled. There was a click and the two braced for the explosion of sound and burning pain of a bullet.

Nothing happened.

"Do you know what kind of place Fenndwell was before I created the glimmersheep?" Mezzia said, holding a piece of glimmerwool in her hand. "It was a dry land, always in danger of flash fires. My sheep ward and dampen flames nearby. That's some kind of blunderbuss, if I'm not mistaken, and black powder needs fire to work." She smiled slyly. "I suppose I've pulled the wool over your eyes."

"Damn fine sheep," Branth said, lowering his shield and striding forward to Hansi. The nazi tossed his gun away, sweeping up a vial from the table beside the lord. "This is the purest form of the plague, undiluted!" he shouted. "If a drop of this touches you, it would kill you instantly."

Branth sighed, rolling his eyes. Without hesitation he snatched the vial from the startled fascist, and swallowed it in a single gulp. He then glared at the Nazi, crushing the vial in his paw.

"You... You should be dead!"

"I'm a werewolf, you ponce," Branth said. "Immune to diseases of the flesh, magical or mundane. And you call yourself an occultist." The werewolf knight backhanded the man with his shield, knocking him to the floor where he lay unconscious.

"That was exciting," Mezzia said, walking over to her father to inspect his condition. "You do things like that all the time?"

"More or less," Crimsalin said. "Though we typically don't deal with nazis anymore. Churchill won't pay his tab."

Branth hoisted Hansi over his shoulder effortlessly. "We'll ask him about it again when we drop this idiot off. Would you like to visit England, Mezzia? They have smashing tea."

"I'd say Japan has better," Crimsalin said. "Oh! We should go there next, the cherry blossoms will be falling next week!"

Branth shrugged. "Sounds like a holiday to me, perfect to celebrate our new hire" he glanced knowingly at the witch, who grinned back. "If you still want the job, that is."

"I warn you, my consultation rates can be steep."

"For protection from dragonfire? I'll suffer the cost," Branth chuckled.