© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“Hey, Petra,” Dunstana says, trying to look inconspicuous as she and the Troll-Amazon case the private residence of the wizard and smuggler of magical artifacts Oswald van der Smokkelaarguy, where the Festal Baton of the Royal House of Aurora has been stashed away.
“Yes?” Petra asks.
“Remind me. What’s a tor-?, turr-?, torp-?, turt…le?…” She sighs in exasperation and shakes her head. “What’s the thing Apolline said she’d cook for me if we got her back the Aurora Magic Stick?”
“A tourtière,” Petra offers.
“Yeah. That! What is it?”
“It’s a type of traditional Aurorean meat pie,” Petra explains. “They’re particularly popular for Wintermorn.”
“Well,” Dunstana says. “Now we definitely have to get in there. That sounds awesome I like pie, I like meat. And I’m hungry.”
She eagerly tugs on the Amazon’s sleeve.
“Come on, let’s go. I have a plan!”
She walks right up to the man standing guard at the gate to Oswald van der Smokkelaarguy’s residence and grins broadly up at him.
“Hi,” she says.
“On your way, little girl,” the guard says dismissively.
Dunstana keeps standing there grinning up at him.
“Yes?” the guard asks.
“So, yeah,” Dunstana begins. “I, like, kicked my ball over your fence. And I really liked that ball. Like, really really liked it. So, could I just in and get my ball back. Please?”
“This is a private residence,” the guard says.
“I don’t want to reside here,” Dunstana protests. “I just want my ball back.”
“Mr. van der Smokkelaarguy does not allow strangers onto his property,” the guard declares. “His private property. Hence, said property — said private property — is enclosed with a fence, thereby clearly demarcating the boundaries of said property and preventing unwanted entrance.”
“That’s not a no,” Dunstana notes.
Petra steps forward and frowns down at the guard.
“I am a Half-Troll Amazon,” she says. “I am trained in the traditional Amazon art of killing a man in nineteen different ways with nothing but my thumbs. I am here either to inflict unspeakable violence. Or…”
Her face softens considerably.
“…I am indeed here to help my friend get her ball back from over your fence.”
She leans in close to the guard.
“Pray it is the latter.”
The guard chuckles nervously.
“So, uh, ball, huh? Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to let you look around the yard for it. Just, uh, just don’t disturb Mr. von Schmugglerguy. He’s in the middle of fencing certain smuggled antiquities and — ” The guard pauses as he catches himself “— and he’s in a perfectly, legitimate, not-at-all illegal business meeting. I believe Dude Manguy is there.”
He sheepishly clears his throat.
“Ahem. You may look for your ball. But only in the yard. Please do not enter the house. Or, say, warn the Musketeer Guard of any illegal exchanges of smuggled antiquities that may or may not be taking place right at this very moment.”
The guard steps aside and allows Petra and Dunstana to pass.
“That thing about your thumbs was awesome, Petra!” Dunstana exclaims. “But you know what the really funny thing is? I actually did accidentally kick a ball over the fence a while back. Man, what a great day. I get to stop a smuggler, save a Magical Stick, I get a tor-?, turr-?, torp-?, turt…le?…”
“Tourtière,” Petra says.
“Yeah, that! — for lunch, and I get my ball back.”
She grins.
“And I might get to watch you kill nineteen people with your thumbs!”
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