Delve #541 (Patreon)

“You’ve lost me again, brother,” Jane chuckled, interrupting yet another of Prancy’s flights of speculation.

“At which point?” Prancy asked.

“Ah…” Jane mused, “I believe there was something about an elf who kept losing her clothes… and then, something, something… everyone’s turned to stone.”

“You’re horrible,” Prancy sighed, nodding at Mister Rakham, the ratcatcher as they passed him in the street.

“You have to admit,” Jane laughed, “the story’s rather like a ball of yarn that’s been pulled in too many directions. While it may be pretty enough in and of itself, you’ll have no luck trying to knit a serviceable scarf out of it!”

“Damn the scarf!” Prancy grumbled, stuffing his hands even deeper into his pockets, “I wish I’d brought my mittens!”

“It is rather strange weather for the season,” Jane agreed, steadying her bonnet with one hand as another gust of icy wind rattled the shutters of the houses that lined the lane.

“But the turning to stone bit,” Prancy exclaimed, “You must admit that it makes perfect sense from Queen Sephni’s point of view!”

“She wishes for her subjects to remain in a state of eternal happiness, never suffering as she was forced to suffer,” Jane reasoned, “and, so, she has robbed them of all opportunity of suffering, along with their freedom and reason.”

“Exactly!” Prancy said, “You were paying attention!”

“And her cursed necklace gives her the power to do this?” Jane asked.

“No,” Prancy said, “It was the elven throne itself which contained the power, which is why everyone seemed rather intent on preventing her from reaching it.”

“And the rather monochromatic schoolgirl,” Jane asked, “What’s her part in this?”

“Imugi’s intent, it seems, is to find a similar release from her suffering,” Prancy said, “She appears to be another Graysider, brought into the fantasy realm by some misadventure, much like Bree and Sark. She, however, has found no comfort in fantasy and seeks instead to end her existence altogether.”

“Quite simple then,” Jane said, “Just have Sephni turn her to stone as well and be done with it!”

“But she does not turn to stone,” Prancy pointed out, “though Capria, standing beside her was affected, just as were the people in the monastery of Saint Bertilak’s, and, presumably, everyone else inside the borders of the High Elven kingdom.”

“Saint Bertilak!” Jane chuckled, “I wasn’t aware that that Green Knight had been canonized!”

“He’d sooner be sainted than Morgana who apparently founded the abbey next door to Brother Chatham’s,” Prancy laughed, “The Arthurian names are more evidence, perhaps, of some otherworldly meddling in the history of the fantasy world.”

“And Queen Greenfoot’s attire as well, hinted at a bit of Graysider influence, I’d say,” Jane added.

“Her name is Greenboot,” Prancy corrected her.

“Of course, it is!” Jane sniffed, “but it spoils the joke to get it right on the first go.”

Prancy smiled. “You’re much better at this than Phawkes!” he said.

Jane rolled her eyes at the compliment. “I suppose he’d show more interest if you were to discuss the proper calibre of shell for murdering voles!” she snipped.

“He prefers his .455 for garden work,” Prancy sighed, “but they make such of horrible mess of the poor things…”

Jane made a disgusted noise.

“Oh!” Prancy cried, his mood suddenly brightening again, “What did you think of that young artilleryman that Phawkes brought to dinner last night?”

“I do wish you’d stop putting him up to this!” Jane groaned, “I told you, I’m not ready to think about… that!”

“It is my solemn duty as your brother to see that you are properly wed!” Prancy argued, “I’ve no desire to see you, languishing in old maidenhood, atop my favorite divan for the rest of your life!”

“Only for the rest of your life,” she assured him with a pinch of his furry cheek, “I will far outlive you, little brother… particularly so, with the way you eat!” She emphasized her point with a poke at Prancy’s ample middle.

“You still owe me an answer,” Prancy huffed, “What did you think of the artilleryman?”

“He seemed… nice,” Jane sighed her eyes going distant as they continued their walk.

“Nice?” Prancy scoffed, “It was as if someone had poured a marble statue of a god into a dress uniform!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Jane replied airily.

“You did, I saw you!” Prancy giggled.

Jane wrinkled her nose in annoyance as her brother continued to chortle like a schoolboy who’d dipped the headmaster’s tail in the inkwell.

“And why was the orc shamaness crying golden tears in the final panel?” Jane asked.

“You’re trying to change the subject!” Prancy accused her.

“No, I am successfully changing the subject,” Jane insisted, “because I know that you’ll never miss a chance to discuss your salacious little penny dreadful.”

“True enough,” Prancy confessed.

“I can only assume it had something to do with the effect of Sephni’s spell on Bree and Sark,” Jane surmised, “Can we conclude that their sisters are twin souled avatars as well?”

“I think not,” Prancy said, “though it may be right to assume that both sisters serve some similar function in their relationships with Bree and Sark and share as well some connection to the magic that guides their fate.”

“As in they were both fated to serve as a constant source of irritation for their much more capable and attractive older siblings?” Jane asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that…” Prancy’s voice trailed off as he noticed his older sister’s pointed grin. He gave her a scowl and then added, “You know, I think it would be a grand idea to have Phawkes invite Admiral Pawlington around for tea again.”

“Only if you’ve developed a taste for arsenic!” Jane quipped, “I’ve had quite enough of old Pawingbum’s company!”

Prancy permitted himself another bout of childish giggling as he waited for Jane’s temper to cool.

“And what of the card-playing Dracomage and his bad-feelings brigade?” Jane asked at last, “Are we to gather that they somehow managed to save their injured friend in the gray world?”

Prancy gave her a pained look.

“What is it?” Jane pressed.

“It’s actually something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about,” Prancy replied, “You see, late last night, Phawkes received a rather… unusual request. I’m afraid we may be going away for a week or two on urgent business, and I had hoped that you might tend to things at the house for a bit.”

“Last night?” Jane said, giving her brother a confused look, “I heard no messenger arrive.”

“It wasn’t that sort of message,” Prancy sighed, obviously hiding something.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Jane demanded.

“No!” he chuckled nervously, “It’s nothing like that… but a friend needs our help. Phawkes would go alone, if I let him, but…”

“You’re frightened,” Jane said, knowing the look on her brother’s face.

“It’s nothing!” Prancy laughed, pulling his hand out of his pocket to pat her arm, “We’ll be back home soon.”

“What aren’t you telling me, little brother?” Jane grumbled.

“Enough about that!” Prancy sniffed, “Tell me what you really thought of our tight-trousered young artilleryman?”

Jane muttered something they never taught her at finishing school.