While Typantronn collected her illicit winnings, (Patreon)

I turned to Ethel and asked - with a great deal of skepticism - "Are you SURE the exploding powder can't be steamed?"

"I'm positive."

"It would be a lot more useful if you could steam it," I persisted.

"It would become completely useless if you steamed it," she replied.

"We'll see about that," I muttered as the vague beginnings of an idea began to form in my mind.

"Now then, Sire," Typantronn declared as she returned, wearing a tiny helmet and holding a small green insect out of which she took occasional juicy bites.  "It's time to discuss my promotion."

"What makes you think you deserve a promotion?" I asked.

"I successfully completed my mission in record time, bringing back valuable intelligence .. oh, which remindeth me .. the Shrub Army arrived at Percysthorpe much faster than should have been possible, which indicateth that they are probably dabbling in dark Druidic nature magick.  They must be desperate, or else motivated by such an unreasoning hatred of thee that they are willing to brave the perils of foul Unseelie pacts.  The Duchess may well have an epic fight on her hands."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" I yelped nervously.

"I was hungry," she quipped airily, taking another bite of the green bug.  "At any rate, someone with my unmatched skill at carrying out assignments, gathering more information than asked for, accurately predicting thy buffoonery, and winning large piles of aphids surely deserveth to be promoted to General-in-Chief and War-Marshal of thy troops."

"I don't like your cavalier attitude," I rebuked.  "You put your gambling ahead of your duty and withhold vital information until after you've satisfied your own greed.  AND I'm pretty sure you insinuated earlier that I, your lord and commander, was an idiot."

"She has a point, Randall," Ethel murmured behind me.  "Setting aside the whole magical nonsense, which I don't buy for a second .. and assuming that Percysthorpe is actually threatened by a weird somehow-mobile forest .. which I also strongly doubt, but I'll play along for now because you're all taking it so seriously .. the Duchess doesn't have much of an advantage if she's relying on firepower in this fight.  First:  Although wood is flammable, living trees are moist and full of sap and don't burn very well.  Second:  Bullets, shrapnel, or basically projectiles of any sort aren't going to have much of an effect on them.  Not unless they are saplings, and who has the kind of aim that he can cut down a sapling with a single shot?  And third:  There isn't enough black powder in this duchy to blow up a reasonably-sized vegetable garden, let alone a whole forest.  I know this first-hand."

"You hear that?" I remarked to Typantronn.  "That is how a master strategist thinks.  That is why SHE is my General-in-Chief and War-Marshal."

"I - I cannot fault thy choice, Sire," Typantronn sighed meekly.

"You are still of vital importance to our endeavors," I reassured her.  "I need you and your sisters to obtain as much of the exploding powder as you can, and avoid detection while doing so."

"That we shall do, Sire!"

"Also, if you happen to spot a Vulpitanian agent, make sure they are aware of the intel regarding the Duchess's tactical weaknesses."

"How will we know a Vulpitanian agent, Sire?"

"Well, it will probably be a fox with a monocle and a silly accent, and they will be acting Sneaky so you'll be able to spot them easily.  If they are doing their job, they will probably already know the information, but remind them just to make sure."

"Consider it done, Sire."

"Oh, and one more thing," I added as the Ixie started to fly away.  "What ever happened to Percy?"

"You mean Percy le Gobelet?" Ethel interjected from behind me.  "Founder of Percysthorpe and author of the Chanson?"

"Yes, him, the annoying lowfolk bird who showed up at the most inconvenient times."

"He died years ago."

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