"I need some shoes to go with it though," (Patreon)

Rowan added after admiring the new uniform for a few seconds.

"NO!" I screeched.  "Why do you lowfolk always assume that elves know how to make shoes, or would even WANT to?  I am a scion of Faerie's noblest family!  I!  DO NOT!!  MAKE!!!  SHOES!!!!"

"Okay, okay, sheesh," Rowan placated.  "Sorry, I didn't know it was such a touchy subject."

"Don't mention it again," I huffed.  "Now, I believe you have an assignment."

"Um," Rowan wheedled.  "Don't I get a stipend or a retainer or anything?  It's going to be hard plying the locals with booze if I don't have any money."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.  "Don't you persuade them to buy rounds of drinks for themselves and you?"

"Not usually," she mused.  "But that's an interesting idea.  I may have to try that."

"You said earlier that your uncle taught you to hustle mels for drinks," I stated suspiciously.  "And you also said that your parents send you money via courier."

"Well, I don't know what you call 'hustling' in Faerie, but around here it's different from what you're suggesting.  And it's been a while since my last allowance, AND it's only enough for me to live on, not to buy liquor for a whole tavern full of ruffians.  I don't see how I can do this job if you're not willing to give me some petty cash."

I rolled my eyes and apported a sack of elf-gold into my Elfintory, from whence I produced it and handed it to Rowan.

"I will expect detailed receipts," I told her sternly.

"Of course, sir," she grinned as she hefted the bag and listened to its contents clink.

"I'm off to do my mission!" Rowan exclaimed as she turned and pranced away into the forest.  "Later, suckers!" she called, just before disappearing from sight amidst the undergrowth.

"Sure an' oi don't trust that girl at all, at all," Estvan muttered.  "With any luck, we'll not be seein' her again."

"She'll be back when that elf-gold reverts to rocks and pocket lint," I muttered darkly.  "Or who knows .. she might actually recruit some local muscle."

"Sure, it's spies what yer needin," Estvan suggested.  "To check on yer agents an' make sure they're doin' what they ought .. as well as foind out all the dirt on Duchess Catherine."

"I have my swarm of Ixies," I reminded him.

"Oho, an' none too reliable that lot are," he sneered.  "Ye need to diversify.  Twouldn't hurt to have some local talent workin' for ye, bedad.  An none of 'em need know about t'other at all at all."

"Are you offering to go recruit some lowfolk spies for me?" I asked.  This could be a chance to get Estvan out of my way for a while!

"While gone he is, your training we can resume," Sam stated.

-- HELP HE HAS ME PACKING BOXES IN A WAREHOUSE IN LEXINGTON --

-------------------------------------------

Sorry .. that last line seems out of place with the rest of the narrative, but it was part of this week's message from His Majesty Adler Young, which it is my duty as chronicler to simply relay to you exactly as I received it.  I have a suspicion that we won't be hearing from His Majesty again until after Christmas.

Happy holidays, everyone. 

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