A banshee wailing pierced the morning air. Mr. Baggins was singing at the top of his lungs. I couldn't quite pick out the tune, but it sounded like Mr. Baggins was proclaiming warnings about things you shouldn't do with a pixie, a dwarf, and a magic wand.
The sky was still heavily overcast, but the rain had abated. Mr. Baggins and Davey seemed barely scathed by their encounter with the ogres. Tom, on the other hand was not taking the ordeal so well. He seemed torn between admiration of me and disgust at the fact that I had suggested leaving our friends to the ogres.
"I can't believe you were just going to leave them, man."
"I did go and rescue them, didn't I? I didn't see YOU offering to help."
"Well, I would have, but--"
"But actions speak louder than words. Too right. And MY actions saved them, while you stood around and watched. Ah, what's this?"
We were approaching a river. The road led right up to the river, but stopped where a bridge should have been. I stopped the cart and walked to the bank to investigate.
"Looks like Mr. Baggins's singing has caused the bridge to collapse."
Hearing his name, Mr. Baggins sat up in the bed of the cart and looked around.
"Just kidding," I said, good-naturedly. "Although maybe it would be a good idea to give your lungs a rest while you've stopped."
The river was quite full, and the water was moving very fast. It would probably have been a deadly mistake to swim across. And even if we had swam across, it would have meant leaving pretty much everything on this side of the river.
Tom walked up to my side.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"I think the easiest thing would be to wait for someone to rebuild the bridge." I gave Tom a meaningful look. It took him a minute, but he finally figured it out.
"Me? But--"
I was graciously spared Tom's excuses when someone called out from the treeline.
"Hello!"
I turned to see a young man approaching from the nearby forest. He was dressed in a garish set of pants that might have been made by a colorblind grandmother. He wore no shirt and no shoes, and his hair was long and twisted into a number of dreadlocks. He smiled openly as he approached.
"Ah, hello, my good man," I replied. "Come to fix the bridge?"
"Oh, no, kind sir. I am but a simple performer. I could not do such a thing as build a bridge."
"Performer, eh? A traveling performer, I suppose?"
"Oh yes, sir." He danced a quick step, performed a back flip, then bowed low to me. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like his pants hadn't been made by a colorblind grandmother, but by a grandmother that could see perfectly well and hated her grandchildren.
"Ah, very good," I said, bowing slightly in response. Mr. Baggins suddenly clapped enthusiastically from the wagon.
I had a sudden suspicion that this fellow might be with a band of gypsies. I have very mixed feelings about gypsies. On one hand, they always have a wide assortment of herbs and such to sell. On the other hand, there was something strangely irritating about being in their presence. People always said that gypsies stole things, but this was not particularly true. Something about their manner always made you THINK that they must be the kind of people who steal things. Gypsies always wore open, friendly smiles. They were always extremely hospitable. And they always seemed to be enjoying some joke that you didn't quite get. You couldn't help but feel that the joke was you.
"Come, you must have dinner with me and my family. It is late, and you will not be able to cross the river tonight."
I sighed. Gypsies it was. I was in for a night of good food, entertainment, and one joke that everyone would get but me.
"We'd be honored," I said. "I am no great performer myself, but if we give Mr. Baggins the right combination of weeds, he will do many wondrous and strange things to make you laugh at him."
The man's grin broadened. "Excellent. Follow me. You may leave your cart. I will send my brothers to gather it."
He started off toward the trees. Tom grabbed my arm and held me back.
"Hey, he's a gypsy, isn't he?"
"Yes," I responded quietly. "I'm not happy about this myself, but it's best not to refuse their hospitality."
"Won't they rob us?"
"Probably. But I'm running low on ground hobarg scales and pickled toadstools, and I doubt we'll find anyone else nearby who sells them any cheaper."
Tom seemed confused by this.
"Come along. There's bound to be good food and ale. You can get drunk, then you'll feel better."
* * *
Several hour later, I was lounging by the fire. The food had been excellent. It was only a simple stew, but the gypsies always flavored it with the right herbs. Then they had danced and sung in their playful way.
Mr. Baggins had been quite impressed with their acrobatics and flips. He tried doing quite a few himself, but after about a half dozen flops, he passed out and started snoring contentedly to himself. The gypsies had been kind enough to pull him out of the fire at that point.
Davey was demonstrating some remarkable skill, himself. He was doing a handstand, balancing a dwarf on each foot. One was passed out completely, but the other still protested weakly from his perch and clung precariously to Davey's ankle.
"Tom, do you do any tricks?" I asked, slurring only a little.
"Well, I can sing a little."
"Then shing us a ssong!" I cried. Although my exclamation was probably a little feeble. I think I might have added a few too many spices to my own stew. The colors were starting to blur.
"Well, all right," Tom said. He stood up in front of the fire, and flashed a grin. A number of young gypsy girls giggled and blushed.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. There were suddenly a number of woodland animals behind Tom. They each had a musical instrument of some kind. There was a beaver with a drum, several squirrels had horns, and a deer was standing on his hind legs holding a lute. The deer was also wearing dark spectacles.
The animals started playing a strange tune, and Tom swayed in time to the music.
"Spy on me baby, use satelite..." Tom began to sing. A number of racoons rushed out of the forest and started to dance.
As Tom continued to sing, strange lights flashed around him. He appeared in red and blue and green, then suddenly he was colored by a plaid pattern.
"Sexbomb," Tom seemed to chant.
Tom's voice was smooth and pleasant, and I was hypnotized by his melodies.
"Sexbomb."
My eye was drawn to the fire, where a shape was growing in the flames. It looked as though it were some strange bird. Tall and writhing, the bird appeared to be made of fire. Then it opened its wings, and I saw an elf standing in the middle.
The elf was too tall and oddly elongated. She was dressed in a sheer dress that fell in such a way that it hinted at many pleasures, yet actually revealed nothing. She moved with the fire and the bird.
The elf stepped out of the fire toward me, kneeling down and beckoning.
"Come," she said. "Come to Everhome. I'm waiting."
I tried to move toward her, but my body felt paralysed. She continued to beckon, and moved back toward the fire.
Unable to move, I watched helplessly as she allowed herself to be consumed by the flames. I continued to stare at the fire, Tom's song now so far in the background that I was no longer aware of it.
I sank into a dreamless sleep while watching the fire flicker and die.
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