Chapter 31

Farmether's Fish, General Goods and World-Building Services. No Cakes.

“Hang on,” said Cob, “this is all well and good but what happens when the new queen respawns?”

“She respawns?” asked Hugo, his eyes wide. He was polishing the Trombone of Orpheus with the edge of the table cloth. The survivors of the elven court were shooting him appalled glances. They bounced off Hugo’s good-natured skull like Ping-Pong balls off an aircraft carrier.

“Yes,” said Lugh, passing a tired hand across his eyes. “I assume you are not planning on hanging around? As soon as you depart the portal any NPCs you killed will respawn. Including the queen.”

“With a vehement belief in her place as an apex predator at the top of the system, I suppose,” mused Joan.

“I mean she is the Evil Queen,” said Peaseblossum, sourly. The little fairy was seated cross legged on a chair, sipping something daintily out of a flower shaped cup. “That is her role.”

"I mean," said Fred, "how evil are we talking here? Evil like genocide and eating babies evil or evil like chucking plastic ear buds down the toilet?"

Jessamy the enchanted door knocker put her head on one side, thoughtfully.

"Are those the only two choices?" she asked.

"No," said Fred, irritated. "Obviously not, it's a spectrum."

"What's wrong with chucking plastic ear buds down the toilet?" asked Joan.

"Bad for the environment," said Fred.

"Okay." Joan considered. "What are earbuds?"

"She’s somewhere in between," said Jessamy. "Like, right in the middle of cannibalizing babies and flushing ear buds." She turned her little brass face towards Lugh and the fairies. “I heard things while I was on my door. Horrible things. Fairy sacrifice. Gallons of blood at full moon. The tithe, and so on.”

They all nodded.

"Right, right,” said Fred.

"If someone doesn't tell me what earbuds are," said Joan loudly. "I'm going to get upset."

(“They are little sticks to clean your ears with,” said Fred.

“Oh.”)

“The first thing I would like to do,” said Jessamy, “is to shut down that shop in the high street that sells fairy body parts.”

“That is exceedingly Grimm,” said Fred. “Good idea. No one needs that.”

“But what about the queen?” said Cob. “I suppose we could just throw her in the dungeon. As long as she is contained she can’t do any damage.”

“No…” said Jessamy. “If you do that you set up a new story arc. Pfft. You know, rescue the deposed queen! The beautiful elf, held in shackles! Daring dungeon rescue! I can jufft see her supporters falling for that, and any new adventurers passing through.” There was silence as they all contemplated their cups, or in Hugo’s case, his belly-button.

“So what do we do?” asked Cob.

“We’ll re-educate her,” said Jessamy. “Put her to work in the filing room. Make her see the error of her ways.”

Lugh’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“There’s going to be a filing room?” he asked.

“Well, we will need a big office,” Jessamy said, turning to him. “To run a kingdom. I usffed to be receptionist and I had a whole wall of filing cabinets juffst for one practice.”

“Oh,” said Lugh. He blinked. “Oh.”

“I mean iffs not really a democracy,” said Jessamy. “Not yet. But ifft’s a start.”

Alice shambled out of the kitchen yawning.

“Morning, losers. Did I hear someone say we were going shopping?”

“Yes, you delightful child,” said Fred. “The queen dropped all that gold, and I have a real cheese craving.”

“Can’t eat the food, remember?” said Alice, bitterly. She dropped on a chair with the grace of a pile of tumbling laundry.

“All the more reason to get a move on and back to the main dungeon,” said Joan. “We do need to gear up. Next stop: crushing the Knights of Cake. Can’t do it in a pair of old pyjamas.”

Her eyes wandered over Fred’s Scarlet Pimpernel outfit.

“I’m very fond of this costume,” said Fred, turning up his nose at her. “It makes my calves look amazing, thank you very much.”

“Well… I mean…” Joan looked at him, then decided she didn’t want to fight this particular battle. “Let’s see what we can find. I assume there are plenty of shops in the fairy city?” she asked Lugh.

“What?” asked the blond elven courtier, startled from his daydreams. “Oh yes, yes… lots of shops. Some interesting ones you wouldn’t find in the main dungeon as well. At least not at this level.”

“Excellent,” said Joan, “let’s get cracking.”

Outside the sun had risen, bringing with it the warmth of a sunny, hopeful day. Winter had thawed overnight. Icicles lay shattered in the gutters; snow was melting in massive drifts and the little icy streams were overflowing with fast running water. Flowers were blooming everywhere, in window boxes, by the banks, in baskets next to the houses. Everywhere was a riot of colour. The air was thick with pollen and the hum of insects. The fairy denizens were out on the streets, dancing and talking, with great enjoyment.

“It’s all very festive,” said Epic, as they stepped aside to allow a laughing crowd to move past. “But how much do you think is genuine and how much is…you know?”

“Put on for us?” said Joan. A giggling satyr ran up to her and threw a garland of daisies around her neck. “Oh, thank you. Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it that much.”

“I mean,” said Fred. “I appreciate a good performance as much as the next person. Obviously.”

“King Fred!” Beaming pixies ran over and showered Fred with rose petals.

“Just a figurehead!” said Fred, but he smiled and waved. The fairies on the street cheered.

The party groaned.

“What?” said Fred. “I’m just playing along. Tis expected.”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” said Epic.

“No, not really,” Fred conceded. “All the world’s a stage, we are but players, something something, oooh look candy!”

“Aaahh!” said Hugo. He and Alice bounced over to press their noses to the fairy sweet shop. The little thatched shop had walls painted in pink and white. Inviting white stairs led up to a quaint counter. Delicious, sugary scents drifted out onto the cobbles. The shop advertised things like rainbow drops (turn your spit multicoloured), honeydew cakes (just like the bees make them) and frosty mint humbugs (breath so cold you will turn people to ice). The tall elf inside waved to them. He was wearing a welcoming smile and a cute little pinny.

Joan turned her back on him. She scowled round at them all, hands on her hips.

“Alright,” she said. “Time to get serious. This has been entertaining but it’s time to get on with it.” (“Oh, thank god Joan’s back to normal,” said Alice.) “We’ve got decent weapons thanks to the dwarfs, that crossbow should come in hardy, in particular.”

“I just need to make sure we have enough arrows,” said Fred.

“Yes. So. What I suggest is we split up,” said Joan. “I’m going to try and find some potion recipes. And some ingredients. The rest of you – I think probably clothing and armour should be the focus? Remember the Knights of Cake are in full plate armour, and we–” She waved her hand at the rag-tag bunch of outfits the party was wearing. “Upgrade as much as you can with the money you have! Don’t waste it! And don’t forget your classes! If you get items in line with your class they will give you higher values.” Her eyes slid to Fred in his scarlet suit again.

“What!” he said, striking a pose.

“You are supposed to be a monk!”

“Yes, ma’am! Can’t a monk wear skin tight lycra?”

“I mean you are… but your stats would probably be higher if you were wearing something more… monkish.”

“My wounded heart,” said Fred, cheerfully.

“So, meet back in an hour?” said Hugo. He and Alice were bobbing on their toes, eager to be away.

“See you,” said Joan, starting off down an alley herself. Alice and Hugo sped away. Suddenly it was just Fred and Epic standing in the bustling street. They exchanged glances.

“Shall we?” said Fred, offering Epic his arm.

Epic took it, with utmost politeness. Together they sauntered off over the cobbles, stopping every now and then to look in shop windows, or to detour around excited groups of fairies.

“Looking for anything in particular?” asked Fred, after a while.

“No, not really,” said Epic. “Upgrades I guess. Maybe a bag for Stinkums, she is getting heavy to carry around. I think she is growing.” Fred glanced at the rather pungent cat draped around Epic’s neck. Stinkums gave him a baleful, yellow-eyed stare and then yawned, showing him her impressive teeth.

“Yes,” he said, “She is definitely bigger.”

The pair continued down the way. The shops were certainly interesting. Less practical than those that lined the way of Merry Plebbingtons, they were nonetheless attractive to the eye, if you liked slightly whimsical and pink. Flowers shops were in great abundance. One of them was situated inside a giant mushroom. Another was a little, wobbling tower that seemed to defy physics. They spotted an enchanted pet shop, various potion shops, and a magical lingerie shop. (“Been there, got the knickers,” said Epic, with a snort.)

At an austere tailors (Fashionable Fashion by Friar Tuck) Fred managed to find a monk’s robe with almost double the stats of his scarlet suit.

“Brown,” he said, mournfully, turning in the mirror.

“I mean,” Epic rallied, trying to find something nice to say. “It lets you move easily?”

“True,” said Fred, doing a few robust plies. The dour shop assistant shuffled backwards in alarm, worried about getting a beautifully turned out knee to the face. “Not wearing trousers is a plus. Does it have to be tied on with a rope though? Now my rapier looks silly.”

“The rope is a statement, sir,” said the shop assistant, fussing with the hem. “As befits a lifestyle characterised by abstinence from sensual pleasures–”

“Steady on!” said Fred. “I do not recall that small print!”

“Perhaps you have yet to take a path?” asked the assistant, muttering round a mouth full of pins. “What is it you worship?”

“Tea,” said Fred, at once. “Milk, dance, movement, the female form.” He glanced at Epic. “Not necessarily in that order, you understand,” he muttered.

“Sure, sure,” she said, but she was occupied extracting Stinkums from a basket of rosaries.

“I mean the path of a monk takes many twists and turns,” said the assistant. “And every path has its piddle, excuse me, I mean its puddle. It is a mystical thing. Deeply personal. Difficult. Not many chose this class for a reason. The pursuit of personal perfection through contemplation and rigorous training is a wonder to behold indeed.”

“Indeed,” echoed Fred. “Hmm, I mean that doesn’t sound so bad. Contemplation and rigorous training I mean. None of this abstinence crap though.”

“Well,” said the shop assistant, straightening. “Water that is too pure, has no fish.”

“What?” said Epic, wandering over.

“Nothing,” said Fred. He nodded to the shop assistant. “Thanks,” he said.

They left the shop and continued their wandering. Nothing really caught their fancy until they saw the curious building straight ahead. It was squished in between a shop that sold fairy lights and one that sold floral crowns, as if it had been plonked down, and the surrounding shops had needed to scoot over to make space. Taller than the others, it was long and thin, almost turret-like, with a conical roof hung about with ivy. A few tiles were missing. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney sparking blue and green, as if someone had lit fireworks in the hearth and they had drifted into the sky with the soot.

A sign in black lettering shot through with threads of silver read: Farmether's Fish, General Goods and World-Building Services. No Cakes.

“Different,” Fred conceded.

“Come on,” said Epic. “I’m sure we’ll find um…what did we need again?”

“Arrows,” said Fred. “Yes, we should definitely find arrows in there. Joan will be pleased.”

They couldn’t really see what was inside – the windows were dusty, made with bulbous individually blown pieces of glass. Fred pushed open the door, which rang with a tinkle.

Fred wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting when he pushed open the door – perhaps a jumbly antique shop - but despite the name of the shop the fish were still a surprise. The air was decidedly pungent. Fish tanks lined the wall, and in the centre of the ceramic tiled floor was a majestic pond filled with white and orange koi.

“This water is just the right amount of dirty,” muttered Fred, his eyes agleam.

“What are you on about?” demanded Epic. But before Fred could reply the young elf behind the counter’s eyes lit up.

“Hello, hello! We don’t sell cakes!” he announced. He had pointed ears and curly blond hair, and seemed very happy to see them.

“Okay,” said Fred, a little surprised. “We were just–”

“Can-I-interest-you-in a magic carp, fresh from the river, talks when you blow in it, whispers the secrets of the universe, only 50 gold pieces," he said, not appearing to take a breath between commas. He produced a rather mundane looking fish out of nowhere and laid it out on the counter with a flourish. The carp flopped, gasping for air.

“Which end do you blow?” asked Fred, with interest.

"Um, no thank you," said Epic. “We totally don’t need to know. PLEASE DON’T DEMONSTRATE. Thank you.”

The shop assistant de-puffed his cheeks looking disappointed.

"Right you are, madame.”

He whipped it away and pulled out another fish, the twin to the first. This one was quite clearly dead. The youthful shop keeper looked up at them expectantly. “How about an ordinary carp, not so fresh, been on display a bit, probably tastes okay? Won't do nuffin magic. Only one copper. What a bargain."

"That's okay," said Fred, "we are looking for–"

With a slightly manic look in his eye the young elf switched the fish for another.

"What about this rainbow trout, does nothing, looks pretty, only six-pence. Get it while it's fresh. Got some scales on or summat."

“No, thank you. Really we just need some arrows and perhaps–”

“All right, all right, I can see you are a man of taste. How about the Salmon of Knowledge, eat it, know stuff. Must go today. Fifty gold. Bargain."

"What sort of stuff?" asked Fred.

The shopkeeper looked momentarily flummoxed.

"I dunno," he said. "Important stuff." He rallied. "Buy it and find out! Only fifty quid!"

"I’m just looking for a bag," said Epic, loudly. “And my friend would like some crossbow bolts.”

"A bag?"

"Yes?"

"Like, to put your fish in?"

"Potentially. And other things. Big enough for a cat, I mean for a small sabre-tooth tiger to sit in. This cat, actually.” She held Stinkums up to be admired. The sabre-toothed tiger hissed, ears flat back.

"Not got no bag, sorry. Nice cat. Miss? How about a fishing rod? Catch your own fish for your cat. How about some lovely worms." He deposited a wriggling packet on the table with a flourish.

“Um, no, that’s okay,” said Epic, looking at them anxiously. Stinkums eyed them and mewed.

“Maybe we can just look around?” said Fred.

The shopkeeper deflated, seemed to lose energy and flapped a hand at them. “Sure, sure,” he said. “World-building supplies in the basement. General goods upstairs. Call me if you see something you fancy!”

“Thank you,” said Epic. They looked up at the ladders. One went up, one went down. They exchanged glances and then sprinted for the basement.

The basement was dim and cluttered but in that uniquely organised way of shops that are charged rent by the square inch. In amongst the clutter was another shopkeeper, this time a woman with red hair and exciting taste in bangles. She looked up as they jumped off the bottom rungs, but barely acknowledged their presence before returning to her book.

To say the basement was interesting would be an understatement. One wall was lined with massive blocks. Each of them were tagged with things like ‘earth’, ‘basalt’, ‘grass’ and ‘sand’. Another wall had shelving with hundreds of glass bottles, round and fat, that lay on their sides. Fred examined each with curious eyes. The closest was rocking gently, the glass frosted over. He lifted the heavy silver tag with utmost care. It was icy cold to the touch. The word ‘blizzard ’was etched into the metal with deep strokes.

“Hmmph,” he said, setting it down gently. Next to it was a gleaming golden vial labelled ‘sunshine’. On the bottom shelf, locked in its own glass case was a bulging vessel stuffed with a fat cork and sealed with pitch-black wax. A caricature of a skull was stamped into the top and beneath the wax, the bottle seemed to be degrading. This one was labelled ‘plague’. Fred moved away a little, but was soon lost in a section stocked with bottles of ‘starshine’, ‘scented meadow’ and ‘bog’.

On the other side of the shop Epic was staring awestruck at a small terrarium. In it was a nondescript green turtle, swimming lazily in a circle. On its back were four perfect, tiny elephants balancing on its back. As she watched the turtle turned a tight corner in its little pond, and one of the elephants nearly toppled off. Stinkums hissed at it and she quieted her with a finger. The shopkeeper looked up and frowned, and Epic hurried away, trailing whispered apologies.

“Look at this!” murmured Fred, and she came to look.

“World tree seedlings,” she read. “Woah. And see this!” She picked up a bottle about the size of her fist. Inside was stuffed with hundreds of tiny trees, each one a perfect miniature. “Forest grenade,” she read. “What do you think it does?”

“Maybe you chuck it,” said Fred, reasonably, “and then you have a forest?” Fred picked up a large bottle and squinted inside. "Pocket Dungeon," he read.

"Hey, hey, hey!" shouted the shopkeeper, bustling over and grabbing from him. "Careful with that! You break it, you buy it!" She looked side-ways at Fred. "And you cannot afford this." She cradled the glass anxiously, peering inside. Leaning close Fred could just make out scores of tiny little goblins running around and shaking their fists at him. The red-haired woman set it back down on the shelf with utmost care, her bangles clattering together. “All good,” she murmured. She turned and glared at Fred and Epic. Her eyes narrowed as she looked them up and down, from head to toe. Epic, shifted uncomfortably, Fred stuck out his chest, grinning.

“Hang on,” said the shopkeep. “Where are we?”

“Um,” said Epic.

“An interesting question,” said Fred, pursing his lips, “can you be more specific?”

“We’re in the fairy city, in the pocket dungeon,” said Epic, helpfully. “We came through a portal of mushroo–”

“Matthew!” screamed the woman, and they both jumped. The shopkeeper ran to the ladder and bellowed up it. “Matthew you cottonheaded-ninnymuggins! This is not the Core! There’s a couple of humans wandering around down here! Matthew! I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive–”

The young elf’s head popped up at the top of the ladder.

“What?” he exclaimed. “Not possible! I did the maths!” He disappeared and there was the noise of paper rustling. A string of curses uttered from the ground floor. There were a few bumps and thumps and then his head appeared again. “Whoops!” he said. “Sorry, Meraud, right you are. I was holding it upside down! Silly me.”

The red-haired woman turned to Fred and Epic with a forced smile on her face.

“Sorry for the mix up,” she said, through gritted teeth, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She snapped her fingers, and before either of them could reply they found themselves flying backwards through the air. They were deposited on the pavement in a great whooshing gust. Fred blinked. The shop was gone. Where it had been was just a shop sized empty space in between the floral crowns and the fairy lights. Fred blinked again and the space itself was missing. The thatch of the fairy light shop leaned straight against the taller wall of the flower shop that was right next door.

“Right,” said Fred. “That was fun.” Epic didn’t say anything, which wasn’t particularly unusual but her mouth was open and she looked a little shocked. He poked her to make sure she was okay. “You alright there, friend?” he asked when she still didn’t say anything. Epic held out her hands which were still clasped around a glass bottle. Fred could see the tiny treetops blowing in a gentle, and presumably miniscule wind.

“I’ve never shop-lifted before,” said Epic.

[Epic Failure +10 Thieving]

The Fredinator Level 6

Class: Monk ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥

XP: 580

HP:60/60 [+2 Bucket + 1 pair Flimsy Sandals + 1 Boring Boxers + 20 Novice Monk’s Robes +5 Austere Rope Belt + 1 teaspoon + 10 Revolutionary Rapier. +20 One-Handed Crossbow of Awesome*, Dwarven Made]

Bonus: Condensed Milk lv 2, Identify

Dual Wield

+6 Charisma

+7 Elevation

+ 4 Sneak

+10 Discipline

+3 Cooking

+2 Firemaking

Epic Failure Level 7

Class: Barbarian ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥

XP: 760

HP: 57/57 [20 Shimmering Chainmail Shirt of Protection + 2 Comfortable Bra + 2 Cotton Knickers + 10 Sturdy Boots + 4 Self Cleansing Cotton Undershirt +3 Practical Skirt + 2 Boring Socks + 15 Sword of Unselfconscious Sexy Smiting,* Dwarven Made]

Bonus: Berserker Rage, Summon Stinkums

+3 Herbalism

+3 Cooking

+6 Firemaking

+2 Sneaking

+10 Thieving

*Named during the Glorious Drunken Revolution