Peter glanced at Angela as they walked home through the city. Once again, the rotund squirrel on her shoulder was staring at him.

“What?” the squirrel said.

“Is something wrong?” Peter asked.

“You keep grilling me, so I’m wonderin’ if we got a problem. Do we got a problem?”

“No?” Peter answered. It was a strange experience, talking to a squirrel. “Angela, why is your squirrel staring at me? And what’s with the New York accent?”

“Hey! Don’t you go talkin’ over my head! And I talk this way because I talk this way. You got a problem with that?”

“He keeps asking if we have a problem,” Peter said.

“CAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE WE GOT A PROBLEM!”

“Holy crap you two, calm down!” Angela said. “Leonard, just chill the fuck out, okay? It’s my dad. You’re going to see a lot of him. And dad? Stop antagonizing Leonard.”

“How on earth am I antagonizing him? All I did was look at him.”

“So, you admit it!” Leonard said.

“Dude!” Angela shouted at the squirrel. “You’re a talking squirrel the size of a housecat and you’re riding on my shoulder. You think people aren’t going to stare a little?”

“I think people should show a little class is what I think.”

“Ugh. I’m going to regret taking you with me, aren’t I?”

“Lady, you didn’t have a choice. Ennàd stuck us together. Nothin’ we can do.”

Peter shook his head. The whole situation was nuts. Angela had come out of the forest with that squirrel on her shoulder and a wooden club in her hand, telling a story about how she’d picked up a familiar and spoken to two gods—or one, it was unclear—then it had turned into a weapon? Now she had some quest to…become immortal or something? And let’s not forget figuring out how to use magic, because that was just how Tuesdays went on Arenia.

Meanwhile, he’d spent that time staring at an invisible wall. As one does.

Peter grimaced. He knew that he would be contributing to the family financially, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that his kids were on a much steeper trajectory than he was when it came to integrating themselves into this new world. Or Angela was, at least. Mark…Mark had a lot of question marks attached.

“That’s our place,” Angela said to her familiar, pointing at their home as they drew near.

“Oh yeah?” the squirrel said, standing on his hind legs and grabbing a strand of her hair for support. “Not too shabby.”

“Great, the squirrel approves,” Peter muttered. Leonard shot him a glare but kept quiet.

As they stepped inside the house, Peter heard an immediately recognizable voice echo down from upstairs.

“Who’s that?” Angela shouted, looking up the stairs in curiosity. She turned to her dad. “He sounds like a dwarf.”

“A DWARF!” the voice boomed. Loud thuds sounded as the wide-framed figure of Darius stomped down the stairs. “I ain’t no dwarf! And don’t you be listenin’ to any stories about them milk-skinned nudies bein’ better blacksmiths just ’cause o’ some ridiculousness about how livin’ close to the ore lets ’em ‘feel the metal better.’ I’m twice the smith of any dwarf, I promise you that!”

“Nudies?” Angela asked in confusion.

“That’s right. Them hairless bastards work metal bare as the day they were born. Buncha idiocy, if you ask me.”

Angela looked confused. “But…don’t dwarves have big beards?”

Darius paused and looked at her, then laughed uproariously. “Hair? On a dwarf? Aye, that’s a good one, lass. I’d love ta see it. Arrogant little squirts’d get scorched from crotch to hat. Wouldn’t that be a sight.”

Leonard leaned one elbow against Angela’s head and made a see-saw motion with his paws, addressing Darius. “Ehhh…not for nuttin’, but you sure this whole nude dwarf thing is true? Gotta figure dey’d be schvitzing their asses off if it was. Probably makes for great art if you was into that kinda thing, though.”

The blacksmith considered Leonard’s argument, then shrugged. “Bah, I don’t care. I ain’t never seen the dwarf who wouldn’t spit on my work, so I ain’t inclined to spend much time thinkin’ about it.”

Peter looked at Darius, then gestured to Leonard with his thumb. “You don’t find it odd that you’re talking to a squirrel right now?”

“Your daughter’s a druid, ain’t she?” the blacksmith said, looking at Peter in confusion. “Speakin’ of which, I don’t believe I’ve met the lass.” He nodded to Angela and made a similar gesture to the one Appollon made when Peter signed his contract. Then Darius noticed Angela’s wooden club and grinned. “You’ve found yourself a shillelagh, then! Looks like a nice piece of work.”

“I did!” Angela said. “I got a quest about upgrading it, though. Dad said I should talk to you?”

“And he was right. Might I see it for a tick?”

Angela handed the weapon to Darius. The blacksmith inspected it closely, then nodded and let out a low whistle. “Aye, that may be the best piece o’ blackthorn I’ve come across, an’ I seen a few. Wonderful quality. Where’d yeh get it, if yeh don’t mind me askin’?”

“A god gave it to me when I was in the Druid Grove. Is that normal?”

Darius froze, looking at the shillelagh in a new, terrifying light. He gently tried to hand it back to Angela, only for a hastily scrawled note to appear in front of him. Tentatively, he took it in hand and read it over several times. When he was done, there was a tear in the corner of his eye. “I canna believe it….”

He glanced down at the shillelagh again. “Aye, old Allan will have my head if I don’t bring him this quest. He’ll either die when I show it to him or kill me if I don’t.”

Angela cocked her head. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Darius shook his head like he was coming out of a trance. “Sorry, lass. I shoulda said. I got a Class Quest to lead load yer shillelagh. I’ll need to partner with a smelter, but I know just the man.”

“Cool! Is that hard?”

His face pinched. “It ain’t easy, but I never shied away from a challenge. I can’t be rushing it, though. If you’d see fit to give me a few days with this weapon, I’ll have her right fit for battle. Does that work?”

“Who has two thumbs and likes power-ups?” Angela said. Then she gestured at herself with both thumbs. “This gal!”

Darius stared at her blankly.

She sighed. “Yes. Please upgrade my shillelagh.”

“In that case, I best grab my lad and get to work,” he said with a grin. Turning to look up the stairs, he bellowed, “GAVIN!”

The man’s booming voice caught everyone off guard, causing Peter and Angela to jump in surprise. The sudden motion resulted in Leonard sliding off Angela’s shoulder, but instead of falling to the ground, he grabbed onto her hair, his weight jerking her head to the side and leaving him dangling with one paw wrapped around her dark tresses.

“Ow! Let go!” Angela shouted as she spun around, her motion causing Leonard to swing through the air like he was on a carnival ride.

“Hang on! My claw is caught!”

“I said let go!”

“I don’t wanna fall!”

“I DON’T CARE!”

“I’m slipping!”

“THEN LET GO!”

“AAAH! Why is your hair so greasyyyyyy!”

Leonard’s voice disappeared as he lost his grip and flew down the hall, a distant thud and skidding sound echoing in his wake. Angela clutched at her head, growling under her breath, then began swearing a blue streak as she stormed down the hall after her familiar.

When the spectacle was over, Darius turned to Peter. He held up the shillelagh. “Far be it for me to question the gods, but, ah, are we so sure it’s safe for her to have this?”

“Hell no,” Peter said. “But I don’t seem to be in Ennàd’s good books at the moment, so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

Darius chuckled. “I knew gettin’ mixed up with Legends might get a touch interestin’, but I thought it’d take longer than this.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Peter opened it, revealing a boy in billowing striped clothes with a floppy hat that made him look like a Swiss guard at the Vatican. Slung over his shoulder was a plain burlap bag that strained under the weight of its contents.

“May I help you?” Peter asked.

“Aye, sir,” the boy squeaked, his high-pitched voice contrasting with his military-like bearing. He handed Peter the bag, then reached inside his jacket and withdrew four envelopes. “Name, sir?”

“Uh, Peter.”

The boy selected one of the envelopes and handed it to him. With his duties completed, the lad clicked his heels together, saluted, and left, proceeding up the street in a mechanical march.

Peter closed the door and turned to Darius, who was looking up the stairs impatiently.

“What was that all about?” Peter asked, jerking his thumb at the door.

“Eh?” Darius asked. He clearly hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh, the boy? He’s an Urram courier—god of Honour, if yeh didn’t know. They look all fancy, but they ain’t too expensive. Got a Profession Skill that keeps ’em from revealing information, so they’re the safest way to move things if yeh don’t want anyone to know who’s doing the moving. Won’t truck with anythin’ dangerous or illegal, either, so they’re on the up-and-up. You get something from them, you can figure it’s safe to open.”

“What’s safe to open?” Angela said, returning from down the hallway. She spotted the bag on the floor and bent to open it. “Oooh, presents. What do we have—JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Angela leapt backwards, banging into the frame of the sitting room door and tumbling to the ground before scrambling wide-eyed away from the bag. Before Peter could react, Leonard also returned, walking over to the bag and casually looking inside.

He nodded. “Oh yeah, those skells got whacked good. Musta done somethin’ not so nice to end up in there.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked. He grabbed the bag and looked inside.

It was filled with heads.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouted, dropping the bag.

“That’s what I said!” Angela exclaimed, crawling back into the entrance hall.

“Why is it filled with heads?” Peter asked, his pitch rising.

Darius, clearing his throat, spoke in a calm demeanour that cut through Peter’s rising panic. “Yeh’d think this kind of gift might come with, say, a note?”

Shocked back to reason, Peter looked at the letter that was now crumpled inside his clenched fist. Before he could read the contents, another set of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Hi honey,” Beth said, her voice exhausted despite the early hour. She spied the bag on the ground and bent towards it. “What’s this?”

“Nononoyoudon’twantoIwouldn’tdon’t—” The overlapping jumble of Peter and Angela’s words were ignored by Beth as she opened the bag and stared at its contents. Peter cringed, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Beth looked up. “Why do we have a bag of old helmets?

“Uhhhh…what?” Angela said. She looked in the bag again, her face going greenish-white. She looked back up at Peter. “Dad has a note?”

When Beth turned to look at him, Angela raised her hands with palms up as if to say I have no idea what’s going on.

“Well? What does it say?” Beth asked.

“That’s a good question,” he said awkwardly. Ripping open the envelope, Peter pulled out the note. Angela tried to read it over his shoulder, but he gave her a sharp glare and she abandoned the effort.

Peter,

I have written a separate letter for each member of your family, to be given to whoever received the delivery accompanying this note. Since you are the one reading this, the other letters have been destroyed.

Let me start by saying that, due to your wife’s clear preference towards pacifism, I have taken the liberty of having this bag enchanted. For her, the evidentiary contents will appear as simple pieces of armour. Rest assured, though: The version you see is the authentic one. I trust this will serve as sufficient proof that the perpetrators of the assault on your wife have been brought to justice. If you find my methods brutal, I do not apologize for that. I received a Class Quest pertaining to this issue and this was the most effective way of ensuring I accomplished the task. If anything, you should take my actions as a lesson. A failed Class Quest can forever stall your advancement. Make sure that never happens.

When you have finished reading this letter, its contents will change and it will appear as though it was intended for Beth. The contents of the bag will alter as well, since the evidence will no longer be required. That which remains are the accumulated assets of the perpetrators. You may do with them as you wish.

Naomi

As soon as Peter finished reading, the ink on the page shifted.

Beth,

Your assailants have been dealt with. The evidence is within this bag. As the helmets are quest items that you have little use for, I have enchanted them to disappear when the quest is complete. That which remains are the accumulated assets of the perpetrators. You may do with them as you wish.

Naomi

“Looks like it’s for you,” Peter said lamely as he handed the note to Beth. She read it through, and upon completion a cracking, squelching noise emanated from the bag, accompanied by a visible reduction in the volume of its contents.

“Ew. Why did melting helmets make that noise?” Beth asked.

“Helmets?” Leonard said. “Lady, those weren’t helmets, they were—”

His words were cut off by Angela punting him back down the hall.

Beth stared after Leonard and then back at Angela. “Why is there an obese talking squirrel in my house?”

“It’s my familiar. We’re stuck with him.”

“I see.” There was a pause. “This is our life now, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so, hon,” Peter said. “Can I look in the bag?”

She gestured at the sack. “Be my guest.”

“Uh, dad?” Angela said hesitantly as Peter looked inside.

All that remained was a small collection of coins and jewelry.

He let out a sigh of relief. Showing the contents to Angela, he nodded to his wife. “Looks like a bit of a windfall for the family. Nothing spectacular, but not a pittance either.”

Beth bit her lip. Looking intently at the bag, she shook her head. “No. Not for us. Darius sold the silverware, and that gives us enough to cover our costs and get some furniture. At least until your first paycheque. I want this to go to the woman who found me.”

Peter didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Of course. Do you want to go today?”

“Don’t you have to go to your new job?”

He stared at her in confusion, then her words hit him. “Oh wow, you’re right,” he said. After 15 years of self-employment, he’d completely forgotten what it was like to be an employee. “Maybe the kids can go with you? We don’t need a repeat of yesterday.”

“Go where?” Mark asked, walking into the entryway with Gavin at his side.

“Oi, where you been?” Darius said, looking at his son in confusion. “I thought you were upstairs?”

“I was,” Gavin said. “Then I climbed out the balcony and jumped down.”

Darius’ eyes widened. “Why would yeh do such a fool thing!”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, da.”

“Gavin…” Darius’ voice came out as a low growl.

“I’m fine!”

The blacksmith turned his gaze towards Mark, who shook his head and looked at the boy in amazement. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Gavin was seeing if he could get from one window to the next—despite my objections, of course—when he slips on a roof tile and goes plummeting towards the paving stones. I thought he was going to break his neck, but instead he gets caught on the gutter and it slows him down. Now he’s kind of rolling off the roof, but when he goes over the edge he somehow hits this bush on the way down that mostly breaks his fall, only now he’s headed straight for the paving stones. I thought for sure he was going to crack his head open, only for this super fat squirrel to suddenly come shooting out of the house, right under Gavin’s head! Seriously, you have no idea how fat this squirrel was. Cushioned his head better than a down pillow. It was mind-blowing.”

“Oh my god, Leonard!” Angela shouted, running down the hall.

“Leonard?” Mark asked, looking around in confusion.

Darius glared at Gavin. “Lad, yeh can’t rely on yer Luck stat to pull you out of every scrape that comes yer way! It’s high, but it ain’t guaranteed to save you.”

Peter looked at the boy. “How high is your Luck stat?”

“39,” Gavin said excitedly.

“39!” Peter replied in shock. “That’s more than double my score!”

“Pretty neat, right?” the boy said with pride.

“Lad…” Darius said warningly. “I’m serious. You need to be careful. One of these days, that luck will run out and it’ll be the end of yeh.”

The boy slumped. “Sorry, da.”

Darius and Peter shared a look. As fathers, they both knew the difference between an authentic apology and, well, what Gavin was doing.

Mark poked at the bag with his staff. “What’s this?”

“Your friend Naomi dealt with the gang,” Beth said. Something unsaid passed between them. “This is their accumulated wealth.”

Mark nodded. Before Beth could even mention her plans for the money, he said, “I’ll go with you.”

“Where are we going?” Gavin said excitedly, his feigned chagrin tossed aside at the prospect of new adventure.

“Yer goin’ back to the forge,” Darius barked. “Your mother will have my head if yeh keep actin’ like this when she gets back.”

“Actually, would you mind letting him guide us?” Beth asked. “I’d really prefer not to get lost in the Port District. Unless you think it’s too dangerous?”

Darius cringed. “Aye, sorry dear. I shoulda thought. That was a bad bit o’ business yesterday, but nobody will touch you with Gavin around. He’s the child o’ a blacksmith an’ that means Casúr has an eye on him.” He looked down at his son. “But the gods don’t save yeh from yer own idiocy, so it’s straight back to the forge after, you understand?”

The boy jumped up and down in glee, cheering and clapping his hands in overexuberance. Darius smiled when the boy couldn’t see him, then looked at Beth, who mouthed the words “Thank you” over top of Gavin’s din.

Darius nodded and dipped his head at her. “Alright, I best be leavin’.” He headed for the door, shillelagh in hand, but as he passed Peter, he whispered, “Truth be told, yer doin’ me a favour. Gonna be hard enough to avoid gettin’ a smiting for messin’ up yer daughter’s shillelagh without the lad underfoot.”

Peter chuckled at the man’s words as he let him out of the house. Closing the door, he turned to Beth. “He sold the silverware?”

“He did,” she said. “Which means we have some money. Care to get breakfast with me? I’m starving.”

He smiled. “I’d love to.”