“We had one, but Scott set it on fire.”
All eyes turned to Scott, who was still standing there dripping. “It was the dragon,” he whined. “Anyway, you should respect me as your leader and stop blaming me when things go wrong!”
“That’s how leadership works, Scott. If you want the glory of success, you have to take the blame for the failures,” Loth pointed out.
Scott’s eyes widened as if that had never occurred to him. “You mean, if this all goes wrong, the ballads will…”
“Mock you, yes. You'll be famous as Scott the Swamp Shitter, probably.”
“Ooh, I like that!” Dave perked up. “I’m gonna start working on a song! What rhymes with shit?”
“Git, tit, full of it,” Grub listed, grinning. Loth was relieved to see that he was well enough to take part in the conversation, so he encouraged it.
“Brainless twit, biscuit, misfit…” he recited happily, taking great pleasure in Scott’s scowl.
“Yeah,” Dave nodded. “Th’ ballad of Scott and his... his squat!”
Dave looked inordinately pleased with himself, and Loth couldn’t blame him. It had a certain ring to it, and he suspected that even if they did make it back to Callier safely, Scott would be immortalised in song for all the wrong reasons. The thought of it made his petty heart sing with glee. Really, it served the little turd right for trying to sell him out.
They did still need a map to make it out safely though, so he turned his attention back to Benji. “Is there a safe passage out of here? We’re heading for the capital.”
“I don’t have any maps,” Benji said, “but I know the swamp. I can take you back to the Delacourt road, or I can lead you through to the other side, which puts you on the Torlere road.”
“Torlere?” Grub asked, his eyes widening. “I can find the way to Callier from there, at least I think I can. And there are plenty of villages along that road.”
“Well, aren’t you just a handy little homing pigeon?” Loth asked. “For me, at least. And where is your home, Grub?”
“Near Callier,” Grub said, without even hesitating.
“How very vague of you,” Loth murmured.
Grub just quirked his mouth in a grin and shrugged his skinny shoulders.
“You people are stupid,” Benji announced. “Why would you want to go to Callier anyway? It’s full of people. I hate people.”
“It’s part of the quest,” Calarian said, and chewed on some kind of anaemic-looking carrot.
“A—a noble quest!” Scott piped up. “The most noble quest! We are going to restore the lost Prince Tarquin to the throne, as the rightful ruler of Aguillon!”
“All kings are tyrants,” Benji said, and Calarian fist-bumped him.
“Yes, but Lord Doom is more of a tyrant!” Scott exclaimed.
“Well, that’s true,” Benji said thoughtfully.
Scott’s face lit up. “You should join us! With the Monster of the Swamp of Death at our side, we would be invincible!”
“No,” said Benji. “That’s actually very offensive. Also, fuck off.”
“But—but I can pay you!” Scott scurried closer, bringing a whiff of swamp mud with him. “Well, I can’t pay you, but Ser Factor can!”
Loth couldn’t help but be curious about Scott’s mysterious patron. “Scott, I think it’s about time you told me exactly who’s behind this rescue mission.”
Grub, surprisingly, nodded in agreement. “Who wants the prince freed and why?”
Scott gave a helpless shrug. “All I know is, I was at the tavern one night, telling my friends how I was sure I could be a hero if I could just find a quest. A man came up to me and told me to meet him in the woods the next night. When I got there, he gave me a letter from Ser Factor.” Scott fished down the front of his doublet and drew out a grubby slip of parchment.
Loth took it without asking and scanned it quickly. It was, indeed, a proposition for Scott to assemble a band of rescuers and extract the prince from the prison at Delacourt. There was a promise of payment and a list of towns along the Delacourt road where he could replenish supplies and report his progress. Loth squinted at the elaborate signature, and Scott poked at it over his shoulder. “See? Ser Factor. Beany Factor, right there. Maybe he’s one of the new nobles that Lord Doom knighted?”
Loth blinked, reading the elaborate, looping signature again, and struggled to keep his voice even, stifling his laughter. “That’s not a name Scott. It appears you have a benefactor.”
Scott stiffened. “How did you know about that?” he demanded.
“It’s written on the paper, right here. Bene-fac-tor.” Loth sounded it out as one might for a child. “A benefactor is someone who gives money to help a cause, Scott. What did you think it was?”
Scott blushed. “I always thought that was the thing where you have one undescended testicle. And anyway, my mother took me to the healer, and she said it’s normal, and the other one should catch up eventually.”
Grub let out a snort. Loth caught his eye and was surprised to find a smile, brighter than any he’d seen before. It was a far better look than Grub’s usual constant scowl.
“Ignoring your genital abnormalities for just the moment, Scott, this person funding the operation, have you ever met him?” Loth asked, suddenly uneasy. Maybe the prince was in more danger than he first thought.
At that thought, he shook himself mentally. There was no prince. Lord Doom claimed that his nephew was somewhere in safekeeping until he reached his majority, but nobody really believed it. The hidden prince was a fairy story, a fantasy, and definitely dead and buried if Lord Doom had any sense.
Scott was biting his lip. “Not met-met, but everything in the letter has been true,” he said. “The cell, the red hair, the sleeping guards, all of it.”
“Wait. Sleeping guards?”
It was Dave who nodded. “Was gonna knock ’em out, but they was asleep already.” He pouted. “Didn't get to hit nothin’ except the wall.”
Loth tucked that information away for later and held up the piece of paper. “Surely you were meant to get rid of this?” Because he couldn’t see any plotter worth his salt not disposing of the evidence.
“Um, I’m not good with remembering things like town names, details,” Scott admitted. “So I kept it. I was supposed to burn it.”
“Right. When we light a fire later, in it goes,” Loth declared.
“That’s what I said,” Ada muttered, “but it was all think of the ballads, Ada.”
“The Ballad of Scott and his dodgy ball sac!” Dave supplied, happy to have more fodder for his musical career.
Scott cringed visibly, and Loth bit his lip. He’d laugh about it later, when he didn’t have more pressing concerns.
He rubbed his forehead. “So just to be clear, a man you don’t know is paying you to bring the prince back to Callier to put him back on the throne, and you never thought to question his motives? Did it even occur to you that it might be a trap?”
Scott’s vacant stare was all the answer he needed.
Loth chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Grub, was that your normal cell?”