Page 7

Leopold

L eopold was beginning to suspect that spiked Zima wasn’t really his problem.

For one thing, this hallucination had gone on for a really long time and with way more sensory information than he’d normally attribute to drugs.

His head was still sore from when his antlers collided with a tree branch, for instance, and he could still taste that delicious purple grass.

While it was entirely plausible that a bad trip might include those nasty little rabbit things—and even a guy who looked like the love child of a bear and a redwood tree—Leopold doubted that his brain could manufacture an unconscious desk fae who was currently sort of a deer.

Also, Crispin was heavy .

“Is it much farther?” Worrying about sore arms was preferable to worrying about having ingested a doctored malt beverage. And a tainted Zima was preferable to the other alternative: that all of this was real.

Leopold shuddered, almost dropping Crispin in the process.

“I can carry him, you know,” said the giant cheerfully.

“Wouldn’t bother me a bit. Last week I found a thermox lost in the forest, the poor thing.

Tucked her into my pocket, she went to sleep, and I didn’t remember she was there until I went to change to pajamas.

And a thermox weighs a lot more than your friend. ”

Being forgotten in a giant’s pocket didn’t seem like a good fate, not even if Crispin could be annoying as hell. Also, if something bad happened to him, Leopold had no idea how to get home. “I’ve got him.”

The giant shrugged and plodded through the foliage, booming cheerfully about repairs he’d been doing to his cottage roof and about his upcoming vacation to a place Leopold had never heard of and couldn’t pronounce.

As best as he could tell, the main attraction of this holiday spot was a waterfall that did erotic dancing after nightfall.

He didn’t even try to picture that.

Just as Leopold’s arms were threatening to give out, the giant led them into a large clearing with boysenberry-hued ground cover and thistle-colored thistles.

In the center of the clearing loomed a stone structure roughly the size of the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament in downtown Sacramento, but with all the charm of a mud hut.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said the giant. “ Oh, this guy’s just hopping on the tiny house bandwagon because he thinks it’s trendy. But that’s not true. I owned my teensy-tiny house long before it was cool.”

“Uh, sure.” Everything was relative. Apparently.

“Well, it’s sort of a mess inside right now, and besides, I don’t think my furniture would be very comfortable for you. How about we take our tea out here in the garden? It’s a beautiful evening.”

“That’s fine. Um, as long as there aren’t any more of those killer rabbit things around.” Leopold gave their surroundings a nervous scan. Then he wondered about giant teacups. Would they be drinking the tea, or swimming in it?

The giant laughed, a sound like cannons firing. “No, of course not. In fact, they should all be hibernating this time of year. It’s weird that you encountered any at all.”

“Yeah. Weird.” He did spy a little motion in one of the trees, and a bushy tail vanished as soon as he looked in its direction.

The giant lumbered into his cottage and Crispin began to stir, twitching his limbs and mumbling something about his perfecality score. Leopold set him gently on the ground and, when Crispin managed to focus his eyes, Leopold offered him a hand up.

“Wh-where…?” Still a little wobbly on his legs, Crispin peered at their surroundings.

“The giant’s cozy little cottage.” As if it was the most usual thing in the world. He was proud of himself for keeping his head, drugged or not.

“Giant.” For a moment Crispin looked as if he might faint again, but then he steadied and narrowed his eyes at Leopold. “It’s all very well for you to be so blasé about it—you think you’re hallucinating. I, however, am aware that this is really real.”

“I’m sorta coming to that conclusion too.”

Crispin raised a refined eyebrow. “And you’re not panicked about encountering a giant?”

Leopold sighed. “Dude. An elf whisked me away to… I dunno. Another planet? And turned me into a deer thing. And we were attacked by bloodthirsty bunnies. Giants just seem kinda par for the course at this point.”

“Only one giant, I hope.” Crispin cast another uneasy glance around as if he expected several more behemoths to come bursting out of the foliage. “And I did not turn you into a deer thing , and I am a desk fae, not an elf.”

“Whatever.” His new elf—friend?—was one of those types, nitpicking over every little thing. “Look, I’ve had enough adventure for one day. Take me home.” Then they could be done with one another.

Crispin stamped a foot. Well, a hoof. Which was actually sort of cute in a Disneyesque sort of way. “I can’t . I’ve told you. I must bring you to the Office of the Lost, but I can’t even do that because Thea….” His voice trailed off and he frantically patted his pants pockets. “Thea! Where is my?—”

“I’ve got it.” Leopold pulled the device out of his own jeans pocket and was grateful that he’d at least been able to keep that portion of his outfit. He had no idea how other magical deer creatures carried their stuff if they didn’t have pockets.

Crispin momentarily cradled the phone to his chest but then scowled at the screen, which wasn’t any less cracked than before. A bit of purple moss had worked its way into the phone’s crannies, which probably also wasn’t helping. “Thea?” he said nervously.

Thea whistled, one of those leering whistles construction workers gave to passersby they found attractive. But it was a very off-key, slurry kind of whistle.

Crispin frowned. He was kind of cute with his face all scrunched up. “Can you please take us back to OotL? Now?”

She made a sound like someone stepping on fractured glass, followed by an obnoxious honking.

“The glass. It’s broken.” Crispin swallowed audibly. “I don’t think I can replace the screen in… this place. Is there perhaps?—”

Thea interrupted him with the sound of very loud guitars.

“What is that ?” Crispin stared at the phone, appalled.

Leopold tilted his head and hummed along for a moment before he remembered the title. Then he laughed. “It’s ‘Smoke on the Water’ by Deep Purple. Very funny, Thea. Perfect band for this place.”

“But—”

“It’s a classic tune, Crispy. Tells a true story. See, the band was supposed to make a record, but then some guy burned the building down, and?—”

“I fail to see how this is helpful.” Crispin put his hands on his hips and glared at Leo.

Leopold shrugged. This isn’t my mess. For once he was an innocent bystander simply dragged along for the ride. Anyway, he was totally crappy at fixing disasters, so he’d leave it to Crispin to figure things out. Surely he would figure things out, right? Eventually?

While Crispin continued to grumble at the phone, and just as Leopold was on the brink of an anxiety attack, the giant came ambling out of his house.

He was pushing a wheeled wooden cart the size of a semi and whistling happily.

Crispin and the phone both went silent, but at least this time Crispin maintained consciousness.

“Oh, good!” the giant boomed. “You’re awake.”

“I…. Yes.” Crispin’s voice was tremulous, but he was clearly making an effort to calm himself, and Leopold had to admire that.

“I brewed some of Aunt Brogrog’s famous tea. It’ll cure anything short of death—and even that’s debatable, as long as the corpse is reasonably fresh. A cuppa will set you right as rain.”

And then somehow all three of them were sitting cross-legged on the soft ground, the giant delicately holding a teacup big enough to double as a hot tub, and Leopold and Crispin with much smaller mugs that may have been made from outsized purple acorn caps.

The giant had offered them sandwiches too, but they’d declined politely and were instead nibbling on bits of shrubbery.

The leaves were very tasty. The tea, on the other hand, had a strong medicinal flavor, but they sipped it politely anyway.

“We’ve missed proper introductions,” announced the giant.

“On account of the swooning and all. I’m Fromlith Flokrion.

And yes, of those Flokrions, although I come from the poor branch of the family, so don’t expect fanciness around here.

Not that I mind the relative lack of wealth.

If you ask me, the rich Flokrions are far too stuck-up.

They think a few gold-covered, jewel-encrusted mansions in the bogs make them better than everyone else, but they’re not.

Now, who are you folks, and how in Glagglorth’s name did you end up tussling with five-footed pleeths at this time of year? ”

By now, Crispin had managed to pull himself together.

He was sitting straight-backed, his expression earnest. “The creatures simply showed up and attacked us. I don’t know why.

” He brushed his chest fur, as if smoothing his missing tweed vest, and then frowned, looking down at the white tufts as if they had personally offended him.

“I am Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin, and I am a Curator with the Office of the Lost. I am currently tasked with collecting this person, whose name is Leo—um, Leopold Lane.

But there was apparently some kind of mishap and we ended up here instead. I’m terribly sorry for intruding.”

Fromlith shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s nice to have some company. I moved here so I could work from home with peace and quiet, but sometimes it’s a little too quiet.”

Leopold decided not to ask what kind of work a giant engaged in, although he was curious.

Meanwhile, Crispin was nodding slowly. “That’s very kind of you. I appreciate your hospitality. There are rumors at OotL about your folk, you know, and now I see that those rumors are entirely slanderous.”

“What kind of rumors?”

Crispin shifted uncomfortably. “Erm, about your diet….”