In time, Morell slumped over at his desk, exhausted from his study. Hoxley got up and draped an extra blanket over his shoulders before extinguishing all the candles and all but one of the lanterns hanging from the rafters. The cabin was quiet and she returned to her place to try and get some rest. Too many questions about the prince bothered her. Everything seemed so odd compared to where she’d started her day. She wasn’t sure what the future would hold took some solace in the food in her stomach and the warmth of her bedding. As the night went on, the mute flickering of the lantern above was enough to lull her to sleep.

  In the early hours of the morning, long before the sun would rise, Hoxley awoke with a start. She wasn’t sure if it was a sound or motion, but whatever it was, it roused her enough to cast her bedding aside and investigate. It wasn’t something in the room with her and the snoring boy at the desk. Curious, she stealthily made the quietest of clops up the stone steps. Upstairs, the fire still burned. A few fresh logs had been heaped. Prince Damron slept sprawled on his bedding, snoring away as well. Hoxley quietly crossed the room without a sound and approached her saddlebags on the rack. The fire had dried them well. And there, next to her bags, the prince’s shirt and vest lay dry as well. A notion took her and Hoxley reached into the vest pocket to find the receipt she thought she’d find there. It crinkled ever so slightly as she unfolded it to read the words the prince had scrawled upon it and roped her into this misadventure. At the moment, it was the only thing she desired. If she had it in her possession, the prince could no longer hold her in his service.

  “I can’t believe I let someone trick me in such a manner.” she thought. “I must have cabbage between my ears.”

  Without another thought she tucked it into her waistband and crept back toward the steps to the basement. Before descending the stairs, she plucked her pugil from the wall and carried with her. The temperature change seemed a little less this time when she returned to her spot. Blankets covered her once again and she leaned the pugil against her right shoulder, hands wrapped tight around the staff, left under right.

  “That’s better.” She said to no one. She hadn’t dozed off long when a strange sound awoke her; a metallic click not far away. She looked around and noticed that the door to the first floor was closed. Curious, she walked over and pushed against it with the end of her staff to find it didn’t budge. Heavy footsteps creaked the boards above her head. She pushed again but the door wouldn’t open.

  “Hello? Elder Brookum?” She asked. “Elder? The door is locked.” There came no reply. When no one answered, she moved past the still sleeping grandson and exited through the basement door into the chilly night air. As fast as she could manage, she galloped around the side of the cabin and up the incline to arrive at the front door. It too wouldn’t open. A small window to the left of the door was low enough for her to see through and she looking inside just fast enough to see elder Brookum standing over the still slumbering prince with an oil lantern in one hand and… a dagger in the other!

  “Stop. What are you doing?” She shouted. “Prince Damron wake up!” She shouted. Hearing this, the expression on the old man’s face scrunched into a scowl and he raised the dagger high in the air to stab the sleeping boy.

  “Ah, horse apples.” She cursed. Hoxley spun the pugil in her hands to bring it horizontal with the small window and like she’d done against the soldier on the bridge, she slammed the length of the staff through the glass to strike at the old man. The first strike caught him on the outer shoulder and pushed him off balance but the second one aiming for his ribs missed the mark and struck the lantern knocking it out of his hand and sailing into the far wall where it smashed and sent oil everywhere, covering the man in it. The man righted himself and charged to make another attempt at the slowly rousing prince, but Hoxley struck again, this time striking solidly in his collarbone.

  “Aggg!” Elder Brookum said, clutching his chest as he fell backwards to the floor. By this time, Prince Damron was already on his feet but looked startled and confused.

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  “Open the door! Open the door!” Hoxley shouted. He did as he was told and unlatched it. Hoxley stormed in and quickly placed herself between Brookum and the prince. “Elder!” She shouted. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Hoxley, what are doing?” Damron asked.

  “Keep your distance.” She said as she gathered her saddlebag and tossed Damron his shirt and vest and cloak. “I awoke in time to find him standing over you with a dagger. He meant to kill you!”

  “Kill me but why?”

  “Somebody, open the cellar door!” Morell shouted from below. “What’s going on up there?”

  “There’s a price on your head, Prince Damron.” The old man croaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “A thousand gold to deliver you to your uncle.”

  “How could you know?” prince Damron asked.

  “Word spreads quickly when a fortune can be made.” Hoxley assured him. I thought we were the only guests they’d had but I saw fresh hoofprints when we arrived. If I were a gambling sort, I’d guess it was a messenger passing news of the reward for either your death or capture to return the crown.”

  “And I’ve seen your crown hiding in the faun’s saddlebags.” Elder Brookum said, beginning to push himself to his feet. “And if you’re going to take an alias, Mr. Buttersby, it would behoove you to learn it well enough to answer to it when asked three times to be handed a bowl of broth.”

  “Somebody, open this door!” Morell shouted again. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Get the door.” Hoxley said, looking away. When both she and the prince looked away, Elder Brookum leapt at the opportunity and rallied for a lunge at the faun. Hoxley saw it in time and whipped her pugil to swap the ends and strike him in the head, knocking him not only toward the floor but into the fireplace! He went down but the burning coals caused him to quickly right himself as the fire from beneath the pot caught the excess oil upon his clothes aflame. Elder Brookum flailed and spun about trying to get it off but the more he whirled and flapped the less he looked like a man and more like a twirling pillar of flame lighting everything it touched. When he stumbled backward, the flames from his clothes ignited the rest of the spilled oil and quickly set the entire back wall of the cabin on fire.

  Prince Damron fumbled to get the rusty crude latch free as Morell continued to yell and pound from the basement. Faster than Hoxley thought an old man on fire could move, he’d plucked a big kitchen knife off the table and was already rounding the end of it again.

  “Elder Brookum, please stop!” She begged. “Elder! Elder!” He kept coming and with the space she had in the room, she grasped her pugil with both hands on one end like a club and swung hard enough that the man’s head made a terrible “Thok!” sound before toppling back into the fireplace, unmoving. Horrified by it all, Hoxley backed away slowly as Prince Damron finally pulled the latch free and opened the door to the cellar. Morell popped up just as the rapidly spreading flames began to reach the ceiling and consume more and more of the cabin.

  “Fire!” Morell yelled. “Fire! Grandfather!”

  “Damron, get him out of here!” Hoxley yelled over the now roaring flames. The prince expeditiously hustled the boy out the front door, grasping his short sword and scabbard from the wall in the process.

  “Grandfather!” Morell yelled again. Seeing the ruin of everything, Hoxley held her pugil tight and slowly backed out of the room and out the front door. The elder was likely dead from the strike, if not the fire would certainly finish the job. The faun girl’s face became a mask of terror as her hooves crossed the threshold and into the yard.

  “You have to help my grandfather!” The red-haired boy said as he fought against the prince’s restraint to get back inside again.

  “You shouldn’t go back in there.” Hoxley said turned around to face him. “Your grandfather is dead.”

  “Dead?” How? What have you done?!”

  “We didn’t do anything.” She assured him. “Your grandfather tried to kill him…John…John Buttersby.”

  “But why? My grandfather likes everyone! He wouldn’t try and kill anyone You’re not making any sense!”

  “We don’t know but Hoxley was only defending herself.” Prince said as he held him in place.