The agent leapt into the rafters above. There, he perched beyond reach of the dwarf’s blade, the which flashed back and forth below like the futile claws of the lion at the monkey.
Grievous to relate, even this latest demonstration of his haplessness at the hands of a veteran did not dissuade the foolhardy Shelyid from continuing the one-sided struggle. For the witless gnome now flung himself upon the great stanchion which upheld the rafter, hacking and hewing like a miniature lumberjack, apparently intending by this primitive method to bring Ignace within reach of his now-like-the-shark-in-its-feeding-frenzy murderous resolve. Such, at least, seemed the only possible interpretation of the various stuttered declamations and doggerel verses which issued from his foam-flecked lips, of which the phrases “the higher they are, the harder they fall!” and “hey ho! hey ho! it’s off to work we go!” were the least incoherent.
But it was even here, when the rapidly mounting pile of woodchips and sawdust seemed fair to result in the early demise of the now-wailing-like-a-lost-soul agent, that the sagacity of the experienced Ignace finally worked its way, much like the chessmaster coolly checkmates the novice who, in his amateurish enthusiasm, mistakes his trove of captured pieces for the harbinger of victory. For, of course, the dwarf’s assault upon the foundations of Magrit’s house necessarily brought the intervention of powerful external forces.
And where, I can hear the gentle reader asking, has Magrit been all this time? And Greyboar? And Zulkeh?
As for the wizard, he had been nursing his wounds. For the outraged Zulkeh had, on several occasions during the brawl, majestically interposed himself between the dwarf and his prey, commanding the apprentice to cease and desist from his unseemly conduct. Grievous to relate, the maddened gnome had paid no more attention to his lawful master’s clear and explicit instructions than a ravenous weasel obeys the admonitions of the farmboy to respect the person of the chicken in the yard. Thrice had the wizard been bowled over like tenpins by the dwarf in pursuit of the agent, until, reflecting upon his bruises, he made his way to comparative safety along the wall. From that vantage point, Zulkeh contributed no further to a resolution of the conflict. Instead, he devoted his prodigious intellect to the development and exposition of a lengthy peroration upon the subject of his apprentice which was, it must be admitted, sullen in the extreme.
But at least it can be said of Zulkeh that he made an attempt to bring the light of reason to shine upon this dark and disgraceful episode. Not so Magrit and the strangler! The conduct of these twain was rather like that of arsonists heaving torches on the conflagration. For the two did roll about the floor throughout the fracas, howling with laughter and cackling like geese!
Worst of all was the contribution of the horrid salamander! The evil little creature summoned forth all the mice from their holes, offering bets on the outcome of the melee. These wagers the rodents declined, even after the despicable amphibian offered ten to one odds on the apprentice.
(Let me say here, by way of a narrator’s aside, that from this very episode stemmed that streak of misbehavior on the part of our lousely youth which, in the time to come, was to prove such a burden to the honored elders of the Alfredae. For not only did the disease of gambling henceforth raise its ugly head amongst the youth, but ’twas from this episode that there developed that noxious habit among the more ruffianly adolescents of chanting in unison: “Shelyid’s our host! Hoo, hoo, hoo! Shelyid, that’s who!” Not to mention the thence-common appearance on the forelimbs of outright juvenile delinquents of such obscene tattoos as Born To Raise Hell and Shelyid’s Slaves.)
But now, at long last, did Magrit and Greyboar retrieve at least a small fragment of responsible behavior.
“Oh shit,” Magrit cackled, “the little barbarian-horde-in-one’s gonna bring the whole house down!” And this pathetic jest caused her and the strangler to howl anew, slapping each other’s backs with abandon.
“Yeah,” sputtered Greyboar, “but at least we finally know what really happened to the Great Wall of Grotum—it pulled a knife on a dwarf!” And this ridiculous quip caused him and the witch to howl yet again, rolling about the floor like lunatics in an asylum.