“Do any of you want to try arm wrestling with me? Or will you concede the point?”
“Really, Chumley,” Tananda sez, ignorin’ the challenge, “just because that thick hide of yours is hard to get through …”
“… Is the exact reason why I’m the logical choice for the assignment,” the troll finishes with a smile.
“… Except for the minor detail of your appearance.” Massha adds. “Sorry, Chumley, but you’re the last of us I’d figure for the assignment. Any of the rest of us could pass for natives, but you’d stand out like a sore thumb without a disguise spell.”
“So I borrow little sister’s makeup mirror.”
“Not a chance,” Tananda sez, stubborn-like.
“… Or I simply borrow a hooded cloak or something for a disguise,” Chumley continues smoothly as if she hasn’t spoken. “How about it, Big Julie? Have you got anything lying around in an extra-extra large?”
“As a matter of fact,” the retired general sez, “I was thinking of doing the job myself.”
“What?”
“You?”
“That’s …”
“… BECAUSE,” Big Julie continues, silencing us all with the simple technique of raisin’ that voice of his to an authoritative level, “because I’m an old man and therefore the most expendable.”
We all sink back into our chairs, too embarrassed to look at each other. With these few words, he has gotten to the heart of what was prompting our apparently bloodthirsty argument.
“I’ve been listening to all of you,” he sez, takin’ advantage of our uneasy silence, “and what nobody seems to want to say out loud is that trying to assassinate the queen is pretty much a suicide mission. Political leaders … and particularly royalty … are the best guarded folks in any nation. Even if you can get to them, which is uncertain at best, the odds of getting away afterward are so small they aren’t even worth considering.”