Page 23 of Search for the Lost

Minkis chose that moment to pop his head out of Crispin’s cozy sweatshirt pocket, which was lying in tatters on the floor. “Sillyman.”

“It’s Sourman!” The little wizard’s cheeks turned red, and puffs of steam wafted out of his pointy ears. He was adorable when he was angry.

“I’m so sorry, your… highness?” Crispin paused to see how the sobriquet was taken by his High Kingly Wizardness.

“Yes. Thank you.” He took out a handkerchief and dabbed away the sweat on his ears caused by the steam.

Leo took a step toward King… Wizard… Highness Sourman. “You said you were expecting us?”

“Why of course. Crispin and Aspin’s mother told us you all would be coming.”

Leo and Crispin exchanged a puzzled look, but it was Aspin who replied first.

“What in the sordid heavens are you talking about?” The travelers had slowly advanced toward the wizard and now had him surrounded on three sides. “Talk, King Sillyman.” Aspin put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“It’s High King Wizard… oh never mind.” He sank down onto the floor and put his head in his hands. “They told me that some days would be like this, but I never listened….”

Crispin gently pushed his brother away from the wizard. “Once again, we are so sorry, your highness. What my brother means is that we have come a very long way, and we are hungry, thirsty and exhausted. So if you would please be clear about what you’re saying….”

The man looked up, and his face broke into a broad smile. “Ah yes, of course. Where are my manners? Please, come this way.” He hopped up on his feet and spun around, heading straight for the curved rock wall.

Leo stage-whispered. “Should someone tell him⁠—”

Crispin shook his head. “Wait.”

Just before Wizard Sourman—Crispin decided that was the simplest form of address—ran into the unyielding stone, he raised his arms and turned his palms toward it. The rocks shimmered, and suddenly there was an arched doorway tall enough for a pyramid of rhinsuses to peddle through on top of a unicycle. Which was such a Leo thought that it made Crispin snicker.

“Told you.” He reached out to take Leo’s hand.

His partner grinned and accepted the grasp.

They followed the Wizard into the light—which turned out to be quite cleverly hiding an enormous banquet room with stained glass windows in every shade of green and a table that seemed long enough to reach to the moon and back. A massive feast was in session, attended by what appeared to be everyone in Ous, who burst into applause as they entered.

And they had crumpets.

Thank the Seven Gods. Crispin dove in, filling his mouth with anything and everything he could get his hands on, and lost track of time and the others.

Some hours later, Crispin—who had no idea exactly how long it had been, but the daylight had long since faded from the great windows on either side of the hall—woke up stretched out across the table, his face half buried in a tin of Strogian gelatin that, it had to be noted, was much less tasty than the Earthian brand Leo had introduced him to just the week before.

He was still mostly naked. Luckily, he liked Leo’s human body.

His right hand clutched a deep-fried hoofrig leg, or what was left of it—most of the meat had been nibbled off the bone. His left hand rested upon the High King Wizard’s⁠—

He leapt up, sending dishes and leftovers flying off the table in his haste to end the inappropriate contact. He steadied himself with his hands as he sat on the edge of the table, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight coming from the wall sconces. His stomach gurgled, but its planned betrayal after such an overpowering feast was still at least an hour away, if he judged things right.

As the room came into focus, he discovered his brother—or rather, his brother’s boots—sticking out from under the table. A quick peek assured him that Aspin was still in them. And also still breathing.

He found Leo leaning against one corner of the room, his short blond hair sticking to his scalp in several places like a reverse waterfall, his arms wrapped around a snoring Minkis.

And Cypher…

Cypher was sitting in a chair a few seats down, staring glumly at a plate overflowing with garlic mashed potatoes and boiled cactus peni and gamjeebeast steak and a flagon of what looked to be ripple bark tea, based on the constant rings spreading across its surface. There was also a side of what might have been rizzberry-zoucberry pie, with the clear outline of a bite taken out of one side. Without looking up, the faun muttered, “It’s all your fault.”

“What?” Crispin edged his feet down to the floor, testing them for steadiness. It was iffy at best. “What’s my fault?”

“This plate. This feast. This whole bloody adventure. I was perfectly happy being your assistant, helping you run OotL. I told them ‘You don’t have to worry about him. He’s never going to give this up.’” He looked up at Crispin. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. “You and your brother weren’t supposed to team up. You hate each other.”

Crispin stared at his assistant, his brain scrambling to make sense of what Cypher was saying. The frothy mug of Himpel’s, which Crispin barely remembered consuming but was now rampaging in his stomach with the tattered remnants of hoofrig meat, wasn’t helping matters. “What are you talking about?”