Page 57 of Changeling
A narrow side path that looks to be no more than a deer trail turns off the dirt road into dense greenery. The sweet scent of pine is welcome in my nostrils. I take a deep breath. Rain is coming. My walk home will probably be a wet one.
I have to shift my shoulders between scraggly tree trunks and low branches to maneuver the trail leading to the little wooden shack. Thorns from bushy shrubbery prick at the fabric of my pants. Not the most pleasant walk, but well hidden and away from the prying eyes of curious humans.
Twigs snap overhead.
“Ooh-eee, Dominus!” A scratchy, far-too-excitable voice calls from the canopy above.
Camel spit. Gnarl’s here.
“Ho, hey, Dominus! Another post for us? So soon-er-us?” He leaps from on high and plops directly in my path, mere steps from the little wooden outpost I seek.
So close. I sigh.
“Hi, Gnarl,” I mutter.
His brown eyes survey me with the intensity of a sheepdog puppy eyeing a herd of sheep.
I’m in no mood for play. “Letter to post. That’s all.”
Gnarl shakes his weirdly square head, his mossy-green hair whipping along for the ride. “Tis not all. Tis but half. I’ll take my payment in the form of a laugh.”
I rub my forehead. “No riddles, Gnarl. What are you talking about? Speak plainly for once.”
With an exaggerated harrumph, he crosses his sticklike arms and frowns. “Why so grumpy?” His gaze drops to my crotch. “Not enough rumpy-pumpy?”
If he doesn’t start making sense soon, I’m going to use him for kindling. “Gnarl!” I hold up my letter. “What do you mean this is only half? Do you have a message for me?” Inside, hope flickers that Sebastian has already written, but outside I keep my face stone cold. Gnarl’s trickery could last hours if I let it.
He snatches my letter, which is fine, but he gives me nothing in return aside from a smirk.
“And the other half?” I prod.
“You must make me laugh, if you want what I hold on your behalf.”
Annoyance flares, but at least I have it figured out now. “So you do have a letter for me, but you won’t give it to me unless I make you laugh?”
He blinks. “Didn’t take you for slow, you big purple—”
“Don’t even think of calling me that,” I growl. “Fine. I tell you a joke, and you give me my letter. Deal?”
When Gnarl opens his mouth, I hold up my hand. “Nod for yes, shake for no.”
He peers at me through squinted lids and nods.
“All right. I’ve got one.” I sigh. This is so stupid. “What do Alexander the Great and John the Baptist have in common?”
Gnarl shrugs, an expectant expression on his face.
“Their middle names.”
He stares. I wait. The silence grows awkward.
“My letter?” I can’t help it if he has no sense of humor.
“Who are those people, and why is that funny? Make me laugh, or hand over your money.”
I scowl. “You mean I could have paid in coin from the beginning?” I reach for my purse, but another joke comes to mind. “One more try?”
“One, two, seven, or eight? What do I care? You’re the one who can’t wait.”
