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It was a beautiful night to make a very stupid mistake.
The moon was full, casting silvery, dappled shadows across the rough forest floor. Iskall was grateful for the light; it meant that they wouldn’t have to bring something as glaringly obvious as a lantern.
Mumbo had tried to tease them by saying that the witch would be the most powerful during the full moon, and would no doubt lay a terrible curse on their head if they were caught. Iskall didn’t believe it, of course. The witch of the woods was certainly nothing more than a fraud.
Iskall was a learned person, after all. They didn’t believe in magic, or any of the old superstitions for that matter. And they certainly didn’t believe that the new “healer” that resided on the edge of this town was a witch .
Even still, Iskall was having some regrets about being talked into stealing from his garden. It had been a stupid, stupid dare, made after both they and Mumbo had one too many tankards of ale.
Iskall had never been able to keep their big mouth shut, and that night had been no exception. They had been loudly insisting that the witch was nothing more than a fraud – or, at the very least, someone who was still stuck in the dark ages – much to the horror of the other patrons of the tavern.
Mumbo, for his part, had been inclined to agree with Iskall. He also was inclined to be as annoying as possible, and before they knew it, Iskall was being prodded to prove their disbelief by stealing from the witch’s garden. And when they had tried to decline by saying that they weren’t planning on stealing from anyone thank you very much, Mumbo had loudly called them a hypocrite by pointing out that their little game of “dares” had definitely led them both to the wrong side of the law.
Which was probably not something they should’ve been discussing inside a crowded tavern, but… well, it was pretty obvious the pair of them were traveling mercenaries. Going on the wrong side of the law was more or less in their business plan.
Which is how Iskall ended up trudging towards through the woods in the middle of the night, no doubt about to steal some useless, stinky herbs.
Though maybe the witch grew carrots. That would make a nice snack.
They made their way though the darkened path, trying to make as little noise as possible. If they were lucky, the so-called witch would be asleep anyway, so they wouldn’t need to be too careful. But even still, the last thing they wanted was to be caught.
Not out of fear of getting “cursed”, of course. They were more worried about being chased off with a gun.
For an unnerving few minutes, they thought they might’ve lost the path – was the witch’s house really so far from the edge of town? – but eventually, they did see the edge of the house come into focus.
It was an older hut, thatched roof worn and cobblestone walls covered in ivy and moss. There were signs of recent repairs, however – Iskall could see where the roof had been patched over, and the windows even had glass.
And luckily, those windows were dark. Iskall breathed a sigh of relief.
Even still, they kept their footsteps light as they circled around the house to the walled-off garden. Clearly, the witch was more worried about wildlife than human thieves – Iskall easily vaulted over the low bricks, landing quietly in what looked like a patch of squash blossoms.
They winced, stepping off the thick vines and assessing the damage. Even if they were rather disdainful towards this superstitious fool, they still didn’t want to hurt his livelihood unnecessarily.
Luckily, the plants seemed rather hardy, and no gourds had been crushed underfoot. Feeling emboldened, Iskall cast a quick glance around the garden.
It was, well… mostly underwhelming. Iskall wasn’t sure what they had been expecting, but honestly, it looked like any other painfully normal vegetable garden. No mysterious flowers, no mythical herbs, no forbidden fruit trees. Just squash, potatoes, peas… the herbs that were there were clearly recognizable as nothing more than stew fodder.
Although they did perk up when they saw the telltale white flowers of carrots. Maybe they would get a snack after all.
They had dug up a few lovely-looking carrots when a terrible thought occurred to them. If they brought back nothing but normal vegetables, there was no way that Mumbo – or anyone else, for that matter – would believe that they had actually stolen from the witch.
They cursed under their breath, though didn’t bother to re-bury any of the ill-begotten vegetables. Was there seriously nothing strange here?
Standing, Iskall cast another glance across the garden when something caught their eye. Something they couldn’t believe they had missed before.
In the corner of the large garden was a section that sat behind yet another gate. Iskall approached it, curiously eyeing the gate itself – unlike the low stone walls, it was made of actual cast iron, and was shut by an intricate-looking lock. Peeking past the bars, Iskall could see smaller planters, filled with rows of beautiful flowers and exotic-looking herbs.
They grinned. Bingo.
Glancing up, their heart sank a bit when they saw that the iron gate was tipped with ornately-crafted spikes – their sharp edges caught the brilliant moonlight, gleaming dangerously in the dark.
Well, shit. Iskall had managed to squeeze their way through lots of different gates before, but this one seemed downright impossible.
Unless… Iskall twisted the handle experimentally, laughing with delighted surprise as it swung right open.
They crept into the inner garden, trying to assess what to nab. There was certainly no dearth of options – lovely white trumpet flowers with prickly brown pods, thick bundles of purple blooms that sported strange spots on the petals, tiny black berries that glistened in the moonlight.
Iskall pulled out their knife, taking a cutting of anything that caught their eye and stashing it in their satchel. They tried not to get too much – after all, void only knows what any of this was used for. Best not to go messing around with mysterious plants.
Just as they were satisfied with their haul, something else caught their eye. Near the back of the garden was a patch of diminutive white button mushrooms.
Iskall’s mouth watered. They hadn’t seen mushrooms for a while now – the growing conditions hadn’t been terribly favorable.
Iskall really, really should not be taking anything else – nabbing a few carrots was already stupid enough. But void, they looked delicious – Iskall recognized the species as one they often harvested from the forest floor, and was perfect in stew. The fact that the witch was somehow cultivating was a miracle; he might not be magical, but he clearly had one hell of a green thumb.
Oh, fuck it. There were certainly plenty of mushrooms here – the witch likely wouldn’t notice a few missing.
Iskall dug out a few, shoving them in his pockets alongside their ill-beggoten carrots. Mumbo would probably not be thrilled about the additional little party favors that Iskall was snagging, but they honestly didn’t care; the mushrooms would certainly make a tasty stew.
As it turns out, Mumbo was not thrilled by the mushrooms, though not for the reason Iskall thought.
“You had all the wonderful, magical herbs in the world to choose from, and you stole carrots and mushrooms?” He pouted, mustache quivering with his words.
Iskall rolled their eyes, leaning up against the doorframe. “I did steal some ‘magical’ herbs. They’re right on the table in front of you.”
“You took the absolute tiniest handful imaginable!” Mumbo pointed out, picking up one of the pink flowers and scoffing. “And you said there were way more, right? Why didn’t you grab one of everything?”
“What on earth would we do with all those flowers and berries and stuff? Look at them? Smell them?”
“Well… I mean, yeah, I guess. Mumbo scratched the back of his head. He was still holding the flower, and when he drew his hand away, Iskall saw that it had gotten stuck in his thick black hair. They had to suppress a smirk at the sight. “You’re not the least bit curious about what a witch uses in potions?”
“No, I’m not.” Iskall strode over to the table, grabbing a carrot and gesticulating with it as they spoke. “Because magic isn’t real. They’re just plants, Mumbo.”
Mumbo leaned over, snatching the carrot from Iskall’s hand. “But seriously… carrots?”
“And mushrooms.” Iskall laughed.
“Well, whatever.” Mumbo leaned back, sticking the carrot in his mouth and munching on it thoughtfully. “I guess you have technically completed the dare. Even though I should be telling you to go back.”
“If you’re so curious as to what kind of nasty herbs that fraud uses in his magic potions, you can go yourself.” Iskall snorted. “
“Ah. No thank you.”
“Mm. That’s what I thought.” Iskall laughed, leaning over and gathering up the loose vegetables. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go make our dinner.”
Unsurprisingly, their room in the tavern didn’t have a personal hearth, so Iskall was forced to do their cooking outside. Fortunately, it was shaping up to be a beautiful evening – the sun hung low in the sky, late golden light illuminating the lovely little town. A gentle breeze was blowing through the square, just strong enough to blow the smoke away from where Iskall tended the stew without actually putting the fire out.
Iskall hummed thoughtfully as they stirred, examining the stew. It was nearly done – they wished they had grabbed some of the witch’s more normal herbs too, but it was no matter. It still smelled great.
They had brought the stirring spoon up to their face and was about to take a sampling sip when they were startled by the sound of the tavern door slamming open.
They glanced behind them, fully prepared to shout at Mumbo to not scare them like that, but the words froze in their throat.
It was indeed Mumbo who had opened the door, but he looked horrible. His already pale skin was a deathly sallow color that had Iskall’s stomach turning, and sweat ran down his face in rivulets.
Mumbo stumbled out of the doorframe, and Iskall quickly stood, dropping the spoon in their haste. They rushed to Mumbo’s side, managing to catch him just as he lost his balance, collapsing to the ground.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Iskall’s heart was racing, eyes roving over the limp form of their friend.
Mumbo’s breathing was shallow, usually sharp gaze glassy with pain. “Don’t feel good.” He mumbled, swallowing thickly.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Iskall rested the back of their hand against Mumbo’s forehead, hissing in alarm as they felt the telltale heat of a building fever. “What happened?”
“Dunno.” Mumbo’s head rolled back, and for a moment, Iskall was worried that he had passed out completely. “Started a little bit ago. Only getting worse… I can’t keep anything down.”
Iskall swore under their breath. Mumbo had been fine half an hour ago – whatever sickness afflicted him was onsetting at an unnatural rate.
And then their blood turned to ice.
They glanced behind them, where the stew was still bubbling away with the low fire.
What if the sickness wasn’t natural at all? What if they had inadvertently exposed Mumbo to a void-damned curse?
Iskall swore loudly, slinging Mumbo over their shoulders and standing quickly. They kicked at the fire, embers sparking wildly as the kindling scattered across the ground. And then, for good measure, they kicked over the stewpot too.
The liquid spilled out across the ground, carrots and mushrooms picking up dirt as they rolled across the bed of pine needles. Iskall was careful not to let any of the liquid touch them, backing away from the ruined soup as though it were a fire.
Once they were sure no one would try to take a sip for themselves, Iskall rushed over to the tavern’s stables.
“Can you ride?” They asked, though were answered by nothing more than a groan.
Iskall bit their lip – they both had horses, of course, but Mumbo was clearly in no shape to ride by himself. But if Iskall loaded the both of them on one horse, they would be slowed down significantly.
But their eyes lit up when they actually got to the stables. Near the back was a healthy-looking mule, its ears flicking back when it saw Iskall staring.
Even still, it didn’t protest as Iskall undid its ties, or when they inelegantly shuffled Mumbo onto its back before climbing on themselves.
Iskall would have to track down the mule’s actual owner at some point to give it back, but for now, they were just thankful for the good fortune. The mule was even decently fast, starting off at a sturdy trot as Iskall rode it out of the stables.
The witch’s hut wasn’t too far from the tavern, but even still, they had plenty of time to fret as they traveled, mind turning over the past day.
Iskall was sure that the curse had come from eating that stupid, stupid carrot. What else could’ve caused this? It was the only thing that Mumbo had ate that Iskall hadn’t, and if the act of stealing from the garden had been the thing to trigger it, it would’ve been Iskall that fell ill.
How could they have been so stupid? Even if they were bragadocious enough to claim they weren’t afraid of magic or curses or any of that superstitious nonsense, they should’ve still had the good sense to not involve Mumbo at all. And yes, it was largely his fault – Iskall would’ve never done this stupid thing if they hadn’t been dared – but even still. The idea of losing Mumbo, his closest and most trusted friend…
No. They simply wouldn’t allow it. Even if they had to take the curse on themselves, they would convince the witch to lift it.
As they entered the woods, the golden sunlight began to fade away, blocked by the thick brush of autumnal leaves. The mule slowed somewhat, and Iskall vainly tried to hurry it along.
Even still, they made it to the hut before the light had faded competely, something that Iskall was grateful for. The witch’s house seemed less intimidating in the daylight, the worn cobble and thick ivy seeming homey rather than mysterious. Even still, Iskall’s stomach did nervous flips as they dismounted, rushing to the front door and pounding on the sturdy wood.
There was a beat of silence. Iskall cursed quietly before once more rapping their knuckles against the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” A muffled voice called from behind the door. Iskall’s blood turned to ice. There was really no turning back now, was there? “For void’s sake, there’s no need to bust it down–”
As they spoke, the door swung open.
The witch wasn’t… what Iskall had been expecting. He wore no ragged cloak, nor had any stereotypical pointed hat.
Instead, he was dressed rather plainly, sporting a simple red tunic and belt, which was laden with all manner of glass bottles, some filled, some empty. He wore a pair of thick spectacles, over which he peered critically at Iskall. Iskall noticed a stray herbal cutting tucked behind his ear, delicate purple buds contrasted against his straw-blond hair.
“Yes?” The witch asked. “Can I help you?”
Iskall dropped to the ground, making the witch squeak in surprise. They bowed their head partially in deference, partially to hide the hot sting of tears that was threatening to spill over. “Please. Please, sir witch – cure my friend of his curse.”
“Cure your…? Oh, void.” The witch’s voice went from confused to downright horrified. Before Iskall could look up, the witch had rushed past him.
Glancing behind, Iskall could see that he was struggling to pull Mumbo down from the mule.
“Help me!” He snapped, which shocked Iskall enough to spring into action.
The two of them managed to haul Mumbo down – though, honestly, Iskall had to do most of the work; the witch was rather, well… short.
They wordlessly hauled him into the hut. Iskall barely had time to glance around, but what little they saw was certainly overwhelming.
The walls were completely covered in cluttered shelves, each overflowing with all manner of mysterious stuff. Plants, both dead and alive, stoppered bottles filled with strange liquids, dusty-looking glassware and beakers. And that wasn’t even mentioning the ceiling-high bookshelves that were absolutely overflowing, loose papers stuck haphazardly between the thick tomes.
The witch brought him to the center of the room, laying him out on what looked to be… well, a normal kitchen table. Iskall had to resist the urge to cry again as they once more took in the sight of their good friend.
“When did he get sick?” The witch asked as he pulled on a pair of work gloves.
“I… what?”
“When did he get sick?” He repeated impatiently.
“I… uh, I don’t know. Maybe an hour ago?” Iskall wrung their hands nervously.
“And what happened? You said he was ‘cursed’.” The witch said, using air quotes.
“I mean, yes. He was cursed.”
“By what? Or who?” The witch snapped his fingers. “You need to tell me absolutely everything you know. Every second could count.”
“I… well, I mean. It was you, right? I came to beg your forgiveness – I’ll do anything to get him better, even if it means giving the curse to me instead.”
“Oh, for the love of…” the witch pinched his nose. “I absolutely did not, mostly because magic isn’t real, idiot.”
Iskall blinked in shock. The… the witch was telling them magic wasn’t real? The witch?
“You… you’re not…?” they stammered.
“Whatever you’ve heard from the locals, it’s not true.” he scoffed. “Honestly, use a little herbal knowledge to treat sickness, and suddenly you’re suckling the devil’s teat or some such nonsense.”
“But the – I stole from your garden. You didn’t curse your vegetables…?”
The witch – or whatever he was – dropped his hand from his face, eyes wide with sudden shock. “You stole from my garden?”
Iskall winced. “Yes. It was a stupid dare, and I – I don’t know, he ate one of your vegetables.”
“Oh void.” He leaned forward, grasping Iskall firmly by the shoulders. “You didn’t take anything from behind the locked gate, did you?”
“I… well, first off, you left it unlocked.”
“So it was an open invitation, was it?” he scoffed. “What did you take? What did he eat?”
“I don’t know!” Iskall threw their hands up. “I took a little bit of everything – some berries, some herbs, some mushrooms… but he only ate a carrot. I think.”
“A carrot?” the witch mumbled. “That doesn’t make any sense… unless. Did you store the carrots with anything else?”
Iskall blinked, trying to cast back. “The – it was the mushrooms. I put them in my pocket together. I was going to… I was going to make a stew out of them.”
Apparently, that was all the witch needed to hear. He turned sharply on his heel, making a direct beeline to one of his overcrowded shelves. The bottles clinked together as the man rummaged through them, and Iskall hoped very dearly that he actually managed to find whatever he was looking for in the clutter before it was too late.
After a few agonizing moments, he pulled out a comically tiny glass bottle, filled with what appeared to be only a few drops of a clear liquid. He shoved it into Iskall’s hands without a word before also handing them a bucket he scooped off the floor.
“Uh… what’s this for?” Iskall asked uncertainly.
“Make him drink the bottle.” The witch commanded. “I need to make an antitoxin, so you’re going to have to play doctor.”
“And the bucket?”
The witch laughed, a sharp-edged cackle that rather suited his profession. “That’ll be pretty obvious.”
Iskall had no idea what that could mean, but nevertheless turned around, heading over to their sick friend.
Mumbo had sweat through his clothes at this point, fabric dampening at his horrifyingly high fever.
“I’m so sorry.” Iskall whispered.
“Not… not really your fault.” Mumbo coughed. A wave of relief swept through Iskall – at least he was still coherent enough to talk.
“I promise you’re gonna get through this.” Iskall nodded resolutely, uncapping the tiny bottle and tipping it into Mumbo’s mouth.
There was an awkward pause as the two of them just stared at each other. Mumbo looked as pallid as ever. Iskall’s heart sank – they weren’t sure what they’d been hoping for, to be honest. A miracle, maybe?
And then his eyes widened comically. “Oh, void – bucket, bucket, bucket now–”
Iskall handed it to him quickly, not even having time to ask what on earth was wrong before Mumbo leaned over, vomiting violently into the wooden pail.
Iskall grimaced, but fought the urge to step back. Instead, they rested a comforting hand on Mumbo’s back as he heaved, wincing at the rough sounding retches.
“Is that… was that supposed to happen?” They asked the witch.
“Mmhm.” He was clearly hard at work; he had lit a small gas fire with some strange alchemical implement, which he was using to boil water. He was crushing something in a mortar and pestle, and Iskall could see puffs of coal-black dust coming out of the stone bowl. They made an uncomfortable face. “He needs to throw up any of the toxin left in his system – the parts still in his stomach, that is. The less poison I have to worry about, the easier it’ll be.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Iskall let out a slow breath. “Um… thank you, by the way.”
The witch glanced over his shoulder. “What for?”
“For… for helping us? Even though I stole from you?”
“Oh. Yes. Well, it’s not like I’m doing this for free.” The witch glanced behind him. “I will be asking for payment, you know.”
“Ah…” Iskall swallowed. “Yes, that… Mm. That makes sense.”
The witch raised an eyebrow at Iskall’s tone, but nevertheless turned back to the concoction.
There was a prolonged silence, broken only by the horrible sound of Mumbo continuing to throw up. Luckily – or, Iskall hoped it was luckily – the nausea seemed to be dying down.
He certainly didn’t look better, but… Iskall hoped that this would just be the first step.
“Alright. Done.” The witch proclaimed, wiping sweat off his brow as he turned back to face them.
If the last concoction made Iskall concerned, this one was positively heart-attack inducing. In contrast to the last tiny bottle, this one was gigantic, nearly the size of a full wine bottle. Most unusual, however, was the color. It was pitch black, and seemed to swirl with sooty particles.
“Every last drop, okay?” The witch said, pressing the bottle into Iskall’s hands. They gave it a tentative sniff – it didn’t smell like anything, to be honest – before raising it to Mumbo’s lips and making him drink.
Luckily, despite the dubious appearance, Mumbo seemed to be taking it rather well, swallowing the pitch liquid without protest.
“The name’s Grian, by the way.” The witch – Grian – finally said, peeling off his gloves.
“Oh. Uh, Iskall. And the one who nearly died is Mumbo.”
“Don’t be so sure he’s out of the woods yet.” Grian warned, cocking his head. “It’s just a generic antitoxin I made. Honestly, I’m just glad that he didn’t eat any of the mushrooms themselves – those things are rather potent.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Iskall laughed nervously. “Considering that mixing them up with the carrots was enough to get him this sick.
Mumbo lifted his arm, gently pushing Iskall’s hand away so he could talk. “I still can’t believe your hankering for stew nearly did me in.”
Iskall shushed him. “Oi. You’re not done drinking.”
Mumbo wrinkled his nose at him, sitting up entirely. “Hand it over, then.”
They passed him the bottle, relief quietly flooding their veins. If he was well enough to drink on his own, surely that was a good sign, right?
Though they didn’t bring it up to Grian. He would probably snap something about mortality rates or something equivalent.
“Mm.” Grian pulled up a kitchen chair, settling down and watching Iskall work. “It’s why I was growing them, you know. Trying to reverse-engineer a cure. Lots of people get sick from these deadly suckers come mushroom season.”
“Are all the deadly things in your garden like that?”
“No, actually.” Grian grinned. “Most of the poisons are part of the cures. It’s all about dosage. A drop of belladona mixed into a quart of water can ease the bowels, but a single berry could fall a child.”
“I see. You seem to really know your stuff.”
Grian puffed up, clearly flattered by the compliment. “It’s all very scientific. Based on lots of research, and most of it my own.”
“That’s amazing. You should be working for the royal family, not stuck in a tiny town like this.”
“Ah, well… I’m glad you think so.” Grian seemed to deflate a bit. “Though I think most people wouldn’t agree with you. It seems like every day, a few more people start believing that I’m in bed with the devil.”
Iskall ducked his head. “I’m… I’m sorry I accused you of cursing Mumbo. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I… I don’t believe in curses or magic or any of that either. But in the heat of the moment…”
Grian snorted. “It’s alright. It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve been accused of. Although I will be adding it to the counter.”
“The… the counter?”
“Yep.” Grian said, popping the ‘p’ as he spoke. “The counter for the turns you owe me.”
Iskall felt their stomach sink as Grian continued to talk. “First there’s stealing from my garden, then there’s trying to bust down my door, then there’s accusing me of witchcraft, then there’s two for the medicine – the emetic and the antitoxin. So it’s a total of five, right?”
“Well.” Iskall swallowed. “I didn’t actually break your door.”
“Mm… fair enough, I suppose. Four, then.”
Iskall glanced over their shoulder towards a low hearth tucked into the corner of the room. “Mind if I fulfill one of them now?”
“I don’t think this counts.” Grian said, tone clearly petulant. “After all, you’re using my things.”
“Ah, that’s only because you haven’t tried it yet.”
“And how do I know you haven’t poisoned it to try and get out of your debts?”
Iskall leaned over the table, dipping their spoon into Grian’s stew and taking a bite. “Mm. Well, if it’s poison, I would say it’s worth it.”
Iskall had cooked stew for the three of them, using ingredients from the non-locked portion of Grian’s garden, a fact that Iskall had triple-checked.
And indeed, it was for the three of them. Despite Grian’s grouchy attitude and reassurances of non -reassurance, Mumbo was making quite the miraculous recovery. He was still rather pale – though that could honestly just be his natural skin tone – but he had been sitting up and talking to Grian while Iskall had been cooking.
“It really is.” Mumbo reassured between big bites of stew, barely pausing to blow on it to cool it off. “You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve tried their food.”
“Mm.” Grian hummed, sounding unconvinced. Nevertheless, they brought the spoon to their lips, taking a tentative sip.
“Well?” Iskall pressed.
“It’s… it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Iskall scoffed, offended. “It’s delicious is what it is.”
“Fine.” Grian rolled his eyes, taking another bite. “It’s good. But I still don’t think it counts as payment.”
“What if I kept cooking for you?” Iskall raised an eyebrow. “And Mumbo could help you organize your shelves.”
“I do like organizing.” Mumbo muttered under his breath.
“I like my shelves.” Grian pouted. “Besides, I would really just rather you pay your debts in coin.”
Mumbo and Iskall made eye contact. “That might, um… that might take a while.”
Grian groaned. “Why is it that no one ever seems able to just pay with money? I swear, I’ve gotten paid in vegetables, eggs, clothes, family trinkets, and now I’m getting an offer to have two live-in servants.”
“Well… what if we did something else for you?”
“Like what?”
Iskall glanced over at Mumbo. “Well… we are mercenaries, so…”
Grian sniffed. “Yes, I figured as much, considering the fact that most normal people don’t walk around with swords strapped to their hips, and you two are clearly not knights. But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass – it’s kind of in my job description to keep people alive, not the other way around.”
“We don’t just kill people.” Mumbo said, offended.
“You certainly don’t.” Iskall laughed. “Honestly, Mumbo, sometimes I wonder why I even bring you along at all.”
“Hey!”
“Kidding, kidding. But that reminds me…” Iskall leaned in. “We could always be your bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards?”
“You want to go to the capital, right?” Iskall cocked their head. “We have connections there. Maybe you could come with us, have us protect your from bandits on the road. And then you’d be able to set up someplace where people will actually pay you money.”
Out of the corner of their eye, Iskall could see Mumbo mouth ‘we have connections?’
They kicked him under the table.
“I… hm. Interesting.” Grian murmured, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
“And if we take any jobs on the way, we’ll give you a portion of our profits if we need any medical treatment.”
That made Grian’s eyes light up. “Make it an even third. And I want it even if you don’t get hurt.”
“But…” Mumbo started to protest.
“No way! You owe me, remember?” Grian slurped his soup loudly. “You’re lucky I don’t want the full payment.”
“Ah… okay, I suppose.” Mumbo deflated.
Grian grinned, wicked and sharp. “Honestly, you morons stealing from my garden might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”