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were arming themselves with clubs and maces. They were deterred from venturing farther, however, by the towering figure of Groan, who was standing, arms folded, behind his brother.
    “You’re right ’bout them swords,” he was saying to Gape’s convulsing shoulders. “How much d’you want for ’em?”
    “Oh my gods,” Gape cried, hands cupped over his face. “What have I done?”
    “They boaf ’it ’er at the same time,” Groan observed. “Tha’s good workmanship, that is. I wond’r who made ’em?”
    “Oh, may the heavens forgive m—”
    “Excuse me, please, I’m a healer.”
    The stirring crowd parted to reveal a dwarf in a priest’s robe. Groan recognized his friend straight away, but there were a lot of dwarves in Phlegm, and those in the crowd were not familiar enough with Gordo to recognize his waddle.
    A hushed silence descended on the crowd as Gordo shoved Gape aside and bent down to examine the corpse. He spent a few seconds removing the enchanted blades, then appeared to study the two wounds in greater detail. Eventually, he turned to the crowd.
    “I’m afraid this woman is suffering from something we healers call Attracticus Enchantia,” he began, to an applause of gasps. “Meaning that, through no fault of her own, she is prone to attract enchanted swords.”
    There ensued some huddled conversation, and a crowd spokesman was nudged forward.
    “I’ve never heard of it,” he said doubtfully.
    Several of his coconspirators muttered an agreement.
    “Ah, well, it’s quite rare,” Gordo continued, trying to keep the hood, which was three sizes too big for his head, in place. “It’s a form of animal magnetism, you see …”
    The crowd spokesman cocked his head to one side and regarded the woman. “Well, it’s not workin’ on me,” he said.
    There was an outbreak of giggles, during which Groan ambled over to Gordo and tapped him on the head. “’Ere, where d’you get that ’ood from?”
    “Shhhh! Keep quiet; can’t you see I’m working, here? CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE SEND FOR A MORTUARIST?”
    The crowd pushed and shoved each other for a bit, then disgorged a small boy to fetch the local corpse cart.
    “Very good,” Gordo shouted, giving them a “thumbs-up” sign. “Now, can this lady please have some privacy?”
    Slowly but surely, the crowd began to ebb away, and, at length, the mortuarist arrived to collect the body.
    “Excuse me,” Gape said to the man, still shaking with grief. “Do you know who this woman is, er, was?”
    The mortuarist took a long, careful look at the woman. “It’s Reeny Shand,” he confirmed, chewing on his cheeks. “Wicked ol’ girl, she was. Just got outta the dungeon for turnin’ a load of kids to stone. Finally got her comeuppance, did she?”
    “Y-yes, I suppose so,” Gape sniffled. “Does she have any family?”
    The mortuarist shook his head. “No husband, no kids, but there’s a cat who won’t be best pleased.”
    “Oh. Right. Thanks.”
    Gape, Groan, and Gordo watched as Reeny was loaded into the cart and wheeled away.
    “What a terrible tragedy,” Gape mumbled, looking at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him.
    “You’re right ’bout that,” chimed Groan. “ I shoulda found them swords.”
    Gape reached down and carefully picked up his blades. “Er … thanks, Gordo,” he said awkwardly.
    “Yeah, well … whatever,” said the dwarf, and snatching back his hood, he called after the mortuarist: “Oi, there’s a priest down that side alley you might wanna take a look at!”
    When he turned back, two pairs of eyes were locked on him.
    “What? I had to get the hood from somewhere, didn’t I? And while I’ve got your attention, may I remind you both that we are supposed to be on a vital quest to win the hand of a princess? Now, do forgive me if I’m wrong, but I can’t see how using an old lady for target practice is gonna help our cause. So let’s forget about whether I may or may not have killed a