Minor Mage

by T. Kingfisher

Oh, herbs,” said the bandit, in the dismissive tone used by people who don’t know anything about herbs. (This is generally not a very wise thing to say, because people who do know about herbs may take offense, and you will then find your socks stuffed full of stinging nettles and your tea full of cascara, which is no less potent a laxative for being tree bark.)

“Justice must be served!” shouted the Mayor. “I certainly hope not,” said the bandit chief. “I’ve been avoiding justice for a number of years now. It seems to have worked so far.”

“Armadillo?” he asked. “Can you talk to him?” “I have been,” said the armadillo. “It’s mostly swearing. He’s got a remarkable vocabulary, for a sheep.” Gregor made a noise suspiciously like a laugh. The Rain Wife did laugh, thumping her cane on the ground.