Bard returned shortly thereafter, proudly brandishing a shovel but not even one of my coins. I did not make a fuss over his petty theft; he had bought a shovel, after all. Without delaying, we began our ascent of Boyle’s Mountain.
Our adventure hit an unexpected and unfortunate snag once we had climbed halfway up the mountain. There, on the road ahead of us, a showdown between a bear and a pixie was taking place.
The bear was a giant beast with mangy brown fur…
Actually, Buster, that’s enough description of the bear. I am sure you know what a bear looks like, so you can fill in the gaps.
Now, I suppose I should describe the pixie. I really do not want to talk about that pixie more than I have to. You will understand why once I have told you more about him. But pixies were not a common sight back then. And I hear that they still prefer to keep to themselves. Thus, some description is necessary.
As I just mentioned, the pixie was a male. He was about four feet tall—that was the only thing about him I liked…
Yes, Buster, what is it? Oh, you want to know why I liked that about him. Well, this is embarrassing, but… He was the first adult we had met since Ori, the beardless dwarf, who was shorter than I was. Anyway…
The pixie’s skin was dark green in color. And he had golden wings. His nose reminded me of a butterfly’s proboscis. But other than those major differences, the pixie looked quite a lot like a fat, little human.
Enough of that, though. Let’s get back to the argument between the bear and the pixie…
“Grawhr-rahr-grar!” roared the bear.
“No, you mangy beast,” replied the pixie as he hovered above the bear’s head. “You can’t have any honey. Treasure first, then honey.”
“Gwrahr-rawr-wrah!” growled the bear. Rising onto its hind legs, the bear swiped at the pixie with one of its massive paws—just missing its target.
“I didn’t lie to you,” said the pixie, flying higher into air. “Help Bumble find the treasure, and I’ll pay you in honey. That’s always been the deal.”
“Ghraw-hrar!” complained the bear.
“I don’t care if your paws hurt,” snapped the pixie. “We have to climb this mountain to find the next clue.”
“Clue!” shouted Bard.
Both the bear and the pixie jumped and turned towards us.
“Wait just a minute,” Bard went on. “You’re not talking about Black Bart’s treasure, are you?”
The pixie eyeballed Bard. “What if I am?”
“You can’t be!” shouted Bard. “I have the clue that leads to the second clue.
Reaching into his trouser pocket, Bard pulled out Black Bart’s clue and held it up for everyone to see.
“Hmm, that’s funny,” said the pixie. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. “It just so happens that I, too, have the clue that leads to the second clue.”
Bard glared at the pixie.
The pixie glared at Bard.
“A wizened old man?” said Bard.
“A wizened old man,” the pixie replied.
“Never trust wizened old men,” muttered Bard.
Myth tapped my arm. “Looks like that wizened old man really is wise. He must make a fortune selling copies of that clue to fools.”
The pixie glanced at Myth. Then he stuck out his chest, and I swear that he started to strut as he fluttered in the air. He whistled and said, “Well, hello, beautiful Babe. You have the pleasure of meeting the one and only Bumble. I’m a big deal with the ladies, Babe. I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself.”
Myth folded her arms. “Listen—Bumble, is it? Calling me ‘Babe’ is a bad idea.”
Bumble grabbed hold of his feet and bounced up and down in midair. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he laughed. “I love it when they play hard to get.” Winking at Myth, he added, “But they can never resist Bumble in the end, Babe.”
“If you mean they can’t resist the urge to smack you in the mouth, then I can relate,” replied Myth.
Bumble looked at me and said, “How about you? Care to massage Bumble’s wings, Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart!
“Oh, you just said the wrong thing, Bumble,” said Myth.
Yes, he had! Bumble was being such a lout that I did not bother to tell him off for calling me ‘Sweetheart.’ Instead, I loaded a bolt into my crossbow.
“This is your only warning,” I growled, aiming my crossbow at Bumble. “Don’t call me ‘Sweetheart.’ ”
Bumble looked at the bear. Then he pointed at me and said, “Frigid.”
I thought that was a rude thing to say. But since he had not called me ‘Sweetheart’ again, I lowered my crossbow.
“Someone needs to slap you so hard,” I told Bumble.
“How about a spanking, instead,” replied Bumble. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
“Let’s get back on topic, shall we,” said Bard. “Black Bart’s treasure is mine.”
“Nuh-uh,” growled Bumble. “It’s Bumble’s.”
“Well, then,” shouted Bard, raising his fists like a pugilist. “There’s only one way to settle this: you and me, here and now!”
Bumble flew higher into the air. “Why would I fight you when I have a bear? Bernice! It’s time to earn your honey.”
“Ghwar-rhahr-rwwar!” roared Bernice the bear. She lumbered forward a few steps. Then she paused as if waiting for Bard to make the next move.
Wide-eyed, Bard stared at the bear. He gulped. “Fair damsels,” he cried out, “I’ll protect you by covering our rear.” Then he “bravely” bolted behind Myth and cowered upon the ground, his hands covering his head.
“A courageous fellow, that one,” said Myth, nudging her head towards Bard. “Still,” she added, eyeing Bernice, “I don’t fancy challenging that bear.”
“Don’t worry, Myth,” I said. “I have a plan.” I took off my knapsack and rummaged inside it. A moment later, I removed a book—the book—from my knapsack. Yes, it was my copy of Nigel Wonker’s Handy Tips for the Adventuring Soul. “Let’s see what Mr. Wonker has to say about bears.”
“Oh, no,” said Myth as she watched the bear, her right hand resting on one of her sheathed daggers. “Not Nigel Wonker, Iz. The man is a hack.”
“Hush, Myth,” I told her as I leafed through my book. “Mr. Wonker has never steered me wrong.”
“What about the gnomes?” Myth replied.
“Those gnomes led me to you,” I said. “Without Mr. Wonker, we never would have met. So there.”
“He’s still a hack,” declared Myth.
“Gwwhr-rahrr-grr!” bellowed Bernice as if to challenge us to step forward and face her.
“Ah!” I uttered when I had located Mr. Wonker’s passage on bears. “Here we are: Many tales speak of travelers who, while journeying peaceably through a forest, are mauled without reason by bears. Such tales are too numerous to dismiss as being mere fantasy. Thus, one must conclude that bears are aggressive, uncouth creatures that exist solely to ruin an adventurer’s day. But why are bears so ill-tempered? It is the belief of this author that a lack of self-esteem is to blame. By nature, bears dislike themselves and they try to boost their own low self-image by harming others. Bears, therefore, need to be shown how to love themselves. Thus, the wise traveler will not fight a bear. Rather, one should embrace a bear and praise its finer qualities. Doing so will improve its confidence and turn the savage beast into a lovable pet.”
I closed my book and took a step towards Bernice the bear. “Okay. Who needs a bear hug? You do, you adorable bear.”
“Do not give that bear a bear hug, Izzy!” Myth shouted as she wrapped her arms around me and lifted me off the ground.
“Oh,” I uttered, surprised, but not the least bit upset, to find myself being held tightly by Myth. “But Mr. Wonker said—”
“I don’t care what Mr. Wonker said,” Myth interrupted me. “I don’t want that bear to maul you. Please, promise me you won’t hug the bear.”
I sighed. “You’re being silly, Myth. Mr. Wonker is an expert. But if it will make you happy—I promise that I won’t hug the bear.”
“Good,” said Myth as she lowered me to the ground. “I’m sorry for grabbing you like that, Iz. But I had to stop you from making a huge mistake and I didn’t have time to think of another way.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I said. “I know you were looking out for me. But I still think you were worrying too much. Mr. Wonk—”
“Ghwar-rahr-whrar!” Bernice interrupted me as if to remind us that we had a bear to deal with.
“Okay,” said Myth, focusing on the problem at hand. “Bumble, here’s an idea: we’re going to the same place, so why don’t you join us.”
“Eh,” uttered Bumble. He fluttered over to us. “You want Bumble to join you—as a partner?”
Myth groaned. “I can’t believe I am going to say this, but—yes.”
“Now, hold on!” shouted Bard from his position on the ground.
“I don’t like the idea of traveling with this pixie, either,” replied Myth. “In fact, I’m not thrilled about having to endure your presence, Bard. But needs must—and I’m not going to fight that bear.”
“Hmm,” uttered Bumble, rubbing his chin. He looked Myth up and down. “Traveling with you would improve the scenery, Babe.”
I nearly slapped him for saying that.
“But what about Bumble’s share of the loot?” he asked Myth. “How much would I get?”
“A third for each twosome,” replied Myth. “You and Bernice receive a third. Bard and Barnaby receive a third. And Izzy and I receive a third.”
“Now, hold on!” shouted Bard as he scrambled onto his feet.
Myth glared at him. “Do you want to fight that bear, Bard?”
Bard glanced at Bernice. “On reflection, a third sounds fair.”
“Good,” said Myth. Turning to me, she asked, “Is this arrangement okay with you, Izzy?”
I nodded. “Of course, it is. I just want to have an adventure.”
Smiling at me, Myth gently rubbed my arm.
Then she looked at Bumble. “Well, Bumble, what’s your answer?”
Bumble grumbled and said, “I can live with that deal, I suppose.” Then he glanced at Bernice. “And if I fire this bear, I can have our share all to myself.”
Fluttering over to the bear, Bumble told it, “I’m sorry, Bernice. We must part ways. Please, don’t think of this separation as a reflection on your work. I’ll be happy to give you a good reference, et cetera. And who knows? When Bumble’s economic situation improves, I might require your services once again. Now, get lost.”
“Ghwrar-rahr-rrwar!” bellowed Bernice.
“You heard Bumble,” shouted Bumble. “Beat it!”
Growling a plaintive, “Ghwrahr,” Bernice lumbered away into the woods.
“Now that that’s settled,” said Bard, “I think a round of applause is in order to celebrate our fellowship.”
Bard started to clap his hands and said, “Yes, go team,” several times.
No one joined him.
“Let’s just find the next clue,” said Bumble.
He and Bard headed up the mountain.
Myth and I tailed along a short ways behind them.
“I have a bad feeling about this treasure hunt, Izzy,” said Myth. “I don’t trust either of those fools.”
I sighed. “I know what you mean, Myth. But let’s give them a chance. Maybe they will learn some manners. And if not, we’ll be watching out for one another.”