Meanwhile, in the darker alleys of the city, Blödu Siech had finally explored the finer points of the capital's famous wenches.

After a tumble or two, completely relaxed and satisfied, our young hero wondered why he never encountered similar institutions in his beloved mountains. An idea started to form in his exceptionally clear head.

Blödu almost danced when he left the dark alley and went in search of a tavern and a beaker of milk. He was in urgent need of a refreshment, a bed—and maybe another wench or two.

After all, he should do some further, serious empirical studies and in-depth evaluations* before he explained his grand plan to his beloved Tussinelda.

Convinced he found the perfect solution to all his economic** troubles, Blödu entered what he thought looked remotely like the Edelweiss tavern back home.

____

* Although he wasn't sure what these terms meant, Blödu was proud he remembered them from a discussion he had overheard between two strange, long-haired visitors to his village. They called themselves anthropologists, and he never found out why they spent hours in the pastures and the village square, scribbling endlessly into their notepads and talking incomprehensible gibberish at each other. But he was sure they were important people. At least they knew a lot of important-sounding words.

** Another word he had learned while listening to the strangers.

~ ~ ~

At the same time, Tussinelda prepared to seduce her new acquaintance. After all, every child in the mountains knew that dark, hooded strangers were either princes in disguise or mysterious wanderers who stole a maiden's heart with enchanting tales and glamorous gifts from foreign realms.

"My Lord," she said in her best-honeyed voice. "You almost made my heart stop with your sudden appearance."

The stranger harrumphed and threw his hood back. Underneath, a crumpled wizard's hat appeared. Sürmu blinked at Tussinelda.

"I'm neither a lord nor did I appear. All my appearing spells dropped out of this pocket. See?"

He opened his cape to point at a pocket in his off-white pants that was, indeed, riddled by holes.

"You don't happen to carry some thread and a needle, young lady? If I don't get these pants repaired, poor Barbarella will never get her Birthday spell. And look what the last one I accidentally lost did to my shoes."

Sürmu lifted his right foot, adorned with the most beautiful, silvery, strappy four-inch high heel Tussinelda had ever set eyes on. She squealed in a fashion most unusual for a genuine mountain girl.

~ ~ ~

When Blödu set a foot into the tavern, it felt like coming home. The low-raftered room welcoming him held wooden tables occupied by mostly male patrons. Some were nursing a bear, others fed on pork intestines stuffed with finely ground pork parts while all listened to a band playing a lively tune on a harmonium, a double bass, and a violin.

Some of the guests were playing Jass—not the music, but a card game practiced in the more remote parts of the Berinan mountains. Jass was more than just poker or bridge—it was a battle of wills and wits, most often fought by four in two teams.

At a table of four, one of the players smacked his fist against the wood. "Why the hell did you not play the Bells?" He glowered at his teammate sitting opposite of him. "I pulled that color right at the beginning!"

"But in the last round, you threw away!", his partner replied, just as loud. "And, besides, you forgot to mention you have the sticks."

The words were music in Bödu's ears. In Jass, accusations were part of the ritual. Bloodshed was seldom, though, and only practiced after midnight.

"Greetings, friend. You're from the mountains?"

Blödu turned to see a white-aproned, well-fed innkeeper grinning at him. "Er... yes."

The man spread his arms and his smile. "Welcome to the Little Alpine Rose, our little Bernian Mountains exclave in the capital."

~ ~ ~

In the meantime, up in the castle, Tussinelda had ended her squeal of delight and gingerly touched the wizard's magic footwear. Its leather was jet black, its laces glittery silver, and its underside was the red of arterial blood.

Being from the Bernian Mountains, Tussinelda recognized a business opportunity when she saw one.

She fluttered her long, naturally thick eyelashes* at Sürmu and plastered a smile on her face. Not sure how to properly address a wizard,** she gave her best shot at diplomacy.

"These are exquisite examples of footwear, master wizard. Your Barbarella is a fortunate lady to receive them as gifts."

"Hardly. Barbarella is six. What would she do with shoes of this size? Besides, she'd prefer them more on the sparkly side."

Upon closer inspection, Tussinelda had to admit the wizard's feet were longer than those of the average mountain dweller. The poor man would have real problems with nimble sidling on a narrow path. Most certainly in these shoes. On the other hand, they would attract attention, back home as well as here in the castle.

"Would you, dear mister wizard, be able to cast the same spell on other shoes? Like these for example?"

She showed him her sturdy sidling boots, complete with their traditional wooden soles and anti-slip nails. Sürmu's eyes widened at their view. Or perhaps at the sight of a piece of long, naked leg disappearing at one end in a heavy boot, at the other under a multilayered skirt currently hitched well above its knee.

____

* Eyelashes grew exceptionally well in the fresh, dew-filled mountain air.

** Wizards seldom visited the mountain regions. The uneducated inhabitants mistrusted anything that could not be explained by simple logic. Thus, magic was considered suspicious and wizards, in contrast to tourists, were unwelcome guests in the cozy land of cheese, chocolate, and jass.

The beautiful artwork illustrating this chapter was done by the most talented and wonderful EvelynHail — thank you, Mylady, for breathing life into our characters!