Von Michenkomph looked thoroughly miserable as he was shoved down onto an upholstered couch. Judging by the blood stained basin beside it and the selection of surgical razors, he had done his share of bleedings. Camilla flipped her dagger over and balanced the point on the tip of one manicured finger, breathing in the rich smell of pipe smoke and blowing it out her nostrils. The physician’s face, miserable with pain, pinched in anger.

“The Grapvinewill hear of this!” he tried to snarl, though the effect was closer to sniveled.


“I’m sure,” Camilla told him reasonably, “You are going to want her to get that window fixed if nothing else.” As if to emphasize her point, frigid winter air gusted in, fluttering the candle flames and waking the guttering fire in the single austere fireplace from its embers to a last few minutes of sparking life. Several papers were picked up by the breeze and fluttered in the draft.

“First question,” Camilla asked, holding up a finger a few inches in front of Konrad’s face. The doctor recoiled as though he feared being struck, pressing his quivering lips together.

 

“Is that a piece of timber in your shirt or are you just happy to see me?” Camilla inquired. Von Michenkomph’s lips opened and closed like a freshly landed fish and he seemed to fold up over the lump in his nightshirt.

“Oh for Ulric’s sake,” Cydric growled and shoved his hand down the shirt, ripping a lump of wood from within and shoving the doctor back onto the couch when he attempted to grab it. It was a foot long and vaguely golden in color, like the eyes of a wolf in the dark. It seemed to almost pulse with life, moist with sap despite the conditions.

 

“That is the property of the Graf, give it back at once!” the doctor shrilled. Gunir stood up and stumped over to the doctor.

“I’d advise ya ta let os worry about the graph,” he groused, his accent thicker than normal, “If you donna start ans’ring questions I’ll have to break your other leg.” Von Michenkomph yanked his leg back out of the dwarfs reach.

“This is only a sprain,” he protested feebly. Gunir leaned very cloth, his lips splitting into a wide mouthed grin.

“My mistake, ill break them both for ya,” he countered.

“Lets start with why you were running away with a piece of kindling into the teeth of a snow storm,” Camilla suggested smoothly. There was a pounding on the door and a muffled voice calling through.

“Doctor, are you ok? We heard…” a male voice called from the other side.

“He’s fine,” Cydric called back.

“I am not! Run and get the Grapvine, tell them I’m being attacked!” Von Michenkomph yelled. Gunir drew back a meaty fist but Camilla lay a hand on his arm. The sound of foot steps slapping the stone sounded outside and muffled yells for guards.

 

“Well before she gets here, you better tell me exactly what is going on. Why did you run? Why take the wood?” Camilla pressed. Von Michenkomph lifted his nose, apparently under the impression that now the alarm was raised his problems were over. Gunir lifted a fist and grinned horribly.

“Its the trees, I think the trees are after it! I know they are!” the doctor bleated. Gunir paused and Camilla leaned forward.

“Why do you think the trees are after the wood?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I read it in a book, that is what happened last time, please, please don’t hurt me!” he bleated. As he spoke his eyes cut to an old book that lay open on a table. Camilla crossed to it and picked it up. Fists began to pound on the door.

“Open up in the name of the Grapvine!”