Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,63
he blinked rapidly at Dave.
The nun strode forward, tiny fists and jaw clenched in determination. “Truth, honesty, and justice are a few of my favourite things! And I was on the mountainside that day when Duke Klaus died, and the elves did not push him! I saw him fall!”
The children and Dave fell into line behind the nun, Dave strumming his lute as they closed the distance across the town square and drew near. There was a tall, blonde alpine goddess walking behind them: Gretchen, wearing a very satisfied smile.
“You said nobody saw anything, Gunther,” Gretchen said. “Benji thought the same thing. But what Benji didn’t know, and what you forgot, is that out here, the hills are alive with potential witnesses.”
Gunther blanched.
Holy shit,” Benji said and sagged a little against Calarian.
The tiny nun pushed out her chest, put her hands on her hips, and trilled, “I have confidence that Benji should be free!”
The children skipped and clapped around her merrily. Dave strummed his lute.
“Well,” the commander said, looking uncomfortable at the unasked-for musical accompaniment to proceedings. “That’s that cleared up at least, I suppose. Duke Klaus’s death was an accident after all.” He looked relieved for a moment, and then a frown furrowed his brow. “Which brings us back to why Gunther was so eager to blame the elves for the duke’s death. Was it something about missing stipends?”
“I– I– I–” Gunther spluttered for a moment. “It’s not right, everyone getting paid every month, and for what? For nothing! I deserve the money—I work hard! I’ve earned it!” And then, his face contorting into a mask of hatred, he reached out and grabbed the nearest of the cabbage-rose curtained children. It was a little blonde boy. He looked about eleven and incorrigible, whatever that meant. Gunther wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck and began to drag him backwards past the fountain. “Make a move, and I’ll snap his neck like a chicken!”
“Chickens don’t snap necks,” Benji said, straightening up. “They don’t have opposable thumbs.” He tilted his head and observed Gunther. “Anyway, you’re more of a vulture.”
“No, like he’s the chicken,” Gunther growled.
“Oh, that makes more sense,” Benji said. Then he drew his arm back quickly, silver glinted in the air, and a moment later Gunther was spluttering and gasping and clutching at the bollock dagger embedded in his throat.
Everyone gasped as the boy slipped free and Gunther collapsed onto the cobblestones beside his beloved, ruined fountain, and promptly bled to death in a series of awkward jolts, twitches, and gurgles.
“Oh, hey,” Benji said brightly as he strode forward to lever the dagger out of Gunther’s scrawny neck. “Look, Calarian! I finally killed someone!”
They fist bumped like old times, and then Lars dragged them both into a beefy hug and kissed them both stupid and left them reeling.
Old times were nice and all, but Calarian was really looking forward to the new ones.
Chapter Sixteen
Benji stared out the window of the council room. It was a beautiful afternoon in Tournel, drawing slowly towards what would undoubtedly be a beautiful evening. Cows grazed on the nearby hillsides, their bells clanking whenever they moved. Bright wildflowers dotted the meadows, and the breeze that drifted through the open windows was crisp and clean.
Somebody yodelled, and eight other somebodies yodelled after her.
Benji was bored. He probably should have been paying attention, since the council was figuring out what to do with him and Calarian and Lars because of that whole duke mix up—which was all Calarian’s fault, by the way—but frankly it had been an extremely stressful day all around, and Benji was still a little bit hyped up about first being almost killed and then actually killing someone, and he couldn’t be expected to sit here quietly without fidgeting.
He’d also had a lot of sugar.
In fact, he was still having a lot of sugar. Hannah had brought him a basket of gingerbread from the bakery, and Benji was eating the whole thing. Hannah had said something about sharing, but if Calarian and Lars were more interested in council proceedings than in this awesome basket of sugary, gingery goodness, then that was their problem. Still, he couldn’t help but keep sneaking them glances as he ate, because they were both so handsome even if they were ignoring him. He sighed loudly once or twice, but apart from a warning look from Gretchen, nobody paid him any attention at all.
“And here,” Calarian said, pointing to something in a ledger. “Here is where the money