The War in the Willows

The Hot Caliver

Morrigan tossed and turned in his bunk. The caliver seemed to leer from its spot above his bed, its presence a cold dread creeping up his spine.

He’d tricked the gunsmith into giving it to him, and now he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Witch Hunters would stop at nothing to get it back.

Morrigan threw off his blankets, pacing the small space. What to do?

He couldn’t keep it. Too hot to handle.

But tell the Misfits he was scared? No way.

Maybe… sell it in the tavern? Tell them he’d sacrificed it for the cause, get a reasonable price…

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Morrigan slipped out of his room, Caliver stashed securely. “North Piddle, here I come,” he muttered, aiming for the Three Feathers.

Meanwhile, Bramble’s eyes welled up as she cradled the shattered Mirror Maximiliano had given her. “Max… the Mirror… it’s broken,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Maximiano’s face fell, his Spanish charm evaporating. “Ah, mi corazón, I’m so sorry. One of those Stillwater magos –”

Bramble looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. “You gave it to me, Max. It was… it was special.”

Maximiano’s expression softened, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Sí, I did, and I’ll get you another, I promise. A more beautiful one, just for you.”

Bramble sniffled, trying to compose herself. Morrigan, hovering nearby, cleared his throat. “Right. Off to North Piddle.”

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Morrigan slipped into the Three Feathers, the dim light and stale air enveloping him like a shroud. He scanned the room, spotting a few shady characters who might be interested in a “hot” Caliver.

As he made his way to the bar, he collided with a Rat wearing a black capotain hat and a wicked expression.  Morrigan muttered an apology, helping the rat steady itself.

The Rat witch hunter glared up at Morrigan. “Watch it, bird.”

Morrigan’s gut tightened. He hadn’t seen the guy’s face clearly, but something was unsettling about the rat.

“Sorry, mate,” Morrigan said, backing off, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t see ya.”

The witch hunter grunted, eyeing Morrigan before shrugging and turning back to his ale.

Morrigan’s heart was racing.

And then he saw him. Geldof. Sitting at a corner table, sipping a mug of ale, eyes fixed on Morrigan.

Morrigan’s instincts screamed at him to bolt. But he forced himself to saunter to the bar, Caliver still tucked away.  It would draw too much suspicion to just walk out.

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Neville knocked softly on Philippe’s door, a look of concern on his face. “Hey, Phil? You decent?”

Philippe’s muffled voice came from inside. “Yeah, Neville. Come in.”

Neville pushed the door open, spotting Philippe buried under a pile of blankets on his bunk. “Hey, mate. Just checking in. You doing okay?”

Philippe’s eyes looked a bit haunted, but he managed a weak smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… processing, I guess.” His normal faux French accent noticeably absent.

Neville nodded sympathetically, sitting down beside him. “Fair enough. You went through a lot. Want to talk about it?”

Philippe hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really. Just… thanks for asking, Nev.”

Neville squeezed his shoulder. “Anytime, Phil. We’re mates. Get some rest, yeah?”

Philippe nodded, and Neville headed out, making sure he was okay before closing the door behind him.

Morrigan perched on a stool, trying to blend into the worn woodwork. He ordered a whiskey, nursing it slowly as he scanned the room. The Caliver weighed heavy on his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling Geldof’s eyes were still on him.

As the minutes ticked by, he noticed the Rat witch hunters had slipped out, one by one. The corner table where Geldof sat was empty now, a discarded mug the only sign they’d been there.

Morrigan’s tension eased slightly. Maybe he’d dodged a bolt.

He leaned into the barkeeper. “Got a buyer for a… item I’m selling,” he murmured. “Discreet.”

“Could be interested.” The barkeeper whispered, “What ya got.”

Morrigan uncovered the end of the Caliver and discreetly showed the barkeep.

“Looks hot, real hot, be hard to move, this is the best and only offer you’re gonna get,” said the barkeeper as he slid a few measly pennies across the counter to Morrigan.

Without looking at the pennies, Morrigan quickly snatched them off the counter and made for the door, leaving the Caliver on the counter.

Morrigan the Hero

Morrigan swaggered into the Den, a satisfied grin on his face. He plopped down in the middle of the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alright”, he declared. “Caliver’s gone, and we’ve got coin in the pocket! I was gonna keep it, but I thought, nah, gotta do right by the crew, innit?” He winked, clearly pleased with himself.

The Misfits exchanged looks, Neville impressed, the others sceptical.  William raised an eyebrow, polishing a glass. “You’re a regular philanthropist, Morrigan.”

Bramble stepped forward, her expression serious. “You did the right thing, Morrigan. The crew needs you, and you know it. You’re the backbone of this operation.”

Morrigan puffed out his chest, eating up the praise. “Yeah, someone’s gotta keep this crew afloat. And speaking of which, Philippe’s reward for being a hero?” He tapped his beak. “That’s gonna be a nice little bonus. After all, it was me who saved him.”

Bramble nodded enthusiastically. “You deserve it, Morrigan. You’ve done more for this crew than anyone else. It’s about time you got recognised. I mean, what do you want? A medal? A parade?”

Morrigan chuckled, stroking his throat. “Hmm, a parade’s not a bad idea…”

Bramble’s eyes widened. “A parade would be perfect! And you’ll have to make a speech, of course. After all, you are a hero.'”

Morrigan’s grin faltered. “Uh, a speech? No, no, I don’t think that’s necessary –”

Bramble’s expression turned innocent. “Oh, but Morrigan, you’re so eloquent! You could totally wing it. ‘I, Morrigan, saved the day with my unparalleled skills and –'”

Morrigan’s face turned red. “Alright, alright, maybe a reward isn’t worth it… I mean, a parade’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Bramble smiled sweetly. “Nonsense, Morrigan. You deserve it. And I’m sure Philippe’s reward will be… adequate.”

Morrigan’s ego deflated slightly. “Yeah… maybe I don’t need a reward for you all to know I’m a hero then.”

Bramble nodded, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

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On the Up

Maverick’s voice boomed across the Den, gathering the Misfits around him. Morrigan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Bramble stood tall, eyes fixed on Maverick.

“We’ve come a long way, crew,” Maverick said, surveying the gathering. “Attracted some new faces.  Time we made this place reach its full potential.”

Thomas nodded, leaning against the bar. “We’ve got supplies, contacts… The Rabbits from the temple have set us up with some useful things to study the Necromouser.”

A murmur ran through the crew. “What kind of things?” someone asked.

Maverick smiled. “Enough to give us an edge. We’ve got stockpiles of arrows, herbs are doing well – once someone figured out smoking them’s a bad idea.”

Chuckles erupted, and Morrigan snorted.

Rose rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

Maverick continued, “Bank’s almost empty, but we want for very little. Life is good.”

The crew erupted into cheers and chatter. 

“Alright, alright, let’s not get too cosy. We’ve got a Necromouser to take down.” Said Maverick.

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Later, Bramble and Morrigan stood on the archery range, shooting arrows in comfortable silence. Morrigan broke the silence, grumbling. “You knew I’d cave, didn’t you?”

Bramble raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile. “Maybe.”