by Kevin Hearne
The City of Underthings announced it would manufacture prosthetic toes for any who needed them, thanks to a grant from the Offi Numminen Royal Memorial Toe Trust.
Somewhere in the Urchin Sea, a safe distance from the dark grottoes of the sirens, a toothy horror rose to power, and it was hungry for more than mere crustaceans and schools of shad.
Those human ghosts Båggi had met at Dr. Murkimer’s were still trying to find someone who would dig up their corpses in the Grange and apply some flesh honey to their tongues, believing that this would bring them back to life. Lord Toby and Poltro claimed to know where a hive of necrobees could be found, but, no, they had not yet asked the Dread Necromancer Steve if their scheme would work, because they couldn’t secure an appointment.
In the Siren Sn’archipelago, an old man sat waiting to hear the god Pellanus speak, and Pellanus did speak, and tears formed in the man’s eyes as he pulled out a special leather-bound book, took up his quill, and began to write.
Båggi listened to these secrets and many more, for there was much happening in the Skyr prior to the new elections, and the wind lavished compliments on Båggi for his role in bringing that about. When the sun neared the horizon, it was time for him to sing of his peace to the wind so that others might hear and hope. He stood and stretched, slaked his thirst with a few swallows of mead, and then he sang into the breeze:
“I hear each of you in the High Mountain Home:
Human and elf, troll and giant, halfling and gnome,
Whether speaking ill or praise, at mischief or playing games,
I hear you the same and know your names.
You are all loved and here to do A Thing;
You are a verse in the Pellican song we sing.
I wish for a time when your struggles may cease
And you can enjoy a goodly measure of peace.”
As Båggi sang, other dwarves on other peaks at different elevations sang as well, and their words of encouragement and affirmation floated on the winds to become soft and gentle breezes in the lowlands someday, the breath of fresh air someone needed to deal with a vexing relative, a troubling co-worker, or the noxious waste excreted by the cat. The next day he would work for himself, making tonics and salves and replenishing his herb stores, as well as purchasing some tins of oily fish for Ms. Herring; the day after that he would work for his fellow dwarves in the community gardens or whatever else needed doing; and on the third day he would return to his shelf and listen to the wind before speaking his peace to the world. Occasionally he would travel down to the lowlands, but most of his days would rotate thus and he was content. He would like to see his friends again, of course, and was glad there was a reliable postale service now to keep in touch with them, but he knew he would hear of them on the wind as well.
Several months later, with sun and careful watering, his Telling Cudgel ceased to be a weapon and became a tree again. It sent out roots into the mountain and sprouted branches and leaves. An extremely polite queen bee came to visit and inquired if she might have his permission to build a hive there.
“Oh, bless my braided beard, yes!” he told her. “You are most welcome here!”
And then the wind brought him welcome tidings the very next day: Kirsi Noogensen and Faucon Pooternoob had both won formal election as kanssa-jaarli of the Skyr in spite of their beliefs that they were unelectable, and his favorite gryphon was enjoying the Gerd Herd of Birds Farme near the Toot Towers. She was often seen in the skies and sometimes perched on top of one Toot Tower or another. She would allow portrait automaatti to sketch her with tourists if the visitors promised to live in peace according to the wisdom of the Elders. Agape Fallopia, meanwhile, now residing in Quchii Qu, had just sold her first full-sized sculpture, titled “Happy AF,” for a barrel of gold. Båggi Biins could think of no better news to hear in his High Mountain Home.
To all the unsung goth heroes:
We’re singing your song.
Kevin would like to thank his family and friends for, you know, walking on the world with him. They can’t be thanked enough for that.
And, hey, you, reading this? You are dang spiffy. Thanks so much for reading.
Thanks to Metal Editor Tricia Narwani and all the spiffy peeps at Del Rey for their stellar work on these books, and for conducting that one ritual in the office with the chog and the mustard and the chanting.
My deepest gratitude and a bottle of really good whiskey goes to Kathy Lord, copy editor sans pareil, for dealing with our alternative spellings, my terrible habit of misplaced modifiers, and the inevitable inconsistencies that sprout up when there are two different authors working on a story.
Turbo mega thanks to my friend and co-author, Delilah. This book has come a long way from its origins in New Orleans. I’m Lucky AF to work with you.
* * *
—
Delilah would like to thank her Beloved Husbande, Craig, and her two Foine Children, as well as all of her buddies in the real world and online. Thanks to everyone who lets us know that they enjoyed Kill the Farm Boy and then giggles when we tell them the name of this book, its sequel.
Big thanks to our beloved editor, Tricia Narwani, who groks Offi and his goth cardigans on a soul level and who embraces everything Kevin and I do with open arms. And thanks to everyone at Del Rey because you guys are family and you take great care of us and you always get me a gluten-free sandwich at conventions. And, yes, thanks to Kathy Lord for treating Gerd’s spelling like something that actually makes sense instead of a language Kevin and I made up to abuse yet more umlauts and extra Es.
As always, super huge turbo extra mega gigantic thanks to my ultimate homey, Kevin Hearne, for being the best co-writer possible and for always writing the acknowledgments first so that I can kiiiiinda copy them? Kevin isn’t just a Goode Egge, he is The Beste Egge.
See y’all in The Princess Beard!
* * *
—
p.s.: The authors harbor no ill will toward Ping-Pong or those who enjoy it; we just thought it would make a funny joke. Because who could hate Ping-Pong?
p.p.s.: Ping-Pong knows what it did.
BY DELILAH S. DAWSON AND KEVIN HEARNE
THE TALES OF PELL
Kill the Farm Boy
No Country for Old Gnomes
BY DELILAH S. DAWSON
STAR WARS
Phasma
The Perfect Weapon (e-novella)
THE SHADOW SERIES (AS LILA BOWEN)
Conspiracy of Ravens
Wake of Vultures
Malice of Crows
Treason of Hawks
THE HIT SERIES
Strike
Hit
THE BLUD SERIES
Wicked Ever After
Wicked After Midnight
Wicked as She Wants
Wicked as They Come
Servants of the Storm
Ladycastle
Sparrowhawk
BY KEVIN HEARNE
THE SEVEN KENNINGS
A Plague of Giants
THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES
Hounded
Hexed
Hammered
Tricked
Trapped
Hunted
Shattered
Staked
Besieged
Scourged
THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES NOVELLAS
Two Ravens and One Crow
Grimoire of the Lamb
A Prelude to War
OBERON’S MEATY MYSTERIES
The Purloined Poodle
The Squirrel on the Train
The Buzz Kill (in the anthology Death & Honey)
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DELILAH S. DAWSON is the author of the New York Times bestseller Star Wars: Phasma, as well as the Hit series Servants of the
Storm, the Blud series, and the Shadow series (written as Lila Bowen and beginning with Wake of Vultures). Her comics credits include the creator-owned Ladycastle and Sparrowhawk as well as work in the worlds of Star Wars, The X-Files, Labyrinth, Adventure Time, Rick and Morty, and Marvel Action Spider-Man. She lives in Florida with her family and a fat mutt named Merle.
whimsydark.com
Twitter: @DelilahSDawson
Instagram: @delilahsdawson
KEVIN HEARNE hugs trees, pets doggies, and rocks out to heavy metal. He also thinks tacos are a pretty nifty idea. He is the author of A Plague of Giants and the New York Times bestselling series the Iron Druid Chronicles.
kevinhearne.com
Twitter: @KevinHearne
Instagram: @kevinhearne
Please visit talesofpell.com for more.
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