I hadn’t planned on going anywhere today. And then I went out to the vegetable patch to pull some carrots for dinner. Gone, every last one, along with my sugar peas, normal peas and half the tomatoes.

I have my suspicions on the culprit (yes, singular), I’ve seen evidence of a pixie in the area recently and it appears they’d discovered my island.

I’d need to check my wards, find out where the little pest got in but you know how it is with magical creatures, once they’re in, they’re in. I’d have to come up with a non magical way to protect my crops. In the meantime I needed dinner supplies, so pulled out the punt for a quick trip to the farmers’ market.

As I was poling through the islands and floating clumps of vegetation, a shadow blotted out the sun. Not for long, but long enough for me to see the silhouette of a massive bird, and for a feather the length of my forearm to drift down into my boat. It seemed the thunderbird was saying hello. I wondered where it was off to this time.

I stowed the feather under the tarpaulin I keep to cover goods, tied up to the town’s little dock and made my way to the market square. Thankfully I managed to complete my shopping before a couple of nervous-looking young men approached.

It seemed one of them had taken a commission to deliver a huge, ostentatious, and ugly as sin urn from the local potter to a nearby lord’s manor. Only, the urn was now speaking. I could see why the lads were unnerved. The urn was a frightful thing, with faces for handles (you put your hand in the mouth to lift it) and the voice seemed to be echoing out from one of them.

It was also calling for help. I conjured a spark of mage light and sent it into the pot. Scrabbling around at the bottom was a large mouse, with a mouse-sized sword strapped on one side.

Rather than risk the potter’s work by tipping the urn on its side, I lowered a small fishing net through the opening and, with some instruction and coaxing, managed to pull the prisoner to freedom.

The town boys were nearly as unsettled by the mouse as the talking urn, I suggested she accompany me home, rather than stay in town. She agreed, although with some reservation, as she had no means by which to pay for my hospitality.

Of course my reasons hadn’t been entirely altruistic, she was the perfect solution to my pixie problem.

And so we came to an agreement, one both of us were very happy with, and I skimmed us home to my island.

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