street. He had a slight limp, which he normally worked hard to
disguise. On that evening, he was in a hurry and noticeably
favored one leg.
“I say,” Linvin called out. “You were in the pub a little later
than usual, Elzer. Night is nearly upon us and not a lamp is lit in
the whole town. Your duties are in need of tending.”
“I know,” he answered while grabbing his special pole for the
task. “Drinks were two for one, and I forgot about the time.”
Linvin picked up his cup and sipped. The tea was cold. He had
not realized how much time had passed while he was on the
balcony. “Do not worry, Elzer. Time can go by rather quickly
when one is busy.”
Elzer stopped below Number 7. “Mr. Grithinshield, my kind sir,
the wife will tie me to the trunk if I’m late getting home. You
know how she disapproves of spirits. And I was wondering
if…you know…you could.” Elzer waved his hand in a circle.
Linvin broke out laughing at the sight of the pantomime. Elzer
appeared desperate. “You needn’t but do it this once, sir. I promise
I won’t never ask another thing from you so long as I live. But that
won’t be long if’n the missus finds out I’ve dipped my bill.”
Linvin composed himself and said while chuckling, “Well, I
could not allow a fellow gent to get in that kind of trouble. Hold
on.” He stepped away from the rail for a moment and returned
with the staff that the Red Sapphire called home. He held it aloft,
and it turned a fiery red. Pointing it at one of the lamps, he released
a bolt of magic that struck the wick. The red magic rapidly flew
from one light to the next until all of them were burning.
“You’re an angel,” Elzer cried. “I’ll have the wife bake you a
pie for this, sir. Your fav’rit is cherry-berry isn’t it?”
Linvin laughed and nodded. “Cherry-berry it is,” he answered.
Elzer nodded back and ran down the street.
Linvin turned his attention to the tea he was holding. His
eyebrows wrinkled as he concentrated. Soon his hand lit up with
red magic, and the cup was emerged in a red aura. After a few
moments, he relaxed his face allowing his hand and the steaming
cup to return to their normal colors.
He sipped and looked out over the rail. Dusk turned to night
before his eyes. Storm clouds took place overhead to obscure the
moonlight. The rainy season, it seemed, would pay another visit.
Illumination was left in the hands of the street lamps and lights
shining from houses and trees.
The elves on the lane became fewer and fewer as they returned
home for the evening. Soon there was hardly a soul to be seen. It
was sound, however, that Linvin was noticing. A familiar whistle
was heard from the street behind Linvin’s tree. It became louder
and louder until its source came into view. The plump town
constable was strolling down Oak Street and was making his turn
at Number 7 to travel Spruce Lane.
He was not an imposing figure in any way other than his
weight. The squat constable enjoyed his meals often and in great
quantities. His uniform was shabby and barely concealed his belly.
He was a poor excuse for a law enforcement officer, but he was
sufficient for the sleepy town of Missandor.