“They will be back soon,” Pocket told him. He did not know what else to say.

Rosheen led Sir Corc and Muckle to a heavily wooded ridge from which they could view the wagon unnoticed by the four guards. The knight stared at it for a moment, watching intently.

“There are more somewhere nearby,” he whispered. “A wagon that size would need a sizable escort.”

“Red Caps do value their headcheese,” Muckle said, nodding sagely.

“There are no barrels in there,” Rosheen said. “Look at the covering…too irregular to be barrels.”

“And heavy,” Sir Corc agreed. “That is why they are stopped. The road grows worse ahead, look.”

Rosheen saw large patches of muddy ground between the thinning stonework.

Might get stuck.

“The others may be out looking for stones to bridge the gaps,” Sir Corc said, almost to himself. “This is good. They will be slow moving. If we can get around them without being seen and put some distance between us, then we run no risk of them overtaking us further on.”

“Should I go back and get our wayward babes?” Rosheen asked.

Sir Corc shook his head. “Not until I know where the main body is. If they are ahead, we may stumble right into them.”

“Well,” Muckle said lightly. “You could always just walk up and ask those four.”

Rosheen shot the goblin a venomous glare. “Only you would be fool enough to think of that.”

“Oh,” Muckle gave an exasperated sigh, “I doubt I am the only one.” He pointed.

Damn strutting bravo!

Bantam Flyn came striding casually down the road, heading towards the wagon. The two Red Caps at the rear saw him coming and alerted the other pair. The four leveled their polearms and began converging on the squire. Flyn waved at them cordially and kept walking.

Sir Corc stared balefully for a moment, then turned and began making his way down from the ridge. Muckle shrugged and followed.

By the time they reached the road, it was all over. Bantam Flyn was perched up on one of the wheels, working to pull the covering away. The four Red Caps lay in broken heaps near the wagon.

He is good. Empty-headed, but good.

“Where is Pocket?” Sir Corc demanded, coming around the wagon.

“Back in the trees where you left us,” Flyn said dismissively, not pausing in his efforts to uncover the wagon.

“You left him alone?” Sir Corc reached up and grabbed the squire by the belt, yanking him off the wheel and spinning him around so that they were almost beak to beak.

Bantam Flyn remained nonchalant. ““Do not worry. He will stay there until we get back.”

Rosheen watched as the coburn faced off, one pair of eyes burning with repressed fury, the other twinkling with naked challenge.

“Corc!” Muckle’s voice barreled between them. “You should see this.”