Padric was on him before she could blink. He grabbed the little fool up roughly, slamming him against the support beam, causing the lamp to shake, the light in the cellar fluttering wildly.

“Tell me what you know!”

The clurichaun gawked at him for a moment, wide-eyed and fearful, then burst out laughing full in Padric’s face.

“Scared!” he chuckled. “So scared! They all were! No’me. I no’scared a’you, mortal boy. What’er you? Nowt is’what! No’when I dinna run from liffing iron!”

Rosheen felt her spine go taut. Living iron?

“I’ll tell Jileen,” the clurichaun kept on. “I’ll tell’er and no drinks for you.”

“Where is she? This Jileen.” Padric’s teeth were clenched, Rosheen could hear it, but her mind was elsewhere. …metal man has come’ta play…

“With the men,” came a strange, lilting voice behind them. “At the burial.”

Burial. …red death for’all around…

“Fafnir,” Padric said, looking around and lowering the clurichaun to the floor.

Rosheen turned. The dwarf.

Stocky and broad shouldered, Fafnir filled the width of the doorway. He wore traveling clothes of sturdy wool, a grey cloak about his solid frame, the hood pulled up over his head. His clever eyes sat above a bulbous nose and a shaven lip, but his jaw and chin were covered in a short, spade-shaped beard, rust colored and pointed at the end. Padric moved forward and the two clasped wrists. Fafnir’s head barely reached Padric’s chest but his hand was a ham hock, Padric’s arm a twig.

“It is pleasant to see you again, friend,” Fafnir said. His Middangearder accent created strange swells in his speech, instantly annoying Rosheen.

“I hoped to find you here,” Padric said.

Rosheen glowered. And found him you did. Him and no one else.

“It is only ill-luck that you did,” Fafnir replied. “I have been delayed. Many days now. Dark days for the people here.”

Rosheen saw Padric’s face fall at the words ‘ill-luck’, the foolish beliefs of his people falling on him like a sudden rain. He will blame himself. Well done, dwarf.

“What people here?” she demanded. “We have seen no one. Save that.” She jerked a thumb at the clurichaun who was staggering back to his barrel-bed. Clumsily, he attempted to mount it, belly down, but as he reached the top, his weight caused the barrel to roll. The clurichaun farted and fell out of sight.

Padric and Fafnir both looked over to her, the dwarf with a smile and the man with a distant stare, which dispersed in an instant.

“Fafnir,” Padric said. “You remember Ro--”

“Rosheen,” Fafnir finished for him and bowed his head toward her. “My honor to be at your service.”

“Grand,” Rosheen replied flatly. “Now, please. What happened here? You mentioned a burial.” …red death for’all around…

Fafnir considered her for a moment. “Come. We will talk upstairs.”