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Overjoyed with the opportunity to break from the festivities, Mr. Pitts pulled out his orb from a leather case attached to his belt and jumped to his feet. “Let’s party Marcus,” he shouted.
“Let this be a good object lesson to you apprentices,” hollered the gratified magistrate, as he looked over the room pleased to see every sentinel in the hall standing ready. “A sentinel is always prepared. Could we have you volunteers assemble up front, and please the rest of you go on with your wonderful dinner.”
“I’m so sorry to leave you both here by yourselves,” eagerly apologized Mr. Pitts. “But you see duty calls me.” In a quieter whisper he continued, “However, if you two want to pretend you have to go to the bathroom you can sneak out of here like I’m doing, who knows how much longer these dreary celebrations will take.”
Jubilantly Mr. Pitts waved goodbye and danced up to the front with the other sentinels, leaving behind a dinning hall filled with only dignitaries and apprentices. Straight away a dozen gobzards rushed into the hall carrying armfuls of sentinel packs. After piling the emergency packs next to the magistrate the sentinels filed past, and after each taking up a pack they disappeared from the room.
Rather than leave, Jacob and Emalynn decided to wait it out for Mr. Pitts, and consequently they continued to suffer on with the putrid smell and unbearable windy speeches. As expected, without Mr. Pitts to entertain them, their heads began to nod and they struggled to stay awake. The night seemed to pass without end, and just when Jacob was about to nod off into a deep slumber he was awakened by emergency volunteers popping back into the room. The last speaker arose to give the final address, as one by one the returning sentinels, being careful not to wake their slumbering apprentices, quietly took their seats. A single sentinel however approached the sitting magistrate, and timidly knelt on one knee. Cupping his hand to the Magistrate’s ear, the sentinel quietly reported. Jacob could see the Magistrate lower his eyebrows and grimace, showing a serious frown. Straight away he knew something was amiss, and curiously he began to wonder if the sentinels had failed in their rescue attempt, when from across the table Marcus suddenly appeared, quickly stepping over the bench to sit down next to his apprentices.
“I’ms sos sorries, sos sorries,” he said, looking pitifully at Jacob and Emalynn.
The Magistrate stood and gruffly bellowed, “CAN YOUR SPEECH FREDRICK!” Angrily the speaker glared back at the Magistrate, as the Magistrate began to shout, “In view of the happenings we’ll now close our banquet and bid you all a pleasant evening.”
Straight away the room erupted into noisy chatter, as sentinels eager to leave began shaking their apprentices awake.
“WHERE IS MR. PITTS?” cried Emalynn, intently staring at Marcus.
“Noes sentinels shoulds evers havse toes cross overs! There’s noes hopes!” he replied trembling.
“WHAT! AND WHO CROSSED OVER?” shouted Emalynn, looking extremely worried.
“Crosses overs toes thes Enshanteds Realmss. Buts its bees bests ifs Doctors Verdimyers tellss youss,” he hissed, glancing to his left.
Jacob and Emalynn turned to see the Magistrate unexpectedly heading their way.
“Will you two please come with me!” he demanded, in a deep grave voice.
Apprehensively they stood up and followed behind the magistrate, making their way into a nearby storage rooms. Inside the room was packed tight with white chairs padded with purple velvet cushions.
“Please take a seat,” said the magistrate gruffly, as he pointed towards some less crowded chairs. He waited patiently for Jacob and Emalynn to seat themselves and then continued. “I don’t know how to say this so I think I’ll just say it straight out. The emergency orb alarm was caused by our missing sentinel’s orb; Buckburne Scurvey’s. It was a trap. Dark warriors were waiting to ambush us and Buckburne was nowhere to be found. Mr. Pitts saved two of our sentinels’ lives by bravely coming to their rescue and netting several deadly warriors, giving the sentinels enough time to escape. But in the process he was captured and taken captive. I’m truly sorry, it’s a great loss for us all.”
Jacob sat straight up in his chair. “You’re going to rescue him aren’t you?”
The magistrate winced and then shook his head. “We’re positive that they took him to the Enchanted Realm. So there’s no hope.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO HOPE? YOU’RE SENTINELS! YOU HAVE TO RESCUE HIM!” shouted Emalynn, springing to her feet.
“WE’RE NOT GOING INTO THE ENCHANTED REALM!” cried the Magistrate, looking shocked at her outburst. “ARE YOU NUTS?”
“I THOUGHT SENTINELS WERE MORE THAN THIS,” defiantly hollered Jacob, as he glared heatedly at the Magistrate. “WHAT TYPE OF MAN WOULD SO EASILY ACCEPT THE LOSS OF HIS OWN?”
“I’M NO COWARD IF THAT’S WHAT YOU MEAN BOY!” shouted back the Magistrate. By now the Magistrate was red faced, appearing totally insulted over their lack of respect. “THE ENCHANTED REALM IS SEALED OFF,” he continued, wildly throwing his arms about as if now out of control. “WE CAN’T GO THERE! BESIDES THE DARK KING SEES AND KNOWS EVERYTHING—AND HE’LL GET ANY ONE THAT CROSSES OVER! NO SENTINEL SHOULD EVER HAVE TO RISK THE TORTURE AND THE PAIN THAT HE CAN INFLICT, IT’S BEYOND HORRIBLE. I MYSELF HAVE HAD NIGHTMARES ABOUT THAT! LOOK—LOOK AT MY HANDS NOW—THEY’RE SHAKING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT!”
“YOU’RE A GUTLESS CHICKEN!” shouted back Emalynn, stomping her foot.
The magistrate’s cheeks puffed out, and he screamed back, “HUUMPH! GUTLESS CHICKEN! THERE WILL BE NO RESCUE ATTEMPT AND THAT’S FINAL! AND AS FOR YOU TWO, SINCE WE HAVE NO OTHER SENTINEL TRAINERS AVAILABLE, BOTH OF YOU WILL BE RETURNED BACK TO YOUR FAMILIES. YOU MAY STAY THROUGH TOMORROW, AFTER WHICH I’LL HAVE SOMEONE ESCORT YOU BACK HOME!”
Emalynn exploded by grabbing the back of her chair and flinging it onto the floor with a deafening, “BANG!” Jacob Immediately followed, smashing his chair up against the wall. Red faced the Magistrate glared at them both, and they responded back by passionately sticking their tongues out. Then, as if rehearsed, they both simultaneously whirled about and marched out of the small room.
“I know what I’m going to do!” exclaimed Emalynn, stomping her way through the dining hall. “I’m going over to the Frosty Mug Tavern right now and drink a hundred toasts of Celser Whiff dedicated solely to that dumb Magistrate!”
Before long the door to the Frosty Mug Tavern slammed opened and Jacob and Emalynn angrily strutted inside. The tavern was crowed with hungry sentinels and apprentices that Jacob recognized from the banquet. As they passed by the tables they noticed heads turning, their presence had instantly drawn everyone’s attention.
“They probably recognize us as poor Mr. Pitts’ apprentices,” complained Jacob.
“Tonight we may be pitied by the sentinels, but after tonight it will be the magistrate that will pity ever crossing our paths. I hope your thirsty Jacob because were going to give him a parting gift that he’ll never forget!”
A short stubby sentinel arose from a nearby table and immediately approached. Standing in their way he self-consciously stared down at the floor and said, “I’m so sorry about Mr. Pitts. He saved my life tonight, and I just wanted to let you know that he was the best!” With tears running down his cheeks he turned and slowly walked back to his table.
Jacob knew in his heart that he couldn’t let Mr. Pitts go without a rescue attempt, even if he had to do it himself. He owned a master sentinel’s orb as did Uncle Clair, the enchanted realm wasn’t sealed for them.
They made their way to the only open seats in the tavern located at the short end of the counter, and together they sat down on miniature stools directly across from Mr. Oubladew who was busy drying freshly washed glasses with a small white towel.
“Back so soon eh,” said Mr. Oubladew as he placed the towel down and began wiping his hands on his apron. “What can I do fur ye young’ungs?” he asked.
“Bring us a pitcher of Celser Whiff and make it your strongest batch,” ordered Emalynn.
Mr. Oubladew grunted an acceptance and immediately left, returning only a few minutes later with a black pitcher branded by a white skull and cross bones. “Here ye are lass, me strongest batch of deadly Celser Whiff,” he said, placing it and two glass mugs in front of them. “I pity the poor fool that jilted yer heart.”
Emalynn lifted the heavy pitcher and poured a full mug for herself and Jacob. She then raised her mug high in the air and heatedly announced with a holler that pierced through the noisy chatter of the tavern, “A TOAST TO THE MAGISTRATE, WHO IS SENDING US HOME.”
“HERE, HERE, I TOAST TO THAT,” shouted Jacob in agreement, lifting his mug.
The room fell silent as sentinels, along with apprentices, turned to look. Raising their mugs of Celser Whiff into the air, the entire tavern drank a quiet toast of Celser Whiff to the Magistrate.
Suddenly Mr. Oubladew’s face turned white as a ghost. But before anything could be said or done the toast was complete. “OH! WHAT’VE YE DONE TA THEE MAGISTRATE,” he cried, “EH WHOLE ROOM OF CELSER WHIFF TOASTED, HE’LL BLOW EH HOLE EN’ HIS PANTS FUR SURE! ENN’ IF HE FIGURES IT OUT, HE’LL BAN THEE DRINKIN’ OF CELSER WHIFF FOREVER!”
“Sorry,” said Emalynn, as she looked across the counter at poor Mr. Oubladew’s worried look. “It’s just that we’re very frustrated with him,” she complained.
“So are many,” replied Mr. Oubladew, shaking his head as he moaned a heavy sigh.
As if in apology for his staggered remark, Mr. Oubladew reached under the counter and pulled out a plate loaded with yellow bread sticks covered with white icing. He lifted the plate up to his nose smelling the treats, and then slid the sweets across the counter to place it in front of the apprentices. “Fresh baked Dwarf Tator Crunchies,” he said, “one of me favorites.”
Famished, Jacob grabbed a breadstick and took a bite. The sugary treat rolled over his taste buds leaving a smooth wonderful savor. “This is yummy!” he exclaimed.
Emalynn then lifted her mug high into the air, “Well if we can’t drink to those whom we’re upset with, then let’s drink to Mr. Pitts wherever he is. At least he’ll know we’re thinking about him.”
“Here, here!” exclaimed Jacob, as he banged his mug against Emalynn’s, sloshing Celser Whiff onto the floor.
They both took a swig and smacked their mugs down on the counter.
Abruptly the back door to the kitchen flew open, and out stepped Mrs. Oubladew carrying a tray loaded with scrumptious smelling meat pies. As she passed by, Mr. Oubladew snatched up two pies off her tray and placed them in front of Jacob and Emalynn.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, setting forks and napkins onto the counter. “I’be heard aboot Mr. pitts enn’ I know how distressin’ it must be ta eh lose yer trainer, Mr. Pitts twas thee best. If only thee great ones, thee two Frosts brothers were still alive, there twould be eh rescue attempt made fur sure. I really miss those courageous days of thee sentinels.”
Emalynn nudged Jacob on the arm and Jacob responded back with a proud nod. He knew that like his father and uncle before him he wasn’t about to back down from danger.
“If the great ones were still around, what would they do to rescue Mr. Pitts?” asked Jacob, as he picked up the fork and scooped up a large chunk of the meat pie.
“First they twould inquire thee ancient dragons at Dragons Lair en thee Enchanted Realm, enn’ thee magical beasts twould tell them exactly twhere he tis. Then they twould swoop en’ fur thee rescue,” responded Mr. Oubladew, clenching his hand into a fist and swinging it upward. “Tis eh shame that sentinels nowadays hab lost that courage!”
It was obvious to Jacob, he knew what he had to do, the Magistrate wouldn’t allow a sentinel rescue and Mr. Pitts had no one else. Crossing over to the Enchanted Realm terrified even experienced sentinels, but for him it was an exciting adventure. After all he had the money clip and his master orb, and if things really got rough he could always call Uncle Clair for help or easily transit back home. “Maybe I should ask Uncle Clair to come along with us?” he pondered for only a moment. “Noooo—if I did that he wouldn’t let me join in the adventure.” He rested an elbow on the counter and placed his knuckles against his cheek. “But when we swoop in to take Mr. Pitts, we may need his help. I could call him with the money clip then and still have our adventure.” Without hesitation he turned towards Emalynn and smiled. “How’d you like to go to Dragons’ Lair?”
“Yes! Yes! I’m up for an exciting rescue,” cried Emalynn, sitting up straight.
Mr. Oubladew looked up at the apprentices and began to chortle, “Ye doon’t understand lad, thee Enchanted Realm tis sealed. Enn’ eben if ye could go there ye twould need eh great one, tas only thee members of royal house tar thee ones that can tame dragons, enn’ they’re all goone. There tis no way now, no hope.”
Having just taken a quick bite of the meat pie, Jacob hastily swallowed. “I can go there, I have a master orb, and I can talk to the dragons,” he responded.
Mr. Oubladew shook his head in disbelief and turned walking away.
With her mouth full of meat pie Emalynn called out to Mr. Oubladew, spraying food over the counter. “It’s true he’s a great one! He’s the Prince of the Enchanted Realm!”
Mr. Oubladew suddenly stopped in his tracks, and without turning he asked, “What tis yer name lad?”
“Jacob Frost,” answered Jacob, with his mug in hand.
“THEE PRINCE!” cried out Mr. Oubladew. His arms flew up in the air and he whirled around, again facing Jacob. “HOW COULD YE BE, YE WERE KILLED!”
“That’s only what you were meant to believe,” choked Jacob, taking a quick drink of Celser Whiff to wash down some meat pie stuck in his throat. A loud “BING BANG BOOM” suddenly reverberated from Mr. Oubladew and Jacob quickly brought his mug down.
“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!”
Mr. Oubladew paused taking a long whiff of the treat, while several customers turned and applauded.
“We can’t let ye go there alone,” said Mr. Oubladew, now rubbing his backend. “I’m an old man of nearly 300 years enn’ it twould be eh difficult fur me ta eh accompany ye, I twouldn’t be much help. But me nephew, he knows thee realm twell enn’ he tis still young of heart, strong enn’ ready fur adventure. Please may I entreat ye ta eh let him go twith ye? He twill guide enn’ protect ye well prince.”
Before Jacob could reply Emalynn eagerly answered, “We’d love to have him come!”
“So it tis agreed,” said Mr. Oubladew eagerly, as he lifted a hatch and stepped out from behind the counter. Swiftly he tottered through the tavern and left out the front door.
After downing several full mugs and passing numerous raucous burps, Jacob and Emalynn finally finished off the last of their pitcher of Celser Whiff, hoping that Mr. Pitts had received their sweet messages of hope and support. The door to the tavern opened and in stepped a short stocky three and a half foot tall brown haired dwarf with a rumpled brown shirt and gray paints. Mr. Oubladew followed close behind, shuffling as quick as he could in an attempt to keep up.
“Me nephew,” announced Mr. Oubladew, almost out of breath.
The young dwarf approached Jacob, bowed his head and said, “Me name tis Hobble. And I am at yer serbice Prince Frost.”
“Thanks for coming,” said Jacob looking Hobble in the eye from his short stool. “And this here is Emalynn—‘BUUUUURRPP’—Yung.”
“That’s not my name, BRUUUUUP!” exclaimed Emalynn.
Hobble slid a stool in front of the two and sat down.
“Twe’ll need thee light of day ta eh start our search. Shall we depart at first light?”
“Yeah BUUURUP, let’s meet here bright and early at six a.m.,” responded Jacob, eager to get an early start on their rescue.