{Illustrated}
Once upon a time Pagne planned parties in a palace of fungus, now he is planning a revolution.
Success requires a cunning plan, hinging on the element of surprise, careful catering, and colourful costumes.
However, an unfortunate ser...
Having been cooped up for the last week or so, Nibbs needed some air. He had recovered enough to amble about with the assistance of a cane, though Whereth was not much of a place for a stroll. The soil was not woven with enough Nonsense for particularly large or elaborate fungal houses, nor for less brown ones. Everything in the city was some sickly shade of mud and even the street-lamp mushrooms, which were brilliantly coloured in most villages this side of Hereth, were a dull beige.
Nibbs' opinion of the locals had not improved during his stay either. Most were nothing more than invalid nobles who behaved like peasants. A gathering watched Nibbs as he limped across the street to a sad excuse for a tavern. He tried to ignore the other patrons as he sat down to a mug of Bittercap bitters, but he could hear them muttering about his injuries and speculating about what had caused them.
Shame they knew well enough to keep their distance but not to hold their tongues.
After finishing off the toxic shroom-juice with barely a wince, Nibbs had heard enough whispering. He paced over to the Tyvern huddled at the opposite side of the room, thumping his cane on the floor with each step until only a tablecap stood between them. The fellows rushed to their feet and perform courteous gestures, as if that would save them.
"You buffoons," Nibbs said and used his cane to turn a fellow's chin towards him. "Look at the state of this place."
The chap gave a very hasty glance at his surroundings, then nodded pathetically. "W-we should have had it painted for you, sir," he mumbled. "But every time we ask for the stuff, the town painter takes it all. Says he's going to create the greatest Masterpiece Tyrunvern has ever seen as soon as he gets some inspiration."
Nibbs put his cane back by his side for stability. "You have a painter, in this wretched place?" he asked with a forward lean.
"Whereth is a terrible place for the chap to settle down if he wants inspiration," another of the posse grumbled.
"Where might I find this fellow?" Nibbs demanded.
None dared answer until he leant a little closer with the furrow of his brow pointed at the most terrified fellow.
"In the middle shambling shelf by the stables, sir," his target blurted in his panic, then fainted.
Nibbs spun around and took to the streets to give the artist all the bloody inspiration he needed, carrying with him the incomplete sketch of the mysterious Lady of the gardens.
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Pagne was just sitting down to a nice bowl of carrot flakes when Saloonka ran in, excitable as a budding radish, and plucked him from the breakfast table, by the horn. He was not given so much as a moment to drop his spoon before being rushed out the door and dragged down the path to the mountains behind the manor. Vrye hurried along behind them, wearing his dressing gown and slippers with Alphonse wrapped around his head and Alphonso dangling behind his ear.
