Due to a combination of the Easter long weekend and me having a bit of a rough week, I decided to postpone this week’s scene by a day. On the other hand, partly to make up for the delay, and partly as my Easter gift to you, I’ve decided to also make it freely available to the general public.
Enjoy.
© 2026 – J.B. Norman, published by Emona Literary Services
Adjusting her hat, Dunstana looks over her shoulder to Annie and Ginger.
“Come on,” she declares, grabbing the handle of their wagon. “It’s such a nice day. It’s the perfect day to sell cookies. We’ve got to get moving and start selling these cookies, or we’ll never save the Art Gallery! Or even worse, Hortensia will be the one to save the Art Gallery!”
As Dunstana, Annie, and Ginger set off, their great patron in their endeavour, the famous mercenary Boss Virrad is making the situation very clear to his business associate.
“Now, Mr. Jenkins,” Boss Virrad says. “I once did you a favour. For, as you know, a man of honour and integrity could not refuse a request made to him upon that, the day of his daughter’s wedding.”
Across town, in her and her husband’s new house, Boss Virrad’s daughter suddenly sneezes.
“And you will recall how I said that, perhaps I would never call in the repayment of that favour, or that perhaps I would in perhaps a day, or a week, or a month, or a lifetime,” the Goblin mercenary captain continues.
“So, um, are you calling in that favour n-now, Boss?”
“Precisely.”
“Three young girls are about to enter your stall. They will offer to sell you cookies for the purposes of funding the Civic Art Galley of Porthaven.”
“I see. So… you want me to… rough those kids up and steal their cookies? Because they’re intruding on your turf and you run the cookie game in this town?”
Boss Virrad looks up to one of his minions. “Face-Kicker Pete, tell Mr. Jenkins here that he is an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot, Mr. Jenkins.”
“As an appreciater and enjoyer of the fine arts, it is of the utmost importance to me that you assist my three young friends in their selfless mission to support the Art Gallery. They are not to be harmed, hindered, or inconvenienced. They are to be given your unconditional and unqualified support.”
Boss Virrad clears his throat, the unspoken threat obvious.
“To that end, Mr. Jenkins, how many cookies will you be purchasing?”
“Y-Yes?”
Boss Virrad gives a satisfied nod. “Very good, Mr. Jenkins. Face-Kicker Pete, applaud Mr. Jenkins’ efforts.”
The little bell above the door jingles as Dunstana, Annie, and Ginger lead their wagon laden with cookies into the shop.
“So, hey, we’re selling cookies to help the Art Galley. Buy some!” Dunstana says.
She glances over to where Boss Virrad and his minions are looking on in the corner.
“Oh, hey, Boss!” she says. “Hey, Mad Dog!”
“No, I’m Face-Kicker Pete. Mad Dog is the other guy.”
Dunstana tilts her head. “Really? But he kicked a guy in the face last time!”
“I know,” Face-Kicker Pete mutters. “And he’s never let me hear the end of it…”
Boss Virrad unsubtly clears his throat again.
“I would like to buy many cookies!” Mr. Jenkins blurts out, his voice cracking awkwardly in his abject fear of the Goblin boss.
“Geez,” Dunstana says. “It’s only cookies. It’s not like we’re going to beat you up if you don’t buy any…”
“Face-Kicker Pete,” Boss Virrad interjects. “Tell Mr. Jenkins to laugh, because the very notion of bringing bodily harm against him for the sake of buying cookies for the Art Gallery is patently absurd, is it not, Mr. Jenkins?”
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