Dungeon Keeper (LitRPG/Monster Evolve)

[Chaperone]

By the fourth stamp, the hero's screams had stopped.

The demon didn't. Up, down, up, down. Its hooves beat as it danced a jig. Crushing armour, bones and organs. It was sadistically overkill.

And Moss was delighted.

He watched as the demon legion descended on the raiding party, ambushing them amongst the fungal foliage of the dungeon's third floor. He'd seen slaughters before - this was more like a cull.

The shrooms' bright glow was dull beneath a red layer. Gore and sinew dripped off their bell heads. Blood flowed through the mossy ground.

This is going so well, Moss thought to himself.

I'll wait until the end. Perfectly hidden from all danger until my treasure is ready for reaping.

"What in Hell's wet dream is that?" A LesserDemon pointed their spear at Moss. Flaming goat nostrils twitched, sniffing him aggressively.

He shrivelled back in fear.

Its comrade, facing the other way, also tasted the air. "Holy aura. Thick and nasty. There must be Clerics in the party."

With a fiery arm, he spun her to point out the keeper.

She scoffed. "It's nothing. Barely a critter."

Even critters have feelings.

"Can I kill it?" He asked.

"It'll die from a falling twig. Come. There is real blood to taste."

They leapt into the skirmish. Joining the other dungeon protectors and leaving Moss to tremble in fear - and anger. His tiny claws wrapped around the stem of a mushroom, shaking it with all his might.

The head barely shivered, causing his rage to boil over.

Nobody cares if you're the king when all you rule are the maggots. The bottom feeders. Dead lickers. Well, what if my grubs went away? Missed a shift or two. What happens when the bodies pile up? Block the corridors, and pollute the waters. When HolyRelics taint the very air they breathe. Then they'd see how crucial our role in the dungeon is. They'd finally see the gleam in my crown.

First, he had to claim it. Save his scrips and work hard to ascend the final ranks. For the keeper wasn't quite a King or Queen… or Orderer. Hell's bells, he wasn't even the team leader of his own chaingang. But he knew his worth and the value of his race. Only a few bodies and the dungeon's monsters would recognise them all. With a crown stitched upon his cloth, it'd be far simpler.

He only needed a few more bodies and the riches they brought him.

And here they come.

The final charge was playing out. Demons and heroes rushed forward, screaming war cries and activating their abilities. Fire pummeled into golden armour. Metal clanged and sparked. The raiders were faltering and becoming desperate.

At the rear stood a giant man. Clad in HolyRelics, the hero lifted his warhammer high and yelled.

He must have the strength of a DemonLord, Moss thought. For the weapon's end was a boulder of pure metal. And his raiders snapped into place at his command. Towershields banged together, overlapping to cut off the legion's advance. They formed a wall around an elven woman wrapped in HardWood. Her frame was lacking, yet she oozed power. As she whispered into her staff, a green glow pulsed from its emerald end.

She started to float, the air around her warped and buzzed with the Flow. Beneath the legion, vines and roots started to poke through the floor. Growing and expanding with each flicker of the candle.

A war horn blew amongst the monsters, summoning a ScaleDemon to the frontline. The legion started to stamp their hooves at its approach. It would take seven keepers standing on each other's shoulders to reach the curving horns of a normal demon. This behemoth was at least ten keepers tall. Clad in thick armour, the legion parted to let the brute through. Lessers reached out to touch it with flaming hands. Dimming the red blaze on their claws and igniting the glow beneath their plate armour.

A demon stepped in its path. "A glorious end!" It yelled. "A glor-"

Its hooves crushed the lesser.

Invigorated, the legion took up the chant.

"A glorious end! A glorious end!" They echoed.

By the time the ScaleDemon reached the frontline, it was a blaze.

Moss assumed it would charge straight through the wall. But it's bulk hit the first shield and flopped over. Like an anvil dropped on a tomato, the dwarf popped. Then,

Boom!

The keeper was swept back into the fungal foliage. Grit and dirt pummelled him, tearing at his simple cloth cloak. He crawled out to find body parts raining down on the trench. A falling twig wouldn't harm a keeper. But a girthy dwarven leg wrapped in armour was a different tale. With a groan, he managed to get himself in the shadow of a toadstool. One of the hut-sized shrooms that the GreatToads would lounge on.

He saw the elven woman fall with the loss of her defence. Her staff cracked loudly as it hit the floor. Causing the green aura to explode out in a wave. As it washed over the roots, they writhed in madness. Attacking anything nearby. Including Moss.

They wrapped around his legs, tearing skin. The keeper's meagre claws slashed them away. Barely clearing the area in time to save his life.

Bits of mushroom suddenly sprayed him as a body crashed through his shelter.

It was a dwarf. Well, part of a dwarf. Its lower half was completely gone. Its face was partly melted away, exposing teeth and bone. On its good side, an eye opened.

"Fucking monster scum!" The dwarf spat out, blood spurting from his mouth. "I'll use your cloak to wipe my shit hole!"

In Moss's shock, he tried to point out the hero no longer had one. But only a whimper escaped his hood. The dwarf slammed his visor shut and started to crawl towards him. His gauntlets dug into the soft mud, dragging his body forward on powerful arms.

The keeper had nowhere to go. Vines still danced in their spastic throes in every direction. The trunk of the Toad stool was a short climb, but its cap blocked him from getting any higher. And with every flicker, the armoured hero grew closer.

Panic took a hold of him as he screamed for help. Straining his voice to be heard over the victory cries of the legion.

Before all was lost, before the dwarf reached him.

Two demons halted nearby.

"Pools be praised!" Moss cried with joy at the sight of his saviours.

"Fuck the dungeon Core." A Lesser said.

The other dropped into a squat with a sadistic grin. "Three scrips says the dwarf chokes him."

"Nah, it'll cave his head in." His comrade replied.

They banged weapons, sealing the deal.

Moss couldn't think. He'd worked so hard for so long. Only to lose it all with one stupid gamble.

The keeper kicked out, smacking the dwarf's head and arms. It roared with fury, causing their audience to shout with glee. More legionnaires joined to watch his end.

The hero snatched his ankle. Yanking him closer.

"Got you.. now." The dwarf gurgled.

He pulled himself on top. Blood flowed over the keeper's face. In the river of red, Moss could barely see the fist raised high.

"Told you!" The demon yelled.

This is it. All for nothing. Back to the start.

Thud.

It hit his chest like a heavyweight. A bolt of pain shot through his body.

Barely able to stay conscious. All he could do was tense up as death pursed her lips at him.

"That's boring." A demon said.

Moss wiped his face, clearing the blood from his vision.

The dwarf was dead. Crushing him with his fat, armoured body.

"Help me." Moss whimpered.

But his blaspheming 'protectors' were already gone.

Please, Pools, lend me the strength and I'll repay you.

He prayed to his dungeon Core. But no matter how hard he clawed at the ground, he couldn't move from under the hero.

Exhausted, the keeper gave up.

A scrambling noise woke him. The trenches were still hazy from demon fire. But Moss could make out the midnight blue cloth of his creed amongst the dead. It scuttled around, only stopping briefly here and there. A small breeze momentarily lifted the smog, revealing the small monster. Crimson eyes sat in an endless shadow beneath its hood. The sack, they called a cloak, covered everything except the bone white claws and feet of the grub. It was a fellow keeper.

Has the graveyard shift already been called? No, I would have heard Ombay's call.

He tried to shout out for help, but his throat was still raw from the smoke. A painful gasp was all he could manage.

The other keeper moved. Moss hoped he'd somehow heard him. But then the small monster leapt back from a mound of bodies. A single corpse shifted and rose.

Their commander lives? Pools will have the demons lashed for such a mistake.

His golden armour was seamered in red. The metal plates, cracked and broken. The giant man stumbled to a knee, yet his might was plain to see.

Moss bid the other keeper a good death, for their kind weren't built for battle.

The keeper looked for an escape. Stepping the heros grasped and climbing the mound of bodies. He used a weapon's handle to hoist himself up to the top.

Then it all moved. The entire pile shook as the commander's warhammer was pulled free.

Muck the bedroll.

Moss couldn't believe his eyes. The giant boulder of metal hovered over the keeper's hood, dwarfing his tiny body. Yet his skinny claws held the weapon without strain - like it was made of nothing but SoftWood and paper.

The commander cried out as it fell. Crushing his head and spraying the ground with his death.

That's no keeper. We would never fight a hero, or consider lifting a weapon that heavy. But what kind of monster would dress like a brother of the cloth? Is it a fiend?

Moss considered the wild monsters that haunted the shadows of the dungeon. Living nightmares that den mothers warned their younglings about if they wandered into the mists of the Watcher's Woods, or the depths of the Fungal Trench.

A gentle breeze wafted smoke across the battlefield. Obscuring Moss's vision.

He thanked Pools for his damaged throat. For after a few flickers, he saw the glint of gold as the other keeper found his prize.

Graverobber.

Mirroring what Moss had come here to do. Except that 'keeper' was seeking a different, more forbidden, prize - the HolyRelics.

After the candle's wax had burnt for a while, Moss saw no more movement. No more shining gold. The graverobber had what he wanted and disappeared into the fog of war.

Moss let out the groan he'd been holding and smacked the dwarf's head.

But why hadn't they come over for this treasure?

The keeper sat up with sudden realisation. The golden helm gleamed in the torchlight. Its pauldrons, gauntlets and chest pieces were intricately decorated with shapes and symbols.

But Moss was more interested in the grooves of the artwork. Where the craftsman's blade had nicked the golden outer layer. Revealing the common BlancMetal beneath.

Cheap bastard. No wonder they lost the battle.

With giddiness, Moss yanked off the dwarf's helmet and tossed it away. No Holy aura burned him. He tousled and wrestled the hero's body around. Allowing him to pull the arms back and prize the gauntlets free. Now with the actual treasure exposed the keeper could begin his profession. His claws sank into the dead flesh, releasing the venom contained within. It worked quickly thanks to Moss's improved stats. Circulating the fat body and relaxing the muscles to a more malleable state.

From within Moss's hood, he unleashed his greatest tool. A large pink tongue. It licked the Dwarf's body, plastering the flesh and armour with an adhesive substance. It's the first ability all keepers are born with. Lick.

Lick has increased to level 10

Lick has increased to Cloth rank

New ability unlocked: BodyBoulder

The deep voice said in his head. Moss noted his usual grumpy tone hadn't changed. Doesn't he know this is a moment for celebration?

He tried to whoop with joy, having forgotten his throat was a ruin, and instead made a noise like a mating HareHound.

Invigorated at unlocking a new ability. The keeper started to fold the dwarf together. He manipulated the, now loose, body into a small sphere. Sticking it all together with his tongue.

In the past, other dungeon dwellers had commented that they'd seen small black beetles do a similar thing with dung. They then went on to say some horrible things about keepers. Moss hadn't listened. He was used to the abuse his race received from… everyone.

Within a few flickers, he'd rolled the dwarf off his body. His legs weren't working. The bones, likely crushed, screamed in agony. He tried to wiggle his toes and couldn't move them a moth's wing.

Oh, Pools no. Anything but this.

It killed Moss to have to do this. But he pulled a small, minuscule, red vial from his cloak. It contained a few droplets of health potion that he swigged back. The healing elixir partially fixed his wounds and soothed the pain. It did little to relieve the emotional damage of using such an expensive potion. That was a lot of shifts' worth of scrips.

Exhausted and limping. The keeper headed back to the Grotto and away from any potential danger. The graverobbing fiend wouldn't want a witness to their crimes. And if he can kill a hero, he could tear Moss like wet parchment.

It was a king's wealth he'd just abandoned. The thought plagued him to his bedroll. An army of bodies, just lying there, waiting for his tongue. But his ambition was crushed by fear. Death was common in the dungeon. For heroes, demons and dwellers. All monsters died, except Moss.

He'd worked too hard to lose it now. His stats. His rank.

Plus, the bitter humiliation when his chainmates found his remains beneath the fat dwarf's embrace. Hero lover, they'd call him. Dwarf diddler. Everything but friend.

The keeper stumbled into his hovel. Nestled deep within the dungeon, far from any raider group or demon legion.

I just need the stitchless cloth on my back and belief in myself.

And I'll become as strong as that graverobber.

Then they'll see a grub become king.

 

[Chaperone]

Ombay's roar smashed the hovel's door open. Sweeping through the hovel to wake the keepers. The WindDragon's call had travelled all the way from the Core to spread the news - the raiders have been defeated.

It also brought in a flurry of parchment that billowed around the small room like a snow storm.

Moss groaned in his bedroll. He felt like an OgreBear had rolled over him throughout the night. Leaving his body aching and sore.

Exhausted, he struggled out of his bunk.

Usually he'd be excited, since the call marked the start of his graveyard shift. But right now he needed sleep - which would mean missing his shift and the last thing Moss would do. So he had to spend more scrips on a potion.

Banish me. I better hit the vendors before it gets busy.

Moss grabbed one of the parchments that had settled.

'Rogue monsters hurt ALL dwellers. Report shady behaviour this shift.' Pool's axiom #2432 - Herald of Truth

The grand raiding party from the Dwarven Kingdom of Mons Bachilum was smashed this shift by the ever inspiring DemonLegions…

He tossed it away, not wanting to think about yestershift. Which had left him poor and miserable. Then he remembered his new ability. BodyBoulder.

The keeper suddenly felt a rush as he considered ways to use it.

My Flows finally changing. I'm going to make all my scrips back and more.

"Shifts on keepers, let's get to work." Moss yelled to his chainmates who shared his hovel.

"Fuck off." Snapped Franc. The faded keeper grumbled as he pulled his bedroll around him.

Moss scoffed. "There's no need for Holy words, Franc."

"Suck my cloth you little goblin."

I thought more seasons matures the monster. He's got loads of frayed threads and acts like a clawless youngling.

Pittons, their other hovel mate, was already awake and facing the wall, whispering to himself. He turned in his stitched cloth, a wild grin beneath his hood. "So much to do, Moss. Reapers never stop, do we?"

Reapers?

"Not even when we're dead." Moss replied, half joking.

Pittons shook his head. "No, no. She lets us rest then." He whispered into the wall once again.

The keeper looked over Pitton's cloak again. Noticing it was more stitches than blue cloth now. He's spent far too long in the wells. Those madd voices are getting louder each time. Which reminds me.

Stats please.

Moss spoke to the voice in his head. This wasn't the maddness that Pittons suffered from, but a connection through the Flow to his Chronicler. A monster in the lower floors whose job it was to record a dweller's progress. A very helpful role for progressing monsters on their journey to improve and grow. In theory.

Moss's Chronicler had a different approach.



I'm not doing this anymore. I can't. I won't. It doesn't matter

My stats please. Moss requested again.

No! I'm sick of repeating these terrible numbers. They're pathetic. Why did I get assigned to a Keeper? Why not a DemonLord or a BansheeLock? Why-

My stats, please! I have to go to work. Moss interrupted him.

This is the last time. I'm done. I'm rutting done. Pools help me.



Moss - Keeper - Rank 33

Health - 10/10

Mana - 33/33

[Ability]

Lick - 10 (Cloth)

VenomClaw - 8

BodyBoulder - 1

[Conditions]

Maddness - 7



Why is my maddness creeping up? I haven't got a stitch on me.

No answer came.

"Meeting by the GreatToad in a quarter candle or it's a lashing to the death!" Shouted Stew, their appointed Orderer.

Moss knew how many bodies littered the trenches. This was his chance to use his new ability. But he needed a potion first. He knew Stew was desperate to use that lash on him.

Why do all Orderer's hate their best workers?

Having wasted too much wax already, he raced out onto the muddy pathways of the Grotto. And into a sea of blue clothed keepers. They surrounded him. Stumbling to work with less enthusiasm than a virgin at a cult gathering. Wherever Moss looked their slumped hoods were, blocking every winding path around the hovel huts.

These bulged like mounds of minotaur dung, consuming the cave they lived in. This impeded any efficient route that would have been useful to a monster in a hurry.

Not only did keepers not have the wisdom to design a decent living arrangement. They also didn't have the strength to build anything of significance. This was recently proven after a raider, with a giant axe and a fetish for making dwellers homeless, got lost on her way to the Sixth floor. She destroyed all the hovels and took out most of the Keepers as well. Giving them all a fresh stitch and bottom rank. But not Moss. He'd hidden himself behind the waterfall at the back of the cave. It fed a grimy stream that keepers drank from.

Moss plunged into that cold water now, using it to bypass the crowd and get out. It soaked his cloak and reminded him of that chaotic raider, and the frustration he felt after discovering Kai had survived as well. He couldn't think about his competition right now, he had to move.

As he reached the cave mouth, he climbed out of the stream before it plunged him over the edge.

The Fifth floor opened up before him - the Watcher's woods.

Rolling mists billowed amongst massive trees that grew like towers for giants. Torch lights burned on the intertwining platforms and bridges that connected them and made up the Village. His first stop of the shift.

The keeper had to slow himself down as he crossed the old rope bridge. Missing planks, rotten wood and questionable knots carried him from the Grotto across a long drop to the closet platform.

When I'm key keeper, I'll have this bridge fixed and ready for-

A figure, falling from the sky, shot by him.

"I'm doneeeee!" They screamed, until the fog beneath consumed them.

Moss, with a death grip, peered over the edge. But saw nothing but swirling white clouds.

"Where the Hells had they come from?" He said aloud. Before looking back towards the cave and up the cliff face. Through the thick mists, he thought he could see the edge of a… platform?

No, not happening. I can't be figuring out random dungeon riddles this shift.

Dwellers always see strange shapes and happenings when they stare too long. Best not to look at all.

Just as the bridge began to tremble with keepers, Moss reached the platform. Unlike their hovels, these were solid constructions. Built from the same HardWood they were attached to, the platforms supported houses, markets, businesses and more. Sections of the GreatTrees were hollowed out for staircases or rooms. One tree housed the entire Furry population. Its platforms were swarmed with their litters, which made it a no go zone for keepers. They were more likely to be eaten there than anywhere else in the dungeon.

Moss found the potion vendor. Their SnailWagon was parked at the edge of the platform, with a stall extending from its shell.

The kobold merchant was haggling with two HowlerBears. Their massive forms and dark fur were sleek with oil and honey from working their shift at the NectarHives.

Moss stood behind them, a few steps back so as not to get crushed. HowlerBears were fairly passive, yet lumbering beasts. Moss would have to stand on five other keepers to reach their heads.

As he waited, a Furry stepped in front of him,

Large bat-like ears twitched on the gremlin monster, reacting as Moss coughed.

Banish me. I need to go.

The other keepers were starting to reach him now.

He didn't dare cough again. Furrys were always hungry and saw any movement as prey. They only reached the HowlerBears hips, but three keepers could fit in their mouths. And one nibble could end Moss's dreams.

The cue moved. Moss closed the distance. Then glittering dust rained down on him.

"Trix was an absolute fiend last night. I can't believe the Minor's Quarter keeps letting her back in." A Fairy said to another as they cut Moss off.

Her companion rolled her eyes. "Oh I've seen her work there. Like a succubus in a Holy orphanage."

"Excuse me." The keeper whispered.

Their laughter drowned out his words.

"I heard she was snorting her own dust and MoonSugar. Vile mix."

"Excuse me." He said a little louder.

He could see the last brothers of cloth passing him now.

I'm going to be late. Stew's going to last all my hard work away and he'll love every rutting flicker of it.

"She'll be feeling cursed this shift. I doubt she has the scrips for a red potion."

"If the rumours are true, then she'll be needing a HighGrade."

"What?"

"Yep, went back to Seb's nest with his harem. All those RatKin wives and he still can't get enough of our shine." The Fairy said with a sob.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry. Rodents are such HellHoles."

"Excuse me!" Moss yelled.

The Fairy's, floating in the air, looked around for the voice before spotting the little Keeper. One flew back in disgust, while the other swooped down and slapped him across the face.

"Be quiet you little grub." She snapped. "You're upsetting my friend."

Pain and anger flooded Moss. He wanted to slash at them, but they were too high up. And his face hurt from the meagre slap, which would have cut his health in half.

He squeezed his claws tight, holding his tongue so as not to make the situation worse.

A dark shadow engulfed him.

"Is this maggot bothering you?" A deep voice boomed.

A gnoll stood over him. Its claws extended out, growing longer than the keeper's arms. Scars marked the fur on its bulging muscles, speaking of many deaths while enforcing order in the dungeon. Though you couldn't have guessed from its polish leather armour. Not a mark or crack on it. A single piece was worth more than Moss's entire chain made in a season.

She turned her nose up at the gnoll. Disgusted that she had to deal with a dungeon guard, a common reaction amongst dwellers.

"Obviously." She scoffed. "For Pool's sake, do your job and squash it."

The fairies dismissed the keeper to his fate without a glance, their scowls melting away as the merchant became free.

Moss scampered. His little clawed feet scraped at the wooden beams as he made for the Grotto.

A sharp pain shot through his back as the gnoll grabbed him, lifting him like a pup by the cloth.

The keeper cried out as the thin fabric tore. But the guard took no notice. It brought him to the edge of the platform and dangled him over the side.

"Look." The gnoll commanded.

Moss, trembling from pain and fear, managed to open his eyes. The fall was certain death. But the fog meant no other keeper would look for him and find his remains for the wells. This execution would be a true death.

"I'm sorry." He whimpered. "I won't do it again."

A growl came, shaking him further. His little heart pounded and threatened to burst.

"You do not see." The guard stated. "Down there is where you belong, grub. With the mud and muck. It is only by Pool's word you are allowed amongst us. A gift to your kind."

"Thank you, Pools." Moss mumbled out. "I'll be a good keeper from now on, I swear by my cloth."

"No." The gnoll barked. "You must be better."

His vision was replaced by wood as the gnoll carried him across the platform, towards the GreatTree. Metal lanterns, containing LightCrystals, dangled from metal hooks in its bark.

The gnoll hung him from an empty one.

"Critters witness the world without getting in its way. They know their place. Stay here until you have learnt yours."

With that, the guard left. Moss tried not to wriggle, he wasn't worried the guard would keep watching him, gnolls rarely paid keepers any attention. He was more concerned with tearing his cloak further. It was already causing him great agony. But if he listened to the enforcer and hung around, he wasn't going to survive this shift.

Dwellers passed beneath him. His foot brushed the head of a HowlerBear. Tiny eyes regarded him suspiciously before it shook its great head and trudged on. Moss didn't have the claws to ask it for help.

"You deserve this." A familiar voice said.

Moss turned to find Franc watching him, his chainmate shook her head and walked off.

"Wait, Franc. Help me, please."

Then another blue shape passed by.

"Pittons."

His chainmate didn't stop.

"Pittons, it's Moss. Up here."

His hood spun around several times before finding him dangling above.

"Are you real?" Pittons asked.

"Yes, of course. Listen, we're going to be late to our shift. Which means a lashing to the death. Help me down and I'll show you my shortcut."

"I'm not going."

"What? But you'll die and get another stitch. We've got bodies to clear and brothers to revive."

"Those aren't our brothers, they're all bullies and.."

"And what?"

"And maybe I like getting lashed."

"Wet my claws, not this again."

"Don't shame me! The faes said it's completely normal."

"They're all witches, Pittons. They'll say anything to dust your nose and suck out your soul."

"Reapers don't have souls, Moss. The voices told me that." Pittons pulled his hood down and started to whisper again. 'They're the only ones that love me."

Moss felt like he was hanging over the platform again, the panic rising in him like a wild spell gone wrong.

I can't do anything up here, but 'witness' as my hard work comes to an end.

Moss watched other dwellers mill by, mostly ignoring them. Others gave Pittons a wide birth after hearing his whispering. A madd monster wasn't necessarily dangerous, but it was good to avoid them.

Leaving him all alone, with no one to help him. Just like me.

"Pittons. Help me down and I'll lash you whenever you want."

"Until the voices stop?" His chainmate asked. "When I'm dead."

Moss had never killed another monster before, that was the opposite of a keeper's role and illegal in the dungeon. But he would lie.

"Sure, but I thought you loved them?"

"I do." Pittons said, clawing his way up the tree. "Only in death are we truly welcome. That's what they tell me."

With the stitched keepers help, Moss was able to get off the hook and climb down. Pittons chose to simply drop.

The small fall broke his skinny legs.

A low moan escaped his hood.

"Now, Moss." He cooed. "Kill me now."

But Moss was already running. "Sorry, maybe later."

At full pelt he ran through the Village. Dodging dwellers on the platforms, hopping the planks over the bridges and racing up the inner staircases.

A large gap blocked his route. Using a vine that dangled from the mists above, he swung across. Buying himself a few flickers of the candle. Moss landed in an attempted roll - that was more like a tumble. He skirted around a trunk and charged straight into Furry.

This one was particularly haggard and chain smoking ebonys. "Francy boo! You were meant to watch the kids last night!" Purry the furry shouted between puffs on her black death stick.

"Bloody monsterist." Moss mumbled to himself before shouting back over his shoulder. "My cloak is wizard blue, while rutt boy Franc's is midnight."

"I can't see colour, you little maggot! Tell Franc he better be home for dinner or I'll eat him! And not how he likes-"

But Moss had already sprinted over a swinging bridge and through GaDivers shop door.