“Did you know there are over thirty different stories about the origin of the Warden?” Donald asked rhetorically. He sat on the corner of a short bed in their room at the inn, reading the tourist brochure by the light of a single oil lamp. His hair, wet from his bath, left a damp ring on the collar of his nightshirt.
Kwestor peeked up from the sock he was darning. “Shhh. You’ll wake the notso.”
Muce slept curled into a loose ball on one of the other beds. After four servings of potato, cheese, and broccoli casserole, he joined them in their shared room, took off his boots, said good night, and immediately fell asleep. Except for his chest rising and falling, they detected no movement from him since.
“I don’t think he’d wake up if the inn caught fire.”
“He might if he thought someone was cooking something.”
Donald smiled. “It says here they don’t really know what the Warden is made of, although extremely dense black basalt is the most popular theory. Isn’t that curious? If anyone knows rock, it’s the Gotroxians, and even they aren’t sure what it is.”
“Yes, very interesting,” Kwestor said sardonically. “Does it also say young princes need a good night’s sleep if they are planning to save the world in the morning?” The ranger put away his sewing kit, and then he settled as comfortably as possible in the small bed, lying flat on his back with his feet sticking out from the bottom.
“Oh come on, Kwestor. Even you must find all of this exciting.”
The ranger seemed to consider for a moment. “No, not particularly.”
“Aren’t you at all curious about what’s going to happen tomorrow when we try to animate the Warden?”
“No, can’t say that I am.”
“Why not?”
“Because I suspect I already know.”
“So, what do you think will happen?”
The aging ranger propped himself on his elbows and tuned his head to the prince. “I think we’ll all get up very early, Muce will complain about missing breakfast, we’ll go stand next to that big statue, you’ll do what you think you need to do, and then you’ll want to go home.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance I’ll be able to gain control of the Warden, then?”
“No. Sorry if that’s a disappointment to you, but that’s life.”
“Why not, though? Do you think the scroll is incomplete or that we’re missing something important?”
“I think big stone statues don’t come when you call, no matter how nice you ask them.”
“Well, yes, but this one is magical. I mean, even the Gotroxians aren’t sure it’s made of stone.”
“Whatever it’s made of, it didn’t look too lively to me.”
“So you don’t expect anything to happen.”
“What I expect to happen are the types of things that have happened before. Nature isn’t terribly imaginative in that regard. It’s got a certain number of things it does and it keeps doing them over and over. One thing it doesn’t do is make giant statues come to life all of a sudden.”
“But the Warden isn’t natural, it’s supernatural.”
Kwestor eased himself back on the too small bed. “If you say so, Your Highness. I’m going to get some sleep. Try not to stay up too late. You’re going to be grumpy enough tomorrow as it is.” He pulled his blanket to his chin, exposing more of his feet in the process.
Suddenly, Muce started to snore.