***
Froskur stood straight and tall, the very image of a guardsman. His oiled armor gleamed, he held his trident perfectly perpendicular to the ground, and his boots had collected not a single speck of sand.
“Froskur,” said Klondaeg. The frog-man’s eyes were locked on the leafy top of the coconut tree, which is why Klondaeg pretended not to notice this year’s Ceremonial Yon Toadlius’ startled hop.
Froskur’s eyes stayed fixed on the tree. “Klondaeg, how pleasant to see you again. Did you have trouble finding the elder? As you can see, I’m very busy.”
“Too busy. That’s why I’m here.”
“My boy sent you, didn’t he?” Klondaeg grunted his affirmation. Froskur sighed and said, “He doesn’t understand that I do this for him. He’s lame, you know. Tore the webbing in his left foot. He does all right on the ground, but the poor thing had dreams of being a sailor.”
“Plenty of people swim without webbed feet,” said Sinister.
“And plenty of coconuts smash when they hit the ground, but I’d like to limit this conversation to civilized affairs; it’s a holiday, after all. The boy is a complete invalid, and I am lucky enough to be a member of the Fromsguard. I can’t sit around watching his silly plays when there’s guard-work to be done, especially guard-work this prestigious. I need to ensure his inheritance.”
“Perhaps you should consider telling him that in person,” said Sinister. “He needs to know you’re doing this for him.”
“He needs me here,” said Froskur. He clicked his heels and snapped to attention.
“A word, Klondaeg?” asked Sinister.
“Can’t ask a man to abandon his post,” said Klondaeg. “Not when there are monsters afoot.”
“But you have to help the boy. He’ll never understand that he’s being neglected for his own good.”
“Agreed,” said Klondaeg.
“But you just said—“
“New plan,” said Klondaeg. He stepped forward and clapped Froskur on the back. “You’re in luck, Yon Toadlius. I’m helping you with this one.”
“It’s just a vigil,” said Froskur.
“Then sit back and watch. Dexter, what day is it?”
“Choppinsmas!” said Dexter.
Klondaeg unstrapped the King’s Rest and twirled it in his hands. “Let’s celebrate. Graah!”
He charged the Ceremonial Coconut Tree and swung with the fury of ten little boys who missed their fathers on a major holiday. But Froskur lashed out with his trident and jabbed the King’s Rest off course. Klondaeg missed by the hair of a coconut.
“I can’t allow you to harm the tree,” said Froskur. “Please, just go back to the village and wait. As soon as the coconape comes down, there will be a feast—“
“It’s gone cold,” said Klondaeg.
“—And I’m sure there will be a place for you. But I have very important work to be doing.”
Klondaeg kicked the tree. He heard the coconape screech, but the foul creature didn’t fall. Klondaeg kicked again. This time, the coconape plucked a coconut from the tree and hurled it at the Dwarf.
Coconapes had legendary aim, and Klondaeg soon learned that the legend was based on fact. The coconut thunked against his skull, split, and fell. Froskur lashed out with his trident once more, gently catching each half of the broken coconut and escorting them gently to the ground. “Sir, I will kindly ask you not to endanger the holy symbols of Fromdon.”
Klondaeg said nothing. He was too stunned by the joint audacity of Froskur and the coconape.
Froskur snapped back to attention. Snapping to attention seemed to be what he did best. It certainly wasn’t extricating monsters from trees. “Thus my vigil continues,” he said. “On your way, then, citizen.”
“But your son—” said Sinister.
“My son will understand that a father must do his duty.” He managed to snap again, without relaxing in between.