Fiepet and Delph were unknowingly on the road to Relmund, when the younger brother started sneezing. If their father was alive, he would have rushed Delph inside and put him to bed without a care for his protestations. The fire lit, and a hearty broth prepared to sustain him, the youngest would be bed-bound until their father deemed him recovered completely.

The hardier Fiepet had never warranted such treatment.

"Are you feeling cold?" Fiepet asked his brother.

Delph looked around at the dark and empty road and wiped his nose. What did it matter if he was cold now? There was nothing to be done about it.

"I'm fine," he said, "But, aren't you? Cold, I mean. Just because I'm weaker, it doesn't mean you're immune."

Fiepet laughed, "You really seem to be growing up," he said. "Yes, I'm cold; but your health is delicate. You haven't the constitution of an ox like me! I worry about you getting worse before we make it back. If a carriage passes I'll try to flag them down and see where they can take us."

Delph surveyed the quiet dark. "What carriage?" he asked. "Aside from their ability to knock you about as much to divest your stomach of its contents, the mail coach isn't due for another two days. Regardless of how we found ourselves so far from home, it looks like it's up to our legs to carry us back."

"Therein lies the problem," said Fiepet, "Your legs are useless."

Trudging down the road, no longer dripping the riverwater on their path, but their dampened garments still sticking to their skin, they made a sorry pair. It was no wonder that their slovenly pace was soon to be overtaken by a troupe of hurried performers on the way to their next engagement.

The actors riding their coats, and the musicians upon their instruments; they hadn't expected such luck to find them in the form of two unassuming travelers just ahead of their turning. Cuttle elbowed Stoat and brought their little band to a stop before the brothers had borne witness to the magic they rode in on.

"Excuse I, good sirs!" bowed Cuttle.

"Fuck..! I mean, Good evening!" Fiepet replied, thankful that he hadn't soiled himself at the sudden sight of half a dozen people on the empty road.

Delph was equally taken aback by their silent arrival, quickly tucking behind his brother's shoulder as soon as they started talking.

"Allow me to issue an issuance!" Cuttle declared, "Wheresoever your feet were leading you to, I say it is a dull and drearisome blight in compare to the wondertainments forthcoming at the Sirrup House! Come and make haste to the Zauber Play! For but a fraction of your time and efforts, you shall be justly rewarded!"

Having delivered his spiel in barely two breaths, Cuttle concluded with another bow and a winning smile. The Byplot had proven to be a troublesome venue in which to perform, with two of their number absconding with a better-paid tour of 'Maphis and her Children'. They'd found themselves short two men to stand in for the villain roles, and since fortune had favored them; it seemed only fitting to look this gift horse in the mouth and convince it to work without pay.

"I'm not sure I follow," said Fiepet, surveying the oddly dressed assemblage, "You are players, are you?" 

"Indeed, sir!" added Stoat, "The finest in the Madning Isle! Perhaps you've heard of us, perhaps you've not; but it is of no matter! For tonight, we shall be greatly acquainted!"

Fiepet felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Tonight, my brother and I are bound for home," he informed the players, "We must hurry back and change our clothes before the chill sets in. I'm afraid you must excuse us."

Fiepet bowed and prepared to leave, but Cuttle was not prepared to let him.

"Wouldn't it be more comfortable to make the journey having changed already?" he asked, patting the large sack slung about his back, "I've warm, dry clothes with no body to fill them. Just a little of your time sirs, to save you from the cold."

As if on cue, Delph sneezed again.

Fiepet was not without pity. If only for the sake of his brother's health, rather than to assist the strangers that accosted them; he began to consider the offer in earnest.

"What would you have us do exactly..?" he asked, "In return for the clothes?"

 Stoat hurriedly pulled the costume sack from about Cuttle's body, and began to determine which would fit, as his partner closed the deal.

"Stand where we tell you, deliver a line or two at our request, and revel in the rapturous applause of our patrons! Stoat and I play the leads, Marlin and Vole, our ensemble, and the brothers' Wren accompany with their melodies. We are merely in need of two more bodies to fill the stage. A flap of a butterfly's wing and you'll be back on your way!"

"Is it far from here?" asked Fiepet, Delph's impatient hand willing him to reconsider.

"Not so!" cried Cuttle, pointing an arm to a barely discernable fork to the left of them; "A little ways down that road and the venue presents itself. They've fires lit, and a warm meal would not be too much trouble should you see yourselves willing."

Taking a second set from Stoat, Cuttle followed his lead in holding the costume up to his chest to coax them; rubbing the soft, dry fabric of the sleeve about his cheek, and happily basking in its comforts.

"Alright," said Fiepet, deciding for the both of them, "In exchange for the clothes!"

Delph gave a sharp knock to Fiepet's back in response.

"You can't get sick," Fiepet informed his little brother, "Father tasked me with protecting you and we've only our labor to trade for the means to warm you."

He wasn't wrong. He hadn't a single coin in his pocket.

The cessation of strikes on Fiepet's back was proof enough that Delph had relented. Taking the costumes for both of them, Fiepet led his brother behind a hedgerow as they peeled away the damp layers they wore, shivering in the evening breeze as they rushed to dress themselves again. Onto the road to Relmund stepped two relics of the past; the yellow tunics favored by the Protectorate had become a distinctly foreign sight in the time of the Warlock.

"Perfect!" offered Stoat, "Now let us make haste to the Sirrup House!" He cast a scrutinizing eye across them both, and whether due to the costumes, or by virtue of their having already been traveling on foot; decided it was best they stow their magic, and run the rest of the way together.

"I don't like this," Delph whispered to his brother.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked him in response, "Because that's all that matters right now. A brief diversion and we'll be on our way home again... however far it may be."

Delph had been concerned about the growing feeling that they were much further from Strahl's Printworks than Fiepet had thought. He longed for home; to crawl into his comfortable bed, fluff his pillow, and sleep cozy and warm, late into the morning. He'd break his fast when he grew tired of reading, and go to find Fiepet whensoever he grew bored of solitude.

Delph's aversion to the company of others was not entirely dictated by his distrust of strangers, or his desire for peace and quiet; there was another issue that he seemingly couldn't escape from. When they reached the lights of the Sirrup House, it threatened to bother him again.

"My goodness! I didn't get a clear enough look at you," said Stoat, reaching his hand to Delphin's face in the gentle glow of the lanterns, "You, are exquisite-"

Fiepet batted him away and gave an awkward laugh as Delph ducked behind the safety of his back.

"My brother doesn't like others touching his face," he explained, "He attracts a lot of attention in Grunterbad, and tends to keep to himself lest the elder ladies come and pinch his cheeks."

Before Stoat could get a second look at him, Cuttle pulled a knitted helmet down over Delph's brow, and passed another to Fiepet.

"We almost forgot to complete the costume," he said, displeased that his leading looks were about to be overshadowed by a roadside stand-in; "Hurry and follow Marlin inside. We'll start soon, and you need to be told your positions."

The Sirrup House had changed hands several times over the centuries. The magic-inclined Master Pie had an eye for the arts, and upon its opening night, the little venue was alight with spells and song. In the era of King Vireo, Pie's only concern had been ensuring the customers were adequately entertained with the marvels he offered; but with the outlaw of magic under the Protectorate, his concern became how to attract any customers at all.

Having been forced to admit that with his regular patrons gone, the money was drying up; Master Pie sold the House and retired to the country. In the years that followed, it served as a meeting space, a tawdry den of iniquity, and on rare occasions, for its genuine purpose as a playhouse. 

The 'Enforcement plays' were not as well received by the public as The Protector had expected; despite the passing of the years, seeing the magical kingdom of Cimbria defeated by the Protectorate brought up a lot of discontent amongst the populous. Life changed very little for those on the fringes of their isle, but for the people of Velmund and its neighboring boroughs, irreparable damage had been done to their spell-centric livelihoods.

The Warlock wasn't the savior they could have hoped for, but with a return to the old ways, it was the lesser of two evils. Even Master Pie returned to his role at the Sirrup House, positive that people longed to see not only the return of magic, but of himself.

"Gentlemen, hurry do! There's a full house in need of wondertainment!" he cried, welcoming the players of the Zauber play into his quaint little theater. Wearing more make up than any of the actors, his elaborate wig sitting askew on his head, Master Pie showed the troupe behind a curtain to the side of the stage to get ready.

'Stage' was an overreaching term for the cordoned-off floor space designated to the performers. Fiepet and Delph followed the others, crossing in front of an angry group of dancers dressed in violet silks twirling in unison.

"Shouldn't we have come another way?!" asked Fiepet, "We just trounced right through their performance!"

"This business we call 'show'," Cuttle informed him, "Is not without its share of compromise. I am sure once those ladies finish changing after us, they'll come trouncing through ours just the same."

Before the looking glass, Delph watched Cuttle transform himself. The heavy brown cloak he'd worn was cast aside, and a glittering blue robe pulled over his head, fastened tightly to accentuate his narrow waist. Looking down at his own baggy, mustard yellow garb, Delph was oddly jealous. A long, red wig was positioned over Cuttle's pinned, dark curls; a smear of crimson painted on his lips, and a dab applied to the apples of his cheeks.

Fiepet caught his brother mimicking the faces Cuttle pulled.

"You may remember, from the sole occasion you accompanied me to the theater in Grunterbad," Fiepet explained, "That actors need a little color that the audience might see them clearly."

"I know," said Delph, "But then, shouldn't we?"

"I'm hoping no one even notices us," admitted Fiepet, "And I should think they feel the same given how out of place we are... We're just here to do a favor on our way home."

Donning his own knitted helmet, and stealing an inch of the mirror in which to regard himself, Fiepet marveled at the lengths to which they'd come. For a fraction of a moment, he wondered what father would have thought when he heard of it.

"Right!" he announced, "What are we to do then?"

Having tidied his appearance, Cuttle called Vole over for assistance.

"It's simple," he informed them, as the manacles were placed about his wrists, "I am your prisoner, you need only escort me where I move about the stage. A bench will serve as the carriage in which I am contained; and when my lover knocks, you will step behind the curtain until you're called for."
 
"Is it a famous play?" asked Fiepet.

"I should think so," Cuttle laughed, "It is the story of how the Warlock became the king of the Madning Isle... all for his love of the Maddening Witch."