B1 Chapter 16: Grimsby

Belladonna had just turned back toward the ridge when the upstairs window of Modivar’s shop detonated outward in a violent spray of shattered glass.

The sound cracked through the street like a thunderclap splitting the sky. Shards glittered in the morning light as they arced outward and rained down over the warped front steps.

A long, twisted, spiraling wooden staff burst through the ruined pane a heartbeat later. It didn’t simply fall. It seemed to arrive with intent, rotating midair in a slow, deliberate spin. Its giant crystal topper gleamed, cradled within what looked like a grasping wooden hand carved at the head of the shaft. The crystal caught the light and held it for a breath, as if considering whether it approved of the journey.

Then, gravity remembered its job.

The staff dropped short and landed in the mud with a heavy, wet splat. A few lingering shards followed it down, chiming faintly as they settled.

Boris leaned carefully around the jagged frame, brushing glass away from his beard with the back of his wrist. “Sorry!” he shouted down the street.

Modivar stopped mid-stride.

He closed his eyes.

He drew in a breath that sounded suspiciously like the patience of a man who had already used up most of his lifetime allotment.

When he opened them again, he scrubbed a hand slowly down his face and looked at the fresh damage to his already-suffering shop. The broken window sagged in its frame like a missing tooth. Bits of glass glittered along the sill. The wood around it was now cracked in two new places.

“It’s fine,” Modivar called back without much conviction. “It’s just another problem. Maybe next time, open the window first before you throw things out of it.”

“I really am sorry!” Boris shouted back. “Also, the floorboard was a little stuck, so there’s just… a hole there now. The wood snapped when I pried it up.”

Modivar sighed.

Belladonna watched him, for a moment. She could see the faint tremor in his fingers before he tucked his hand into his coat sleeve.

Modivar walked back through the mud, boots squelching with every step, and retrieved the staff where it had landed. He lifted it carefully, wiped away the worst of the muck with his sleeve, then used the edge of his coat to polish the crystal until it shone again.

“Hello again, friend,” Modivar said quietly. “We’re going on another adventure.”

The crystal pulsed blue, soft and steady.

Modivar’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. I thought we were done, too. I thought I had finally retired. Turns out there’s still a little excitement left in my life.”

The blue glow deepened for a moment before fading to a thoughtful shimmer.

Belladonna stared at him, arms folded. “Are you talking to your staff?” she asked.

“Yes,” Modivar replied calmly. “This is Grimsby. Grimsby, this is Belladonna.”

He angled the staff toward her with surprising ceremony.

The crystal shifted from blue to a curious yellow glow, brightening slightly as though examining her.

Belladonna raised an eyebrow. “It’s looking at me.”

“It is,” Modivar confirmed. “Grimsby is very perceptive.”

The crystal flickered once.

“She’s nice,” Modivar added. “She’s almost killed me multiple times, but she’s nice enough, I think.”

Belladonna snorted despite herself. “That’s comforting.”

Modivar turned the staff toward Gwendolyn, who had finally reached them and was now breathing in determined, plump little gusts.

“And this,” he continued, “is Gwendolyn.”

He paused, head tilting slightly as if listening to something only he could hear.

“Yes,” he said aloud. “The horse I bought when I was coming here. Turns out she’s a classer now.”

The crystal flickered between yellow and blue.

“I know,” Modivar replied. “I didn’t expect that, either.”

Gwendolyn lifted her chin proudly, then shifted her weight and moved a few steps plumply forward, as if making sure she remained within proper introduction distance.

Belladonna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is this really the time?” she asked.

“Probably not,” Modivar admitted. “But introductions matter. If we’re going into a mine that might be a dungeon breach, Grimsby deserves to know who he’s protecting.”

The crystal gave a faint pulse that could have been agreement.

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Modivar adjusted his grip and continued, half to Belladonna and half to the staff. “She’s less a possession and more… well. I suppose she’s her own person. I don’t think I can claim ownership over a sapient being. I wouldn’t want to, anyways. She’s more like an adopted daughter. That feels more accurate.”

Gwendolyn huffed in satisfaction.

From the broken window above, Boris leaned out farther. “Are we done with the philosophical debate?” he shouted. “You got about ten seconds before me and my wife start going to town in your bedroom if you don’t get your asses moving.”

Modivar’s head snapped up in horror.

“Okay, okay, we’re going, we’re going!” he called back quickly. “That is deeply unnecessary motivation!”

He lowered his voice and glanced at the staff. “Sorry, Grimsby. We’ve got to cut this short.”

The crystal dimmed in what might have been reluctant disappointment.

Modivar brushed a shard of glass from his sleeve, then turned back to Belladonna. The faint humor drained from his face, replaced by something steadier.

“All right,” he said. “Where do we go? Because I truly have no idea where these mines are.”

Belladonna didn’t hesitate. She turned toward the north ridge, eyes already scanning the rise of land beyond the village.

“Follow me,” she said. “Past the old quarry. There’s a crooked pine near the slope that looks like it’s trying to crawl back into the dirt. His shaft is somewhere near there.”

She began moving at a pace that Gwendolyn could actually keep up with.

Modivar fell into step beside her, staff in hand, coat fluttering faintly in the breeze. Behind them, glass continued to settle from the broken window of his shop, catching the sunlight like scattered stars.

Ahead of them waited the ridge, the crooked pine, and whatever had decided to answer Old Man Jenkins’ curiosity.

They ran for nearly half an hour.

The village disappeared behind them. The path narrowed into a rough trail that twisted between stone outcroppings and low brush. Belladonna kept the pace steady rather than fast, clearly choosing a speed Gwendolyn could manage without collapsing. The horse continued forward chonkily, breathing hard but determined.