Nearly all of the windows of the house at the bottom of the tree are lit this evening, and the smell of something sweet is in the air. Shadows flicker across the windows, as someone (or something) moves about inside.

"I'm going to throttle him. That's it, I've had enough. 'Go find your brother, Zahn', says Mom," Zahnrad grumbles as trudges over the landscape, not really paying much attention exactly where he's wandered at the moment. "Why can't life be simpler?"

"Where's the raspberry tea, Morgan?" calls out a voice from one end of the house. "Granny Flax will only drink raspberry tea at this time of year, you know."

"It's in the pantry, second shelf, next to the eye of newt," replies another familiar voice. "And don't you know it, but I think Zahnrad is creeping about down there." A pointy hatted silhouette appears in one of the windows. "That or perhaps the spirit of older brother frustration."

Zahnrad rubs his hands over his face and groans loudly. "Good job, Zahnrad. Wander up here at night. If they don't kill me, Amy will for being out at night," he mutters. "Er, sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going. I was looking for my brother. He's gone missing again."

One of the windows swings open, and a Kadie woman pokes her head out. "Who, Gunther?" Isolde asks. "The one who's always going on about invading whores?"

Zahnrad rubs his temples. "No, invading hordes. If we were having invading whores, the otters would be running around with glee," he remarks. "He's obsessed with the gypsies in the area now. Swears one is a demon."

"Leave it to the boy to find trouble," agrees Morgan as he, too, sticks his head out the window. "I know of no greater concoction for mischief than an idle young man."

"Invading hordes of what?" Isolde asks. "There aren't any demons with the gypsies, I already checked."

"Who knows with him. He's not right," Zahnrad remarks and shrugs. "I think he believes their fortune teller is a demon. Then again, he things you two are creepy too." He looks around then asks lamely, "So, I gather you haven't seen him?"

"No, and I don't see how you can find him anyway," Isolde remarks. "But he'll probably come 'round this way in a bit, so you might as well wait for him."

"I'm sure he'll pop up sooner or later," Morgan agrees. "Patience is, after all, a virtue."

"That, and we just made a fresh batch of swamp chocolate," the elder witch notes. "His nose will lead him here 'soon as the cookies start baking."

"How I can find him? I just look for destruction, that's how," Zahnrad replies, looking hesitant. "And you made what? That sounds … evil. Swamp chocolate? Err. Aw, what the heck. Maybe you can tell me something about this weirdo I hear is staying with Olivia."

Isolde vanishes from the window, and the front door opens. "Gossip is bad for your health," she comments from inside.

"And not knowing your surroundings is too," Zahnrad remarks. Hesitantly, the Kadie steps into the house.

Morgan's head vanishes from the window as well as he returns inside. A little bit later he appears at the door with his mother. It looks like Morgan has changed for the evening and is wearing a long shirt – pink, with a bunny on it – and equally pink pants. He still has the witch hat on, though. "Well come on in then, and don't be judging it until you try it. I seem to recall a certain engineer who has had quite a few of my elixirs and come out just fine."

The inside of the house seems to be mostly shelves full of books, little ceramic figures and other things that a generous person might call 'kitchy' and a less generous one 'junk'. Despite being on the ground, it is without a doubt still a Kadie home, if a bit lopsided here and there.

"Except the one that turned my fur green for three weeks," Zahnrad reminds Morgan as he steps inside.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, then grins. "I'm surprised you could tell what with those oil stains you favor," he quips back. "Anyway I don't think you've been inside our home for quite some time, so welcome."

From some other room in the labyrinthine bowels of the house, Isolde says, "Pour him some chocolate and keep him out of trouble, Morgan. I need to find one last thing first… "

"Hard to miss being bright green. Also hard to forget being called a frog for three weeks," Zahnrad remarks with a smirk. He rubs his neck, then adds, "And I don't remember ever being inside. Outside, yeah, but inside … unless you've added new knickknacks and it just looks different."

"Yes mother," Morgan answers automatically. He guides Zahnrad further inside until they reach a small kitchen. The contents of a large brewing pot create tendrils of steam in the air, and the smell is inviting. Sweet, much like xocholatl. "A regular frog prince then, which is only fitting considering Amelia." He pauses, looks at a shelf, then picks up a bottle. "You were here once when you were much younger. You may not remember."

Zahnrad raises up his finger, then pauses in mid-speak. "Oh, yeah, heh. I guess now it kind of fits in a disturbing way," Zahn agrees. "I'm still … weirded out by that. Or what to even make of it. Heck, Amy keeps making sure her father doesn't meet me."

"I can help you with that if you want," Morgan offers. "It's not the first – or will be the last – time someone has come to us for such trouble." Morgan hands the bottle to Zahnrad and then picks up another one. "Marsh-Mellows?

"Er, help?" Zahnrad asks as he rubs absently at his ear. "I just. I'm not sure what to do, you know? I don't want to mess something up."

Isolde bustles into the kitchen, her arms laden with jars. She lays them out on a chopping block, and checks the fire under the oven. "Mmm, mmm. You two enjoying your chocolate? About ready to put the cookies in, then your little brother will show up, I reckon."

Morgan nods understandingly. "It's right minded of you to think things over carefully. Rash decisions can lead to unfortunate results," he says. He puts a bottle back, picks up a ceramic pot, puts that back, then pulls out a vial. "I would suggest you take things slowly. Amelia is still looking for an adventurous life and isn't interested in settling anything any time soon. I think, if she truly likes you, then she will fight to stay with you no matter what." When his mother comes in he answers, "Just about to pour Zahnrad a cup mother. I was wondering if he wanted marsh-marrows, or march-mellows."

"Oh, I'm not looking to settle down either!" Zahnrad says quickly. "I just don't want to do something stupid." He pauses to sniff at the bottle he was handed, then says, "Like, oh, forgetting her birthday or something. An angry Amy is, well, dangerous. And oh! Neither thanks. This stuff looks thicker than some of my grease already."

Isolde sets the ceramic sheets into the oven, and the smell of baking cookies begins to spread. "That's just the way Mother Baggage likes it. May as well enjoy it while you can, for she's certain to drink all the rest once she gets here."

Morgan sniffs at Zhan's opinion of his ingredients. He puts back his vial and takes the bottle from Zahn as well. "If you're worried about forgetting things why not keep a diary, or perhaps make one of those clever inventions of yours? Why, I bet you could make an Amelia Clock to tell you when her birthday is." He turns his attention then to the large pot and after putting the bottle aside begins spooning out witch's chocolate in to nearby cups.

"Er, who?" Zahnrad asks, not remembering anyone named Mother Baggage.

"She's the witch from Splotch," Isolde explains, wiping her hands off on her black apron. "Skeek, has a whole army of heirs. I'm calling a coven meeting to see about 'that weird guest of Olivia's' as you put it."

"Oh, right. So, he must really be freaky, then," Zahnrad replies and nods. "Where did she find him, anyway?"

Morgan pours four cups and then unstoppers the bottle. He shakes out a few greenish spongy things and plops them in to one of the cups. Then he passes the non-sponged cups to Isolde and Zahnrad. "Here you go Zhan, I'm sure you'll like it. Just don't ask for the recipe," he says, then grins again.

"Sure, don't ask for the design to my explosion driven engine system I'm working on right now," Zahnrad says and grins back as he takes the cup. "I really need to return the items I worked on for Doctor Pike. I need the crystals she offered as payment."

Isolde has a sip of the hot chocolate, and says, "Gypsies found 'im. We'll do a proper reading on him soon. I don't want you to be around for that though, Morgan… you've got that night off, so go have some fun. Eh, you're dealing with that madwoman in the castle?"

Morgan picks up the now slightly greenish witch chocolate and sips before saying, "She isn't that mad mother." Then he blinks at not being needed for the ritual, masks it quickly, and simply says, "Very well."

"She's all right. A woman of science and all. She let me do some lift measurements on her wings and such. I fixed her sparking device drive and I've rebuilt a bit of a recording device for her. I just need to drop them off," Zahnrad explains to Isolde. "And what do you make of these 'gypsies'? Think they're dangerous?"

"They look hungry," Isolde says. "Not very happy-flirty. If you run into any of their girls, Morgan, you stay clear. Go find a nice Oggton or Chalk girl to dance with. And as for Dr. Pike… I don't cotton to living in castles. Stone walls do funny things to your head if you spend too much time inside them."

Morgan becomes distinctly interested in the contents of his cup when his mother advises him against gypsies. Maybe it's just the pink outfit but he looks a little pinkish in the ears.

"Hmm, odd," Zahnrad remarks with a shrug. He tentatively takes a sip from the cup. After a short cough, he asks, "Maybe they've just had a rough time lately. Why do you think they're here, anyway?"

"They're Gypsies," Isolde says, as if that explains everything. "Don't stay too long in any one place. Probably coming from someplace close to fighting."

"Do they all dress like that, mother? Gypsies I mean," Morgan asks.

Zahnrad considers something. "Think they should be invited to the markets? If they're hungry, perhaps they could trade something for some supplies," he suggests. "I've heard some gypsies are entertainers. They'd have to be better than the Oggtons." He looks between Morgan and Isolde, and says, "eh, dress like what, huh?"

"A great deal of scarves," Morgan explains, "and sometimes very little of anything else. It's rather exotic. Not that I-" he glances at his mother, "-approve." Then he gives Zahnrad a careful wink. "Certainly not."

"Depends on the Gypsy," Isolde says, leaning against a counter. "They follow their whims, so I doubt you'll find any two that dress quite the same way. That Eee girl who came into town wasn't wearing enough to properly blow your nose with, but Eee can be that way. They'll probably come to Market. Getting all sorts of out-of-towners in for it this time, and at least Gypsies are colorful."

"Oh, hm. Wait, was Olivia with the gypsies when you found the weirdo? Is that how she got stuck with him? I suppose that would make sense … sort of. She'd like that sort of colorful outfits, I think," Zahnrad reasons out.

"Could have been there for anything, I didn't ask," Isolde notes. "But she did get her ears… adorned. Girl was born in the wrong place, probably belongs in Abu Dhabi or some other foreign paradise."

"Our local 'lord' has something planned, I'm sure of it. You mind yourself at this market fair Zahnrad. I can't say I trust the Gallee quite yet. Then again if he brings more of his kind this way you might well have a difficult time telling the difference between them and the gypsies. I'll be treating eye strain for a week," says Morgan.

"Oh, I don't trust him either. He's in it for himself," Zahnrad replies and taps his finger on his glass. "I mean, I proposed to him on doing some town renovation to add plumbing … and he somewhat flipped his wig. Well, until he said he'd want the manor done first. Pfft."

"Plumbing?" Isolde asks, casting a suspicious glance at Zahnrad. "That'd spoil people, that would. Done fine without it so far."

"We could do better, though," Zahnrad points out. "Some might claim clothing would spoil otters, but heck, we've been trying to get them to wear clothing for years."

"Certainly have," Morgan agrees. "But don't take that as pooh-poohing your inventions Zahnrad. They're really quite clever." He pats Zahnrad's hand consolingly.

"Pah, they like clothes fine enough, long as they get to take them off," Isolde says, waving a hand before sipping her chocolate again. "Besides, the Blacktails would never allow it, not after – eh, but that's ancient history. Forget about it."

"Never allow what? The manor to be rebuilt?" Zahnrad asks suspiciously.

Morgan raises an eyebrow inquiringly as well.

Isolde sniffs the air a few times, then goes to check on the cookies. "What? Oh, no problem with rebuilding the manor. They can always burn it down again if they have to."

"Then, what? I'm going to move forward on some renovation ideas I have as well as my father," Zahnrad remarks and shrugs. "I need to do something to arrange for the materials I need."

"I wonder who will be in attendance for the upcoming fair," Morgan considers aloud. "It would be nice to have some exotic sewing materials. Cotton is well and practical but it doesn't quite present a challenge. Come to think of it Zahnrad you might find some exotic materials at the fair if you look. I'd be wary of outsiders though, they can lack respect for honest dealings."

"They'll want coin too, probably," Isolde says, shaking her head slowly.

"Well, I know what I need if I can just find the sou… Er, nevermind," Zahnrad replies and goes to looking at the cup in his hands.

"Mm, yes, coin. Likely the Rephidim shekel, or perhaps they'll be accepting those odd blueprints," Morgan agrees. Then he eyes Zahnrad considering.

Using a thick cloth, Isolde removes the cookies from the oven, and sets them on the windowsill to cool.

"Say … you two might know this. Are there any legends about underground monsters with huge claws?" Zahnrad asks suddenly.

"Trolls you mean?" Isolde asks.

"What are you up to Zahnrad?" Morgan asks.

"No, don't think so. Creatures with large spade-shaped claws," Zahnrad says. With a glance to Morgan, he says, "Nothing. Just found debris here and there with unusual marks I'm trying to track down the origins of."

"Oh, Olivia and Amy told us about the old crypts," Isolde says. "They've been purified. That hole was dug a long time ago."

"Sure, but what made them?" Zahnrad inquires.

"Prolly just ghouls," the elder witch says.

"It's good that they were. Burying the dead like that is asking for trouble," Morgan comments. He takes another sip, taps his cup with a nail, then adds, "Ghouls. Nasty business."

"Anything else possible other than trolls or ghouls?" Zahnrad asks, pressing.

"No," Isolde says with finality. "Nothing else."

Morgan simply nods.

Zahnrad eyes Isolde with curiosity. His gut tells him she's not telling him everything. "Well, I'm not so sure about that," Zahnrad remarks. "The claw patterns were rather unusual and the material strength of the claws had to be incredible."

"And if there couldn't have been anything else, then I'm just wasting my time examining other things. But at least it should be safe, right? I've got to satisfy my curiosity or it'll bother me," Zahnrad adds and then takes a sip from his cup.

"It was ghouls," Isolde says. "They're gone now, since we don't bury bodies anymore."

"Just remember that sometimes you find what you are looking for Zahnrad, and woe unto you if it is more than you expected. This may be nothing but next time you just might put yourself in danger. Be careful," Morgan advises.

"All right. Can you describe a ghoul, at least? I'm curious as to what they'd look like," Zahnrad asks. He then looks at Morgan and says, "If I didn't work on the unknown, I'd never get anywhere. Things don't improve without examination, experimentation, and exploration."

"Just be careful," the male witch insists as he waggles a finger in a don't-get-smart-with-me fashion. "Your relationship won't go anywhere if you're dead."

"Degenerate people that eat the dead," Isolde says, by way of description. "Nobody knows what they look like, because they don't allow those what seen them to record it. Story goes they carry them off to become ghouls as well."

"Amazing how no one ever sees these supposed monsters. Well, except for Amy and I, anyway," Zahnrad thinks wryly. "All right, I'll drop asking about it for now," Zahnrad relents, realizing he's not going to win against decades of baked in stubbornness.

"It's never good to go stirring up old fears, Zahnrad Kettenrad," Isolde lectures. "There are plenty of new things to fear, which deserve more attention."

"Such as this trade meet, and the war down south. Plenty of mortal concerns. Amelia and the rest of the militia seem to be doing well at least," says Morgan.

"Come to think of it if the gypsies have been driven this far north we may well be seeing an increase in refugees soon. Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Morgan adds.

"All sorts of refugees," Isolde says, and looks out the window. "Someone is skulking about the yard. Hasn't figured out how to keep his tail down though… "

"Yeah, well, we're not. But that's nothing new. It's not like I'm from a large farming clan or anything. So, it's not like," Zahnrad starts to say then waves his hand. "Eh, forget it. I don't need to go into that." He blinks, then looks to Isolde, remarking, "His tail? Probably Gunther. About time."

Morgan walks over to the window and takes a look as well. "Could be. Here," he reaches down and carefully puts a cookie on a plate, then offers it to Zahnrad, "place this on the door and you'll have your brother shortly."

"Yeah, it's time for me to go, anyway," Zahnrad agrees and takes the plate. He marches over to the door, opens it, and steps outside. "Gunther, you great flaming goon! Where have you been?!?"

Morgan dusts his hands off on a free apron (which reads "kiss the cook"), then turns to watch Zahnrad at the door. "It was good to see you again Zahnrad," he calls out.

"Yeah, well, I was defending our territory!" Gunther calls out in the distance. "No, you were being a pain," Zahnrad retorts, "Let'sjust go home." He turns to briefly wave at Isolde and Morgan, then heads off after Gunther.

After Zahnrad leaves Morgan breathes a sigh. "That was hard," he admits. "I didn't think it would be this uncomfortable. It's not that I don't like him for it. I do like Zahnrad. I want him to be happy. I want Amelia to be happy too. It's just, oh, … ," he takes off his hat and clutches it, " … I don't know. I'm going to eat some chocolate and read in the bath tub. I wish we had ice cream."

Isolde hugs her son and says, "I was serious about taking time off. Go find a nice Lapi to comfort you. You can't be like this and perform your duties, Morgan."

Morgan leans against his mother and clutches his hat more, crinkling it. "I know," he says trying to sound strong but sounding more sulky than anything. "I just don't know what to do. I don't think any girl likes me. "You're like my best friend Morgan," or, "you're like a sister Morgan." I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Not like Zahn. He has his muscles, and his amazing machines, and he's charming."

"Er, charming?" Isolde asks, but doesn't pursue the issue. "You just need to step out of being a witch for a few days, and you'll see that girls will like you in a different way. And you'll have to beat the Oggton girls off with a stick, I wager." After a moment, she adds, "Do you want a stick, just in case?"

Morgan laughs a little. "Ah, mom." He gives his mother another hug and then slips out form under her arm. "I'll see what I can do, I suppose. I should see what I have to wear. Hm. Are embroidered roses, well, not very … manly?"

"Only if they're on a skirt," Isolde assures Morgan. "Here, I'll come help you pick something out… "

"They're really pretty roses though. My sewing has gotten a lot better," Morgan comments as he walks with his mother up to his room.