“Sing a song of sorrows, if it ain’t the King of the East,” she shrieked with a wink. “Bring your heels inside, Your Majesty. But leave them Queens outside. I don’t harken to no dancin’, you hears me?”

I leaped up on her porch. “As you wish, my Lady,” I said with a bow.

“Cheeky young bastard,” she whispered. I passed through her weather-worn door and relaxed when she shut it and bolted it.

“Oh my.” Granny wasn’t looking at me, but to my right. “And who might you be?”

I looked around Granny’s tiny home. We were alone.

“I’ll play along if you want, but I thought you dropped the crazy act when you’re not in public.”

“Hush.” She spoke that to me. “This isn’t part of my act, as you call it. You’re not alone.”

Icy fingers caressed my spine.

“You’re kidding.”

“I am most certainly not. You are in the company of a spirit. A new one. He seems quite confused.”

Granny motioned me to a chair. I followed and sat while she stared at things I couldn’t see.

“I was about to send a lad for you anyway,” she said, not looking at me. “Three pigeons arrived just after dawn.”

“Three? Mama must have written quite a letter.”

“She did indeed. Here.” She handed me a trio of tightly wrapped cylinders of paper. Each was so large I wondered how a bird could have borne it without resorting to an awkward two-legged hop.

“Read. And pray be silent until I speak to you again. I have work to do.”

Granny set about rummaging through cabinets and drawers, gathering candles and bags and bundles of oddly fragrant sticks.

I unrolled the first paper cylinder. Mama had helpfully started her letter with This here is the first page scribbled across the top.

“Boy,” it began.

“Well, if’n you got my first letter, you knows all about the high-n-mighty wand-waver and his doings hereabouts, and you knows I put a stop to him by tellin’ that he was eating the souls of babies. I reckon you think that sounds mighty backward, but folks hereabouts took it deadly serious.

So I knowed he’d be coming for me sooner or later. I figured maybe he’d wait, skulk around a bit, get the lay of the land around Plegg House before he came charging in, but, boy, I reckon he was mighty full of his-self, because damned if he didn’t show up last night aiming to relieve this poor old woman of her head.

I didn’t know he was about until fire started falling from the sky. I means it, boy, great big balls of fire, just like the ones you seen during the War. They set the yard on fire and the roof on fire and one even sat there long enough to burn clean through the roof and land in my bed. That made me mad, since that was a fancy featherbed and I paid dear for it.

Well, I conjured up a thunderstorm, quick as you please, and put them fires out before they spread. I reckon I landed a bolt of lightning close to somebody’s fancy britches, too, because there come a mighty yelp and some mighty cussin’ out of the woods and the next thing you know I hears some strange words and the hairs on my neck raised up and when I peeked out a window I seen my porch was full of snakes.

Bad snakes, boy. Rattlers and cottonmouths and even them white as bone snow serpents what educated folk say there ain’t none of no more. Well, boy, I can tell ye there’s still plenty of ’em in the woods around Plegg House, because I seen them crawling under my door and coming down my chimney.

I ain’t one to kill critters that ain’t done me no harm, but I reckon the wand-waver had set them snakes against me, so I didn’t have no choice but to call down a forest-full of owls and hawks and suchlike. They flew right in, and it was a blessing I had a big hole in my roof, because they set about catching up snakes like nobody’s business and the only one I had to kill was a big old timber rattler that got too close to my fireplace poker. I’m saving his skin for a hatband, and no mistake.

I waited a while, all quiet, before I heard somebody tromping through the weeds out front. I was feeling a mite ornery by then, because I opened up my door and even though I couldn’t see nobody I opined that sending snakes against them what can call down owls is a damnfool way to say hello.

I reckon that didn’t set too well with Mister High-and-mighty, cause I heared them words again and no sooner did I get my door shut than every wolf and every bear in the whole of Pot Lockney came a’ howling and a roaring up at my house.

I tells you, boy, I ain’t never heard nor seen the likes of it. Wolves everywhere. They was jumping at the windows and scratching at the doors and I swears a dozen of them got under the house and was trying to force up the floorboards.

And bears! A dozen of the buggers, if there was one. All reared up on their hind legs and trying to tear down the walls. The din they raised was something I ain’t ever likely to forget, boy, I tell you that.

But Mama Hog ain’t no fool. I gots iron bars on my windows and them doors is two layers of blood-oak as thick as your hand and the timbers in this house is as big around as bears. So they clawed and they roared and all they done was break out some glass here and there and tear up my poor flowerbeds something fierce.

About the time one of the bears started to climb up on my roof I brung out something Mister Fancy Britches wasn’t expecting. Boy, there’s been five families of skunks living under this here house since the first stones was laid. I knowed them when I was a child and they knows me, and we gots an arrangement.

So they come out when I called, every last one of them, and by the time them skunks done their business there wasn’t a bear nor a wolf left as far as a owl can see. And, boy, the woods hereabouts is going to smell of skunk for the rest of the year, you mark my words.

I reckon that done it. The next thing I heared was boots on my porch and then my door blowed open and there he was, all red-faced and scary, holding a big bright axe and a’ swearin’ on his name to cut me down.

The first tiny parchment ended there, and I doubt it was by coincidence. I unrolled the next two and read.

Boy, I got me a damned fine axe now. I put his fool head on a pole right by the footpath to my door. That there fancy wand of his burnt itself to ashes when he blinked his last. I dumped out my night pot on ’em, take that, ye nasty old haint.

Then I brewed me up some tea and set lights in all my windows. It didn’t take long for people to come poking around. First thing they seen was his head on a stick. Boy, you ain’t seen the like of the apologizing and back-pedaling as was done that night. I reckon any of them what had forgot respect for the Hog name has remembered it now.

I sent a couple of boys down to the lawn ornament’s shanty and told them to bring back everything they could carry. I knowed you might be interested to know who was trying to put you in the ground.

Boy, what they brung back was disturbing.

He called his-self the Creeper. That don’t mean nothing to me. Maybe it does to you. Along with the usual spell-books and what-not, which is right now making a nice fire for me to write by, this here Creeper had maps. Maps of Rannit, boy. New ones. Ones what showed the walls and has all kinds of writing on them. I can’t ken what the writing says, but I don’t like the looks of it one bit.

It’s too heavy for birds so I’ll be a setting out for Rannit as soon as I gets some rest and some provisions. I reckon you’ll want to be a seeing all this. And don’t worry no more about folks from Pot Lockney coming for you and that niece of mine. All that is over and done and I told everybody what’s going to happen to anyone who starts talking foolishness about money owed on fields and the like. I even stuck a empty pole in the ground just so they can think about whose head might be goin’ there next.