While he waited for the water to boil, he pulled on a pair of heavy boots and slung a thick woolen cloak over his shoulders. From a barrel in the corner he filled a basket with corn, then stepped outside into the snow. Looking up, he noticed the sky was darkening, and he guessed that before the day was done, the snow would change to rain. Elsewhere on the island, in the courtyard of Castle uth Wistan, the citizens of Sancrist and all Krynn were paying their respects to Gunthar.
Shivering with the cold, Giles Gorstead hurried across the porch and down the steps. He made his way around the cottage to the back, noticing as he passed that the snow on the windward side of the building had drifted almost to the lower windows, but the snow in the back was not as deep because of the protection afforded by a number of tall oak trees. Their spreading branches shaded and sheltered almost the entire ground between the cottage and the barn. His boots crunched in the snow as he walked, sounding unusually loud in the silence of the forest.
As he neared the chicken coop, Giles began to cluck his tongue and toss handfuls of corn on the snow-covered ground. He spread the corn evenly, with a practiced swing of his arm, all the time calling, "Here chick-chick-chickchick." Usually, the hens came rushing out at the first sound of his voice, but this morning they seemed slow. Perhaps it was the cold which made them sluggish, for he heard only a few rustling noises from the henhouse.
Then, something fell from the sky, grazing his forehead. It landed like a brick in the snow. Giles crouched warily, staring all about, ready to dodge the next missile. "Come out, you coward!" he shouted, sure that his assailant was the mysterious visitor from the night before.
When no one answered, and no other missiles followed, he glanced down at the thing that had nearly brained him. It was a very dead, very frozen chicken-one of his own. He picked it up and examined it for a moment before another thump caught his attention. About a stone's throw away, another frozen chicken lay in the snow.
Mightily puzzled, Giles glanced up, and to his horror saw dozens and dozens of his chickens lining the lower branches of the trees. Every single one seemed frozen solid to its perch. Giles couldn't imagine why they'd taken to the trees, when he had seen them safely in their coop only yesterday evening. He wondered how many, if any, were still in the coop. He crossed the yard and ducked through the low doorway, dropping his egg-and-feed basket outside as he entered.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Dim light filtered through cracks in the wooden walls, poorly illuminating the confines of the low-roofed building, but even in that near-darkness, he saw that the roosts were empty. Near the door, shelves with dozens of round nests of hay lined the walls, but these too were empty. A few feathers littered the floor, but otherwise the place seemed deserted.
Even more baffled than before, Giles turned to leave, but at that moment, a ripping snore sounded from a dark corner of the coop.
"Who's there?" he shouted.
A startled snort answered him, then a burst of hurried whispers. "Speak up! Who's there?" he demanded.
"Nobody," someone answered.
Another voice added, "Nope, nobody here."
"Somebody's there!" he shouted. "Come out into the light so I can see you."
Slowly, three squat figures emerged from the shadows. One wore a ragged flat cap, which seemed made of ratskins poorly sewn together. White flecks littered his scraggly beard, probably pieces of eggshell, Giles noticed with growing rage. The shortest of the three stumbled over some kind of sack dangling from her shoulder; a chicken foot protruded from the loose flap of the bag. The third and tallest of the three had a mass of chicken feathers stuck to his chin, like some kind of ridiculous white beard.
"Gully dwarves!" Giles screeched. Millisant stuck her nose out from under Glabella's skirt and yawned. "And a big dog!" Giles exclaimed. "You… you… you…" His face deepened to scarlet, and the veins of his neck stood out like cords.
"Nobody here," the tall one said sleepily.
"Who's going to pay for my flock? All my chickens, lost!" he cried as he tore at his hair.
"We only eat two," Uhoh said, "and two eggs."
"Not more than two," Glabella added as she patted her round belly. Lumpo belched, smiling through his feathery beard.
Giles looked round for some kind of weapon, anything, a bucket, a hoe handle, just something to beat the three gully dwarves to death. Finding no suitable bludgeon, he decided to strangle them instead, and he even took a couple of steps toward them before realizing that here were three gully dwarves nicely trapped inside his chicken coop. Like a bolt out of the blue, a plan to recover his losses struck him, stunning him with its brilliance.
He stopped, and seeing his hands extended threateningly toward the gully dwarves, as though he were already wringing their miserable necks, he quickly tucked them into his pockets. He attempted a pleasant, nonthreatening smile, but it looked more like the grin of the cat who ate the bird. Uhoh had already taken a step back, and seeing that smile, he took another.
"It's all right," Giles said. "What's a couple of chickens?"
"Dinner," Lumpo commented.
Giles Gorstead ground his teeth, but he continued as he backed towards the door, "It'll be raining before long. Why don't you three stay here for the day, where it's nice and warm and dry. You can have all the chickens you want."
Uhoh frowned, but Glabella smiled and said, "You nice man. We stay."
"That's right," Giles said. "I'm a nice man." He ducked through he door, then poked his head back inside. "Don't go anywhere. I'm just going to get your breakfast. Breakfast in bed." He vanished.
"See there. I told you this good inn," Glabella said to Uhoh.
Outside, Giles hurried across the yard to the barn. As the day began to warm, and the snow changed to sleet, more chickens in the trees started to thaw and drop to the ground, like some horrible harvest of fruit grown ripe. Giles almost screamed in rage as he saw them littering the snow, but he continued on his way. In the barn, he grabbed a hammer, some nails, and a couple of boards from the scrap lumber pile. Wanting to be milked, his cows mooed sadly at him from their stalls, but for the moment he ignored them. He shuffled back across the yard to the chicken coop, the load held tightly in his arms, until he reached the door. He dropped the things in the slushy snow and poked his head back inside. Again, the darkness was blinding. He couldn't see the gully dwarves, but he said, "Only a moment longer."
Quickly, he shut the door and slid a wooden bar into place. Then, just to be sure, he nailed two boards, one at the top of the door and one at the bottom, to prevent his captives from slipping through the cracks.
As he worked, he shouted, "This is to make sure no foxes or wolves get in while I'm away. Have to run to market to get bacon. Back in a jiffy!" He tossed aside the hammer and dashed away. Once on the road, he ran through the falling sleet toward town.
Before long, the road became icy and slick. Giles was still wearing his pajamas, with only his heavy boots and woolen cloak to protect him against the cold. More than once, he slipped and fell before finally reaching the Oxen Yoke, the town's only inn. Despite the early hour, wood smoke rose from its single chimney, and a wan yellow light glowed in the window, proclaiming the tap and common room open for business. Giles crashed through the door, wind and sleet blowing in with him. The barkeep glared at him with raised eyebrows.
"Have you seen a certain stranger, robed all in black?" Giles panted without even saying hello.
He wasn't concerned with formalities at the moment, and in truth he didn't care much for the barkeep anyway. He suspected the man watered the beer. With a shaky finger, the barkeep pointed at a dark corner beside the fireplace.