[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen’s brain ground to a halt as Rasputina mentioned that the brooch Shimshin had taken had lain in a box of some sort. And a locked box at that. Surely the dear little monkey’s escapade purely on impluse! In the few months Owen had known him, Shimshin had never been know to scheme so. Owen felt crushed.

“Oh Miss,” he blurted out, snatching his cap from off his head, squashing it and the bladder pipe together with a muffled crinkling. “Thank you for taking this so well! And try not to think too badly of the little fellow. He is clever, but has a heart of gold, he does. He’d never take nothing if he thought it would hurt someone. It’s just a bit of fun for him, and his mind runs too quick, just as those small feet of his. That is my friend Seamus and my trouble, you see? But no harm done now, is there!”

Rasputina smiled benevolently at the nervous man. “No harm done, but maybe I should meet this Shimshin again so that I might advise him not to seek after such ornaments.”

“The counsel of elves is as good as gold, they say,” Seamus said, trying to smooth things over before Owen said too much. “Now if we can only convince the monkey of it!”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying it,” Owen continued with his train of thought. “I can understand him running off with your jewelry – he’s an eye on anything as sparkles. In fact, he’s a right magpie that one! But it’s the box as has me stumped, unless of course it was shiny too. He never done that a fore. Are you quite sure Miss, that no one else could have removed it?”

Rasputina fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “I am sorry that I can not answer your concerns, for I am doubtful whether anyone could have taken the brooch from this particular box.”

Owen tilted his head slightly, as if by doing so he could better line up his opinion of Shimshin with Rasputina’s revelations. Glancing blankly at the people milling about with their cake, and at the newly married couple chatting with their guests, his mind grappled with this puzzle in it’s typical herky-jerky fashion.

Suddenly he heard Seamus whistling a rollicking tune through his teeth. It was a good song, First rate for rebec, or bladder pipe for that matter. It was all about a young yeoman taken captive by raiding corsairs. Turning Owen noticed that Seamus was now standing and was nodding to the elf as though he was ready to leave. But Owen was not ready to go. He was just opening his mouth to explain the theory he and Seamus had developed, that Shimshin must have, at some point in his life, lived among pirates, when he felt the toe of Seamus’ boot strike his thigh rather sharply.

“Thank you for understanding,” the tall man was saying to the graceful elf as he towered over Owen. Then reaching down, Seamus offered him his hand. “I think we had better check on Shimshin before we get back to playing, don’t you?” he said pulling Owen to his increasingly unsteady feet.

“Aye, I do,” Owen replied. “Looks like he may’ve more talents than just his dancing. Though it break my heart to find it true.”