Fool's Gold by Jon Hollins

thought experiment, of course. Except it really would be fascinating to see what sort of lair a dragon has. What it collects. That really would be a coup.”
    â€œA coup?” Will clutched at his head. He’d had Quirk marked as the sane one, despite her odd notions about the local overlords. She had exuded an aura of intelligence. But it turned out that what she really was, was a carefully created human mask over a sack full of crazy.
    â€œYou’re all mad.” Will pawed at his forehead. “You think you can feed an entire village fermented Fire Root? I mean what in all the Hallows is your plan for that? Are you going to mix it with the bread?”
    Lette and Balur exchanged a glance. “That,” said Lette, a note of admiration in her voice, “is a really good idea.”
    â€œNo!” Will screeched again. He looked around for a safe harbor in the shit storm of madness. Firkin was still snoring on the floor. And Will knew that when he was looking to Firkin for sanity then things had really gone awry.
    â€œSay…” He could barely get the words out, but he forced them. “Say that all works. What do you then do about the giant fucking dragon that would notice his front door being forced open?” He pointed at Quirk. “What do you do about all the people you just sent to their deaths? Do you have a potion to fix that too?”
    Quirk shrugged. “Well, it depends how much Snag Weed grows in these woods, I suppose.”
    Will reeled. Sitting down as he was, he reeled. “Oh.” He threw up his hands. “We’re poisoning Mattrax now, are we?” He shook his head. “Of course we are. And how are we doing it? I suppose we’re drugging some oxen he’s been given to eat, and having him chow down on that. Just smuggling it into the castle disguised as guards or something?”
    Silence followed this. Will took a breath, let it out as a sigh. Finally.
    â€œGods,” Lette breathed. “You really have thought this all out, haven’t you?” she said.
    Balur was nodding. “You are being really very good at this,” he said.
    No. No. No. No. No. Will clutched his temples.
    â€œWhy?” he asked them. He was begging them, really. He grasped around for something they couldn’t twist. “You’re talking about poisoning the villagers’ morning bread. Mattrax doesn’t eat until the evening. So your plan requires him to hold off on killing the villagers stomping around on his pressure plate all day?”
    Balur looked to Quirk. She shook her head. “On a creature that big, Snag Weed would give you a few hours at the most.” She caught herself. “I mean, academically speaking. Obviously a few hours to study an unconscious dragon would be amazing, but I’m not condoning any of this.” She sounded neither convincing nor convinced.
    Balur’s shoulders slumped. “Goddess Betra’s saggy tits,” he said finally.
    Will knuckled his forehead, trying to push the tension out of it. He was done. He should let it go.
    When he opened his eyes, Lette was looking at him intently. “How would you deal with that, Will?”
    There was an edge to her look, almost a hunger. It gave him pause.
    â€œHow would I…?” he started. “By not trying to rob a dragon in the first place.” How had she not picked up on that?
    But Lette wouldn’t stop looking at him, wouldn’t stop smiling. “You already know the answer,” she said. “I know you do. You’ve already figured it out.”
    Will clamped his lips shut very tight indeed.
    Irritation flicked across Lette’s face. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she said. “We bring the villagers up to the portcullis, open the door. The dragon comes, and scatters the villagers. So”—she turned and smiled at Quirk—“no one is killed.”
    â€œNo one?” Balur cut in. “What is