The guys on the rock climbing wall to the left did nothing for me, however. Oh, I could appreciate the way they were toned and all, but they didn't light my Bunsen burner.

I watched the doubleheader, eating hot dogs and drinking several bottles of water over the next few hours. Several times I had to pace around the bleachers as my legs threatened to cramp up, but I knew the drill. Work the knots, stretch the muscles to prevent further damage, and drink enough to get my electrolytes back into balance and to hydrate.

Around one, I found that there was a bus that ran to Issaquah so I made sure I was on it. Getting from the bus stop to my car proved a bit challenging, but nothing compared to trying to drive a clutch.

When I got home, I would medicate, steam, and sleep.

In that order.

Twenty-eight.

THE ANTI-INFLAMMATORY DIDN'T KICK IN UNTIL AFTER I'D soaked in the tub for an hour or so. But when the knots began to finally loosen, I limped to the bedroom and crawled deep into the nest of blankets, not even bothering to dry my hair.

I woke around midnight. I'd slept for almost nine hours, and had no recollection of dreams. My left leg burned where the knot had been, but overall it felt pretty good.

I slipped on the pink sweat suit-hey, it was comfy. I grabbed my satchel and sat on the couch to check my e-mail.

Maybe I'd won the lottery or something.

As my laptop booted, I remembered Sawyer's offer. That was one big-ass check. I opened my messenger bag and rifled through the notebooks and assorted papers. The envelope was not there.

I panicked. Had I lost it? No, wait. Did I even put it in my kit? Was it sitting on Julie's desk at this very moment?

That was the likely scenario. I put on a pair of white socks, and my tennies, grabbed my fanny pack, and headed to the car. If that envelope was at Julie's I wanted to get my hands on it immediately. It was imperative that no one else got ahold of that check.

I drove over to the smithy, making the best time and within the speed limit. Julie's truck was in the driveway, but the lights were out in her trailer. Of course, it was nearly one in the morning by this point.

The crunch of the gravel seemed louder than normal, but I pulled over to my normal space and parked. This would only take a moment.

I had the keys in my hand, and had already thrown the light switch in my head, when I stopped short. The door was ajar.

Had Julie left the door to the smithy open? I couldn't imagine it.

I crept forward, keeping my hands free and my profile low as I approached the door. Through the crack, I could hear someone swearing in thickly muted whispers, and the sound of a shuffling body. At least one, couldn't tell if there were more.

Robbers in my domain? This was the fight I'd been itching for. I slowly pushed the door open with my foot and listened intently. Whoever was rummaging around inside had not heard the door. I scuttled around the edge of the door frame, keeping my profile as small as I could. When I reached the tool bench, I quietly picked up a two-pound hammer and stood, flipping on the lights.

Not exactly what I'd expected.

Rolph lay on the floor in front of the safe, bloody and beaten, his hands and arms covering his head, as if to ward off another blow.

I fell to my knees beside him. "Craptastic," I muttered, touching him on the arm. "Hang on there, big guy."

"Apprentice?" he mumbled through a smashed mouth. "Is it you?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I said, a cold wave of nausea and fear warring with the horror and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. "What happened?"

"The dragon," he said, his breath coming in sharp stabs. "He sent some giants to take the sword. He thought I had acquired it for him and was holding out." He lowered his left forearm over his eyes to block the light, but his right hand fell to his side.

"First, I have the sword, so you don't need to worry."

He peered at me under his arm, his eyes intense, searching.

"It's fine," I said. "Now, don't move. Let me get the med kit."

"You are an angel," he said, barking out a laugh.

I stood, set the hammer on the table beside the anvil, and walked to the emergency kit Julie kept in the smithy. We could handle damn near anything short of an IV or blood draw.

I sat on the floor beside him and checked him for immediate trauma. No bones appeared to be broken, and his blood loss was limited to the wounds on his face and head.

"We should get you to a hospital, get some X-rays," I said, opening a bottle of antiseptic and a bag of cotton balls.

"No," he said, as I knew he would. "Cannot risk being out after the sun rises."

"Right, gargoyle time," I said, covering the lip of the bottle with a cotton ball and tipping the liquid out. Hell, what did I know anymore? If he believed it, best to humor him. "This is going to sting a little."

I placed the cotton against a shallow cut on his forehead and he drew in a sharp hiss. "Little," he mewled.

"Probably needs stitches," I said. "But I'm not a sewer. Different trade."

"You are humorous," he said, his lips swollen like two pink slugs.

Tires popped on the gravel parking lot and I stood, snatching up the hammer and killing the lights. "Hang on, Rolph," I said, squatting next to him and patting his arm. "If the bastards show again, I'll be ready for them."

"They were never here," he whispered. "They did this at my home."

"Then why are you here?" I asked as voices approached the smithy. Julie and a male voice. I listened a moment and knew. Jack Marlowe.

"Friendlies," I said, and stood. I flipped the lights back on and stood in the doorway, waiting for them to come inside.

"What the hell is going on?" Julie asked, standing square in front of me. I stepped away from the door and swung my arm out to take in Rolph.

"Someone has used one of the movie extras as a punching bag," I said, being cool. "And he decided this is the safest place to land."

"Cute outfit," Jack said to me with a wink.

Julie and I both looked at him. Neither of us had a pleasant expression on our face, and he took a step back. "Just saying," he mumbled.

"Never figured you for pink," Julie said, craning her neck over me to see Rolph. "He gonna live?"

"Likely," I said, stepping aside and setting the hammer down. "I thought I'd do a bit of doctoring and see how he cleans up."

"No hospital?"

"I can do stitches," Jack offered.

"I'll go up to the house and get some things," Julie said, shaking her head. "Jack, you come with me."

She grabbed his hand and walked out the door. I peeked and caught her grabbing his ass just as they reached her front door. Interesting night, indeed.

I knelt back with Rolph and began cleaning the smaller cuts and abrasions. He mewled and moaned but his blood was as red as mine.

"So, giants, huh?"

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

"How many?"

"Only two."

"Two?"

"They are giants, after all," he said. "Tall, arms like twisted steel, hands the size of . . . well, rubber goblin hands."

I laughed at that and he tried to smile despite the pain.

I sat back on my heels, a bloody cotton ball in one hand, and considered. "Did you see their vehicle?"

"Hummer," he said. "Black and, I think, dark green."

"Bastards," I said, letting the anger bubble near the surface.

Rolph stared at me a moment. "You know of them?"

"Maybe," I said, getting a clean cotton ball and dipping it in the antiseptic. "Couple of goons ran me off the road Wednesday, fit your description. One of them punched my car."

"Could be them," he said. "I would advise caution."

"Gee, ya think?"

I finished working on him and sat back to contemplate the situation. Julie and Jack didn't come back. After thirty minutes, I heard a truck leaving and Julie came into the smithy. Her hair was mussed up, and she had on a different . . . "Is that Jack's shirt?"

She waved at me, batting away my comment, and knelt by Rolph.

"He can't go home," I said. "They know where he lives."

"Who are they?" she asked, pulling a hooked needle from her kit along with some fine thread.

"They want the sword," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "You have done this before?"

"Oh, sure. Dozens of times," she said, squatting over him. She handed him a pint of whiskey and examined the cut over his eye. "I've sewn up horses and such. Skin is skin."

"Comforting," he said.

We helped wrestle him up to a seated position against the anvil and he took several large swallows of the whiskey.

"Ready?" she asked, kneeling in front of him.

"Aye," he said, closing his eyes.

He winced a bit, but didn't really make too much of a fuss. The stitches went swiftly; she really had a delicate touch. Seven little black Xs dotted his forehead, and he would heal good as new. Mostly.

"He could bed down here for the rest of the night, if he needs," she said, packing her kit.

"No sunlight," he whispered, exhausted.

Julie raised her eyebrows at me.

"Right. Julie, just roll with this, okay?"

"What am I rolling with, exactly?"

Okay, here was the next test. Rolph believed this, and Katie did the last time I'd had a rational conversation with her. But how could I tell Julie with a straight face? Hell, I couldn't exactly say I wasn't having my doubts about my sanity. There were moments where I was afraid all this could be true, but those moments were fleeting.

"I am of Durin's folk," he said.

I shrugged at her. "He says he's a dwarf."

Julie held up her hands. "Wait a minute. Dwarf?"

"At your service," Rolph said.

"If you say hobbits or wizards, I'm tossing both your asses out onto the street."

She was smiling when she said it, but I could tell she was a little discombobulated.

We waited for a few breaths. She brushed the hair out of her face and nodded. "Okay, goons want the sword, you're a dwarf, and can't be out in the sunlight." A look of comprehension crossed her face. "Tell me you have Gram," she finished, facing me.

If you'd have hit me with a feather I'd have collapsed into a heap of pink cotton. "Not you, too?" I asked. "Am I the only sane one here?"

Julie laughed. "He's a smith, I can tell by his hands and arms. Besides, I just get the vibe from him. And you've been freaking out about the sword, and, face it-I'm a blacksmith. How many blacksmiths do you know?"

"Um, besides you and me . . . two," I said, confused.

"Yes, two. But I know dozens, and we all follow the legends, the culture, the mythology. I have seen Wagner's Ring Cycle. Seattle Opera does it every few years."

"I've never seen it," Rolph interjected.

I shrugged. "I'd rather gargle drain cleaner than listen to opera."

"It's a good story," Julie said, leaning against the door frame. "I think Warner Brothers did it best with Bugs and Elmer Fudd."