Tonight, the twenty-fourth, the same night that Alice Treadwell learns of her pregnancy from a note left by one Orin Barrin of New Hibera, a tired Aloisius Treadwell rides home the Broken Dagger in his warm, comfy, cozy carriage, pulled by a horse as layered in rolls of flesh as his owner. He certainly doesn't expect to see a veritable wall of similar carriages and horses lined along the way to his house. Naturally, he orders his driver to bring Arnold to a stop, and out he wobbles, gleaming in his purple silk robe and top hat as he holds a lit lantern before himself.
"What by Tubbius's great gut is the meaning of this?!" he calls, his cane waggling about in the air before him as he waddles toward the first of the vehicles. A bald, roly-poly head of a man, jowls all a-quiver, peers from that carriage, disappearing back within only to return a moment later with a burgundy skullcap atop it.
"Y-Y-Yes, sir?" Squinty old eyes narrow, and other, similar faces, peek from almost every conceivable hole and shutter, all of them staring at the puffing tax collector. "Are you--wait--yes. . . You are!"
"Am I what? You men, all of you, mmph mmph, are lined up on my land like a band of gypsies at the town square, and I demand an explanation! State your business!" Up to this flabbergasted spokesperson Treadwell comes.
"You are! You are the chosen one! I--I can see it in the glow you have to you, in your girth, in your appearance, sir! Have you--"
"Have I WHAT? Glow? What glow?"
"Have you yourself ever been blessed by the great one, Tubbius, my lord? You--you are Aloisius Treadwell, are you not? You look familiar--Chief Magistrate Treadwell, yes, of Westenford?"
"Err, mmph mmph, yeeeeesssss. . . . To all of that! Who asks? And why are you all with your carriages parked here?"
"Kutch! Graham Kutch! Second Tubbian of the Tubbians of Westenford, Amasynia--all of whom are assembled here before you, my lord. You see, sir, we were led here--led here by the Great God to see you in all your blessed old age!"
It is Treadwell's turn to be flabbergasted. He slumps against the carriage, which prompts a chubby little lad to scurry out of it with a cushiony, stable, sturdy stool for him to sit on. As Treadwell nods his thanks, Second Tubbian Kutch continues.
"It is a very rare, grave, and serious event when our Lord Tubbian passes, sir. It is no small matter; we do not simply elect one of our own to the leadership unless we are so shown to do so. When our most recent Lord Tubbian passed, a week ago, we buried him, and we waited."
Heads nod at the nearest coach.
"To this point, our new Lord Tubbian has always been from among the people of Westenford--always to date, you might recall, sir, from the Ruling Council, who so embody the same virtues we preach."
"Mmph mmph."
"You, my lord, have been shown to our six eldest in a vision, a dream, as has this place of Myrken Wood, inhospitable and famine-rumored it may be."
"There's naught of a rumor about that, chum, mmph mmph. Rest assured the people here won't take kindly to a good. . . how many bellies are you?"
"Twenty-four, sir. Our numbers at the temple have always been twenty-five, as you should recall from your Council's yearly census."
"Err, yes yes."
"We bring with us the skills and means to grow enough to feed ourselves in time. We have seen, also, what is to be the new site of our worship, and we shall lead you there as you see fit."
Treadwell blinks a few times, staring up at the fellow in the carriage window. "You can't be bloody serious about all of this!"
A faint smile creases the old plump-cheeked face. "Oh, sir, but we are--quite serious. You. . . knew nothing of our coming?"
"Not a bit."
"Oh. Well, it makes no difference. You, great Aloisius, are to join with us, to lead us, to show us the chosen, proper way to please our common master!"
Treadwell squirmingly sits up, holding cane and lamp still.
"It's, err, the same fellow, eh? Tubbius, god of gluttony, eating, and the like?"
"The very same! Why do you delay, Lord Tubbian? Show the faith you hold! You have seen his glorious shape! All of our Lord Tubbians have! You can surely be no different!"
Bewilderment sweeps through Aloisius Treadwell! The man speaks the truth, and yet--one more responsibility? One more task? But there would be the admiration of two dozen men all waiting hand and foot to listen to him, to await the commands and teachings of a deity above through mortal man. Thus does the greedy, eternally hungry Treadwell make his decision.
"Oh, pooh on it all! Let me at least invite the lot of you in for a supper?"
Cheers resound from the various coaches. All, it seems, will be right with the world!