The Karens of Middle Management — Episode 5: DIANE THE WONDERFUL

“I told you to stay away from that bucket of water. You’re lucky you only grew three additional fingers and a purple mustache. Could’ve been three heads. I can’t imagine dealing with three of you—blond, wispy heroes,” Almani muttered, swaying with the steady, offended gait of his horse, Peter.

“How was I supposed to know the old witch enchanted it?” Freddie BV complained. “It wasn’t like the inn was made of candy or something.” He shrugged, carefully adjusting his grip on the reins so as not to stab himself with any of his extra fingers. “She did have her own business. Respectable, some would say.”

“Freddie. The water was purple.”

“Could’ve been soup.”

“There were eyes floating in it.”

Freddie waved a hand. “Soup can have eyes.”

Almani ducked beneath a low-hanging branch as the path narrowed, the forest pressing in on them with its usual sense of menace and judgment. “If I could borrow one shred of the confidence you have when you’re completely and utterly wrong, I’d be unstoppable.”

“The world works best when it thinks you know what you’re doing,” Freddie said. “You look it in the eye, point your sword, and lie.”

Almani glanced behind them, then back at Freddie. “Your ex-girlfriend has been tailing us for the last day.”

Freddie twisted in the saddle so fast his horse snorted in protest. His voice went up an octave, losing all heroic resonance. “What?”

Behind them, rising and falling through the hills and trees, a rider followed. Freddie recognized the silhouette instantly—the long black hair, the confident seat in the saddle.

Diane the Wonderful.

Freddie’s stomach gave a subtle but determined tug.

“What do you think she wants?” he asked.

“We’re about to find out,” Almani said. Then, squinting past Diane, “And I think the witch is coming too.”

Sure enough, farther back, wrapped in shawls and bad intentions, rode the witch.

“I didn’t think we left on bad terms,” Freddie said slowly.

Almani stared at him. “You burned down her inn.”

“Noxious fumigation accident.”

“You set it on fire.”

“Her fault.”

“I don’t think she agrees with you.”

They rode in silence as the witch gained ground on Diane.

“Should we warn her?” Freddie asked.

“Oh, I think she knows.”

When Freddie looked over his shoulder next, Diane was gone.

Diane the Wonderful had left the hero business years ago. Too much shouting. Too many swords. Bad for the hairline. She’d taken up farming newts instead, which was quiet, lucrative work. No one bothered you when you farmed newts. You spent your days reading, stargazing, and inviting the local wood knomes over for tea and flower biscuits. They were terrible gossips. It kept life interesting.

The cottage appeared where the forest decided it should—half hidden and absolutely smug about it.

They reached a moat, surrounded it, and it was glowing orange in the filtered light.

Freddie squinted. “Is the water on fire?”

“That’s the newts,” Almani said.

Thousands of them. Bright orange. Spilling over rocks and sunning themselves on the banks. Some had tiny umbrellas.

“Looks like business is good,” Freddie muttered.

The house itself was made of burl wood, charmed, warm, and comfortable—courtesy of Diane’s sister, Margo the Ultra Convenient. It looked smaller than it was, which Freddie found unfair. The dog, Grobbles, barked once, then returned to napping.

Freddie and Almani dismounted, both still glancing over their shoulders.

“Probably won’t let us go anywhere else until we say hi,” Freddie said. “The forest has a thing about manners.”

“You think someone’s home,” Almani said, “or should we wait for Diane?”

Somewhere deep among the trees, a cackle echoed. Whether forest or witch, neither man cared to guess.

They knocked.

Diane answered, smiling, tea already in hand.

“Freddie,” she said warmly. “You look… well.”

“How did you—”

She smiled. “The forest likes me better than it likes you. I took the shortcut.”

“Of course you did,” Freddie muttered.

Before he could say more, the witch rode up, dismounted, and sighed.

“Samantha,” Diane said pleasantly. “You’re early.”

Freddie blinked. “You know her?”

“Of course,” Diane said. “She owns half the newt farms upriver. Best supplier I’ve ever had.”

The witch adjusted her shawl. “And she pays on time.”

Silence.

“You’re… not here to curse anyone?” Freddie asked.

“Oh, no,” Samantha said. “I’m here for lunch.” She sniffed. “Though you do still owe me an inn.”

“I said it was an accident,” Freddie muttered.

Samantha waved a hand. “Heroes. Always behind on paperwork.” She nodded at the parchment sticking out of Freddie’s pocket. “You know, the real villains are the ones who smile sweetly, serve biscuits, and politely ask you to murder their neighbor.”

Diane smiled. “She’s not wrong.”

Samantha mounted her horse again. “Time to update your resumes, boys. Not everyone with a cackle is the bad guy.”

“But you killed someone,” Almeni called after her.

The witch rode off, cackling all the way, the sound lingering long after she disappeared.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Almani said. “Maybe we shouldn’t take the contract. Maybe that cyclops is just being… a cyclops.”

Freddie stared at Diane, suddenly unable to find his confidence, sword, or words. He sighed. “A job’s a job. Let’s see what they say.”

And the forest, satisfied, opened a path for them to continue on their way.