“Wait, I don’t need—” the dwarf splutters, finally realising where they’re headed and digging in his heels as they drag him along, but they’re at the barrel now. He thrashes a little, but Astrid seizes his belt and hauls up, and with Hermione’s help the women are able to lift him and tip him facefirst into the barrel. Dunk.

Avigd eventually comes up spitting, cold water dripping from his hair and beard and braids, furious— but more clear-eyed. “You fucking nug-humpers, why would you—”

“Listen. Your brother sent us. You fuckin’ know there’s bound to be Carta folks around, and that means trouble with you flapping your lips like you have been lately. Y’need to cool off and head on home and keep a better leash on your tongue, mate. Or,” Astrid adds with a mischievous glint in her eye, fists on her hips, “I’m gonna sic my girlfriend on you and all your friends.”