I was in the spare room of the police precinct, enjoying a loaf of bread with a side of milk when the Shire entered. It felt as though a fortnight had passed, but I’d heard of Shire Reeve’s perilous journey and decided to put my best foot forward.

Reeve pulled the door open and entered. He looked haggard, defeated as if the ride into town had consumed all his energy. His hair was wild, beard unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and on the fritz. He rubbed his face and barely gave me a whiff of acknowledgment before walking up to the table at which I sat.

"Rough ride back into town sir?" I asked.

He started with a shake of his head and a stifled grunt, rubbing his nose as if satisfying an itch. "The worst. The weather from the North to here was vicious and unforgiving and I pray that it's years before I endure such debauchery."

I lifted my mug of milk. "Best of wishes your grace."

Reeve ignored my wishes and took the seat across from me. He pointed to the loaf of bread before me.

"I insist," I responded pushing the plate in his direction.

Reeve reached out with hands coated in grime, he grabbed the loaf, tore off a piece, and shoved it into his mouth. "Enlighten me, Higgins. What do we have today?"

I cleared my throat and folded my hands before me. "Well your grace. We have Jack Trott."

Reeve removed another piece of bread and devoured it. "Trott...Trott. That name sounds familiar. Why is that so?"

"We've been after Trott for several years, I'd say since his youth," I waited for a reaction from Reeve, but he brandished no such thing. "You may have heard of him when he was a boy. He brandished the name GiantSlayer."

Reeve's face contorted as though his brain had been struck by lightning. "Jack Trott. The one with the lunatic mother?"

"She was a drunk," I corrected.

"Well I do recall the whole town buying into his shenanigans and she played into them like a fiddle,"

There was spite in his voice and he had every right to possess that venom. The whole town despised the Trotts. There never was a giant, just a troubled youth who consumed the bizarre plants from his mother's garden. The “giant” was Pete O' Maly, the local blacksmith, the “clouds” was the roof of his house and the “beanstalk” was his ladder. O' Maly spent a month in the infirmary due to Jack's shenanigans.

"What did you get him for?" Reeve questioned, consuming the remains of the bread. I felt the sting of disappointment as my belly murmured with hunger.

"The Fool caught him trying to steal his harp. In the wee hour's of the morning, breaking into his living quarters wearing nothing but a sheath to conceal his genitals. Went straight for the harp he did, The Fool woke up and fought him off, clonked him over the head with his candle holder."

"Serves the imbecile right," Reeve spat, leaning back in his chair. "You say you've been after him for a while. How so?"

"He’s always been a thief, but we've recently been getting reports of missing eggs," I started.

"Eggs? What the devil does the boy want with eggs??"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't the faintest idea your grace."

"Why not steal gold or other valuables, why eggs?"

I gave another shrug and continued. "The townsfolk had been reporting the thievery of eggs for a few months, many reporting seeing a man wearing nothing but a cloth around his genitals as he fled into the night."

Reeve nodded his head, pressing four fingers from each hand onto the plate to gather bread crumbs, he then ran his tongue across his grimy fingertips. A low moan of satisfaction escaped his lips.

What a repulsive individual I thought to myself. He paid no attention to my confusion as he went for a second helping.

"What say you of his punishment?" Reeve questioned.

"The majority is clamoring for a stoning. Of not only him but his mother as well. Others are saying a hanging," I paused, and waited for our eyes to meet. "What's your verdict, Shire Reeve?

Reeve shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet, picking the plate up from off the table. "Stone them. The fewer lunatics in this town the better."