She grabbed it and scrambled out of the spider-bat.
"Will he be mad?" she asked quietly, pointing with a stubby finger at the contraption. "Will he be mad 'cause I broke one of his toys?"
Galvin shook his head. "No. He has plenty of others."
The walk up the beach to Drollo's tower seemed lengthy to the druid, who found himself inundated by the little girl's chatter along the way.
"Isabelle!" Drollo cried as he threw open the door. He ran out into the courtyard and lifted the girl into his arms.
"Oh, Grandfather," the girl squealed. "I've had such a wonderful time! There were water flowers and green men and a big shark! It was fun!"
Galvin frowned and pushed past the embracing pair into the entranceway, where he found his dry cloak. Throwing it on over his shoulders, he gathered up his tunic and boots and turned to see Drollo carrying the tired tot inside.
"Wherever did you find her?"
"Out beyond the Dragon Reach," the druid stated simply, pulling on his boots. He reached for his sword and strapped it about his waist.
"But, how did you know she'd be there?"
"You said you traded with the sea elves years ago," the druid began. "The Elvish writing on the big empty crate upstairs indicated it came from Mercea. That's a city a few dozen miles from here-underwater. As close as I could translate, the label described the contents as "one water spider." So I played a hunch that Isabelle, uh, borrowed your device. Knowing sea elf technology, I figured it would do its job whether she knew how to run it or not. And since Mercean water spiders are supposed to walk under the sea…"
“Thank Tymora your hunch was right!" Drollo chirped, setting Isabelle down on a clear section of floor and patting the top of her head. "Don't you get out of my sight, now," he instructed.
The little girl yawned and dutifully grabbed the hem of his robe.
"How can I ever repay you?" the old man asked. "I must do something. I must give you something."
The druid shook his head. He had no need for possessions, especially any of the junk cluttering up the tower. But as he turned to go, a thought occurred to the druid. Eyes twinkling, he spun around to face Drollo. "How about giving me some of your collection?"
"Yes! A splendid idea!" Drollo exclaimed. "As much as you can carry."
Galvin spent the next several hours toting an impossibly large sack up and down the tower stairs.
"What is this?" the druid asked on the top floor, pointing to a long cylindrical object aimed out the window.
"A star-watcher."
"Well, I don't need one of those. And this?" He gestured at a half-sphere covered with beads and bits of metal.
"I don't recall."
"Fine. I'll take it."
"What about this?" Galvin asked as they descended to the next floor.
"It's called a hudabit. Imported from Zhentil Keep. I'm not sure what it does."
"Good. I want it."
The druid pawed through a collection of gnomish devices and pointed at a small box covered with gears and dials. "What's this?"
The old man shrugged, and Galvin promptly put the box in his sack.
On and on the druid went, picking up anything the old man couldn't identify. By the time he was finished, Galvin was loaded down with satchels, pouches, sacks, and packs. He strained under the weight, and Drollo had to open the front door for him.
"Thank you, Galvin. For everything," Drollo said.
"Until swords part," the druid replied formally. "And fair days to you, Isabelle."
The little girl yawned and waved, but the weasel in her hands chittered in mock offense.
"Yes, I'll come back for a visit," Galvin told the weasel. "I'll not stay away so long again."
Like an overburdened peddler, Galvin staggered away, dragging his bundles for nearly a mile. At last, he found a shady copse of trees and dropped his gifts on the ground. The druid unstrapped his sword, stretched, and fell to all fours.
He willed another transformation. This one covered him with coarse gray fur and gave him long, sharp claws.
The badger started digging a hole at the base of a massive willow tree. Hours later, when the hole was deep enough for his purposes, Galvin returned to his human form. He deposited all the junk into the hole, covered it up, and stamped the earth flat.
He carefully loosened ferns and mosses from elsewhere in the copse and transplanted them over Drollo's buried possessions. Like a careful gardener, he arranged the plants and made it look as much as possible as if the ground had not been disturbed.
Satisfied that Drollo's toys would remain undiscovered, the druid strode south toward the Reach. He intended to have a chat with the sea elves of Mercea about selling water spiders to people who haven't the foggiest idea of how to use them.
The Curse of Tegea
Troy Denning
From the look of things, times were hard for the Inn of the High Terrace. Although the supper hour had long since arrived, the veranda was deserted. In the center of each rough-hewn table sat an overturned bread basket and an old wine bottle filled with wilted poppies. The chairs were scattered haphazardly around the patio, as if the person who had last swept the floor had seen no purpose in returning them to their rightful positions.
"It appears you haven't had many patrons of late," Adon observed.
"Let's just say that tonight the best table in the house is yours," grumbled the innkeeper, leading the way across the patio. Myron Zenas, for that was his name, was a brawny man as hairy as a bear, with steady black eyes, a huge nose lined with red veins, and a beard that hung down to his chest.
"Does your trouble have anything to do with the curse on Tegea?" Adon asked.
Myron stopped. "It's not my fault," he snapped. "Who told you it was?"
"No one," said Corene.
Like Adon, the young woman belonged to the Church of Mystra, though she was a novice and he was a cleric of high standing. The black-handled flail hanging from her belt seemed curiously at odds with her golden-haired beauty, for she had brown doelike eyes, a button nose, and the gleaming smile of a goddess. "In fact, we've heard very little about the evil afflicting Tegea, save that you need help."
"It's best that you don't know more," the innkeeper said, an expression of relief crossing his face. He led the way to the far corner, where the veranda overlooked the entire village. "Tegea's problems aren't your concern."
"We've come a long way to offer help," Adon objected.
"Then you've wasted your journey," Myron replied. "Even if there was anything you could do-and there isn't-our village's grief is its own. The last thing we need is a pair of outsiders sticking their noses into our misery." With that, the innkeeper moved two chairs to the table and waved his guests to their seats. "I'll send your meal out."