Trap gazed at the angry faces of the inn's patrons. Three humans had risen from their seats and seemed ready to charge the kender's table. Trap tried to decide how he was going to save his skin. He had never found hard blows to his person to be entertaining. At Halmarain's insistence, he had left his hoopak in the cavern so carrying it would not make him instantly recognizable as a kender. His only weapons were the small knife in the sheath at his belt, not much use against a number of swords and war axes. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth, leaving him no opportunity to explain.
Grod, who had been sitting as still as a mouse, suddenly stood up and pulled off his new helmet. He bowed his head as he spoke.
"That Trapspringer dead," he announced to the room at large. "A good tale, that."
"Dead?" the first adventurer repeated. He sounded as disappointed as suspicious. So did the others, but they paused, waiting to hear the explanation.
"Yes, he's dead," Halmarain agreed with a sigh. Under her lashes she gazed at the kender and when he didn't instantly agree, she kicked him under the table.
"Dead," Trap said, trying to look sad. He thought of Uncle Goalong, a favorite relative that had recently died. Thinking of Goalong always made Trap sad and in seconds tears ringed his eyelashes; two rolled slowly down his cheeks.
"A friend of yours, was he?" asked a short, heavily muscled man at the closest table when he saw the ken-der's tears. Along with their reputation for purloining, kender were also known for their loyalty to their companions. They grieved deeply at a friend's death.
Trap gulped back a sob. "My uncle," he said. He had been thinking of his Uncle Goalong.
"If we can't kill him ourselves, at least let's hear how he died," demanded the burly man with the red beard. He glared threateningly at Trap. The kender twisted on his seat, his mind racing to make up a story.
"His full name was Trapspringer Quickhands," Trap said. "He was my mother's brother and the third son of Rogo Quickhands. Did you ever meet Rogo when he was wandering? I think he came by here, though he may not, but he did seem to go everywhere, even down to Solace and south from there to Zeriak where I want to go to see the Icewall Glacier. Have you ever seen a glacier? I hear they're really big and-"
"Get on with the tale of this Trapspringer!" the first adventurer demanded.
"Oh. Sure. It's just hard for me to tell it. The shame, you see." The word shame had brought with it a strong emotion and he gulped a sob. "Our village banished him for his misdeeds and I had not seen him for a long time when I met him on the road a few weeks ago."
The kender hoped the customers of the Leaping Hart were not too familiar with the customs of his race. As far as he knew, no village in Hylo had ever banished anyone. He had picked up the idea from a scrap of conversation he had heard while they were shopping.
"I had not thought he would take my purse!" Trap had always been able to throw himself emotionally into his tales and the thought of a kender deliberately stealing from another of his race caused his eyes to flash with anger.
"Robbed his own nephew?" the burly man shook his head. "No honor among thieves today," he added, shaking his head. "Let's hear this tale of how he died."
Kender loved tales, they enjoyed telling them as much, if not more, than listening. They never repeated a story exactly like it happened or as they had heard it. Their agile imagination improved on it, giving it more drama, suspense, or humor. Only a small step separated embellishment from pure invention. Trap decided to base his story on his own recent adventure with the portal.
"Well, now… this is hard. We think my Uncle Trapspringer is dead, because we don't think he could have lived through his trouble with the wizard…" he began. He paused while the listeners took in the fact that a magic user was involved. Since the cataclysm, wizards were in disrepute throughout Krynn. His listeners would believe anything of them.
Trap wove a tale of the outlaw kender stopping a wizard who was traveling toward Lytburg. Wizards did not use weapons because they were usually too busy studying their craft to practice the art of warfare and this wizard had been caught unaware. For a time he had been at the mercy of the kender's weapons. By the use of guile he had prevented the other Trapspringer from spearing him out of hand.
"And that was my Uncle Trapspringer's mistake," the real Trap said as he looked around the room, allowing the tension to build. That's when he noticed Grod had left his seat and was slipping food off the plate of a fully armed mercenary who was giving his attention to the story. Halmarain had slipped away from her place also, and was bearing down on the gully dwarf. The kender left the tiny human to deal with the Aghar and went on with his tale.
"The wizard threw off his brown traveling cloak, revealing himself in his red robes. This startled my uncle, as you can imagine." He gazed at the burly adventurer. "Have you ever seen a wizard wearing red robes? It's an awful color of red, you know." This last he said with a sly look at the little wizard.
"Just tell us what happened next."
"But wizards are interesting," Trap objected. Halmarain threw him a hard look and he went on with his tale.
"Go on with your story," she hissed.
"Before my uncle could do more than step back," he continued, "the wizard raised his hands and sketched a door, muttering his foul incantations. A black hole appeared in the sunlight of the road, from it sprang a wind, carrying such a stench of rot and decay, that the air turned green and viscous…" As he made up his tale, Trap was suddenly visited with the idea that his aborted journey to another plane had not been nearly as fascinating as his story. He felt a bit cheated as he continued to allow his quick thoughts to add intriguing details.
"And then a black, scaled arm, so large it filled the door-way, reached out and grabbed Uncle Trapspringer."-the kender let the tears trickle down his cheeks-"And if he is still alive, he is in that terrible place.
"We really think he's dead," he added softly.
Most of the adventurers nodded solemnly, but the inn-keeper loudly scoffed. A city dweller, he had never believed half the tales of the mercenaries and wanderers who came to Lytburg.
"And how do you know this happened?"
"The-uh-half-goblin in the outlaw band told me of it," Trap added hastily. "He had been with my uncle, but you know his kind," he nodded wisely to the short, burly human who had seen his tears. "They're bullies, but they won't face any real danger."
He allowed the adventurers' dislike of the humanoids to carry the weight of his pronouncement.
"No, they never do," said a red bearded man with a scar. He turned back to his ale, looked in his mug and found it empty. He called to the innkeeper. Neither knew Grod had finished off the contents of several cups while the customers had been listening to the kender's tale.
"When did all this happen?" a shout from across the room left Trap unsure of the speaker.
"I-uh-don't know for sure," he said. He didn't want to ruin his story by saying the outlaw had died two days before he was known to have robbed one of the patrons of the inn. "I heard the story just last night. The half-goblin had the tale so garbled-you know what they're like when you want a straight answer. He was still scared, so I think it must have been recently. Do you know that half-goblin? He has a wart on his nose, just like him." Trap pointed at the innkeeper who, since he didn't like kender anyway, took instant offense.
"You've told your tale, now get out of my inn," the landlord ordered. "I'll have no outlaws or even their relatives in here."
"Let's leave," Halmarain whispered in his ear. "You've made a good tale of it, let's get out before they realize Grod has eaten everything in sight."
They left the inn, sauntered down the street until they were sure they were out of sight of any customers watching them and ducked into an alley. Grod led them, supposedly toward the ruined building that would take them back to the underground passages. Before long, Trap could not recognize a single street.
"I don't remember this street. I would. It's interesting. Where are you taking us?" the kender asked.
"This way. Good trash this way," Grod said without pausing.
"You're not rummaging through any trash dumps," Halmarain told him. "Take us back to the passages. Take us straight there."
Their path took them through the dwarven section of the city, and as they rounded a corner Trap bumped into a dwarf.
"Excuse me," he said politely. He was always ready to admit any small, accidental faux pas.
The dwarf glanced at the kender, looked again and stopped dead, blocking his path. "You were with that other thief!" he shouted at Trap.
Recognizing the jeweler who had accused Ripple of stealing, Trap's anger flared.
"That's a lie, she's no thief!"
Lacking any other weapon, Trap swung his heavy sack full of armor and weapons. The bag caught the dwarf on the chin. Dwarves were doughty fighters and hard to overcome, but being hit with a sack of armor and weapons knocked the jeweler senseless.
"Drag him farther back around the corner," Halmarain ordered Grod, looking anxiously toward the street.
"Here! Stand here and block the alley. We don't want anyone to see Grod dragging him away," the kender said. "Let's put our bags down and lean over them."
"We'll look as if we're redistributing the loads in the sacks." Halmarain agreed with the kender's idea.
They spread themselves as well as they could to shield the gully dwarf's activities.
"That's all I need, kender thieves," Halmarain grumbled.
"Stop that. Ripple didn't steal," Trap snapped. He had already told the tale of the jeweler's tilting display and Ripple's attempt to return the jewelry to the dwarf.
"What's keeping Grod?" Halmarain complained when she tired of poking in the bundles. The gully dwarf had been out of sight for several minutes.
"Here he comes," Trap said as he stood upright and stretched to ease his muscles. He was also tired of bending over the sacks. Before long they reached the under-ground caverns again. Ripple, Umpth, and Beglug waited in the wizard's work room. The young fiend was curled up in the corner, asleep. Most of the debris in the room had disappeared and Beglug belched between snores.
"By all the gods of Krynn," Halmarain fumed as she glared at the sleeping merchesti. "We forgot the one thing we must have to disguise Beglug."
"Him need beard," Grod said, reaching inside his tunic. He pulled out a mass of black hair, streaked with gray. As the gully dwarf spread it out on the table, Trap recognized it. It was the magnificent beard of the dwarf jeweler.
"You cut it off?" Trap could hardly believe it. "Wow. That was smart." He wished he had thought of it.
"Dwarf grow more," Grod said with a lack of concern that was pure gully dwarf.
"Beglug not grow beard," Umpth said, stroking his own dark facial hair as he nodded approval of his brother's idea.
"I just hope we don't run into that dwarf again," Halmarain said as she sorted their purchases.
"It's from the dwarf that called me a thief?" Ripple was delighted with the beard. "But he won't know us again." She was full of plans for a different kind of hat and had washed their travel clothing so they would not be recognized.
"But on the road, you'll both be kender, for everyone to see," Halmarain said as if she had read Trap's thoughts. "No one will bother us, they'll be too afraid of getting their pockets picked. And speaking of pockets and purses, where's mine?" she held out her hand to Trap.
"You told me to keep it for you," he reminded her as he handed it over. She hefted it and glared at the kender. "It's heavier than when we left," she said. "Did you pay for anything?"
"I paid for everything! You saw me!" Trap objected. "The purse filled up every time I took out a handful of steel pieces. I thought it must be magic."
Halmarain stared at the small leather bag. "Maybe it is," she said slowly. "It's Orander's. I didn't know there was a spell for making steel pieces, but Orander was-is one of the best of our order." She handed it back to Trap. "Keep it for now. Before I can blink twice, you'll have it back again."
While Ripple and Halmarain worked on Beglug's beard, the two gully dwarves helped Trap dress the young fiend. He had been born to a hot plane he had spent much of his time shivering when he was away from the hearth so he liked the warmth his clothing provided. He liked his hauberk too, and was attempting to take a bite out of it when Trap slapped his hand.
"No, Beglug."
"No Beglug," the young fiend said, smoothing the intricate steel links. One problem solved, they soon discovered they had another. How were they going to keep the fiend's small, hoofed feet in the dwarf boots?
"Could nail board on hooves," Umpth suggested.
"Could nail boots on hooves." Grod was for cutting out the extra work.
"We won't nail anything," Trap announced, but his eyes lit up. "It might be worth trying just to see his reaction-what do you think he'd do if we-"
"I don't think so," Halmarain replied quickly. "We want it to trust us enough to stay with us…"
"Maybe he'd like you a lot better if you'd stop calling him 'it,' " Ripple snapped.
Halmarain glared and the kender girl, then shrugged and sighed.
"We want it-him to trust us until we can get him back to his world again. That's the only hope I have of finding Orander."
They spent a long afternoon seeking a satisfactory method of fitting dwarf boots to Beglug. He seem to enjoy the attention and was fascinated by the footwear. He lost interest when he learned the boots were "No, Beglug" too.
When the gully dwarves and Trap had taught Beglug to walk in his new footwear, Halmarain approached with a jar and handed it to Trap. He seemed to be the most acceptable to the young merchesti.
"Rub this on his face and hands," the wizard said.
Trap covered the merchesti's face with a flesh colored paste and then attached the beard and mustache the females had made. When Beglug was wearing his helmet, they decided he would pass as the ugliest dwarf on Krynn.
As if he knew something interesting was afoot, Beglug became curious about the preparations, so curious he approached Halmarain several times. He had stayed well away from the little wizard, but apparently he was beginning to lose his fear of her.
Since everyone was ready they shouldered their packs, picked up their weapons, and Halmarain extinguished the torches as they left the caverns.
She stopped by the scullery and spoke a word of command as she waved her staff around the room. The pots, trenchers and tabletops were instantly clean, the floor swept itself, and the stools flung themselves back into their places.
On their way through Lytburg they bought food for their journey. When they left the shops, every pack bulged with supplies. They carried bedrolls and ground sheets strapped to the top of their backpacks and reached the city gate in time to mingle with the local farmers and residents of the surrounding countryside who would be leaving the city, trying to reach home before dark.
Trouble developed when they reached the east gate. A group of farmers were arguing with one of the guards and the disagreement digressed into a pushing and shoving match before an officer arrived. He ordered the guards back to their posts and told the farmers to get on their way.
The entire gate was blocked by the fracas, and a queue had developed, waiting to leave the city. The officer watched the exiting flow for a few minutes. Ripple kept a close eye on Umpth and Grod. The Aghar were hard pressed to keep their wagon wheel rolling in the press, but all three passed through the gate while the officer watched the crowd and the guards.
When their superior left, the soldiers chose to take out their bad temper on what they took for two dwarves, one too young for a beard. Trap, just to the side, went unnoticed.
"Who are you and what business did you have in Lytburg?" one of the guards demanded of Beglug.
"Just dwarves seeking to buy precious stones," Halmarain answered for him, but the guard was not satisfied. When the little fiend didn't answer, the guard shoved the point of his spear at Beglug's face.
Beglug leaned forward, bit the steel spearhead off the shaft, and noisily chewed.