I awoke in the dark of the room, breathing heavily. Voedle! Our family weapons-master, I hadn’t seen him since shortly before joining the Cairn Jale – how did he end up in Vor Kragal? And how did he end up being sentenced to dissolution?
Too many names were cropping up from my past. This seemed too coincidental – Kaenig, Mahar, now Voedle as well. This could not be simple accident. What could be happening here? Was there something about my time in the force that wove all of us together? How could this be?
As I shook the globes to life, no answer was forthcoming. Strangely quiet after last night’s relative talkative moment, the voice of my grandcestor was not to be found. I sat on the bed, stunned. Voedle had first trained me to use a sword and bow, all those centuries ago, in a class with the other children of the family. It was he from whom I learned military history, the chants and charms required to be bothan inspiring leader and an arcane warrior.
Of course, if he had been present in the Pool and retained consciousness, his would be the most fitting soul to accompany me.
I dressed slowly, putting on my damp clothes with caution – I may enjoy the cold, and even be more resilient to its effects than most, but chilly damp on certain parts of the body will never be truly comfortable. I donned my armor and secured my weapons, then adjusted to make sure my valuables were safe. I picked up the bag and withdrew the key from the door. With a snick the door slid open on its hinge, and I walked back to the common room.
The hobgoblin pair were still present, though the human was missing. I turned my key over to the woman, and retrieved a cup of hot tea from the sideboard. Sitting to drink, I took a few moments to appreciate the feel of clean clothes, and a clean me. Probably wouldn’t last, so I was determined to make the best of it while I could.
Once done with my drink, I left the inn and walked down a level, through the tavern and out its entrance to the stairs leading to the canyon floor.
The sight that greeted me was quite different from that which I’d seen the night before. Where once the floor of the canyon had been an empty night’s darkness, now canvas tents of all colors and sizes lined its length as far as I could see. A wide avenue ran down the center, occasionally broken by stalls set up in the middle of it, and a huge number of individuals walked in the street. Relatively few animals were present, and those largely were tethered to the sides of the tents and stalls. Smells of all sorts assaulted my nostrils, from the dung of riding beasts to strange and wonderful foods – at one time, disconcertingly close to one another, and from which I made certain not to purchase anything allegedly edible. The noise was tumultuous, hundreds of people speaking no less than five or six different languages, only one or two of which I recognized.
And the people – humans, dwur, elves of various sorts, hobgoblins, there were dozens of races represented here. Even a few non-native creatures were present. I saw one giant, and at least one deva while walking through the market area. It was simply fascinating. I couldn’t even imagine where they all might have come from.
I could see the walls of the gorge clearly now, crusted with structures carved into its sides, dark windows peering into the deep crevasse. Stairs descended from everywhere I looked, even in one or two instances in the form of a rope-ladder.
First order of business, I found a shop that wasn’t too close to any loose animals and scored myself some food. A hefty-sized pasty stuffed with meat and greens came cheap, and I walked down the freshly-defined street wiping juice off my mouth.
I bought a ceramic mug with a metal lid from another vendor, along with a leather strap to hang it from my belt, and had it filled with beer from still another stall. Thus equipped, I asked the tender where I might find Madam Garandes. He thumbed over his shoulder up the street, a direction I took at a reasonably leisurely pace. Practically everything one could imagine was for sale here. Glassware – real glass, too, perfectly clear, not the opaque dirty stuff in common use. There were cups and carafes and sheets of it. Ceramics of all sorts, ironworks, weapons and armor, clothes of linen and silk, prepared and raw foods, even magical components of all sorts. I bought several small bags of residuum dust and socked them away, for when I found myself a hireling Shaper.
Eventually I found what I was looking for – a booth constructed of many colorful silks, the inside of which was laid out as a comfortable little salon. A hugely fat woman – apparently human – sat upon a small stool before a table, and was filing the nails of a gith man. I couldn’t tell whether he was Githzerai or Githyanki, just that he had the corpse-like thinness and sallow skin common to both races. Pock-marks littered his face, evidence of an unpleasant disease or perhaps some kind of vicious tribal markings, either way it didn’t look pleasant. The sign over the door read ‘Garandes’, so I stepped in out of the crowd.
“Madam Garandes?” I asked.
She looked up from the small finger of the gith. “Be with you shortly, dear. Have a seat, and there’s wine in the jug if you like.”
I looked over to the vessel she pointed to, and smiled. I swished a little water through my mug and emptied it in the street before helping myself to a small portion of the contents – a medium red, just dry enough for me to like it. I settled on a pile of cushions in the corner and watched passersby.
So many different types – I even saw a trio of minotaur, arguing with a goliath as they walked by. It was almost like home in its way. It reminded me also of the days spent in Erelhei’Cinlu, though probably less overtly lethal.
Before long the gith stood, smiling at his hands. He paid the lady, who smiled demurely without getting up and stashed the coinage beneath her dress. As he left, she motioned me over.
“Now, what can I do for you, young man? Manicure? Pedicure? Those horns could perhaps use a bit of a polish, if you don’t mind my saying.” She grinned with a friendliness that was both genuine and very endearing. If I could remember my grandmother, I suspect this is how she would grace my memory.
“Actually, that might not be such a bad idea, madam. But first, I was instructed to bring you this,” she squinted skeptically at me as I reached into a pocket. Shaking a little bit of black dust away from it, I proffered the small paper I’d brought with me.
Her face brightened immediately. “Ahhh! Sweet Geria, that woman! Thank you, young man, for bringing this to me! It’s lovely!” She rose up with it pinched between two enormous rolling fingers, and took a deep sniff with her nose. “Oh, and it smells perfect! Could anything be better?”
I didn’t know exactly what to say here; it was, after all, just a paper flower. “I’m gladdened to see it makes you happy, ma’am.” I bowed slightly.
“Oh, but you don’t know, do you? It probably just looks like a scrap of parchment, doesn’t it?” She held it forth.
I shrugged, then nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t see what it is that provides you with such joy, but I’m happy to see that it does.”
“Such a sweet talker, you. I see why she picked you. Here, come here.” She motioned to me with her free hand. “May I?” She asked as she reached toward me.
Careful, came Voedle’s voice in my head.
I leaned forward anyway, not sure what to expect. She settled that big hand on the side of my face and pressed her fingers into my hair. She then held the flower up to my face.
It blossomed before my eyes. Somehow, it turned from a simple paper element into an entire bush full of bright white, pink, and red roses. I could still see her face, but the bush was there nonetheless. The smell wasn’t overpowering, but it certainly was wonderful.
She drew back, and the flower became just a flower again.
“She’s a genius, that Geria,” Madam Gerandes mumbled, smiling at the token.
I nodded. “Absolutely. I had no idea.”
“Of course not, that’s her gift – she is one of the best at arcaniflora. Kings across the world cherish her work.” As she said this she brought out a small shot-glass from behind her table and set it there, depositing the little flower into it.
“I can see why,” I agreed.
“Thank you again. Now, what can I do for you? You were interested in polish? I think I can manage a discount for you, given the service you’ve done me here.”
I smiled. “Certainly, that sounds great, thank you.”
I spent the next forty-five minutes leaning back against her table while she carved and filed at my horns. I smelled a pungent wax as she applied various substances to my head. She kept up idle conversation while she worked, talking weather and a variety of innocuous topics of the sort. The only point of note I had was while she was running a fine sanding-stone over the backs of my right horn.
“How did you meet Geria?” She’d asked me.
“I was traveling away from Vor Kragal and passed through her village, hoping to find supplies. Was two days past now.”
“I see. And she gave you my flower just on the strength of that meeting?”
“I suppose I was very polite,” I offered.
“Polite indeed. Where’s your mount?”
“Killed crossing the Hastwith.”
“I see. Yes, I remember when she settled in that place, though it wasn’t there at the time,” she mused.
“I was wondering how you met.”
“We used to travel together. Adventurers, we were, much as you yourself are, if your gear tells a true story of you.”
“You read me right, Madam.”
“Just Garandes, please. Yes, we traveled together, but eventually she became homesick and returned to her village where her father lived. I’ve known her for decades now.”
“So what is this place? And what are you doing here?” I turned my head up to get a look at her.
“This? This is the Overspill Market. I came here a few years after she left. I still had a taste for the strange, the different, but I was tired of living on the road and waking up in the rain. Here, I get all the changes and new faces I had as a traveler, but I can live calmly and not worry about knives in my ample gullet.” She waggled one of her many extra chins between thumb and forefinger as she said this. “So, aside from seeing me, what brings you here? You haven’t found much in Vor Kragal by the looks of your bag, so you’ve nothing to sell, and you certainly didn’t come just to deliver my flower.”
“I found exactly what I needed, I think. I’m looking for supplies, really, I’m on my way to Al’Veydra. I hoped to contract a Shaper here, someone who could find me a quicker path there, perhaps through a portal.”
“I might be able to help you with that,” she said. “Though I’m not a shaper myself, I know at least one here.”
“That would be wonderful. You called this the Overspill Market. What does that mean?”
“Well, it all started when the Market Street filled up, and more merchants were there than there was space to have them all.” She was digging with a small pick at something while she said it, exertion showing through in her voice. “So the city decided to contract new space, probably with your ancestors, now that I think of it.”
“They opened a daily portal here, we’re allowed dawn to dusk, and we set up in this canyon as our street.”
“I see – but what city are you talking about? The largest I know of is Banner, and there’s plenty of room there for markets.”
“Well it’s the city, really, the City of Brass.”
* * *
We talked a bit longer, and before much more time had passed she finished the job. As I sat up, she offered me a hand-mirror. “Now, you look like a king,” she said. “Best rack in the City,” she continued with a grin.
I looked in the mirror. I have to admit, she was right. Aside from my clothing, I looked great. Clean, for starters. But what she’d done to my horns was fantastic. They were polished to a fine gloss, deep black to match my hair, and filed to a sharp edge along their length with a wicked point at the end of each. My tail twitched with appreciation for the look.
“Indeed, this is great work. I should have done this a long time ago. What do I owe you?”
“Normally I’d say a full ten gold for this, but I did promise you a discount. Let’s say seven. That’s a fair number, yes, seven.” I retrieved the coinage and paid her, smiling as I did. “Would you like a jar of fixer while you’re at it?”
“What’s that?”
“An ointment, you rub it into the horn to keep the shine fresh. Helps make it easier to keep the edge as well.” She held up a small jar, three inches across and perhaps the same depth. “Five in gold each, if you like. You only need a little dab, so one of these should last you a good month, maybe six weeks if you make it last.”
I took three, uncertain of when I’d next find her. “I do have a solution for that, too,” she said.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Here, look. Just take one right now. Watch,” as she said this, she gave me the full jar I’d bought, and pushed the extra money back at me. She drew a box out from under her table, as well as a similar jar to the one I’d bought. “When your supply gets really low, just put five gold in the jar.”
She took the money I’d just paid her with, and opening the jar she’d produced, put the coins into the empty container. “The money comes back to me,” she said. She twisted the jar shut, and with the last twist, I heard a dull clinking sound coming from the box. “I have it enchanted to refill itself when the money is passed through.” She opened the jar back up, and showed me that it was full to the rim, smooth and fresh.
“That’s really quite ingenious,” I said.
She nodded and touched the side of her nose with her forefinger. “I found the trick while visiting a Dwur village deep in the tunnels near the Sapphire Falls,” she said. “I could perhaps show you the location some time on a map, for the right price,” she offered.
“What would you consider the right price?” This could do wonders for my whiskey business, not to mention cut down on the number of bottles and casks I would have to travel with.
She thought for a moment. “I think five hundred would be a fair deal here. I can have a map in a day’s time, I think.”
I considered it. I didn’t want to reveal that I carried that kind of cash around onme, but it was more than a fair trade, if I could find the purveyor of this trick. “Deal. I’ll come by tomorrow morning with the money.” We shook on it.
“You mentioned you might also know a Shaper, can you perhaps arrange a meeting for me tomorrow?”
She nodded, her cheeks jiggling slightly with the motion. “Of course, I’ll see to it that he’s here. Would you like portal coordinates to go with the map?”
I nodded. “Yes please, though I have separate coordinates for where I need to go in the immediate sense.”
She sat up. “Now, I suppose you’ll be wandering on again.”
“I suppose so, though I’m not quite certain where. You mentioned this market connects to the City of Brass – would there be a sage or a bookseller here somewhere?”
She gave me directions, standing in the gap between curtains and veils in her stall.
“One last thing – Geria, what is she? Is she really djinn?”
The fat woman grinned. “We never really talked about that, but I suspect she’s got more than a little air in her.” With that, she ducked inside. A group of four or five gnomes – I resisted the temptation to throw a kick in their direction – trundled in behind her. As I walked down the strange alleyway, gales of high-pitched rodentlike laughter followed me.
I found the bookseller a little while later, the stall actually more of a large wooden wagon parked in the center of the aisle. People flowed around it, parting like a river of flesh as they meandered on their way. Sitting in the doorway, smoking a long clay pipe, a humanoid creature sat. It wore robes of orange and yellow silks, and sandals made from leather with wooden soles.
It had no skin.
At least, none of the visible sort one would associate with the living. Every muscle, sinew, and exposed bone was visible, even some veins and arteries. Watching it sit there, smoking its pipe, it could have almost passed for the victim of a flaying – were it not for the movement. In its free hand, it held a small book, barely the height of my own hand, and it turned the pages with a finger while holding the book with the remaining digits.
I noticed as it moved, it had extra joints. Everywhere. There were two elbows, two knees, extra joints on each finger, wrists and ankles, it seemed almost made of extra bends. Something about this made its motion so foreign, so strange, it almost nauseated me.
“Read much?” It had noticed me; to my embarrassment I’d been staring.
“Apologies, yes. Yes, yes I do.” I stepped up to the fellow, trying not to see how many finger knuckles went into its ear as it scratched.
“None necessary.” It pointed over its shoulder and indicated a few small stacks of books I’d not noticed when approaching. “I’m accustomed. Just so happens that this is your lucky day, reader. I sell books.”
“Particular topics?”
“No, only what I find along the way.”
“Hmm…got anything on cooking? Particularly, cooking exotic things?”
“Might do – anything else while I’m going in to look?”
“Yes, actually – got any general information on angels?”
“Looking to cook an angel?” If it had eyebrows, it probably would have raised them.
I thought of Sered for a moment, then discarded the notion. “No, just curiosity. Their life is very interesting to me, and I wish to learn more.”
“Shame, that’d be an interesting dish.”
“Perhaps, but not something I’d want to see on my plate.”
It nodded, and ducked inside the wagon. “Be but a moment.”
I pulled out a cigar and lit it, puffing bits of smoke into the air. I watched around me while I waited, getting a feel for the market. The place extended as far as I could see, and although I tried, I couldn’t see any dividing line where the market might connect with the City of Brass. Not that I doubted, I just couldn’t pick up where the transition was. The cliffs that rose up to either side of the market were steep and sheer, in some places even overhanging, casting deep shadows on the multitude of people thronging about. Birds and other things flew overhead occasionally, most silent. I imagined most were scavengers, but some might have been familiars or pets.
Before too long, the strange skinless creature had returned with three volumes in hand. “Got a few things that might be interesting for you here,” he offered. “Millikan’s Field Recipes, both volumes – great bits on cooking wild game, particularly dangerous and large. Also the Ephemerals of Ientary.”
“Who is or was Ientary? What’s that one?”
“Journal. Ientary was a traveler, much like yourself, but spent a great deal of time in the Astral Sea, studying the wilds there. Supposedly been around since the Dawn War itself.” He showed me the thick binding, packed with thin pages.
I looked through the cooking volumes as well, they were done up in fine workmanship – plenty of illustrations, and oiled leather covers to give some protection from spills. Perfect for the Inn, I figured.
The Ephemerals was an interesting volume as well – not quite as detailed as I’d like, but it was a good start. After giving it a once-over, we haggled over price for a few moments before I finally paid him what was (to my mind) a particularly over-inflated amount of money for the books. I socked away the cooking volumes and went on a search for a place to sit and perhaps drink a bit with some food.
I found what I was looking for some sixty yards further up, a series of tables were laid down to either side of the area, with stools and benches. Two metal grills shot smoke and steam into the air – how those were mobile I hadn’t the foggiest idea – and people of all shapes and sizes were seated around. I got a fill-up in my mug of a deep red wine, and a large carved sausage with mustard and brown bread.
I sat and worked my way through the book and the rest of my cigar for about two hours, refreshing my glass twice as I did. The wine was particularly nice, and had a warming sensation to the gut. Whoever Ientary was, he or she had traveled a great deal in the Astral – the book was full of anecdotes about the Gith pirates, and a large variety of strange beasts the author had encountered there. Or at least, claimed to have encountered there.
Closing the book, the atmosphere around the tables had changed since I’d sat. Fewer people were eating, and instead now there were several small groups playing cards. I wasn’t sure exactly what game was being played there, until I stood and moved over to view a group.
It would seem that poker is a somewhat universal rule. Perhaps somewhere there is a god of poker, because that game is more consistent in its appearance than most religions I’m familiar with. This was a version I recognized, with a board of community cards and small hands among the players. After observing a few hands played, I made motion to ask to join in, and was welcomed by the group.
I played with them for quite some time – the sun was lowering by the time I stood up. I’d lost a few gold at the table, but it had been fun just to play. A fellow Shadrim across from me had been making a run of the entire table, and had done particularly well. I nodded my congratulations as I strolled off with my bag over my shoulder – I’d been careful to keep it in sight and in contact the entire time.
As the shadows climbed the walls of the chasm, I slowly made my way back to the opening facing out to the Hastwith, and located the stairs I’d taken when I first arrived. Returning upstairs, I ate a decent meal, established myself in a room, dropped off most of my gear, and retired to the tavern level below.
I found it somewhat more popular this evening than the previous, each of the small rooms had anywhere from three to twelve people in them (the most populous being the one with the giant barrel, of course), all engaged in conversation and various diversions.
Leaning against the bar in a small room that served a particularly fine lagered beer, I was surprised when a voice spoke up behind me.
“Darts?”
I turned around, and found a woman holding up a slim set of projectiles before me. She wore a cloak with a dark hood pulled back over her shoulders, revealing a head of hair so black it almost looked like a negative image. Her eyes were green, and her face angled sharply behind curves that barely took the edge off her looks.
In short, she was beautiful. Astonishing, really. I hadn’t seen this kind of lovely since…since leaving Ichaer, really. There may have been one farmer’s daughter in Al’Veydra that turned my head (okay, perhaps four), but this woman was like nothing I’d seen before.
And here she was, smiling at me.
“Umm,” my brilliance showed through almost immediately.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to play, not everyone does,” she made to put them away.
“Umm,” tongue-lock is almost as powerful when it’s self-inflicted as when it arrives at the end of a fairy’s blade. I usually sound much smarter. Often smarter than I am. Not right then, though.
“No, wait,” I finally got out. “Yes, I’d love to. Is there a board here?” I looked around, having not seen one when I entered.
She rapped her knuckles on the bar and extended a hand to the bartender. He grunted and reached down below the bar, retrieving a well-stickered barrel top with rings painted in it. I saw the hanger now, a nail sunk in the wall in the side of the room. I hung the board while the bartender fetched her a beer, and I extended a hand to shake as I returned.
“I’m Goram. Nice to meet you.”
She shook my hand as well. Hers was warm, with cold spots where she’d picked up her mug. “Kineta,” she said back. She smelled like raspberries. “Gold a game?”
“Suits me, sure.”
She wound up and began throwing, in practiced, careful arcs. She was good – I could tell she was very methodical about scoring. As we played, we slowly worked through our beers. Other people came and went while we did, once small group waving a greeting to her as they came in. A Halfling, a human, and a minotaur together all watched her while we stood there and I was shooting.
“Look out for her, Shadrim, she’ll hustle the shirt off your back – not that you’ll mind,” the Halfling jeered.
“Shut it, rodent. You three look like the opening line of a dumb joke.” She didn’t even look over at them while she said this. I almost blew lager out my nose, I laughed so hard.
“That was really, really good,” I said when I got my breathing under control.
She grinned at me slyly. “I know. It’s my way.”
“How long have you been here?” I took another shot. Her turn.
“Just a few days, came to the Market for a few things, then we’re moving on.” She opened up a good lead with a rather nice throw. “You?”
“Same, only just discovered the place yesterday. Going to have to come back.” I bought us another round. “Your friends thirsty?”
She glanced over at them. “Always.” My turn.
I bought a set of drinks for them, and took a clean shot to the bullseye.
“Nice one,” she nodded. “Find what you were looking for?”
“Yeah, plus a good treatment for my headgear.” Shot. “And maybe a little more.”
“Headgear?”
I tapped a horn with the tip of the last dart. She muttered understanding around a mouthful of beer. “I thought that was you,” she said. “You were in the tent with the colored streamers, the big fat lady working on you this morning, weren’t you?”
I nodded, a bit suspicious, though I didn’t let that escape to my face. I think. “Yes, that was me. Madam Garandes is quite good at making things look good.”
The drinks arrived at the table across from us. The minotaur let out a short roar and held up his mug to me in salute. I made a short bow and handed the darts over. The Halfling called over, “Hey Kineta, keep this one, I like him.”
I grinned. “He should try my whiskey,” I whispered.
Her eyebrows went up. “Your whiskey? You drink a special kind or something?”
“No, I have a distillery. Hired a great still-master to run the shop for me, and have a few that are getting noticed.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“Death’s Head Distillery,” I gulped down some of my beer. “We make beer, too, but not a lager like this. Not yet.”
“And the name of your whiskey?”
“Winter’s Fall. Named after a gnome I knew, seemed like he had an aversion to bridges, he never could seem to get across one without going over the side.”
She laughed at that. Listening to her laughter was like listening to a spring stream, it just made me brighten up inside.
“Horace, do you still have that bottle of whiskey?” She called over to her friends.
The human, who had been chatting enthusiastically with the minotaur, pulled up and looked over at us. Recognition passed across his face, and he rummaged about in his bag for a moment. Finding what he sought, he produced a small brown glass bottle with a label I recognized utterly.
I felt famous.
It was Winter’s Fall. “What were you saying about this stuff, Horace?”
“He’s never had it? Oh shining lights, man, you must try this stuff – it’s the best whiskey I’ve ever had. Probably the best there ever was, as far as I’m concerned.” He was so animated about it, uncorking the top and racing to the bar, I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. Which wasn’t hard, with Kineta standing there.
“Thanks much, Horace – I’m Azrael, by the way – I’d love a little bit, sure,” I held out my hand for the offered glass.
Kineta’s hand gripped my wrist, fast. “You said your name was Goram,” she looked at me with squinted eyes.
I paused, glass in hand. “Hmm, yes. Well, one can never be too careful.” I turned the bottle to show the signature pressed in the glass. “See that?”
She nodded.
“That’s made with a heated iron when the bottles are blown, and the iron was cast in a clay mold which captured that signature on the day the contract was inked with the glassblower.”
I turned it away from me, so that Horace could still see it, but so I couldn’t. I carefully removed her hand from mine, then retrieved the dart-board. I flipped it over to its back, and drew Riftspar. With quick strokes, I carved my signature – carefully, so as not to leave my finger there as well – on the surface.
Horace and Kineta watched while I was doing this. I finished the carving and slugged back the tiny glass of whiskey. “Oh yeah, that is definitely the best.”
Horace looked confused for a minute, eyeing the signature. Then his eyes widened for a second, and he looked at the back of the bottle. “They’re the same,” he mumbled. “Wait a minute – that’s you? You’re him? You make this?”
I nodded, grinning while I put back my knife.
He raised the bottle up to me. “Sir, you’ve done us all a great service, and I salute you.”
I brought his arm back down gently. “Thanks, though it was more out of self-interest than any intent to be a beneficent provider,” I laughed as I said this. “I like whiskey as much as the next person. Probably more. I just couldn’t find the one I liked, so I had this made.”
“Well, thanks for making it anyway,” he grinned, pouring himself a glass.
“My pleasure. Where’d you find that, anyhow?”
“Little shop up the way today, they sell all sorts of good booze.” He socked the bottle away after pouring Kineta a glass as well. She had been eyeing me silently through this, which I was trying not to be unnerved by.
I thought about this for a second. “You’re saying my whiskey is being sold by a shopkeep in the City of Brass?”
He nodded.
“OhhhYEAH!” I jumped up in the air, and almost brained myself on a beam supporting the ceiling.
When I got up from my pained crouch, I looked at the two of them with a big wide grin. “Well, I knew it was good, but I didn’t realize it went this far. Whoo hoo!”
“So who is Goram?” Kineta asked.
“Old soldier, used to be a member of my unit.”
“Special circumstances, I assume?”
“Yeah, you assume right,” I agreed neutrally.
“Okay, fair enough.” She nodded.
I looked around at the others. “Hmm. I think this calls for a drink.”
The Halfling stood up with a wooden mug in hand. “What a good idea!”
We drank and talked for a long while more, with lots of darts in between. Eventually, I decided it was getting late.
“I have to get up for a meeting tomorrow – will you excuse me? How long are you all planning on being here?”
Kineta spoke up first. “Probably a few days, but could be tomorrow.”
Lotonna, the minotaur, interjected. “Assuming we can extract Nemmy from Horace’s pants in the morning, that is.” He let out a great snuffling laugh at this, and Kineta also chuckled quietly from behind a hand.
“That was nothing! I couldn’t find my pants, and we were drunk!” Nemmy jumped on the bench to emphasize his outrage. “They looked like mine!”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you all at breakfast tomorrow.” I backed up and bowed once, then walked to the door. I looked back at them, and saw Kineta watching me. Lotonna elbowed her, chuckling, and she looked away.
I got back to my room and cleaned up again. A bath two nights in a row was an amazing luxury.
I fell asleep happy that night.
* * *
I didn’t see them when I went out to breakfast, and was surprised at how depressed that made me. I ate slowly, reading the Ephemerals while spooning hot oatmeal with honey and milk into my mouth.
When I was finished, I made my way back down to the canyon floor, where dawn was throwing its light on the various booths there. It was still early enough that the place was quiet, though it was quickly filling up with people streaming in from – well, I don’t know where. People were everywhere, and they just seemed to be appearing without my really seeing where they were coming from.
I walked down to where I remembered Madam Garandes’ stall to be. I got some coffee – okay, a lot of coffee – from another stall along the way, and took my time. I was wondering whether I could engineer a return to the Market quickly enough to find Kineta and her friends after completing my business in Al’Veydra.
Sure enough, the colorful banners were swaying in the breeze, and she was there, slowly aerating herself with a little bamboo collapsible fan.
“Ah, there you are, perfect!” She waved happily at me. “My friend is already here, just inside. Come along in, and let’s get the two of you met.”
She took my hand as I walked into the little stall. Inside, a woman stood with her back to me, leaning over the small work-table and writing something.
“Right here. Now, can I get you some wine while you two discuss business?”
I stopped in my tracks as the woman turned around.
“Pleased to meet you, mister Goram,” Kineta said, holding her hand out.
