Shadow Chaser

2 The Gnome’s Tooth

“So where are we going?” asked the jester, skipping along beside me.

The goblin’s short little legs were not adapted to the pace that Hallas had set for our party.

“To the barber’s. As if you didn’t know.”

“I know we’re not going to the cobbler’s, Harold. I asked where are we going? We’ve seen lots of barbers in the last hour!”

“Then you’re asking the wrong person, you should try Hallas.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to die young. He’s a bit out of sorts today, and I don’t intend to ask him any questions.”

“Well, if you don’t want to ask him, just shut up.”

“Ooh!” the goblin exclaimed, offended, and went dashing off to pester Deler with his questions, but the dwarf gave him almost exactly the same answer as I had.

“You know, Harold,” said Eel, speaking for the first time since we left the inn, “I’m starting to get a bit bored with this walk.”

“And you’re not the only one,” I sighed.

We walked round Ranneng for the best part of an hour in search of the right barber. Just how the gnome was going to choose the right one out of all the barbers available was a mystery to us. But all the barbers we had already visited obviously didn’t merit that title.

Hallas’s rigorous standards for the man who was going to pull out his tooth left the disappointed barbers with empty pockets and the gnome with the toothache. Hallas had a whole mountain of reasons for rejecting one barber after another.

This barber’s shop was too dirty, that barber’s prices were too high, a third one had blue eyes, a fourth one was too old, a fifth one was too young. The sixth one was too sleepy, the seventh one was strange, the eighth had a stammer. There was no way to satisfy all the gnome’s petty whims.

As soon as Hallas got close to the next barber’s shop, in some magical fashion his steps grew slower and slower and he started creeping along like a drunken snail, trembling all over. A blind Doralissian could have seen that the gnome was frightened.

“People are looking at us,” the Garrakian muttered.

“They’ve been looking at us ever since we left the inn,” I muttered in reply. “What can we do about it?”

We were a curious-looking group, so people had no qualms about gaping at us. First of all, of course, everyone looked at the goblin—a rare sight in the cities of the kingdom. But as soon as people noticed the gnome and the dwarf, they forgot all about Kli-Kli. You might catch the occasional sight of a goblin, but gnomes and dwarves walking along peacefully side by side was something you never, ever saw.

“Harold, look!” Kli-Kli exclaimed, tugging on my sleeve.

“Where?” I couldn’t see anything interesting.

“Right there!” said Kli-Kli, pointing toward a shop selling vegetables. “Hang on, I’ll just be a moment.”

Before I could even open my mouth, the goblin had dashed off to do his shopping.

“What’s wrong with him?” Deler asked, puzzled.

“Everyone has his own weaknesses,” I answered. “Some don’t like to get their teeth pulled out, and some love carrots.”

Hallas turned a deaf ear to the remark about teeth and uttered an exquisite groan.

“Stop that!” Deler shouted heartlessly at the gnome. “It’s your own fault. You miserable coward.”

“Who’s a coward?” Hallas snapped back. “Gnomes aren’t afraid of anything! It’s your beardless race that are the cowards! Locking yourselves away in our mountains and sitting there trembling like an aspen leaf in the autumn wind!”

“Then why don’t you get your tooth pulled out?”

“I told you, you thickhead! They’re all bad barbers!”

“All right, but why are you dragging that sack around with you?” asked Deler, refusing to leave Hallas alone. “Can’t you just leave it somewhere? What have you got in there anyway, the gnomes’ book of spells?”

“It’s my sack! I’ll carry what I want!”

The gnome and his sack were inseparable. Hallas dragged it around with him wherever he went. Even Kli-Kli hadn’t been able to find out what was in it. Deler was dying of curiosity, he had no idea what it was. And I didn’t know what kind of treasure the gnome kept in the sack, either, but ever since he got it from his relatives in the fort of Avendoom, he had been fussing over his property like a chicken with the very first egg it ever laid.

“Here I am,” said Kli-Kli, crunching happily on a carrot as he walked up to us. “Well then, are we going to get this tooth pulled out, or are we going to wait for it to fall out on its own?”

“What business of yours is my tooth? I’ll do what I like with it!”

“The Large Market’s not far from here. There’s bound to be a barber there,” Kli-Kli suggested.

The Large Market really was large. No, that’s not right. It was immense! An immense space with an immense number of goods on offer. And there were more people than you could count striding along between the rows of stalls.

“Buy a horse! Genuine Doralissian bred! Just look how gracious she is!”

“Apples! Apples!”

“The finest steel of the north! The finest blades of the south!”

“Buy a monkey, good sir!”

“Thief! Stop that thief!”

“Catch him!”

“Best quality Sultanate carpets! Moths can’t touch them!”

“Hey! Be careful, that’s Nizin Masters porcelain, not your granny’s old clay chamber pot!”

“Sunflower seeds!”

“Milord, our establishment has the finest girls in this part of Valiostr! Come on in!”

“Mama! I want a biscuit!”

“Stop shoving!”

“Reins, bridles, saddles! Reins, bridles, saddles!”

“Get your pies here!”

The hubbub was worse than at the gates when we were trying to get into Ranneng. Eel was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear him because a fat woman was howling in my ear and holding a fish up under my nose that was at least a month old and had a stupefying stench. I brushed the tradeswoman aside and dashed to catch up with the others.

Hallas, whose brain had obviously been completely addled by the pain, led us into the thick of a crowd of people watching a fairground show right in the middle of the market. The gnome had never been known for his courtesy toward others, and now he elbowed his way through the crowd, stepping on feet and swearing coarsely like a longtime inhabitant of the Port City. In just a few seconds the popularity of the race of gnomes plunged to an all-time low, well below prices for manure.

Somehow we managed to make our way through the crush and then Kli-Kli couldn’t resist climbing up on the stage, turning a cartwheel, standing on his hands, grabbing a flaming torch out of the juggler’s mouth and sitting on it, jumping up and climbing a post to the high wire, walking across to the other post, spitting on the strongman’s bald patch as he was lifting a weight, and then swanning off to thunderous applause.

“Still amusing yourself?” I asked the goblin gloomily when he caught up with me.

“And you’re still mumbling to yourself and expecting the worst, are you?” said Kli-Kli, giving as good as he got. “You have an idiotic outlook on life, Harold! Let’s get going, or we’ll get lost in this crowd.”

The goblin went dashing on ahead—his small size made it easy for him to weave his way through the crush. People stepped on my feet twenty times and made at least ten attempts to foist things I didn’t want on me—from a sponge to a mangy, squealing cat that was on its last legs.

Some inexperienced thief tried to slip his hand into my pocket, but I dodged aside and held Lamplighter’s dagger against his stomach, then pressed the young lad back against the wall of one of the shops.

“Who’s your teacher?” I roared at the pickpocket.

“Eh?” Cold steel against your stomach doesn’t really encourage clear thinking.

“I said, who’s your teacher, you young pup?”

“Shliud-Filin, sir!”

“Is he in the guild?”

“Eh?”

“Are you having difficulty hearing me? If so, you’ll never make a good thief!”

“Yes, my teacher is in the guild, sir.”

“Then tell him to show you who you should rob, and who you’d better leave alone until you have a bit more experience!”

“A-all right,” said the lad, petrified. “Are you not going to call the guard, sir?”

“No,” I barked, putting the dagger back in its sheath. “But if you come near me again … You take my meaning?”

“Yes.” The lad still couldn’t believe that he had got off so lightly.

“Then clear off!”

I didn’t have to say it again. The unsuccessful pickpocket darted away from me like a startled mouse and was lost in the crowd in a moment. I watched him leave. In the distant days of my youth I used to clean out punters’ pockets until I was picked up by my teacher For, who taught me the mysteries of the supreme art of thievery.

“Harold, are you planning to stand here much longer?” asked Kli-Kli, bounding up to me. “We’re all waiting for you! And who was that young lad you were having such a relaxed conversation with?”

“Just a passerby, let’s go.”

Deler, Eel, and Hallas were waiting impatiently for us in a small open area free of trading stalls.

“There’s a barber’s!” said Deler, jabbing a thick finger toward a shop. “Forward, Hallas!”

“Forward? Do you think I’m a horse, then?” The gnome really didn’t want to go.

“Go on, go on,” I said, backing up the dwarf. “You’ll see, you’ll feel better stra—”

I gazed hard into the crowd and never finished the phrase. Over beside the rows of horse traders, I’d caught a glimpse of a painfully familiar figure. Without thinking twice, I went dashing after Paleface, paying no heed to my comrades’ howls of surprise. My eyes could still see the face that I’d spotted just a second before. I had to catch that man, no matter what, and dispatch him into the darkness if I got a chance.

Along the way I almost knocked a tradesman off his feet and tipped over a basket of apples. Taking no notice of the abuse from all sides, I pulled my dagger out of its sheath and held it with the blade along my forearm, so that the weapon would be less obvious to the people around me, and I ran over to the spot where I had seen my old acquaintance just a second earlier.

“What is it?” asked Eel, springing up beside me like a shadow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Yeah,” I answered, without taking my eyes off the crowd. “A ghost. But, unfortunately, a live one.”

“Who was it?”

“An old enemy,” I said gloomily, putting the dagger away in its sheath.

“There are so many people here … you could have been mistaken.”

“Yes…,” I said after a pause, and ran my eyes round the market again. “I hope I imagined it…”

But I couldn’t have imagined it! That man had been far too like the hired killer Rolio. As we walked back, I kept glancing round all the time, but I didn’t spot anyone who looked like Paleface.

The gnome and the dwarf had disappeared, and the goblin stood alone, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Harold, what’s happening to you? Are you well?” Kli-Kli asked, looking solicitously into my eyes. “Who was it you saw that sent you galloping across the market like a herd of crazed Doralissians?”

“Oh, no one. It was a mistake. Where have Deler and Hallas got to?”

“The dwarf dragged the gnome into a barber’s shop,” Kli-Kli answered. “And what kind of old acquaintance was it, if he deserves your knife blade under his ribs?”

“Paleface,” I replied tersely.

“Oh!” the goblin said, and paused. He had heard plenty about this character. “Did he see you?”

“You know, my friend, that’s the very question that’s bothering me. I hope not, otherwise there’s trouble in store, and not just for me. The character that Rolio works for would be glad to finish us all off.”

“The Master?” the goblin guessed.

“Yes.”

“What are you talking about?” Eel had never heard about any Master.

“Don’t bother your head about it,” I told the warrior. “Let’s just say you could get something sharp under your shoulder blade at any moment. As soon as Hallas gets his tooth fixed we’ll go back, and then Alistan and Miralissa can rack their brains over what to do next. I said we shouldn’t come into Ranneng!”

“The halt was absolutely necessary. You know that perfectly well.”

“You’re very talkative, Eely-beely! Is there some reason for that?” Kli-Kli asked.

“Go and grin at someone else, Kli-Kli,” the Garrakian said good-humoredly. “Let’s go. Deler might need help.”

“I’m warning you now,” I said hurriedly. “I didn’t volunteer to hold the gnome!”

It was annoying that the goblin and the Wild Heart both turned a deaf ear to my warning. I wonder why in certain situations certain people suffer from a selective loss of hearing. I sighed bitterly and trudged toward the barber’s shop, following my comrades.

Hallas, bright red in the face, came leaping toward us out of the door of the shop, almost knocking the jester off his feet. The goblin only just managed to jump out of the way. Deler came flying out after Hallas. The color of the gnome’s face would have put any beetroot to shame.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“That…!” the gnome roared so loudly that everyone in the market could hear him and pointed back at the door of the shop.

“Shut up!” Deler hissed, pulling his hat down over his eyes.

“I told you, shut up! Let’s get out of here!”

“But what’s happened?” I asked again.

“That cretin who slept with a donkey wants money!” the gnome roared.

“Errr…,” said Eel, who didn’t understand a thing, either. “It’s quite usual to pay a barber money, isn’t it?”

“But not three gold pieces! Have you ever heard of anyone taking three gold pieces for a rotten tooth?”

“No, I haven’t.”

I hadn’t, either. Three gold pieces was a lot of money. For that much you could get all the teeth of half the army of Valiostr pulled out.

“Let’s go, Hallas!” Deler persisted.

“Hey, you! You damned swindler! Come out here! I’ll break all your teeth out for a copper! And I’ll wring your neck for free!”

“Hallas, shut up and let’s get going!” the dwarf yelled, unable to control himself any longer.

“Eel, stop both their mouths, before the guard arrives!” I whispered to the Garrakian when I saw a crowd of idle onlookers starting to gather round us.

The barber made the mistake of looking out of his shop.

“I do beg your pardon,” he babbled, “but I extract teeth using spells bought in a magic shop. The procedure is absolutely painless, that’s why my price is so high.”

“Hold me back,” Hallas told us, and went dashing at the barber with his fists held high.

The barber gave a shrill squeal and slammed the door in the furious gnome’s face. Deler hung on his comrade’s shoulders and Eel jumped in front of the gnome, who was charging like a rhinoceros. I pretended that I wasn’t with them at all, but simply standing there taking a breath of fresh air.

Some public-spirited individual had called the guards, and about ten armed men were already making their way through the crowd in our direction. They hadn’t wasted any time. The Ranneng guard were obviously far more conscientious about their work than the guard in Avendoom. No doubt the frequent clashes between Wild Boars, Nightingales, and Oburs kept the servants of the flexible and corrupt law in a state of constant battle readiness.

We didn’t have time to slip away.

“Problems?” the sergeant of the guard asked me.

“Problems? No, not at all. No problems,” I answered hastily, just hoping that Deler would somehow manage to stop the gnome’s mouth.

“No fairy tales, if you don’t mind!” the soldier said harshly. “Tell me why that half-pint is yelling like that.”

“He’s having a bad day.”

“And that’s why he feels like slugging a respectable barber, is it?” another guardsman chuckled. “A deliberate breach of public order and incitement to affray. Are you going to come quietly or…?”

It doesn’t matter where the guards are from—spend a bit of time in any city and you get to know all there is to know about their kind. Even a Doralissian could tell what it was the lads wanted from us.

“We’re not going anywhere, dear sirs,” said Eel, coming to my assistance and leaving Deler and Kli-Kli to take care of Hallas.

There was something in the Garrakian’s eyes that made the guardsmen take a step back. A wolf facing a pack of yard dogs, that was the thought that came to my mind when Eel blocked their way.

They had the advantage of numbers and—even more important—they had their halberds against our daggers. A very powerful argument in a fight, it must be said. But it was clear that they were still having doubts.

“Oh yes you are, dear sir,” the bold sergeant hissed through his teeth, adjusting his grip on his halberd. “This isn’t your Garrak; we observe the law here!”

Eel’s lips trembled into a barely visible smile.

“If the law was observed in my country the way it is here, there’d be more criminals in Garrak than there are bribe-takers in the guard.”

“Just what are you hinting at?” asked the sergeant, narrowing his eyes malevolently.

Eel gave another faint smile and swayed back thoughtfully on his heels. His hands dropped to the hilts of a pair of Garrakian daggers.

The gesture didn’t pass unnoticed by the soldiers and they all took another step back, as if on command. Hallas had finally shut up, and now he was staring around in amazement at the guards and the crowd watching us, unable to believe that his quarrelsome nature could have attracted so many people.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said a man who suddenly emerged from the crowd and walked up to the guards. “These are my friends. They’re not from these parts, and they haven’t had time yet to get used to the laws of our glorious Ranneng!”

A sharp nose, blue eyes, light brown hair, about my own age. He had an open, slightly roguish smile and was dressed like a prosperous townsman—probably that was why the sergeant answered him instead of sending him packing.

“They’re disturbing the peace and insulting the keepers of public order,” said the sergeant, with a hostile glance at the Garrakian.

“Of course, of course,” the man whispered sympathetically, carefully taking the sergeant by the elbow and leading him off to one side. “But you understand, they’re from the country, and my friends were never taught good manners. This is their first time in the city. And that thin one over there is my aunt’s nephew, so he’s a relative of mine,” the man said, jabbing his finger in my direction.

“What’s that goon doing?” Hallas asked in amazement.

“Dragging us out of the shithole that you dug for us,” Deler explained to the gnome.

Hallas had enough wits not to start another argument.

“I was supposed to make sure they didn’t get into any trouble,” the man explained to the soldier. “Put yourself in my place, sergeant! If anything happens my aunt will tear my head off and she won’t let me back into the house!”

A silver coin passed from the stranger’s hand into the hand of the commander of the guard.

“Well…,” the sergeant said hesitantly. “We still have to perform our duty and carry out our responsibilities.”

Another coin changed owners.

“Although,” said the guardsman, starting to soften a bit, “following a brief reprimand I could quite well release your … mmm … respected relatives.”

A third silver piece disappeared into his grasping fingers.

“Yes!” said the sergeant with a resolute nod. “I think the Ranneng guard can find more important business to deal with than punishing innocent passersby who haven’t quite settled into the city yet. All the best to you, dear sir!”

“All the best.”

“Let’s go, lads,” the sergeant said to his soldiers, and the guard immediately lost all interest in us and disappeared into the crowd.

The idle onlookers realized that the show was over and busied themselves with other matters. The market started buzzing again and no one paid any more attention to us.

The man came up to us, smiled, looked into my eyes, and said: “Hello, Harold!”

The only thing I could do was reply: “Hello, Bass.”

“Hello, Harold.”

“Hello, Bass,” I answered lazily, half opening one eye.

“Still asleep?” my friend asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m hungry,” said Bass, slapping himself on the stomach.

“So why tell me?”

“Well, you’re my friend!”

“Sure as daylight, I’m your friend. But it’s time you learned to earn your food some other way than playing potbellied small fry at dice and cards!”

“Ah!” Bass sighed in disappointment and sat down on the edge of the straw mattress. “Just because you’re twelve and I’m only eleven, it doesn’t mean that you’re cleverer than me.”

“Well, if that’s not so, why are you nagging me about food?” I chuckled.

“There’s a job.”

“Well?” I stopped studying the ceiling and sat up.

“This man won a lot of money from Kra at dice…”

“How did you get in there?” I asked in surprise.

They didn’t like to let us into the gambling den. Kra didn’t make any profits out of juvenile pickpockets like us. We just got under everyone’s feet and cleaned out the decent customers.

“I managed it,” said Bass, screwing up his blue eyes cunningly.

Bass had earned his nickname of Snoop. He could get in anywhere at all—it was another matter that my friend quite often got in trouble for these escapades of his.

“Well, what about this man?”

“Ah! Well, basically, he was playing Kra at dice and he won three gold pieces!”

I whistled enviously. Only once had I ever managed to fish a gold piece out of someone’s pocket on the street, and Bass and I had lived in clover for two whole months. And this was three all at once!

“Do you think you can get them off him?” I asked Bass cautiously.

“I don’t think so, but you could,” my friend admitted with a sickly smile.

“Right,” I said morosely. “And if something goes wrong, it’ll be me they grab, not you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Bass declared nonchalantly. “This character looks like a real goose. If anything happens, I’ll help. We’re a team!”

He was right there. We’d been through a lot together in the two years we had known each other and lived in the slums of the Suburbs. And there had been bad days as well as good ones in that time.

Compared with me, Bass wasn’t too good at delving into people’s pockets on the street. He didn’t really have any talent for lifting purses, and that burden was always laid on my shoulders. But then Snoop did have other talents: He could sell a bill of goods to the Nameless One himself, con and swindle his nearest and dearest, fix a game of dice or cards, and point me in the direction of a man with a pocket bulging with coins.

“All right,” I sighed. “Where is this golden gent of yours?”

“He’s sitting in the Dirty Fish, guzzling wine.”

“Let’s go, you can show me,” I said reluctantly.

We still had one silver coin and five copper ones, and there would have been no point in risking my neck if not for the three gold pieces. For that kind of money it was worth getting up off the mattress and going out into the cold.

We slipped out of the crooked old hovel that was home to more than twenty souls. The people who lived there were all homeless tramps, like us.

Avendoom was in the grip of early spring—there was still snow lying on the ground, the nights were still as fiercely cold as in January, when many people who had no roof over their head froze to death in the streets, but despite the cold weather, the unfriendly gray sky, and the snowdrifts everywhere, spring was in the air.

There was an elusive smell of opening buds, murmuring streams, and mud.

Yes, mud! The mud that appeared from out of nowhere every year in the Avendoom Suburbs. But of course the mud was a mere trifle, a minor inconvenience and nothing more. The important thing was that soon the weather would be warm and I would finally be able to throw away the repulsive dog’s-fur coat with tears in five places that I’d stolen from a drunken groom the year before.

It had faithfully kept me warm all winter long, but when I wore it I was less agile and quick, and that enforced clumsiness had got me into trouble more than once. The week before I’d very nearly ended up getting nabbed by the guards because my feet got tangled up in the thing.

The Dirty Fish, a crooked old tavern, was right in the very center of the Suburbs, beside Sour Plums Square. No sane man would ever go to the Fish to fill his paunch—the tavern’s sour wine and abundant bedbugs were enough to frighten away any decent customers.

We halted on the other side of the street, opposite the doors of the tavern.

“Are you sure your man’s still in there? What would he be doing in a puke hole like that with three gold pieces? Couldn’t he find a better place?”

“Obviously he couldn’t,” Bass muttered. “He’s there, and he has two jugs of wine on the table in front of him. I don’t think he could have guzzled all of it while I ran to get you.”

“You simply don’t know how good some people get at guzzling wine,” I retorted. “He could be more than a league away by now.”

“Harold, you’re always panicking over petty details,” Bass snorted. “I told you, he’s in there!”

“All right,” I sighed, “let’s wait and see.”

So we waited in the frost. Bass and I leapt up every time the door of the tavern opened, and every time it turned out to be the wrong man.

“Listen,” I said, losing patience after two hours’ waiting, “I’m frozen to death.”

“I’m almost frozen solid, too, but that man’s definitely in there!”

“We wait for another half hour, and if he doesn’t come, I’m clearing out of here,” I said firmly.

Bass sighed mournfully.

“Maybe I should go and check?”

“That’s all we need, for Kra to give you a good thrashing. Stay where you are.”

The frost was licking greedily at my fingers and toes, so I stamped my feet and clapped my hands, trying to warm myself up at least a little bit. Several times Bass wanted to go into the tavern to check how the owner of the three gold pieces was getting on, but every time, after wrangling with me for a while, he stayed where he was.

“Maybe the guy’s had too much to drink?” my friend asked uncertainly; I could feel my fingers turning to icicles.

“Maybe…,” I replied, with my teeth chattering. “I don’t want anything anymore except to get warm.”

“There he is!” Bass suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a man who was walking out of the tavern. I studied him critically and gave my verdict: “A goose.”

“I told you so,” my friend said with a sniff. “Oh, now we’ll really start living!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I said, watching our future victim’s progress. “Did you see where he keeps his money?”

“His right pocket. That’s where his purse is.”

“Let’s go.”

We tried to behave so that he wouldn’t take any notice of us. Trying to get into his pocket just then would have been asking for trouble. There weren’t many people about, there was no way to approach him without being noticed; all we could do was wait for a convenient moment.

“Are you sure he’s drunk two jugs of wine?” I hissed, keeping my eyes on the stranger.

“Why?” Bass hissed back.

“He’s walking very steadily. Not at all like a drunk.”

“There are different kinds of drunks,” Bass disagreed. “You could never tell if my old dad was drunk or not, until he picked up a log and started chasing after my mother.”

Meanwhile the man was wandering through the winding streets of the Suburbs without any obvious goal, like a hare circling through the forest to confuse his tracks. We kept our distance and tried not to let him see us until he reached the Market Square. There were plenty of people there, and it was quite easy for us to move up close behind him.

I gave Bass a quick nod, and he darted off to one side.

I tried to breathe through my nose, match the rhythm of the man’s steps, and stop trembling with nerves. My fingers were chilly and not as nimble as usual. I would never have taken the risk if the man hadn’t had three gold pieces in his pocket.

Someone pushed me in the back and for a second I found myself almost pressed up against the man, so I accepted this gift from the gods and lowered my hand into his pocket. I felt the purse immediately, and grabbed it, preparing to scram, but just at that moment the stranger grabbed hold of my hand. “Got you, you little thief!” he hissed.

I gave a shrill squeal and tried to break free, but the man was a lot stronger than me, and my hand didn’t even shift in the grasp of his bearlike paw. The thought flashed through my mind that I was in for really big trouble now.

Bass came dashing up out of nowhere and gave the big lunk a smart kick on the leg. He howled and let go of me.

“Let’s get out of here!” Bass shouted, and legged it.

Without bothering to think, I followed him, clutching the purse. I could hear the furious guy dashing after us.

“Thieves!” he yelled. “Stop those thieves!”

We wormed our way through the crowd and dashed out of Market Square onto a narrow little street. But that damn lunk was right there behind us all the way.

It was hard to run, the fur coat kept getting tangled round my legs, and the tramping feet of our pursuer kept getting closer and closer. Bass was showing me a clean pair of heels and the distance between us was gradually increasing. I groaned in disappointment: I would have to abandon the fur coat that I had acquired with such a great effort. I stuck the purse in my teeth and started unfastening the buttons as I ran along. The warm coat slipped off my shoulders and fell into the snow. Immediately it was much easier to run—I strode out and caught up with Bass.

“Into the alley,” I shouted to him, and turned sharply to the right.

Bass followed me, and our pursuer, who was just about to grab me by the collar, went flying on past. Now we had at least a chance to disappear in the labyrinth of the Suburbs’ winding side streets.

“Oh, he’ll wring our necks!” Bass panted with an effort.

I didn’t answer and just speeded up even more, hoping very much that my friend’s prediction would not come true. We turned another corner, hearing the man threaten to pull our arms off. I was almost exhausted, but the cursed stranger didn’t seem to know what it meant to get tired.

Suddenly a pair of hands appeared out of some hidey-hole, grabbed Bass and me by the scruff of our necks, and dragged us into a dark, narrow space. Bass yelled out in fright and started flailing at the air with his hands, and I followed my friend’s example, trying to break free and give whoever had grabbed us a kick.

“Better shut up, if you want to live!” someone whispered. “Keep quiet!”

There was something about his voice that made us fall silent immediately.

Our pursuer went hurtling past, stamping his feet and setting the alley ringing with choice obscenities.

The man who had saved us still didn’t release his grip, he was listening to the silence, and I tried to take advantage of the moment to put the purse with the gold pieces away in my pocket.

“No need to bother,” said the stranger. “I don’t steal from pickpockets.”

“I’m not a pickpocket!” I protested, my teeth chattering from the cold. I was feeling the loss of the fur coat.

“Not a pickpocket? Then who are you?” asked the man who had rescued us.

“I’m a genuine thief!”

“A thie-ef! Well, well. I swear by Sagot that you might just become a good thief, with my help. Or you might not, kid. Let me have a look at what I’ve caught today.”

The man opened his hands, walked out into the light, and inspected Bass and me closely.

“Well then, who are you?” the stranger asked.

“I’m Bass the Snoop,” Bass said with a sniff.

“I’m Harold the Flea,” I answered, studying our unlikely rescuer.

“Well now,” the man said with a smile. “And I’m For. Sticky Hands For.”

“Harold, do you know this goon?” Hallas asked, rousing me from my reminiscences.

“Yes, he’s an old … friend of mine,” I muttered.

“Very old,” Bass said with a smile. “Glad to see you alive and well, Harold!”

“Likewise,” I said in a none-too-friendly voice.

“How’s For?” Bass asked, apparently not noticing my cool tone.

“Alive, by Sagot’s will.”

“Is he still instructing the young?” Bass asked with a smile.

“No, he’s a priest now. Sagot’s Defender of the Hands.”

Bass whistled.

“Listen, Harold,” said the gnome, whose patience had run out. “Maybe you and your friend could talk some other time? Thank you very much for the help, kind sir, but we have to be going.”

“Deler,” I said to the dwarf. “Give him his money back.”

Amazingly enough, the dwarf delved into his purse and handed Bass three silver pieces.

“Hey!” Bass cried indignantly. “I don’t want your coins. I was just helping a friend!”

“Everyone can always find a use for coins,” I said. “Keep well. Ah yes, if you’re interested, Markun is no longer in this world.”

“And is that all?” he said, spreading his arms wide in protest. “Aren’t you even going to talk to me? Are you just going to walk away when we haven’t seen each other for more than ten years?”

“No time, my friend,” I said curtly.

“How can I find you, Harold?” Bass shouted after me.

“I don’t think we’ll meet again,” I said, looking round at him. “I’m only passing through. I’ll be leaving the city soon.”

And so saying, I turned away and hurried after Hallas. Kli-Kli couldn’t resist asking: “Was that a friend of yours?”

“Yes … That is, no … maybe.”

“Brrrrr,” said the jester, shaking his head. “Is that yes or no? Make up your mind.”

“Leave him alone, Kli-Kli,” Eel advised the goblin.

“What have I done?” Kli-Kli asked with a shrug. “I only asked. Listen, Harold, are you so elegantly polite and considerate with everyone, or just the chosen few? I’m just asking to bear it in mind for the future, so I won’t be too surprised when you tell me to get lost in such frank and charming manner when we meet.”

“Chew your carrot!” I growled.

He grunted resentfully and took my advice, biting off a huge piece.

And just then we heard a loud howl ringing across the market: “Honorable sirs! Honorable sirs!”

“Does he mean us?” Eel asked, turning round just in case.

“Honorable sirs, wait!” shouted a decently dressed young lad, running toward us and waving his arms desperately in the air.

“He definitely wants us,” said Eel, and stopped.

“What in the name of the underground kings does he want?” Deler muttered, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Let’s go,” said Hallas, shoving his partner. “If we stand around waiting for everyone who starts shouting, we’ll never get to the barber’s before nightfall!”

“And if we keep walking, he’ll run after us, bawling his head off,” I objected reasonably. “That’s one piece of luck we can do without.”

“Uhu,” said Kli-Kli, sinking his teeth into the carrot. “Hallas, your sleeve has ridden up your arm.”

The gnome swore and pulled down the sleeve of his brown shirt to cover the tattoo of a red heart with teeth—the emblem of the Wild Hearts Brigade.

“Honorable sirs!” said the lad, breathing heavily. He was obviously worn out from chasing after us.

“What do you want, young man?” Hallas asked with a menacing frown. “Don’t you have anything better to do than go around yelling for all the town to hear?”

“I wanted to suggest—,” the young lad began, but Deler interrupted him again:

“We’re not buying!”

The dwarf and the gnome turned away and walked on, without even listening to what the poor panting fellow had to say. I shrugged. This youth was not going to sell anything to the gnome.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Aren’t you the one looking for a barber?”

Hallas froze with one foot in midair, then slowly lowered it and turned in our direction. The expression on the gnome’s face did not bode the young lad any good.

“How much?” the gnome asked, unfolding his fists.

“Free!”

That stopped our bearded friend dead in his tracks and set him thinking hard. He grunted, scratched the back of his head, and said: “I thought I heard you say that I can have my tooth pulled out absolutely free of charge. Is that right?”

“Absolutely right!”

“It’s nonsense!” Deler rumbled. “Nothing’s ever free!”

“That’s what I think, too,” said Hallas, giving the young lad another dark look.

“No, honorable sirs, I’m not lying! They’ll do everything for you at the faculty of healers in the university without taking a single coin. And they’re not barbers, but absolutely genuine healers. Luminaries of science. Professors!”

“Mm, is that so?” Hallas asked, still suspicious. “And don’t these professors of yours have anything better to do than go around pulling everyone’s teeth out?”

“But this is examination week at the university,” the student explained. “The professors tell the senior classes how to treat ailments, and demonstrate at the same time, and then they ask questions to see how well we’ve learned it all. I happened to overhear your conversation with the barber.”

Hallas sighed, and thought, then sighed again, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Lead on.”

Naturally, they hadn’t sent a cart for us, let alone a carriage, so we had to trudge all the way back on our own two feet.

Suddenly Kli-Kli gasped in fright and tugged at the edge of my jacket.

“Harold, look! Heartless Chasseurs!” he hissed in a theatrical whisper, pointing at the soldiers.

There were five of them, dressed in white uniform jackets and crimson trousers, walking toward us.

“What are we going to do?”

I wondered if Kli-Kli was in a real panic or just playing the fool.

“Smile,” I hissed through clenched teeth, and stretched my lips out into an idiotic grin.

The Heartless Chasseurs walked past without even giving us a glance and Kli-Kli gave a sigh of relief.

“Phew!”

“Why were you so frightened of them?” I asked the goblin.

“Well, you know, after Vishki…,” Kli-Kli replied anxiously.

“Vishki? Calm down, Kli-Kli,” Eel said with a smile. “I don’t think the magicians have been broadcasting the fact that we escaped from them. They were up to no good in that village, and they’ll keep quiet to avoid attracting unwelcome attention. Take no notice of these chasseurs, they’re simply quartered in Ranneng and they don’t know a blind thing about us.”

The immense bronze gates of the University of Sciences were standing wide open in welcome to all who approached from the park that flourished between the Upper City, the university, and school of the Order. From a distance, we could make out an emblem on the gates, the mark of an ancient and venerable institution—an engraving of an open book, entwined with grape leaves.

The park in which the university stood was huge, magnificent, and beautiful. Once we were in it, I felt as if I had fallen into the magical forest of my childhood dreams where the oaks propped up the heavens with their green crowns the whole year round.

We followed our guide in through the gates and turned onto one of the shady stone pathways leading past the gray faculty buildings and into the heart of the university.

“Why aren’t there any people here?” Deler asked curiously, gazing around on all sides.

“The students are either at their practical studies or taking the final examinations, or they’ve already gone off for vacation, honorable sir.”

“And this—” Deler clicked his fingers, trying to remember the word. “—healing faculty of yours. Where’s that?”

“Ah. The healing faculty’s beside the morgue, so we won’t see any of the students until we get there.”

“Beside the morgue?” Hallas asked warily.

“That’s in case they get it wrong when they pull your tooth out,” Deler said to taunt the gnome. “So they don’t have to carry the body too far.”

“What are you croaking about, you ugly crow?” Hallas asked, and swore. “You dwarves are all like that, no good for anything but croaking misery and death. You croak away the centuries, and we dig the shafts and galleries for you.”

“You dig them for us? Why, you can’t make a single decent thing with your own hands. You’re born mattockmen and you die mattockmen.”

“That’s enough,” Eel barked. “Stop squabbling!”

A group of students was sitting on the grass under the trees and leafing lazily through their books.

“They’re from the literary faculty,” our guide said disdainfully when he caught my eye. “Bohemians.”

Kli-Kli grunted theatrically at the sound of that word.

“What are you grunting for?” I asked him.

“You don’t know what bohemians are!” Kli-Kli answered back.

“Believe it or not, but I do,” I disabused him. “My teacher’s collection of books could rival the Royal Library.”

“I don’t really believe that. An educated thief is an absurdity.”

“Oh, sure. Just like an educated goblin. What do you read in Zagraba apart from your Tre-Tre’s books?”

“The great Tre-Tre,” Kli-Kli corrected me automatically. “We have many ancient books, Harold-Barold. A lot more than you think! Many people would barter their souls just to get a glance at them.”

Through the trees we saw a yellow three-story building with a broad stairway, covered as thickly with students as the Field of Sorna was with gnomes.

“An examination?” Deler asked, gazing round at the students leafing through their books.

“Yes, today the second year have anatomy,” the young lad said with a frown. “Everyone who passes will go to the Sundrop to celebrate. So there’ll be a right royal carousal tonight!”

Deler chuckled as if he had already started celebrating: “Hey, my friend Hallas! You’ve gone rather pale. Not scared, are you?”

“Gnomes don’t get scared!” Hallas said proudly, and started climbing the steps on stiff legs.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t faint,” Kli-Kli whispered to me.

We walked into the building, down a long corridor crammed with excited students, and found ourselves in a hall.

The floor here sloped steeply away toward a desk, beside which a gray-haired teacher was making about twenty students watch as he hacked through a body lying on a stone table with something halfway between a saw and a knife.

“Professor!” our guide shouted out. “I’ve brought him!”

The professor looked from his attempt to saw open the poor corpse’s skull and squinted at us short-sightedly.

“Well, at last! What a lot of them there are!”

“He’s the only one with a bad tooth,” Deler said hastily, pointing at Hallas.

Hallas shuddered and narrowed his eyes as he glared at the dwarf.

“A gnome? Hmm … Well, that will be instructive,” said the professor, putting down his saw. “Come on down, respected sir, come on down.”

“Go on, don’t be afraid,” said Deler, giving the gnome a push. “Harold, are you with us?”

“No,” I said, “I think I’ll just sit here on the bench.”

“That’s a mistake, think what a performance you’ll miss!” said Kli-Kli, skipping happily down the steps after Deler and Hallas.

I sat down on one of the benches and started observing from a distance as they sat Hallas in a chair standing beside the table with the corpse on it. The professor washed his hands and picked up something that looked like an instrument of torture.

“Who was that man, your old friend?” Eel asked as he sat down beside me.

“You mean Bass? Is there some serious reason for your interest in my past?”

Eel paused before replying. He’s the silent type, sometimes he doesn’t open his mouth even once the whole day long.

“Both, to be honest. It’s a strange coincidence that we ran into someone who knows you. You suddenly spotted an old enemy. And then, just a few minutes later, an old acquaintance of yours turns up. Just recently I’ve started feeling wary of any kind of coincidence or chance event. And, pardon me, but I don’t trust anyone but myself. I’m feeling a little concerned about this Bass who suddenly showed up out of nowhere.”

I knew Eel’s iron character—it was practically impossible to disconcert him with any sort of surprise—and so the words “a little concerned” on his lips meant a great deal.

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts, because I didn’t like talking to people about my life. The less other people knew about you, the better protected you were against all kinds of surprises.

For had hammered that wisdom into my head a long time before, and as time passed I came to realize that my old teacher was absolutely right. No one in Avendoom knew about Shadow Harold’s feelings and attachments, and no one could put pressure on me by using my friends and dear ones. Because I didn’t chatter much and minded my own business, I wasn’t too worried about suddenly being stabbed in the back.

But I trusted the tight-lipped Garrakian.

Eel was probably one of the few people with whom I was not afraid of opening up and pouring out my soul, knowing that he would take everything he heard from me to the grave with him.

“We were friends ever since we were kids,” I began. “We lived in the slums of Avendoom, and we went through a lot together … hunger, freezing winters, raids by the guards.… We survived all sorts of things.… Bass and I looked out for each other and more or less managed to make ends meet until a master thief took us under his wing. His name was For.…

“That man taught us a lot.… For used to say I had a natural gift for thievery, and maybe he was right. Bass wasn’t quite so.… When were living on the street, I was the one who picked people’s pockets, not him. My friend had a different passion—cards and dice. For eventually gave up on my friend, and Bass got more and more involved in gambling.”

I frowned. I still found remembering this episode from the past as painful as ever.

“A couple of times he got himself into nasty situations when he was completely wiped out. Back then For was a major figure in the criminal world of Avendoom and he was able to get his pupil off the hook. But everything has to come to an end sometime. One day Bass got into really serious trouble—my friend found himself owing a large sum of money to Markun, a man who was the head of the Avendoom Guild of Thieves for a long time. Bass didn’t tell me or For anything about it. He just took our money and disappeared. He stole his teacher’s and his friend’s gold. Then the rumors spread that Markun’s lads had left him floating under the piers, but the body was never found. For these last twelve years For and I thought that Bass was dead. So you can imagine how amazed I was to see him in Ranneng, alive and well.”

“Yes indeed…,” Eel grunted. “Let’s hope that your meeting really was just coincidence.… You’re not planning to meet up with him for a talk?”

“No,” I replied without even thinking about it, and the conversation fizzled out of its own accord.

Eel and I turned our attention back to what was happening down by the lectern.

The professor was clutching the instrument of torture in one hand as he lectured the students.

“… As you can see, the dental system of gnomes is rather similar to the human dental system. But there are certain differences. The structure of the skull and the alveolar appendages is not quite the same in gnomes. This race has a straight bite, and fewer teeth than humans—only twenty-four, twelve in each jaw. They have no canines and only one set of premolars. Unfortunately, my friends, I am not able to show you the teeth of orcs or elves. But believe me, they are absolutely identical, which proves just how closely related the two races are. The hyperdevelopment of the lower canines has led to the development of a rather specific bite in the elves and the Firstborn—when the mouth is opened, the lower jaw is displaced.… But I am digressing. The reason that has brought our patient to us today is the fourth tooth on the upper right. I am inclined to believe that the factor that induced the pain was abrupt hypothermia of the entire organism. But here, of course, it would be better to take a case history, because suppositions will not get you very far. I remember I had a case in which my patient…”

“I think this will go on and on for a very long time.” Eel chuckled.

The Garrakian wasn’t the only one who thought so. Several of the students were looking quite frankly bored. Kli-Kli was gazing curiously at the glittering knife left lying beside the corpse, and Deler was yawning desperately, covering his mouth with his massive hand. Hallas was squirming impatiently in the chair, his color gradually changing from pale to scarlet. Just as the talkative professor started analyzing the tenth clinical case from his own practice, the gnome’s patience finally ran out.

“Aaah! I swear by the ice-worms!” the gnome roared, then he leapt up out of his chair and set off resolutely in our direction.

“Where are you going, dear sir?” the professor exclaimed in amazement. “What about the tooth?”

All the students, suddenly roused from their lethargy, started gaping wide-eyed at the gnome.

When he heard the question, Hallas stopped, turned round, and made an indecent gesture to everyone there. The poor professor clutched at his heart. Pleased with the effect he had created, the gnome strode on toward the exit with his head held high.

“And where to now, Hallas?” Deler asked.

“To a tavern! Maybe drink will do something to ease this damned pain.…”

The gnome strode in determinedly through the door of the Sundrop tavern. It was probably the worst of all such establishments in the Upper City. Although it was so close to the university and the school of magicians, the characters who gathered there were by no means the most trustworthy types.

My cautious glance immediately picked out a table with five Doralissians and a table with men wearing the badge of the Guild of Stonemasons. The Doralissians and the masons were eyeing each other dourly, but had not yet moved on to active hostilities. I was inclined to think that things wouldn’t get as far as a fight until the lads downed another five jugs of wine.

Another danger zone in the bar room of the Sundrop was the tables where a dozen or so Heartless Chasseurs were sitting, apparently celebrating a leave pass. They cast sideways glances at the Doralissians and the stonemasons. The soldiers’ faces were set in an expression of gloomy determination to batter the faces of both groups if they tried to stop them having a good time.

Of course, there were plenty of ordinary folks in a more peaceable frame of mind, but there was definitely tension in the air and the innkeeper was dashing about like a lunatic, trying to defuse the situation.

“Hmm…,” I said, trying to shout above the din. “Maybe we should find somewhere a bit calmer?”

“Don’t be afraid, Harold, you’re with me!” Hallas declared, taking a seat at the only free table, which was right beside the bar.

I wasn’t afraid. I had no doubt that if the regulars of this tavern suddenly found themselves in the Knife and Ax, they would faint in sheer fright. But why were we here? What was the point in sticking your nose into a bear’s den just for the sake of a fight? We needed to take good care of ourselves.

A serving wench appeared in front of us as if by magic.

“Beer for these four, and something very, very strong for me,” said the gnome.

“We have wheat liquor and krudr—Doralissian vodka.”

“Mix the liquor with the krudr, add some dark beer and a bit of Gnome’s Fire,” the gnome decided after a moment’s thought. “Do you have Gnome’s Fire?”

“We can probably find some, sir.”

If the serving wench was surprised by this strange selection, she didn’t show it.

“Listen, Hallas,” Deler said to the gnome, “if you want to commit suicide, you don’t have to drink garbage. Just tell me, and I’ll dispatch you to the next world at the drop of a hat.”

Hallas adopted a rather unusual tactic in response to this jibe—he ignored it.

“And no beer for me, please, just carrot juice,” Kli-Kli put in.

“We don’t serve that here.”

“Well, some other kind of juice, as long as it tastes good.”

“We don’t have any,” the serving wench said, not very politely.

“How about milk? Do you have milk?”

“Beer.”

“All right then, beer.” Kli-Kli sighed disappointedly.

“Fancy finding people like this in such a place!” said a familiar voice.

Lamplighter, Arnkh, and Marmot walked up to us. Invincible jumped off Marmot’s shoulder, thudded down onto our table, and started twitching his pink nose in hopes of finding something tasty to eat. Kli-Kli thrust a carrot at the ling, but the beast just bared his teeth. He didn’t give a damn for the goblin’s attempts to make friends with him.

“What wind blows you in here?” the gnome asked the new arrivals in a none-too-friendly voice.

“I can tell you’re not very pleased to see us,” Arnkh laughed as he took a seat.

Mumr and Marmot followed their companion’s example, although Marmot had to take a chair from the next table, where the goat-men were sitting. The Doralissians looked the warrior over dourly, but they didn’t bother him, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking their horns and beards for anything as petty as a chair.

“He’s not pleased to see anyone today,” Deler replied for the gnome.

“Have they pulled that tooth out?” Lamplighter asked.

“Listen, Mumr,” Hallas said irritably, “go tootle your whistle and leave me alone.”

“Oo-oo-ooh, things are really bad,” said Lamplighter, shaking his head with disappointment.

“Why hasn’t it been pulled out?” asked Arnkh, joining in the conversation.

“I changed my mind!” the gnome suddenly exploded. “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”

“All right, Hallas, all right,” Arnkh said good-naturedly, trying to calm the gnome down. “So you changed your mind. What’s all the shouting about?”

The serving wench brought beer for us and the fiery mixture for Hallas. She took the order from the three Wild Hearts who had just joined us and went away again.

“So how do you come to be here?” I asked Marmot, who was feeding his ling.

“Arnkh dragged us out for a walk round the city. It’s a lousy little town. And we dropped in here to wet our whistles.”

“And did you see anything interesting in the city?” Kli-Kli asked, sniffing cautiously at the beer he had been served: It was obviously not much to his liking. “Hallas, why aren’t you drinking?”

“And you?” the gnome snarled back, staring at his booze as if there was a dead snake floating in it.

“I’m sniffing it!” Kli-Kli retorted. “That’s quite enough for me!”

“Me, too.”

“Well now, the krudr smells even worse than the goats,” Lamplighter chuckled.

“Well, how do you like the race of gnomes?” Deler asked with a cunning grin as he took a sip of dark beer. “Afraid of having a tooth pulled on, so they order a brew of fire and they’re afraid to drink that, too.”

“Who’s afraid, hathead? On the Field of Sorna we weren’t afraid to break your horns for you, and you think we’re afraid to drink this water? Watch!”

Hallas poured the liquid down his throat in a single gulp, without pausing for breath. I shuddered. One drop of the explosive mixture that the gnome had ordered would have been enough to fell a h’san’kor.

Our bearded friend drank, grunted, banged his mug down on the table, focused his wandering eyes together on a single point, and flared his nostrils as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. We all gazed at him in genuine admiration.

“That’s dis…,” the gnome said, scorching us all with the indescribable aroma of that repulsive mixture. “That’s dis … disgusting, may the Nameless One take me!”

“Are you alive?” Deler asked, squinting warily at his friend.

“No, I’m already in the light! The only time I’ve ever felt this good was when you dragged my butt off that Crayfish Duke’s scaffold! We-ench! Another three mugs of the same brew!”

“Well then?” Marmot asked after a pause. “Shall we drink to Tomcat?”

“May the earth be a feather mattress to him, and the grass his blanket!” said Lamplighter, raising his mug.

“May he walk in the light,” said Hallas.

“A good winter to him,” said Eel.

We drank in silence, without clinking glasses.

That’s the way it goes: Some are already in the light, and some are still alive. Tomcat had been left behind in the ground beside the old ravine in Hargan’s Wasteland, the first to die of those who had set out to escort me to Hrad Spein. I hoped very much that the Wild Hearts’ scout would also be the last one to die during our journey.

Time passed imperceptibly, people came and people went; the stonemasons, Doralissians, and chasseurs kept filling themselves up with wine. Two hours later, when I had my third mug of beer standing in front of me, and Hallas had the eighth mug of his fiery “remedy,” an old man with a whistle appeared out of nowhere and started playing a jolly djanga.

Those who were most sober and could still stand firmly on their feet got up and started dancing. Arnkh grabbed a serving wench by the arms, setting her squealing in indignation and then in delight, and launched into the swirling dance. The stonemasons sang along merrily, the Doralissians banged their fists on the table, and we stamped our feet, trying to keep time with the music. Only Hallas paid no attention to the general merriment and systematically drank his swill.

A gnome or a dwarf can drink as much as an entire crowd of men and still not get drunk. But Hallas had had more than enough, his speech was getting noticeably slurred, his nose had turned red, and his eyes were glittering. The apotheosis of the cure came when he made a confession of genuine love to Deler.

“Hey you! Hatface! What would I do without your ugly mug to look at?” the gnome muttered drunkenly and tried to kiss his friend. “We-ench! Hic! The same again!”

A little more time went by, and my comrades were no longer even thinking of going anywhere else. They had a new entertainment now—Mumr and Marmot were trying to stare down the Doralissians. Each side was trying to drill a hole in the other. The stonemasons, realizing that they might have acquired new allies, started getting a bit livelier, and the chasseurs started wondering whose side to take in the fight ahead.

The gentlemen students came pouring into the tavern in a jolly crowd to celebrate passing their exam. Hallas fell into a doze on Lamplighter’s shoulder and Deler heaved a sigh of relief—the irascible gnome had finally shut his mouth.

Rather unexpectedly a quarrel sprang up at our table about the cuisines of the various races of Siala. The dwarf thumped himself on the chest and said that no one knew how to cook better than his race, to which Kli-Kli replied by suggesting we should wake Hallas and ask his opinion on the matter. Deler said rather hastily that it probably wasn’t worth waking him up, gnomes didn’t have a blind notion about food in any case—it was enough to remember the chow the gnome had cooked up during our journey.

“In general, the goblins are masters at preparing any kind of food,” Kli-Kli claimed.

“Right, only normal people can’t eat your grub,” Lamplighter snorted.

“It’s hard to call you Wild Hearts normal people,” Kli-Kli objected. “I’m sure you eat all sorts of garbage on your raids into the Deserted Lands.”

“There have been times,” Lamplighter agreed. “I remember once we had to eat the meat of a snow troll, and that, I tell you, is some chow!”

“Aw, come on, now,” Kli-Kli said impatiently, taking a sniff at the beer in his mug to pep himself up. “What kind of exotic food’s that? Troll meat! Ha!”

“Have you tried anything more unusual, then?” Eel asked the goblin.

“Sure I have!” Kli-Kli declared proudly. “We even have an old drinking song about food like that.”

“Right then, give us a blast,” Mumr suggested.

“No, don’t,” said Deler, waving his hands in the air. “I know what you greenskins are like. Worse than those bearded loons! If you start to sing, you’ll have every dog within a league howling.”

“It’s an interesting song. It’s called ‘The Fly in the Plate,’” the jester said with a grin.

“Drink your beer, Kli-Kli, and keep quiet,” Lamplighter warned the goblin in a threatening voice. The little ratbag sighed in resignation and stuck his nose into his mug.

“Good gentlemen!” said an old fellow who had come up to our table. “Help a poor invalid, buy him a mug of beer.”

“You don’t look much like an invalid,” growled Deler, whom the gods had not blessed with the gift of generosity.

“But I am,” the beggar said with a tragic sigh. “I spent ten years wandering the deserts of the distant Sultanate, and I left all my strength and my fortune behind in the sand.”

“Right,” Deler chortled mistrustfully. “In the Sultanate! I don’t think you’ve ever been more than ten yards away from the walls of Ranneng.”

“I’ve got proof,” said the old man. He was swaying on his feet a bit; he’d obviously already taken a good skinful that day. “Look!”

With a theatrical gesture the old man pulled something from under his old patched cloak, something that looked a bit like a finger, only it was three times bigger and it was green, and it had thorns on it, and it was in a small flowerpot.

“What kind of beast is that?” Deler asked, moving back warily to a safe distance from this strange object.

“Ah, these young people,” said the old man, shaking his head. “Haven’t been taught a thing. It’s a cactus!”

“And just what sort of cactus is that?” the dwarf asked.

“The absolutely genuine kind! The rare flower of the desert, with healing properties, and it blossoms once every hundred years.”

“What a load of nonsense!” Arnkh pronounced after inspecting the rare flower of the desert suspiciously.

“Aw, come on, buy grandpa some beer,” good-natured Lamplighter put in.

“And not just grandpa,” Hallas muttered, opening his eyes. “Me, too! Only not beer, but that stuff I was drinking already. My tooth’s started aching again!”

“Go to sleep!” Deler hissed at the gnome. “You’ve had enough for today.”

“Aha!” the gnome snorted. “Sure! Some old-timer can have a drink, but I can’t! I’m going to get up and get it for myself.”

“How can you get up, Hallas? Your legs won’t hold you.”

“Oh yes they will!” the gnome protested. He moved his chair and stood up. “See!”

He was swaying quite noticeably from side to side, which made him look like a sailor during a raging storm at sea.

Hallas took a couple of uncertain steps and bumped into a Doralissian who was carrying a mug full of krudr back to his table; the entire drink spilled on the goat-man’s chest.

The bearded drunk glanced up at the Doralissian towering over him, smiled sweetly, and said what you should never say to any member of the Doralissian race: “Hello there, goat! How’s life?”

On hearing what his people regard as the deadliest of insults (the word “goat”), the Doralissian didn’t hold back: He socked the gnome hard in the teeth.

When Deler saw somebody else hit his friend, he howled, grabbed a chair, and smashed it against the Doralissian’s head. The Doralissian collapsed as if his legs had been scythed away.

“Mumr, give me a hand!” said Deler, grabbing the goat-man under the arms.

Lamplighter rushed to help him. They lifted up the unconscious Doralissian and on the count of three launched him on a long-distance flight to the chasseurs’ table.

The soldiers accepted this gift with wide-open arms and immediately dispatched it homeward, to the table where several rather angry goat-men were already getting to their feet. The Heartless Chasseurs didn’t have as much experience as Deler and Lamplighter in the launching of unconscious bodies, so the Doralissian fell short of the target and came crashing down on the stonemasons. That seemed to be just what they had been waiting for. They jumped to their feet and went dashing at the chasseurs, fists at the ready. The Doralissians ignored the brawl between the soldiers and the masons and attacked us.

Kli-Kli squealed and dived under the table. Knowing the incredible strength possessed by the mistake of the gods that is known as a goat-man, I grabbed the legendary cactus plant off the table and threw it into the face of the nearest attacker. The owner of the cactus and my target both cried out at the same time. One in outrage, the other in pain. The old-timer dashed to rescue his precious plant from under the goat’s hooves and the Doralissian made a repulsive bleating sound as he pulled the quills out of his nose.

By this time the fight had become universal. Everybody was fighting everybody. There were beer mugs flying through the air, aimed at any dopes who were still getting their bearings. One almost caught Marmot in the head, but he ducked just in time.

The wailing landlord tried to halt the destruction of his property, but he got a punch in the face from one of the goats and collapsed under the bar. Another beer mug went flying into a group of students and they dashed to attack the chasseurs.

“Harold! Stop getting under my feet!” Deler growled as he made a beeline for the next enemy. He took aim and kicked him between the legs.

I jumped back from the table, leaving the Wild Hearts to take the bumps and the bruises, since that was their job anyway—to protect me from all sorts of unpleasantness.

Eel, Lamplighter, and Marmot lined up in wedge formation and took on anyone who came within striking range. Eel doled out his punches sparingly and precisely, and anyone who was still standing after an encounter with the Garrakian was left for Lamplighter or Marmot to finish off.

The ling on Marmot’s shoulder flew into a fury and squealed piercingly, trying to bite anyone he could reach with his teeth. Then, realizing that if he stayed on his master’s shoulder he would miss all the fun, Invincible jumped onto the nearest enemy and sank his teeth into his nose.

“Harold! Out of the way!”

Arnkh pushed me aside, grabbed one of the chasseurs by the sides of his chest, and butted him in the face. Then another met the same fate. And another. The bald head of the warrior from the Border Kingdom was a truly fearsome weapon.

But there’s always a ballista for every dragon. One of the stonemasons crept up on Arnkh from behind and smashed him over the head with a bottle that shattered into smithereens. Arnkh swayed on his feet and the stonemason, encouraged by his initial success, swung back his fist with the broken bottle.

Kli-Kli darted out from under the table and kicked the enemy on the knee with all his might. The stonemason dropped his weapon, cursed wildly, and tried to grab Kli-Kli by the scruff of the neck, but the nimble goblin slipped between the man’s legs and gave the stonemason a hefty kick up the backside.

I added my own modest contribution with a sweet punch to his stomach. The enemy doubled over and Kli-Kli promptly repeated his blow to the fifth point, while I chopped him in the throat with the side of my hand. The lad rolled his eyes up resentfully and collapsed on the floor.

“Are you all right?” I asked Arnkh, holding him by the shoulder just to be on the safe side.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Who did that to me?”

“There he is!” said Kli-Kli, pointing to the man lying on the floor.

“Give him a kick for me, please,” said Arnkh, wincing, and Kli-Kli promptly did just as his comrade asked.

“It’s getting too hot around here. Time to be leaving,” said Lamplighter. He had a huge black eye.

“Screw that!” Deler panted as he fought off two Doralissians at the same time with a chair. “The real fun’s only just beginning! Are you just going to watch or is someone going to help me with these goats?”

“You’ll pay-ay for calling us goa-oats!” one of the Doralissians bleated, bringing his fist down on the short dwarf’s head.

Deler skipped aside, smashed the chair into the ribs of the Doralissian who was trying to hit him, and jumped back out of the way, yielding his position to the “heavy cavalry” in the form of five bellicose chasseurs. The lads in red and white hung on the Doralissians’ shoulders like bunches of grapes and set about pummeling their faces with military thoroughness.

A free space had opened up around Eel—no one else wanted to risk going up against the Garrakian. Maybe I just imagined it, but the warrior seemed a bit upset by this turn of events. He’d only just got into the swing of things!

“Can you stand?” I asked Arnkh, lowering him carefully onto the only surviving stool.

“Don’t worry about me! I’m not a porcelain plate,” he hissed, and frowned as he touched the lump on the back of his head.

“Those students are lively lads!” Marmot exclaimed. He had finally finished pounding his fist into the face of the largest stonemason and now he was observing the rough-and-tumble in the next corner of the tavern with academic interest.

The students had approached the fight in typically inventive, daredevil fashion. By turning over several tables, they had constructed an improvised barricade and then laid down what the gnomes call covering artillery fire, using beer mugs. After that they launched themselves, roaring in unison, against the Heartless Chasseurs and their sympathizers.

One of the fallen tried to crawl to the door and slip away. But he was too late. The door came flying off its hinges, and the guards appeared in the tavern.

“Nobody move! You’re all under arrest!” one of the soldiers shouted, but he immediately took a beer mug to the helmet and slumped to his knees.

The guards were offended at not being taken seriously, and a stonemason who was about to launch a bottle in their direction fell with a crossbow bolt in his leg.

“Let’s scram!” shouted one of the students.

The most quick-witted individuals started leaving the Sundrop via the broken windows.

After a brief moment’s thought, Marmot dragged a frightened serving wench out from under the bar.

“Where’s the back entrance?” he asked.

“That way!” the girl said, nodding toward the kitchen.

“Let’s clear out, lads!” Marmot called as he dashed in the direction indicated.

Moving in close formation, our entire group followed his example. In the course of the tactical withdrawal Lamplighter and Deler took the opportunity to batter the face of the last Doralissian still on his feet.

“By the hundred sublunary kings!” Deler exclaimed, slapping himself on the forehead. “We’ve forgotten Hallas, burn his rotten beard!”

The tavern was already crammed with so many guards that they outnumbered the brawlers, and Hallas had to be dragged out from under the very feet of servants of the law.

The gnome had more or less snapped out of it and he started hobbling toward the back entrance, supported by Deler and Mumr. We slipped through the kitchen, frightening the cook on the way, and out into a dark back alley. Deler sang the dwarves’ military march and Kli-Kli backed him up in a shrill little voice. Lamplighter grunted contentedly. The lads had really enjoyed the little set-to.

We must have been sitting there with our beer for quite a long time, because it was dark outside. Once out in the alley, we started scuttling away from the tavern, but then Hallas stopped dead in his tracks and yelled: “My sack!”

Shoving aside anyone who tried to stop him, the gnome went dashing back to the tavern.

“What an idiot!” Marmot hissed.

“He’ll get into trouble! As sure as eggs he will,” said Deler, preparing to rush after his friend.

“You stay where you are!” Eel snapped. “I’m not going to drag two of you out of the slammer.”

Deler muttered an obscenity through his teeth. But he stayed where he was, staring impatiently at the bright rectangle of the open door. That minute seemed like an eternity.…

Eventually Hallas appeared, carrying his beloved sack.

“It’s a pity that goat didn’t smash your stupid head in!” Deler exclaimed, but there was a note of relief in his voice.

“Let’s go,” Eel said tersely, assuming command of our small unit.

“Marmot, you didn’t forget your mouse in the tavern, did you?” Kli-Kli asked in alarm.

“I’ll forget you before I forget Invincible,” Marmot growled.

“Oo-oo-oh, you’re mean,” said the goblin, offended. “And it’s been a bad day today all round!”

“And why’s that?” Arnkh asked in surprise. “By definition you don’t have any bad days.”

“Well, think about it,” said Kli-Kli, trying to match Arnkh’s stride. “We wandered into the city and spent the whole day staggering around, Hallas still didn’t get his tooth pulled out, and tomorrow we have to move on.”

“Absolute disaster!” Marmot said.

“Hey,” Hallas sighed in distress. “I forgot something.”

“What else have you forgotten now?” Mumr asked in annoyance. “You’ve got your sack.”

“I forgot my pipe! My pipe! It must have fallen out of my mouth when that damned goat poked me in the face!”

“Why, that’s excellent,” said Deler, who couldn’t stand tobacco smoke. “Now you can take a break from smoking.”

“It’s a briar pipe,” Hallas exclaimed, continuing his lament. “A family relic! Maybe I should go back for it?”

“Just you try it. Then you can sort things out with Uncle yourself,” Eel warned the gnome.

“All right,” said Hallas, spitting on the ground. “I’ve got a spare in my saddlebag.”

“How’s your tooth?” I asked the gnome. Hallas hadn’t done any howling for a suspiciously long time.

“It’s gone, Sagra be praised!”

“What?”

“That goat thumped me so hard he knocked the rotten thing out!”

“There now, Hallas.” Deler laughed. “See what a noble barber you found for yourself. Thick-headed, with horns and a little beard, too! Why, just like you!”

The dark alley rang to loud roars of laughter, and Hallas laughed along with everyone else.

Three times guards who had been put on the alert went running past and we had to hide in the shadows of the buildings. Eel decided not to take any risks, and we took a long detour to avoid running into the guardians of public order, who were as ornery as wasps in early autumn. Eventually we came out onto the street leading to the Learned Owl.