Black wizards - Douglas Niles [50]
"Why'd you bring it to Llewellyn?" he asked suspiciously.
"A shrewd fellow you are, to be sure," said the halfling with a conspiratorial wink. "To tell you the truth, I had no intention of stopping in Llewellyn, much less selling the crystal. I've become quite attached to it, you know." The halfling, his large brown eyes sliding furtively around the room, leaned in close.
"I had a little trouble up in Callidyrr. I have to get off the island in a hurry. The money'll make that possible."
"Who are you? Where is your home?"
"The name is Pawldo, of Lowhill," said the halfling easily. "I hail from Corwell. Oh, it's nothing serious that has me in a hurry to leave. It involves, if you must know, a young lady."
The sailor chortled knowingly and went back to examining the bright crystal sphere.
"Five gold, eh?" the old sailor mumbled, turning the fascinating sphere in all directions, watching it catch the light from a nearby lantern, diffusing it into a million colors and patterns. He had just been paid, and though the price represented half a season's salary, the object was like nothing he had ever seen before. "I'll take it!"
"A fine deal. I'm grieved to part with it, but the crystal's yours," said the halfling in a voice that almost dripped with regret. The sailor fumbled across the coins and lurched unsteadily to his feet. He clutched the sphere covetously to his breast and staggered out into the street, looking to show off the object to his mates.
Pawldo counted the money, biting a slightly tarnished coin to satisfy himself that it was indeed gold, and smiled to himself. He hoisted the duffel bag he had placed under the table, careful not to jostle its contents. It contained several dozen more of the crystals, each of which he would sell as the only one of its type. He worked his way through a crowd and climbed to a stool, carefully placing a silver piece upon the bar. He would not pay with gold – the little folk had long ago learned to conceal their wealth around humans, particularly drunk and disreputable ones.
This tavern was filled with both types. The Old Sailor was an ancient establishment in one of the most run-down sections of Llewellyn. Fights and theft were common. But the halfling knew that his trail could easily be buried here, and in case two of his customers should chance to meet up after a sale, Pawldo needed quick anonymity.
He sipped at a mug of ale and looked around at the other patrons.
A pair of Northmen were engaged in an arm-wrestling contest in the center of the room, and most of the patrons had gathered around to place bets and cheer on their favorites. Pawldo could see little of the match. The hulking forms of the humans formed an effective barrier for one of his stature. Instead, he saw the door open and a heavyset woman enter. She had a broad face and round cheeks, but she was very attractive in a large sort of way. She stepped confidently up to the group around the wrestlers, and the halfling saw that she carried a lute upon her back.
Interested now, Pawldo watched her join the onlookers. She obviously knew them, judging from the familiar tweak she gave one man. She talked for a moment and then left.
Halflings are nothing if not curious (except about magic), and Pawldo was compelled to see what the bard-lady had said. He hopped to the floor, hoisted his bag, and strolled over to the sailor she had tweaked.
"Any idea where I could find some music?" he asked.
"Huh? Oh, sure, there's a party at The Diving Dolphin tonight. Seems the Prince of Corwell's in town, and… damn!"
The sailor's attention jerked back to the wrestlers. One had just crushed the other's brawny arm to the table. Muttering a stronger curse, he counted out three silver pieces and passed them to a sailor to his left before turning back. He was surprised to see no one there.
"Now where'd that little fellow go?"
* * * * *
"To Rodger!" Tristan solemnly raised his mug.