Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [136]
Because of the drowsy sound of the rain on the roof, Jill slept late that morning. When she woke, she lay in bed for a while and debated going down to the tavern room. She was in for a terrible day, she knew, one spent in a boredom that was full of dangers, rather like marching to war. In her mind she could still see the driven eyes of the stranger, threatening her. Finally she got up and dressed. She was just buckling her sword belt when the gnome appeared.
“Thanks be to every god!”
When she threw open her arms, he rushed to her, leaping up to twine his skinny arms around her neck. She held him tight and rocked him like a baby while tears ran down her cheeks.
“You little beast, I’ve been so frightened! I was afraid some harm had befallen you.”
He pulled back to look at her and nodded his head in a solemn yes.
“Something terrible did happen?”
He flung himself against her and shook in terror.
“My poor little creature! Thanks to the gods you’re safe now. Here, how did you escape whatever the danger was?”
In an agony of concentration he looked away, obviously trying to figure out a way to show her.
“Nevyn saved him, you dolt, who else?”
“Listen, you beastly gem! Don’t you insult me! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this pile of horseshit up to my neck.”
“I know, hut I’m worth it.”
“Bastard.”
“Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be, cursed if I’ll tell you one jot more.”
Jill was too pleased to have her gnome back to care if the dweomer-stone spoke or not. For a long time she sat on the floor with him in her lap and fussed over him. When he finally did disappear, it was slowly, as if he hated to leave but had to go: a bit at a time he faded, became transparent, then at last was a smudge in the air that turned to nothing.
Smiling to herself, she went down to the tavern room and got a bowl of suspiciously lumpy barley porridge. She was picking her way through it, looking for steamed weevils, when Bocc came in. He strolled idly past her table, glanced at her as if he’d never seen her before, then whispered, “To the Red Dragon” under his breath. Jill got her cloak from her chamber, then hurried through the drizzle to the inn, where she found a pale, sweating Ogwern sitting at his usual table. His vast paws were shaking so hard that he had to raise his tankard to his mouth with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“You remember that fellow from last night? Well, he came back. He walks in here not an hour ago, as bold as brass and twice as solid, and sits himself down beside me without so much as a by-your-leave. If I don’t find the opal for him, he says, he’ll turn me into sausages! The gall!”
“Gall and twice gall! He must want this thing really bad. I mean, it’s a big risk, coming here in broad daylight.”
“Oh, I doubt me that he’s putting himself at any risk.” Ogwern paused for a comforting gulp of ale. “Now, here’s the strange part. I know it’ll sound daft, but, Jill, I swear it’s true on my fat but precious self. When he left, I decided to follow him. It was easy enough, because the street was crowded, and he walked right along without even a look over his shoulder. So he strolls along, and I trail him from a good bit back. He goes right down to the commons by the river. Do you know that clump of birches by the bridge?”
“I do.”
“Well, he walks into the trees and disappears. I mean, he truly disappears! He walks into the trees, you see, and I wait. And wait and wait. I never see him come out, and birch thickets aren’t dense like hazels or somewhat, you know. So finally I walk into the thicket, and he’s not there.”
“Now, here! You’re letting your nerves get out of hand. You must have just missed seeing him leave.”
“Would I have the position I do if I couldn’t even see a man in broad