Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [127]
“How can I help you, sir?” the gnome asked, sliding an expert eye over him. Obviously marking his lack of interest in personal ornamentation, she ran through a likely litany; a set of goblets, a small statue, this carved chest, a scrying bowl?
“Nothing, please. I would like to speak with Bronwyn. I might have a commission for her.”
The gnome’s eyes cooled just a little. “She isn’t available, I’m afraid. Would you like to leave a name and word of where she can contact you?”
“I will return. Perhaps tomorrow?”
“After highsun,” the gnome said quickly. “That is the best time.”
He thanked her and left, not believing a word of it. Remembering the friendly half-elf seamstress-and reconsidering the possible importance of that small pink gown- he retraced his steps to the dress shop and struck up a conversation.
The woman was quickly charmed and soon was chatting easily. “Yes, spring is late to come this year. The markets are just starting to open, and folk from here and beyond coming into the city…”
“Quite an influx of paladins, I notice,” he said casually. “I rode past the Halls of Justice this morning. Such a racket they made, with their endless bashing away at each other.”
She made a face. “Let them keep at it, and leave the rest of us alone. One was around the other day.” She glanced down at the pink silk, which she had fisted in both hands. She smoothed out the wrinkles and seemed to reconsider saying more.
But Dag had already learned quite a bit. He leaned closer to the woman. “Perhaps you can help me. If I were to need a special gift for a lady, something different and rare, where should I go?”
“Oh, to Bronwyn’s shop, of course. The Curious Past.” Her face fell slightly. “You have a lady who requires a special gift?”
“My mother,” he lied smoothiy. The woman brightened again. So predictable, he noted with a touch of scorn. No wonder he found so little time to waste on women.
But this one had been useful. The half-elf knew his sister well. She was working on the little gown with quick, neat stitches, not even putting aside her work for their flirtation. She expected to deliver the dress soon. It would seem that the child would soon return, and Bronwyn as well.
Dag spoke with the half-elf for a few more minutes, making an appointment to meet later in a certain discretely lit tavern-an appointment he had no intention of keeping.
It was a small cruelty, but satisfying. And more important, it served a purpose. If the half-elf wench thought herself jilted, she was less likely to speak of her embarrassment and the man who had caused it.
Dag promptly forgot the half-elf as soon as he left her shop. He had more important things to tend. Somewhere in this city was a paladin who called himself Algorind. Before the day was through, Dag intended to roast the paladin’s heart over purple fire.
* * * * *
Bronwyn returned to her shop with her linen shopping sack laden with treats. She’d left Cara sleeping and intended to have a special breakfast of pastries, fruit, and lemon tea ready for her, but the look on Alice’s face stole such pleasant thoughts from her mind.
“A man came by just a bit ago,” the gnome said tersely. “He was about your height and small enough to balance you in a scale. He had black hair, dipping here,” she said, tapping at the center of her forehead.
The contents of Bronwyn’s sack spilled unheeded to the floor. That was the one detail Cara had been able to give them about her father. “Just like Cara said,” she muttered.
“Just like.”
“Did you tell him Cara was here?”
Alice looked insulted. “What do you take me for-a kobold? He didn’t ask, nor would I have told him. It was you he wanted. A commission, he said.”
Bronwyn stooped to gather up the fallen groceries. She picked up a lemon and dropped it into the sack. “One more thing. Did he wear