“Uh”—I looked around at the place, noting that there were several other of these tall ones about. But here and there, I could also see folk of my size, as well as some even smaller—“yes, your loftiness, a room please. That is unless you keep owls on the premises, in which case, I’m leaving.”
“No, no.” He blinked his sparkly eyes at me. “No owls. Also no cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, mongooses or mongeese, or any other thing of the sort.
“The last time there was anything dangerous in here was when we went to the Emerald Isle, and this fool drove a massive herd of snakes right over the top of us. Filled the place right up, he did, and for that you can blame Rafferty, who ran in just ahead of them and forgot to shut the door. We had to go to Iceland to chill ’em into a torpor, then to a desert far to the west, where we shoveled them out the door and into the fields of tall cacti as fast as we could, before they had a chance to recover in the desert heat and start that wriggling and rattling again.”
Cor blimey! Here I had been afraid only of owls, and Stretch, here, was telling me about cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, mongooses or mongeese (whatever they are, but I can imagine), and snakes that go slither and rattle. Now I could worry about a whole new pantheon of things what could grab me in the dark. I peered closely at the floor and under the furniture. “There’s none of those blighters about now, is there?”
Again he blinked his sparklies at me, and I thought I saw him cross his fingers behind his back. “Oh no. All gone. I swear.”
You could say that there was just the tee tiniest bit of doubt lingering in my mind, but, I did need holiday rest. “Well, then, your tallness, just give me a room and some food, and ale … yes, a good jug of ale.”
“If you’ll have a seat,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the other patrons gathered ’round one of the common-room hearths, “I’ll see to it straightaway.” He turned to go and as he walked away, I heard a faint buzzing, as of dried seeds shaken in a small gourd. Proprietor Dando leapt sideways away from the nearby cabinet he was passing, hurriedly walking on.
As I approached the other patrons, I looked about. The curtains were drawn back from the muddled windows to let sunlight brighten the interior, yet I could see that at night the warm amber glow of lamp and candle would illume the room, along with the ruddy cast of a crackling fire should the weather warrant. The ceilings were what I judged to be about four feet or so high. The furniture, large by my standards, was most suitable for Halflings.
To my back was what I’ll call the east fireplace, and before it stood a commodious longtable, and to the center of the room was another smaller one; when occupied by a happy crowd, they would no doubt give the place the genial atmosphere of a joyously rowdy pub.
Before the west fireplace, where I was headed, was a soft couch flanked by what looked to be several cozy chairs. Throughout the rest of the common room, other tables and chairs were placed about, and toward the “north” wall stood a cheery bar with what I hoped would be excellent ale. In the southeast corner, a spiral staircase twined upward to the second floor, where I assumed the guest rooms were.
I came in among the other patrons: a Pixie, a Pysk, a Gnome, and a Leprechaun: these I recognized. But then there was another one of these Halflings, a different kind from Proprietor Dando, but a Halfling still. Rotund of girth, as best as I could judge with him sitting down, he was maybe three foot eight or nine. Unlike Dando, this one had no Elven ears and jewellike eyes, but instead he had these enormously large hairy feet! Bare! Propped on a footstool before him. And, oh my, what clodhoppers they were. Cor! These had to be the biggest pair of dogs I ever clapped eyes on. And I know feet! I’m a cobbler, after all. Lor! If I had to make a pair of shoes for him, blimey! it’d take a whole cow just to get the job done.
“I’m Fiz,” said a voice next to me.
Wrenching my amazed eyes away from those enormous feet, I saw that the Pixie was speaking to me. She was a little bit of a thing, twelve inches or so, the top of her head with its straw-colored hair just reaching my ribcage, though the upper tips of her gauzy wings o’ertopped my head slightly.
“H’llo, Fiz; glad to make your acquaintance,” I responded. “My name is Bork, and I’m a cobbler by trade.”
“Oh, I’m a house sprite, spreading cheer among the children of the family I watch over.” Her smile lit up the whole room. “At the nonce, I am between children: they’ve grown up, but will soon have babes of their own. Then will I return to the family.”
Oh, how lovely was this Pixie. I could feel myself staring, and so could she, turning pink under my gaze.
Wresting my attention away from her beatific smile, I turned to the Gnome. “Bork’s the name. Shoes are my game.”
He was a couple inches shorter than me, say one foot four or so, and he had a pointy hat and a pale skin and his dark beard reached down to his belt. With disgust, he looked at my extended hand as if it were an obscene thing. “This is one hand of a pair of hands that handle dirty shoes? Dirty shoes that fit smelly feet? Feet of all folk, no matter what disease might rack their bodies? And you want me, me to come into contact with it, to grip it, to squeeze it? Yuck!”
“Oi,” I protested, “I’ll have you know—”
“Say,” he interrupted, “you’re not one of those foot fetishists, now, are you?”
As my mouth dropped open, Fiz looked startled and backed away from me, kneeling down on a large cushion, hiding her feet underneath her.
“Ah, now m’lad,” said the Leprechaun, “pay him no heed. He’s f’r needin’ holiday, too. Gone spotty in th’ head, what with all that hammerin’ day and night. Sure and his name is Marley, and me, wellanow, I am called Rafferty by some what know me, and I’m jist along f’r th’ roide, keepin’ auld Marley here company.”
Black-haired, Rafferty was perhaps an inch taller than me, and dressed in several shades of green, just as I dress in varying shades of brown. He had large silver buckles on his shiny black shoes, and a silver belt buckle, too. His grip was firm when I shook his hand, and I thought I detected a merry twinkle in his black, black eyes, though it was hard to tell, given the darkness of his gaze and all.
I could see Proprietor Dando approaching, bearing my tray of food and my flagon of ale.
In that moment, though, the Pysk stepped forward, and except for the fact that she had no wings, she could have been Fiz’s twin. “I am Tynvyr, from the land far to the west, and this is Rufous.”
She turned and called, “Rufous,” and from behind the couch that Bigfoot sat on, there came a—
“Yaaa … !” I shrieked, leaping backward, crashing into Proprietor Dando, the tray flying wide, dishes and flatware and stew and bread and ale sailing through the air to clatter and smash and slosh and phoomp and splash and shatter and tinkle and run and dribble hither and thither and yon.
“Save me,” I screamed, rolling over on top of Dando, staring him in the eye.
Somewhere in the distance, it seemed, I could hear the Gnome shrieking, too, something about being covered with filthy, disease-laden food.
Dando grabbed me by my tunic front, pulling me down into his snarling face, gritting, “Save you from what?”
“The dog, you fool!” I shouted. “You said that there were no dogs here, but one is attacking me right now! Ripping out my throat, my jugular vein!”
Still gripping my tunic, Dando got to his feet, hauling me up with him. “Look!”