The crowd of humans and kender pressed in around the fence. Children poked their heads through the bars, promptly got their heads stuck, and began to wail. Some climbed the bars in a futile attempt to crawl over, while others thrust their hands and arms and legs inside for no logical reason that Gerard could see, which only went to prove what he’d long suspected—that his fellow mortals were ninnies.
The Knight made certain the gate was locked and secure and then walked over to the tomb, intending to post himself at the entrance until the Provost came with some means of breaking the seal.
He was climbing the marble and obsidian stairs when he heard the voice say cheerfully, “Oh, never mind. I’ve got it!”
A loud snick, as of a lock being tripped, and the doors to the tomb began to slowly creak open.
The crowd gasped in thrilled horror and crowded nearer the fence, each trying to get the best view possible of the Knight being ripped apart by hordes of skeletal warriors.
A figure emerged from the tomb. It was dusty, dirty, its hair windswept, its clothes in disarray and singed, its pouches rather mangled and worse for wear. But it wasn’t a skeleton. It wasn’t a blood-sucking vampire or an emaciated ghoul.
It was a kender.
The crowd groaned in disappointment.
The kender peered out into the bright sunlight and blinked, half-blinded. “Hullo,” he said. “I’m—” The kender paused to sneeze. “Sorry. It’s extremely dusty in there. Someone should really do something about that. Do you have a handkerchief? I seem to have mislaid mine. Well, it actually belonged to Tanis, but I don’t suppose he’ll be wanting it back now that he’s dead. Where am I?”
“Under arrest,” said Gerard. Laying firm hands upon the kender, the Knight hauled him down the stairs.
Understandably disappointed that they weren’t going to witness a battle between the Knight and the undead, the crowd returned to their picnics and playing goblin ball.
“I recognize this place,” said the kender, staring about instead of watching where he was going and consequently tripping himself. “I’m in Solace. Good! That’s where I meant to come. My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, and I’m here to speak at the funeral of Caramon Majere, so if you could just take me to the Inn quickly, I really do have to get back. You see, there’s this giant foot about to come down—blam! right on top of me, and that’s something I don’t want to miss, and now then—”
Gerard put the key into the gate lock, turned it and opened the gate. He gave the kender a shove that sent him sprawling.
“The only place you’re going is off to jail. You’ve done enough mischief already.”
The kender picked himself up cheerfully, not at all angry or disconcerted. “Awfully nice of you to find me a place to spend the night. Not that I’ll be here that long. I’ve come to speak. . .” He paused. “Did I mention that I was Tasslehoff Burrfoot?”
Gerard grunted, not interested. He took firm hold of the kender and stood waiting with him until someone came to take the little bastard off his hands.
“The Tasslehoff,” said the kender.
Gerard cast a weary glance out over the crowd and shouted,
“Everyone named Tasslehoff Burrfoot raise his hand!”
Thirty-seven hands shot up in the air and two dogs barked:
“Oh, my!” said the kender clearly taken aback.
“You can see why I’m not impressed,” said Gerard and searched hopefully for some sign that relief was on the way.
“I don’t suppose it would matter if I told you that I was the original Tasslehoff . . . No, I guess not.” The kender sighed and stood fidgeting in the hot sun. His hand, strictly out of boredom, found its way into Gerard’s money pouch, but Gerard was prepared for that and gave the kender a swift and nasty crack across the knuckles.
The kender sucked his bruised hand. “What’s all this?” He looked around at the people larking and frolicking upon the lawn. “What are these people doing here? Why aren’t they attending Caramon’s funeral? It’s the biggest event Solace has ever seen!”
“Probably because Caramon Majere is not dead yet” said Gerard caustically. “Where is that good-for-nothing provost?”
“Not dead?” The kender stared. “Are you sure?”
“I had breakfast with him myself this very morning,” Gerard replied.
“Oh, no!” The kender gave a heartbroken wail and slapped himself on the forehead. “I’ve gone and goofed it up again! And I don’t suppose that now I’ve got time to try it a third time. What with the giant foot and all.” He began to rummage about in his pouch. “Still, I guess I had better try. Now, where did I put that device—”
Gerard glowered around as he tightened his grip on the collar of the kender’s dusty jacket. The thirty-seven kender named Tasslehoff had all come over to meet number thirty-eight.
“The rest of you, clear out!” Gerard waved his hand as if he were shooing chickens.
Naturally, the kender ignored him. Though extremely disappointed that Tasslehoff hadn’t turned out to be a shambling zombie, the kender were interested to hear where he’d been, what he’d seen and what he had in his pouches.
“Want some Midyear Day’s cake?” asked a pretty female kender.
“Why, thank you. This is quite good. I—” The kender’s eyes opened wide. He tried to say something, couldn’t speak for the cake in his mouth, and ended up half choking himself. His fellow kender obligingly pounded him on the back. He bolted the cake, coughed, and gasped out, “What day is this?”
“Midyear’s Day!” cried everyone.
“Then I haven’t missed it!” the kender shouted triumphantly.
“In fact, this is better than I could have hoped! I’ll get to tell Caramon what I’m going to say at his funeral tomorrow! He’ll probably find it extremely interesting.”
The kender looked up into the sky. Spotting the position of the sun, which was about half-way down, heading for the horizon, he said, “Oh, dear. I don’t have all that much time. If you’ll just excuse me, I had best be running.”
And run he did, leaving Gerard standing flat-footed on the grassy lawn, a kender jacket in his hand.
Gerard spent one baffled moment wondering how the imp had managed to wriggle out of his jacket, yet still retain all his pouches, which were jouncing and bouncing as he ran, spilling their contents to the delight of the thirty-seven Tasslehoffs. Concluding that this was a phenomenon that, much like the departure of the gods, he would never understand, Gerard was about to run after the errant kender, when he remembered that he could not leave his post unguarded.
At this juncture, the provost came into sight, accompanied by an entire detail of Solamnic Knights solemnly arrayed in their best armor to welcome back the returning Heroes, for this is what they had understood they were going to be meeting.
“ Just a kender, sir,” Gerard explained. “Somehow he managed to get himself locked inside the tomb. He let himself out. He got away from me, but I think I know where he’s headed.”
The provost, a stout man who loved his ale, turned very red in the face. The Knights looked extremely foolish—the kender were now dancing around them in a circle—and all looked very black at Gerard, whom they clearly blamed for the entire incident.
“Let them,” Gerard muttered, and dashed off after his prisoner.
The kender had a good head start. He was quick and nimble and accustomed to fleeing pursuit. Gerard was strong and a swift runner, but he was encumbered by his heavy, ceremonial armor, which clanked and rattled and jabbed him uncomfortably in several tender areas. He would likely have never even caught sight of the felon had not the kender stopped at several junctures to look around in amazement, demanding loudly to know, “Where did this come from?” staring at a newly built garrison, and, a little farther on, “What are all these doing here?” This in reference to the refugee housing. And “Who put that there?” This to a large sign posted by the town fathers proclaiming that Solace was a town in good standing and had paid its tribute to the dragon and was therefore a safe place to visit.