Tas, busy with remembering, wasn’t listening. “Palin will come right away and he’ll bring Dalamar, too, and Jenna. Palin will send the messengers to Lady Crysania in the Temple of Paladine and to Goldmoon and Riverwind in Que-shu and Laurana and Gilthas and Silvanoshei in Silvanesti. They’ll all be here soon so we...we...”
Tas’s voice trailed off.
Laura was staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. Tas knew because he’d felt that same expression on his own face when he’d been in the presence of a troll who had done that very thing. Slowly, keeping her eyes on Tas, Laura edged away from him.
“You sit right down here,” she said, and her voice was very soft and very gentle. “Sit right here, and I’ll . . . I’ll bring you a big plate of—”
“Spiced potatoes?” Tas asked brightly. If anything could get rid of the lump in his throat, it was Otik’s spiced potatoes.
“Yes, a big, heaping dish of spiced potatoes. We haven’t lit the cook fires yet this morning, and Cook was so upset I gave her the day off, so it may take me awhile. You sit down and promise you won’t go anywhere, ” Laura said, backing away from the table.
She slid a chair in between her and Tas.
“Oh, I won’t go anywhere at all,” Tas promised, plopping himself down. “I have to speak at the funeral, you know.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Laura pressed her lips tightly together with the result that she wasn’t able to say anything for a few moments.
Drawing in a deep breath, she added, “You have to speak at the funeral. Stay here, that’s a good kender.”
“Good” and “kender” being two words that were rarely, if ever, linked, Tasslehoff spent the time sitting at the table, thinking about what a good kender might be and wondering if he was one himself. He assumed he probably was, since he was a hero and all that. Having settled this question to his satisfaction, he took out his notes and went over his speech, humming a little tune to keep himself company and to help the sadness work its way down his windpipe.
He heard Laura talking to a young man, perhaps the wizard in Room Seventeen, but Tas didn’t really pay much attention to what she was saying, since it seemed to involve a poor person who was afflicted, a person who had gone crazy and might be dangerous. At any other time, Tas would have been interested to see a dangerous, afflicted, crazy person, but he had his speech to worry about, and since that was the reason he’d made this trip in the first place-or rather, in the second place—he concentrated on that.
He was still concentrating on it, along with a plate of potatoes and a mug of ale, when he became aware that a tall person was standing over him wearing a grim expression.
“Oh, hullo,” Tas said, looking up smiling to see that the tall person was actually his extremely good friend, the Knight who’d arrested him yesterday. Since the Knight was an extremely good friend, it was a pity Tas couldn’t recall his name. “Please, sit down. Would you like some potatoes? Maybe some eggs?”
The Knight refused all offers of anything to eat or drink. He took a seat opposite Tas, regarded the kender with a stem expression.
“I understand that you have been causing trouble,” the Knight said in a cold and nasty flat tone of voice.
It just so happened that at that moment Tasslehoff was rather proud of himself for not causing any trouble. He’d been sitting quietly at the table, thinking sad thoughts of Caramon’s being gone and happy thoughts of the wonderful time they’d spent together. He hadn’t once looked to see if there might be something interesting in the wood box. He had foregone his usual inspection of the silver chest, and he had only acquired one strange purse, and while he didn’t exactly remember how he had come by that, he had to assume that someone had dropped it. He’d be sure to return it after the funeral.
Tas was therefore justifiably resentful of the Knight’s implication. He fixed the Knight with a stem eye-dueling stem eyes, as it were. “I’m sure you don’t mean to be ugly,” Tas said. “You’re upset. I understand.”
The young Knight’s face took on a very peculiar color, going extremely red, almost purple. He tried to say something, but he was so angry that when he opened his mouth, only sputters came out.
“I see the problem,” Tas said, correcting himself. “No wonder you didn’t understand me. I didn’t mean ‘ugly’ as in ‘ugly.’ I was referring to your disposition, not your face, which is, however, a remarkably ugly one. I don’t know when I’ve seen one uglier. Still, I know you can’t mend your face, and perhaps you can’t mend your disposition either, being a Solamnic Knight and all, but you have made a mistake. I have not been causing trouble. I have been sitting at this table eating potatoes-they’re really quite good, are you sure you won’t have some? Well, if you won’t, I’ll just finish up these last few. Where was I? Oh, yes. I’ve been sitting here eating and working on my speech. For the funeral.”
When the Knight was finally able to speak without sputters, his tone was even colder and nastier, if such a thing were possible. “Mistress Laura sent word through one of the customers that you were scaring her with your outlandish and irrational statements. My superiors sent me to bring you back to jail. They would also like to know,” he added, his tone grim, “how you managed to get out of jail this morning.”
“I’ll be very happy to come back to the jail with you. It was a very nice jail,” Tas answered politely. “I’ve never seen one that was kender-proof before. I’ll go back with you right after the funeral. I missed the funeral once, you see. I can’t miss it again. Oops! No, I forgot.” Tas sighed. “I can’t go back to the jail with you.” He really wished he could remember the Knight’s name.
He didn’t like to ask. It wasn’t polite. “I have to return to my own time right away. I promised Fizban I wouldn’t go gallivanting. Perhaps I could visit your jail another time.”
“Maybe you should let him stay, Sir Gerard,” Laura said, coming up to stand beside them, twisting her apron in her hands.
“He seems very determined, and I wouldn’t want him to cause any trouble. Besides”—her tears started to flow—“maybe he’s telling the truth! After all, Father thought he was Tasslehoff.”
Gerard! Tas was vastly relieved. Gerard was the knight’s name.
“He did?” Gerard was skeptical. “He said so?”
“Yes,” Laura said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “The kender walked into the Inn. Daddy was sitting here in his usual place. The kender walked right up to him and said, ‘Hullo, Caramon! I’ve come to speak at your funeral. I’m a little bit early, so I thought you might like to hear what I’m going to say,’ and Daddy looked at him in surprise. At first I don’t think he believed him, but then he looked at him closer and cried out, ‘Tas!’ And he gave him a big hug.”
“He did.” Tas felt a snuffle coming on. “He hugged me, and he said he was glad to see me and where had I been all this time? I said that it was a very long story and time was the one thing he didn’t have a lot of so I should really let him hear the speech first.” Giving way to the snuffle, Tas mopped his dribbling nose with his sleeve.
“Perhaps we could let him stay for the funeral,” Laura urged.
“I think it would have pleased Daddy. If you could. . . well. . . just keep an eye on him.”
Gerard was clearly dubious. He even ventured to argue with her, but Laura had made up her mind, and she was very much like her mother. When her mind was made up, an army of dragons would not move her. , Laura opened the doors to the Inn to let in the sunshine, to let in life and to let in the living who came to pay their respects to the dead. Caramon Majere lay in a simple wooden casket in front of the great fireplace of the Inn he loved. No fire burned, only ashes filled the grate. The people of Solace filed past, each pausing to offer something to the dead—a silent farewell, a quiet blessing, a favorite toy, fresh-picked flowers.