"And then a black, scaled arm, so large it filled the door-way, reached out and grabbed Uncle Trapspringer."-the kender let the tears trickle down his cheeks-"And if he is still alive, he is in that terrible place.
"We really think he's dead," he added softly.
Most of the adventurers nodded solemnly, but the inn-keeper loudly scoffed. A city dweller, he had never believed half the tales of the mercenaries and wanderers who came to Lytburg.
"And how do you know this happened?"
"The-uh-half-goblin in the outlaw band told me of it," Trap added hastily. "He had been with my uncle, but you know his kind," he nodded wisely to the short, burly human who had seen his tears. "They're bullies, but they won't face any real danger."
He allowed the adventurers' dislike of the humanoids to carry the weight of his pronouncement.
"No, they never do," said a red bearded man with a scar. He turned back to his ale, looked in his mug and found it empty. He called to the innkeeper. Neither knew Grod had finished off the contents of several cups while the customers had been listening to the kender's tale.
"When did all this happen?" a shout from across the room left Trap unsure of the speaker.
"I-uh-don't know for sure," he said. He didn't want to ruin his story by saying the outlaw had died two days before he was known to have robbed one of the patrons of the inn. "I heard the story just last night. The half-goblin had the tale so garbled-you know what they're like when you want a straight answer. He was still scared, so I think it must have been recently. Do you know that half-goblin? He has a wart on his nose, just like him." Trap pointed at the innkeeper who, since he didn't like kender anyway, took instant offense.
"You've told your tale, now get out of my inn," the landlord ordered. "I'll have no outlaws or even their relatives in here."
"Let's leave," Halmarain whispered in his ear. "You've made a good tale of it, let's get out before they realize Grod has eaten everything in sight."
They left the inn, sauntered down the street until they were sure they were out of sight of any customers watching them and ducked into an alley. Grod led them, supposedly toward the ruined building that would take them back to the underground passages. Before long, Trap could not recognize a single street.
"I don't remember this street. I would. It's interesting. Where are you taking us?" the kender asked.
"This way. Good trash this way," Grod said without pausing.
"You're not rummaging through any trash dumps," Halmarain told him. "Take us back to the passages. Take us straight there."
Their path took them through the dwarven section of the city, and as they rounded a corner Trap bumped into a dwarf.
"Excuse me," he said politely. He was always ready to admit any small, accidental faux pas.
The dwarf glanced at the kender, looked again and stopped dead, blocking his path. "You were with that other thief!" he shouted at Trap.
Recognizing the jeweler who had accused Ripple of stealing, Trap's anger flared.
"That's a lie, she's no thief!"
Lacking any other weapon, Trap swung his heavy sack full of armor and weapons. The bag caught the dwarf on the chin. Dwarves were doughty fighters and hard to overcome, but being hit with a sack of armor and weapons knocked the jeweler senseless.
"Drag him farther back around the corner," Halmarain ordered Grod, looking anxiously toward the street.
"Here! Stand here and block the alley. We don't want anyone to see Grod dragging him away," the kender said. "Let's put our bags down and lean over them."
"We'll look as if we're redistributing the loads in the sacks." Halmarain agreed with the kender's idea.
They spread themselves as well as they could to shield the gully dwarf's activities.
"That's all I need, kender thieves," Halmarain grumbled.
"Stop that. Ripple didn't steal," Trap snapped. He had already told the tale of the jeweler's tilting display and Ripple's attempt to return the jewelry to the dwarf.
"What's keeping Grod?" Halmarain complained when she tired of poking in the bundles. The gully dwarf had been out of sight for several minutes.
"Here he comes," Trap said as he stood upright and stretched to ease his muscles. He was also tired of bending over the sacks. Before long they reached the under-ground caverns again. Ripple, Umpth, and Beglug waited in the wizard's work room. The young fiend was curled up in the corner, asleep. Most of the debris in the room had disappeared and Beglug belched between snores.
"By all the gods of Krynn," Halmarain fumed as she glared at the sleeping merchesti. "We forgot the one thing we must have to disguise Beglug."
"Him need beard," Grod said, reaching inside his tunic. He pulled out a mass of black hair, streaked with gray. As the gully dwarf spread it out on the table, Trap recognized it. It was the magnificent beard of the dwarf jeweler.
"You cut it off?" Trap could hardly believe it. "Wow. That was smart." He wished he had thought of it.
"Dwarf grow more," Grod said with a lack of concern that was pure gully dwarf.
"Beglug not grow beard," Umpth said, stroking his own dark facial hair as he nodded approval of his brother's idea.
"I just hope we don't run into that dwarf again," Halmarain said as she sorted their purchases.
"It's from the dwarf that called me a thief?" Ripple was delighted with the beard. "But he won't know us again." She was full of plans for a different kind of hat and had washed their travel clothing so they would not be recognized.
"But on the road, you'll both be kender, for everyone to see," Halmarain said as if she had read Trap's thoughts. "No one will bother us, they'll be too afraid of getting their pockets picked. And speaking of pockets and purses, where's mine?" she held out her hand to Trap.
"You told me to keep it for you," he reminded her as he handed it over. She hefted it and glared at the kender. "It's heavier than when we left," she said. "Did you pay for anything?"
"I paid for everything! You saw me!" Trap objected. "The purse filled up every time I took out a handful of steel pieces. I thought it must be magic."
Halmarain stared at the small leather bag. "Maybe it is," she said slowly. "It's Orander's. I didn't know there was a spell for making steel pieces, but Orander was-is one of the best of our order." She handed it back to Trap. "Keep it for now. Before I can blink twice, you'll have it back again."
While Ripple and Halmarain worked on Beglug's beard, the two gully dwarves helped Trap dress the young fiend. He had been born to a hot plane he had spent much of his time shivering when he was away from the hearth so he liked the warmth his clothing provided. He liked his hauberk too, and was attempting to take a bite out of it when Trap slapped his hand.
"No, Beglug."
"No Beglug," the young fiend said, smoothing the intricate steel links. One problem solved, they soon discovered they had another. How were they going to keep the fiend's small, hoofed feet in the dwarf boots?
"Could nail board on hooves," Umpth suggested.
"Could nail boots on hooves." Grod was for cutting out the extra work.
"We won't nail anything," Trap announced, but his eyes lit up. "It might be worth trying just to see his reaction-what do you think he'd do if we-"
"I don't think so," Halmarain replied quickly. "We want it to trust us enough to stay with us…"
"Maybe he'd like you a lot better if you'd stop calling him 'it,' " Ripple snapped.