“Good morning, Mr. Burrfoot.”
Tasslehoff spun around, slopping ale on Woodrow’s cleaned and buffed shoes. “Woodrow! I’m glad I found you! I’ve met the most marvelous people this morning!”
“Found me?” Woodrow’s voice cracked. “Mr. Burrfoot, did you stop to think what Miss Hornslager would do to me if I lost you? She’d fire me for sure! Not that it’s such a great job, but I need the money.”
Tas’s voice filled with concern. “Gee, Woodrow, I’m sorry. I’ve never heard you sound so angry.”
“I’ve never had to watch a kender before,” Woodrow almost snarled. “When I woke up and couldn’t find you anywhere, I had to lie to Miss Hornslager at breakfast. Do you know how much I hate lying? I told her you were still sleeping and that we would meet her here later. Then I slipped away and prayed that I’d find you.”
“Well, here I am. And if you must know,” Tas said, trying to sound indignant, “I’ve been exploring the festival and talking to people to determine the fastest route to Kendermore.” Or at least I intended to, Tasslehoff reasoned.
Woodrow’s ire lessened a bit at that news. “What have you discovered?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, I know where the richest ale is—would you care for some?” Woodrow shook his head impatiently. “And I’ve found a silver bracelet with gold filigree that I simply must have—actually, it looks a lot like this one here on my wrist.” He paused, studying a band around his wrist in puzzlement. “Anyway, I’ve just had a mug of the tastiest stew ever!” Dropping his voice, he added, “Please don’t tell Flint I said that.”
“Mr. Burrfoot,” Woodrow interrupted, “what have you found out about Kendermore?”
Tasslehoff fidgeted under his friend’s gaze. “I was just about to start asking people, actually.”
The wiry human took the kender by the arm. “Let’s hope Miss Hornslager has learned something, because she’s waiting for us right now over by the carousel.”
Excited, Tasslehoff slipped from the human’s grip, dancing by his side. “Have you seen the carousel yet? If you haven’t, brace yourself. It’s the most magnificent thing you’ll ever see.”
Woodrow glared at Tas. “Please, Mr. Burrfoot!”
Woodrow looked so worried that Gisella would find out about Tasslehoff’s solo adventure that the kender made a mental note not to let the human down. They found the shapely dwarf glancing around anxiously near the strange ride. She wore a skin-tight, sand-colored shirt and slacks that made her look, in certain light, like she was wearing nothing at all. A broad-brimmed hat perched on her pomegranate-colored hair shaded her fair skin from the autumn sun.
“Woodrow, Burrfoot!” Even their names sounded like a scold on her tongue. “I was beginning to get worried.”
Gisella suddenly turned her attention to the festival, and her eyes scoured the stalls, the tents, and the men. “I’ve got a lot of deals to make today if I’m going to come out of this fiasco with a copper to my name, aside from what the kender is worth to me. I make my best deals in this outfit.” She was half-talking to herself as she unconsciously smoothed the tight fabric over her rounded hips.
Suddenly she remembered the kender and grabbed him by the collar. Her small, dark eyes burned into his. “This is work, and I need to concentrate. I don’t want to be distracted by fretting about you. So stay close—but not too close. Better yet, stay close to Woodrow. Keep your eyes open and learn something.”
Adjusting her hat to a jaunty angle, she strode up to the first booth next to the carousel, that of a fabric merchant. Tasslehoff and Woodrow both noticed that she put a lot more wiggle in her walk than before. She paused for a few moments among the tables filled with bolts of brightly colored fabric, running expert fingers over each one.
“Good morning, handsome,” the red-haired dwarf purred to the buck-toothed, hunch-backed dwarf seated inside the booth. She judged his age to be well in excess of three hundred years. His crossed arms were so hairy that Gisella couldn’t tell where they ended and his beard began. “May I speak with your father, the proprietor?”
The old dwarf’s eyes roamed across Gisella’s tightly clothed form. “I am the proprietor,” he announced, his lips rolling back over his teeth in a grotesque smile.
Gisella’s hand flew to her mouth in a masquerade of shame. Somehow she coaxed color to flood her cheeks. “I don’t believe it! Oh, now I’ve insulted you! I’m usually not such a blunderer at guessing a person’s age!”
She clucked her tongue and shook her head gravely. “I’ve ruined everything. You won’t want anything to do with me, and you have the best merchandise at the fair! Please accept my apology.” She touched his hairy arm gently and turned to leave. “I won’t bother you further.” She took a step from the booth, putting more wiggle in that one step than either Woodrow or Tasslehoff thought possible.
“Please, don’t be sorry, Miss—?”
“—Matron Hornslager,” Gisella supplied, letting a grateful smile grow on her face as she turned to him again. This was one of the easiest fish she had ever reeled in. “Then you will deal with me? Oh, you dear man! To show you how guilty and grateful I feel, I’ll buy twice as much as I can afford! Mr. Hornslager will surely be angry with me, but I don’t care!” she said defiantly.
“By Reorx,” he responded, “I’d hate to think of you in trouble with your husband, whoever the lucky fellow is. I can’t imagine any greater tribute to my wares than for them to adorn your lovely figure. I’ll gladly sell you twenty bolts for what they cost me, if only you promise to tell people where you got them.”
“Any twenty bolts?” cooed Gisella.
“My shop is yours,” he replied, with a sweep of his hairy hand. Gisella knew his eyes were glued to her swaying bottom as she brushed past him. Even though she found him repulsive, she did love the attention.
Now the hard dealing began. Gisella flipped through the bolts, casting aside anything she judged to be of inferior quality and grilling the merchant over weavers, cost, dyes, and age.
“This isn’t real silver thread!” she snorted, raveling a strand from the end of a bolt.
As Tasslehoff watched the dwarves bargaining, a whooshing, clanking, grinding symphony started up behind him. Turning, Tas realized that it was coming from the carousel! He immediately started forward, but Woodrow’s hand stopped him.
“But the carousel is starting,” the kender pleaded. “Look at it! Animals going up and down and around in a circle. And it’s playing music!”
Woodrow stood fast.
“OK, then come with me and I won’t be lost,” reasoned Tas.
Woodrow eyed the carousel, intrigued but unsure. “I don’t know …”
“I do!” Tas cried. “Come on. Gisella will be looking at cloth all morning. She’s still arguing about the third bolt.” He pulled at Woodrow’s sleeve. “Just one ride. We’ll be back before she even notices we’ve left. Come on, Woodrow!”
At last, Woodrow’s own curiosity overcame his better judgment. He looked back at Gisella, then trailed behind the kender toward the carousel.
Next to the carousel was a churning mass of gears and pulleys and knobs and chains that obviously made the whole thing go. Even though the ride was in motion, a short, bald gnome wearing an ankle-length, white coat and goggles on a cord around his neck, scurried to and fro with a handful of wrenches, twisting this screw, pulling that rod, and banging on that other gear.
“It’snotrightyet; themusicistooslow,” the gnome mumbled almost incomprehensibly fast, as gnomes do. He yanked out a knob and the music, a dirgelike stew of whistles, honks, and clanks, slowed down even more and went flat. Then suddenly it sped up until it was so high-pitched that dogs in the city howled in pain. The gnome pushed the knob back in, and the music returned to its normal blare.
Arms crossed, the gnome stood back and nodded with satisfaction. His expression suddenly fell. “That’sfixedbuttheunicornismovingtooslowly. Where’smy wrench; IknowIleftitrighthere. Someonetookit!” He rum
maged through the pockets inside his long, white coat and produced the missing instrument, nonplused. He poked it into the gears blindly, giving another bolt a twist.
As he did, the carousel’s wooden statue of a dog-faced kobold started pumping up and down faster and faster, moving so violently that the kobold figure’s head smashed through the roof of the carousel, giving its young dwarf rider the fright of his life and an instant headache to boot.
The gnome scratched his bald head in puzzlement. “Thatshouldbetheswitchfortheunicornnotthekobold,” he murmured, reaching in blindly again and giving another switch a twist. The kobold kept on bashing through the roof.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry.” He released the lever and the kobold slowed down. The dwarf on its back swayed dizzily.
“Where’sthatoffswitch? IknowIputonein.” Extending his arm through the grinding gears in a way that made Woodrow wince, the gnome groped around in the gear box and pulled things seemingly at random. The swan flapped its wings, boxing its rider’s ears, while the leprechaun pinched a passing matron and the unicorn bucked its rider completely off.
“IknowIputoneinheresomewhere. Orwasthatonmyboatsharpeningmachine? Ohdearohdearohdear.…” Frantically, he began pulling even more switches, making things worse with each tug.
“Maybe it’s this one marked ‘OFF,’ ” Tas suggested at his side.
“Itcouldn’tbethat—” The gnome shook his head, but before he could say more, Tasslehoff reached out and flicked the lever down with his index finger. The ride ground to a halt.
“Wellwhatdoyouknow?” The gnome’s face stretched into a surprised smile, which grew as he considered Tasslehoff.
“Your carousel is fantastic,” Tas breathed, trying to decide which animal to ride. “If you can fix a few things, like the animals smashing their heads through the carousel’s ceiling, it will be perfect. Did you think this up yourself? Is this your Life Quest?”
Tasslehoff knew that gnomes were born inventors. Each was assigned a quest at birth—or inherited it—that they were expected to complete before they died so that they and their ancestors could sit next to their god Reorx in the hereafter.
“You could say that,” the gnome said, deliberately slowing his speech for Tasslehoff’s benefit. “You’re a kender, aren’t you? I’ve never seen a kender around here before.” The gnome smiled at Tasslehoff in a strange way, until the kender began feeling like a bug under a glass.
“I’ve only seen pictures of dragons and hippocampuses—that’s the one that looks like a horse with a fish tail and flippers for feet, isn’t it? Your animals look so real, like you’ve actually seen them up close, but of course that’s impossible, since dragons exist only in stories.”
“Many people think that, yes,” the gnome said absently. He looked closely at Tasslehoff’s face, then reached out a hand to squeeze his waist, as though checking for something. “You’re not very old for a kender, are you?”
Tasslehoff pushed the gnome’s hand away. “Do you ask everybody this many questions before letting them on your ride? If you’re worried that I’m too heavy, I’m sure I weigh less than a dwarf, wouldn’t you say, Woodrow?”
The human was looking back with concern at Gisella, who was nearing the end of the first of two tables of fabric. The carousel ride was taking far longer than he’d thought it would. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Burrfoot,” he said distractedly.
“Are you going to start the carousel up again soon?” Tasslehoff asked. “I have to be going, and I really would like to ride on that dragon.”
“Of course, right away; let me help you,” the gnome said excitedly, gripping the kender by the shoulder and leading him onto the platform. “And may I say that the red dragon is an excellent choice?” He hurried Tasslehoff halfway around the carousel until they stood next to the dragon.
Tas knew that, as a race, dragons had been banished from Krynn by a legendary knight, Huma, long before he or any of his friends had been born. His eyes opened wide in wonder as he beheld the statue of the mythical creature. The dragon had been carved with painstaking detail. Six long, rubbery-looking bones, linked by fleshy webbing, formed the creature’s mighty wings. Its powerful, deadly claws had horned hocks. Spikes ran down its long, spade-shaped tail and continued up the dragon’s entire length, ending at the base of the horned skull. The monster’s face was a lumpy, frightening mass of bulging muscles and veins. The jaws were parted in a vicious snarl, displaying two rows of double-edged teeth, each sharper than a butcher’s axe.
Tas was most taken with the paint job. Each rounded scale was daubed with such precision that it looked as if the dragon could lift and flap its wings if necessary. The ruby-red color was rich, vivid, and glistening. Tas was reminded of tightly packed, juicy pomegranate seeds.
Looking at the spikes on the dragon’s back, Tas was relieved to find a saddle of a sort carved into the creature’s neck. Putting his booted foot into the stirrups that dangled from it, the kender hopped aboard the dragon’s back.
Woodrow selected the centaur statue behind the dragon so that he could keep an eye on his charge. Settling himself on the centaur’s lifelike, chocolate-brown-haired back, the straw-haired young man waited for the ride to fill up with dwarves so that it could begin.
Standing by the gears, the gnome rubbed his hands with glee and threw a big lever. The carousel jerked to a start, and the slightly flat, peppy bell tones of the carousel’s music roared from somewhere in the ceiling above the statues, drowning out all other noise. The animals bobbed alternately on their poles—when the dragon soared upward, the centaur plunged. It seemed that the gnome had everything under control this time. He hopped up and down by the gears, clapping his hands happily.
Tasslehoff was delighted, too. As the dragon rose and fell, its wings glided upward, then lowered again, as if the monster were truly flying.
“What fun! I hope this ride never ends,” Tas said to himself fervently. “I’m sure this is how it would feel to ride a real dragon—it’s too bad there aren’t any more on Krynn.”
Just then, Tas felt the dragon statue shift under him and rock slightly. “The gnome should attach these statues more firmly,” the kender thought. “I’ll just mention it to him when I get off.”
But to Tasslehoff’s surprise, the ride didn’t slow down one bit. Worse still, the shaking and shifting under him intensified, until it was difficult to stay on the dragon’s back. He wondered if Woodrow was having similar trouble, so he glanced behind him at the human riding on the centaur statue. Woodrow’s expression was bored, but turned to concern when he noticed the kender.
“My dragon is coming loose!” Tas called to him.
Tas felt his grip slipping even further. He pressed his chest to the dragon’s back, locked his arms around its neck, and wrapped his legs around the pole behind him. Why wouldn’t that silly gnome stop the ride? Had he forgotten where the off switch was again?
Behind him, Woodrow saw the kender’s lips moving, but couldn’t understand what he was saying. Woodrow, too, had had more than enough of the ride. He gestured at the gnome as the carousel spun past. Wearing a strange smile, the gnome waved back.
Just then, there was a sharp sound of splintering wood, and the poles connected to the dragon statue ahead of Woodrow tore loose. Woodrow opened his mouth to shout a warning to Tas. Then his blood froze as he saw the red dragon’s head swing around to look at the kender on its back. The human’s jaw dropped when he saw the dragon flick its tail and flex its wings. The muscles in the monster’s back rippled beneath its red scales!
The dragon was alive!
Woodrow shook his head, unsure whether he’d imagined the dragon’s movement or really had seen it. When he looked up again, the centaur he was riding was staring into his face. “The dragon is getting away with your friend,” it said.
Chapter 14
Phineas awoke the next morning feeling as if he had dreamt all night, but unable to recall anything specific. The sky was overcast, and a strong wind ble
w. Phineas shivered in the cold autumn air and drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Dry leaves rustled against his face. Reluctantly, he sat up. His face was covered with grit, his back ached from the cold, damp ground, and each tooth felt like it was wrapped in its own wool sweater. All in all, he was in a foul mood.
Scrubbing a finger vainly over his teeth, he looked to where Trapspringer should have been sleeping and saw that the kender had already awakened and packed up the camp. Peering around, Phineas spotted his ‘guide’ sitting nearby on the remains of a stone wall. He was kicking his heels happily while chewing on a stale chunk of thick, grainy bread.
Hearing Phineas’s approach, Trapspringer sang, “Good morning!”
“That’s one opinion,” snarled the human, slapping his arms to warm them up.
“Someone woke on the wrong side of the bed today,” Trapspringer said glibly, observing the human’s dark expression.
“If I had slept in a bed, I wouldn’t be in this mood,” was Phineas’s sullen response. “Do you have any more of that bread?”
Trapspringer broke off a hunk, handed it to the human, and looked up at the gray sky. “This should be a great day for exploring the Ruins. Sunny weather brings out more kender from the city and all sorts of creatures from underground.”
Phineas’s open mouth stopped in mid-bite. “Creatures?”
The kender nodded vigorously. “Oh, you know, the sorts of monsters you find in ruins: lizards, snakes, rats, bats, beetles, spiders, goblins, giant slugs, norkers, owlbears, goat-sucker birds …”
“I get the point.”
Trapspringer shrugged. “Care for some water?” He extended the skin to the human.
Phineas swallowed hard. The bread felt like a lump in his stomach. He took the skin and half emptied it in two gulps. “Why didn’t you tell me about the monsters?” he asked at last, his voice unnaturally high.
Trapspringer gave him a peculiar look. “What did you think you’d find in the ruins of a city? The local bakers’ guild?”
Kendermore Page 16
