“Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. “Impudent dwarf! Cretinous midget! How could you conceive such a preposterous idea? To begin with, ‘twould be utterly beneath my dignity to conduct myself in such a manner. And moreover, ‘twould be futile as well. For not even the common souse could be so dim-witted as not to detect my superior character—the lofty brow and piercing glance would alone give me away. No, Shelyid, ‘twould be ridiculous for me to attempt to pose as a lowlife when I have the ultimate lowlife as my apprentice.”
“Me?” gasped Shelyid. “You want me to go down to the pub and get drunk with the people there?”
“Of course! The plan is ingenious! Meanwhile, utilizing my powers of disguise and misdirection, I will insinuate myself into an obscure corner of the common room, unnoticed by all, there to observe and overhear the loose words which your carousal with the plebes will cause them to guardlessly utter.”
Shelyid slumped to the floor. His ugly little face became more unsightly still, his features squeezed into a ball, great tears wending down his cheeks.
“Oh please, master,” he sobbed, “don’t make me do it.”
“Why ever not? And whence this grotesque display? I should have thought you delighted at the prospect! Many is the time I have espied you gazing longingly at the boisterous crowds in alehouses.”
“But, master,” snuffled Shelyid, wiping his nose with his sleeve, “sure and I’d like to have fun in the pubs like real people do, but that’s the thing. I’m not a real people. I’m a dwarf. I’m a really ugly, hairy little dwarf. They’ll be mean to me. Real people are always mean to me. Real mean. They kick me, they hit me, and even when they don’t, they curse at me or they make fun of me. They always do. Well, La Contessa was nice to me. And Rascogne wasn’t so bad after a while—actually, he was really nice, too, except I wish he would have stopped picking me up all the time by the scruff of the neck and turning me this way and that and looking at me over and saying”—here the gnome’s voice dropped to a baritone—” ‘a snarl-friend, eh? Most strange, most strange’—but they’re the only ones.” The dwarf snuffled again. “For that matter, you’re not usually very nice to me, and you’ve known me all my life.”
“Bah!” oathed the wizard. “I have no time for this puling drivel! Do as I command you, unworthy gnome—and be quick about it. For even as I speak, time wanes!”
And thus it came to pass that our heroes descended into the common room. The cunning wizard allowed some moments to transpire, following the first tentative steps of the dwarf into the boisterous environs of the pub. Then made he his own entrance, passing beneath a placard which announced the name of the tavern: The Swill As You Will. Shoulders hunched, his cloak drawn about him, hat pulled low over his lofty forehead, the mage quickly but unobtrusively found himself a seat in a dim and unoccupied corner of the tavern.
Meanwhile, Shelyid advanced to the center of the room, his mincing gait bespeaking his unease and trepidation. There did he stand for some few moments, peering about. The room was quite full of carousers, but his attention was almost immediately drawn to the big table along one side. For there sat the very epicenter of the carousal—six lowlifes, well into their cups, noisy and boisterous in the extreme. From their garments, rough-knit and soiled; from their hands, callused and scarred; from their faces, coarse-featured and weathered; from their voices, rude and profane; indeed, from every aspect of their personae, ’twas clear as day that here was the very archetype of the brutish proletariat.
“Well,” muttered Shelyid, “might’s well get it over with. Big as they are, least it’ll be quick.”
And so muttering, the gnome advanced to the table, squared his shoulders, and piped up: “Can I have a drink with you guys?”
The boistering ceased. Six pairs of bleary eyes focused on Shelyid.
“A very little man!” cried one.
“Nay,” said a second, peering closely at the dwarf, “say rather a very little youth.”