The wizard was still speechless, due, one suspects, to his bemusement at the gnome’s unwonted impertinence.
“And especially this time it wasn’t fair,” continued the dwarf, “because I was just telling the truth like it happened. I know I’m real stupid, but you yourself said I have a good memory and I can tell you each time you said what you said about Magrit and where you said and when you said it.” He paused, knitted his brow. “Like the time you called her a vile harridan was when we were still in Goimr, just after you decided we had to come here. We were in the study where you had been sitting for days without moving—and I was real good and I dusted you off and everything!—and you had just gotten up and called me and I was sitting on the stool where I always sat when you were lecturing and—”
“Enough!” spoke Zulkeh. “Desist, I say!”
The dwarf stopped, pouted. Then said quietly: “It’s true. It happened just like I said.”
Zulkeh cleared his throat. “Well,” he said. “Well, there is perhaps some modicum of accuracy in your account—in a vague and general—”
“Oh, shut up, you old fart!” snapped Magrit. “I’m quite sure that you said everything about me that Shelyid says you did and I’m sure he could tell me exactly where and when you said it. Who cares? Do you think I give a shit what you ever said about me?” She snorted. “I’d lie awake at night worrying about the sex life of fungus before I’d lose any sleep over what you think.” She glowered at the mage for a moment, and then made a small gesture to the strangler.
“Oh, give the fool back his staff, Greyboar! He looks lost without it.” The staff was handed back. Magrit then said, very softly: “If you ever hit that kid again when I’m around, you’ll find out why they call me the horrid harridan.” And it was odd, this ridiculous threat from a blowsy, pudgy witch, how it brought such a feeling into the room, of an ancient, bitter wind, blowing across a field of ice.
But the moment passed. Magrit turned away and dropped herself into a chair.
“All right, let’s to it. Tell me what your problem is, Zulkeh, and why you think you have enemies.”
Then did the mage launch into a discourse anent the problem that loomed before him, eschewing not a full explication of the entire scope and dimension of the task. The clarity and precision of his elaboration of every aspect and nuance of the question were all the more admirable given that he was forced to proceed in the face of frequent interruptions by the salamander, in which the scurvy beast uttered many sour phrases extolling the virtues of brevity and succinct exposition. Yet at length, these uncouth interpositions notwithstanding, the wizard finished with his tale.
“How then,” concluded Zulkeh, “may I uncover these enemies?”
Magrit sneered. “Just like that, huh? What do you think I’m running here—a charity?”
“Most people offer to pay for her services,” groused the salamander.
“I am no beggar!” responded the mage hotly. “I am quite willing to pay for services rendered me!” And so saying, Zulkeh reached into his purse and brought forth a fistful of oddly-shaped gold nuggets, the which he flung onto the table in a manner both imperial and scornful.
In a trice, the salamander scurried over and examined the pile of nuggets. This took but a moment. The miserable little beast cocked an eye at Shelyid.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” it said. Shelyid flushed.
“Dwarf shit,” sneered Magrit.
It was now Zulkeh’s turn to flush. “Well, as to that, madame, gold is gold. ‘Tis widely known that the essence of a substance resides in its properties, not—fie on such witless notions!—in its origins, these latter being oft murky and uncertain. Of no substance is this more true than gold! Did not Midas Laebmaunt—”
“Fuck you and your Midas!” exclaimed Magrit. “Save your breath. I wouldn’t fool around with this stuff under any circumstances. And you’d better watch your ass! The minute the Consortium finds out about this, there’ll be hell to pay. Pity the poor dwarves of the world!” At this last remark Shelyid frowned, his ugly little face filled with puzzlement and apprehension.