Raistlin nodded in confirmation. The mage’s face was rigid. It seemed he was subject to the same impressions as his brother. But he started forward.
“Better let me go first,” said Caramon.
The warrior forced himself to approach the lip of the pit. Kneeling, he took several deep breaths and then lowered himself into the hole. His legs were swallowed by shadow that slowly engulfed his arms and, finally, his head.
Gathering his robes around him, Raistlin prepared to descend beneath Mereklar.
“Hey, you! Either drink or move on.”
Earwig opened his eyes to see the irate face of a tavern owner glaring down at him.
“No loitering.”
“I wasn’t loitering,” said the kender indignantly. “I was napping. Although,” he added, brushing rose petals out of his hair, “I don’t remember having taken a nap since I was a very small kender. But I was up late last night, so maybe that explains it. Now, I wonder where Raistlin and Caramon have got to?”
209
DRAQONLANCE PneluDes
At first Earwig was terribly worried that he couldn’t find his friends, but then the uncomfortable feeling went away, leaving him more cheerful than he’d felt in days. The small, irritating voice inside of him quit nagging him to do this, do that. And there was no longer the threat that if he didn’t do what the voice said, he’d be dragged off to someplace where there were no locks to pick, no pouches to find, no people to meet. Someplace eternally boring.
Now that he was away from Raistlin and Caramon, Earwig felt carefree and happy again, and he began doing what all kender do best: explore.
Earwig walked up the street, gazing about with interest. Some of the people, associating him with the mage, whispered to each other that the little man with the pointed ears might be a demon. They drew away from him, pushing their children into their houses, closing and barring doors in his face.
“How rude,” said Earwig. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked on, tapping the wooden hoopak on the ground with a steady, hollow rhythm.
“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” he asked himself aloud. He had come to an intersection and saw a narrow alley that led to an arcade.
“I remember! This is where I went the first night I was here! That’s the inn where the man tried to kill me and the girl kissed me.”
Earwig walked into the market. None of the shops were open, and only a few nervous people walked through the alley, anxious to finish their business and return to the safety of their homes. “Hello, there,” a bright young voice said.
Earwig glanced around.
“Do you remember me? You helped me the other night. I didn’t get a chance to ask your name. Mine’s Catherine. What’s yours?”
2IO
Brcottjens Majene
“Earwig. Earwig Lockpicker,” the kender said, holding out his small hand. Is this how Caramon greets a girl? he wondered, trying to remember.
“I never got a chance to thank you, either. You ran away before I could say anything. May I buy you a drink? I work right over there,” Catherine said, pointing to the inn. “Our house speciality is Stonewash Surprise.”
“Stonewash Surprise? I’ve never heard of it,” Earwig replied.
“Oh, only the hardiest of adventurers have ever tried it. And lived,” Catherine added, giggling.
The tavern was as large and dirty as the kender remembered; beer and other unmentionable stains darkened the floor. The walls were constructed from ill-fitting planks of wood that were knotted and rotting with age. Catherine walked behind the bar and began to pour liquors into a glass, filling the cup from decanters of red, green, and blue. The drink complete, she pushed it in front of Earwig, who sat at one of the many mismatched stools.
He took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Celebration Punch!” he exclaimed in recognition. “Kind of.”
“Celebration Punch. What’s that?” Catherine asked.
“It’s what kender use to celebrate with, of course.” Earwig looked around. “You’re not doing much business today.”
The bar was, in fact, empty except for the kender and the young woman.
“It’s the murder,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s scared to death. I say good riddance.”