With a mental wave, I restored my normal appearance.
“No, I’m a Klahd,” I smiled, “And for your information, that’s Pervect!”
“You mean you’re really … no, you must be. No one else would voluntarily look like a Klahd … or defend Perverts … excuse me, Pervects.”
“Now that that’s established,” I yawned, “how much for two of your rings?”
“Here,” he said, thrusting the tray forward. “Take your pick, with my compliments. I won a bundle betting on your team at the Great Game. All I ask is permission to say that you use my wares.”
It was with a great deal of satisfaction that I made my selection and continued on my way. It was nice to have a reputation, but nicer to earn it. Those two little baubles now riding in my pouch were going to get me out of the Possiltum dilemma … if I got back in time . . . and if Massha had found the King.
Those sobering thoughts brought my hat size back to normal in a hurry. The time to gloat was after the battle, not before. Plans aren’t victories, as I should be the first to know.
With panic once again nipping at my heels, I quickened my pace until I was nearly running by the time I reached my final destination: the Yellow Crescent Inn.
Bursting through the door of the Bazaar’s leading fast food establishment, I saw that it was empty of customers except for a troll munching on a table in the corner.
Terrific.
I was expecting to deal with Gus, the gargoyle proprietor, but I’d settle for the troll.
“Skeeve!” the troll exclaimed. “I say, this is a surprise. What brings you to the Bazaar?”