All of the glass had been carefully placed into the window
frames, the walls were intact, a roof protected the room from
the elements. At least Tika has one room of her own, the ken-
der thought. But, as he studied the room more closely, his smile
faded. Above the door, he could see clearly, despite some
weathering, the carefully crafted mark denotating a wizard’s
residence.
“I might have known,” Tas said, shaking his head. He glanced
around. “Well, Tika and Caramon certainly can’t be living
there. But that man said – Oh.”
As he walked around the huge vallenwood tree, he came
upon a small house, almost lost amidst overgrown weeds, hid-
den by the shadow of the vallenwood tree. Obviously built
only as a temporary measure, it had the look of becoming all
too permanent. If ever a building could look unhappy, Tas
mused, this one did. Its gables sagged into a frown. Its paint
was cracked and peeling. Still, there were flowers in the win-
dowboxes and frilly curtains in the windows. The kender
sighed. So this was Tika’s house, built in the shadow of a
dream.
Approaching the little house, he stood outside the door, lis-
tening attentively. There was the most awful commotion going
on inside. He could hear thuds and glass breaking and shouts
and thumping.
“I think you better wait out here,” Tas said to the bundle of
clothes.
The bundle grunted and plopped itself comfortably down
into the muddy road outside the house. Tas glanced at it uncer-
tainly, then shrugged and walked up to the door. Putting his
hand on the doorknob, he turned it and took a step forward,
confidently expecting to walk right in. Instead he smashed his
nose on the wood. The door was locked.
“That’s odd,” Tas said, stepping back and looking around.
“What is Tika thinking about? Locking doors! How barbaric.
And a bolt lock at that. I’m sure I was expected….” He stared
at the lock gloomily. The shouts and yells continued inside. He
thought he could hear Caramon’s deep voice.
“It sure sounds interesting in there.” Tas glanced around, and
felt cheered immediately. “The window! Of course!”
But, on hurrying over to the window, Tas found it locked,
too! “I never would have expected that of Tika, of all people,”
the kender commented sadly to himself. Studying the lock, he
noticed it was a simple one and would open quite easily. From
the set of tools in his pouch, Tas removed the lock-picking
device that is a kender’s birthright. Inserting it, he gave it an
expert twist and had the satisfaction of hearing the lock click.
Smiling happily, he pushed the paned glass open and crawled
inside. He.hit the floor without a sound. Peering back out the
window, he saw the shapeless bundle napping in the gutter.
Relieved on that point, Tasslehoff paused to look around the
house, his sharp eyes taking in everything, his hands touching
everything.
“My, isn’t this interesting,” went Tas’s running commentary
as he headed for the closed door from beyond which came the
crashing sounds. “Tika won’t mind if I study it for a moment.
I’ll put it right back.” The object tumbled, of its accord, into his
pouch. “And look at this! Uh-oh, there’s a crack in it. She’ll
thank me for telling her about it.” That object slipped into
another pouch. “And what’s the butter dish doing clear over
here? I’m sure Tika kept it in the pantry. I better return it to its
proper place.” The butter dish settled into a third pouch.
By this time, Tas had reached the closed door. Turning the
handle – (he was thankful to see Tika hadn’t locked it as
well!) – he walked inside.
“Hullo,” he said merrily. “Remember me? Say, this looks like
fun! Can I play? Give me something to throw at him, too, Tika.
Gee, Caramon” – Tas entered the bedroom and walked over to
where Tika stood, a breastplate in her hand, staring at him in
profound astonishment – “what is the matter with you – you
look awful, just awful! Say, why are we throwing armor at
Caramon, Tika?” Tas asked, picking up a chain mail vest and