C. L. Norman

Her aunt gripped her small hand and yanked her along the stone corridors. Mysjenn’s smaller legs worked hard to keep up. So hard she was nearly running. The worn floor chilled her bare feet and keeping them moving meant less time on the floor freezing.

The corridors here were a maze to Mysjenn. Her aunt seemed to be taking corners at random. Up one set of stairs and down another, until Mysjenn was thoroughly lost. Tear tracks dried on her heart shaped face, her nose still dripped. She used the sleeve of her rough robe to wipe at it as she ran.

“Don’t do that. Respect your attire, girl.” Her aunt didn’t even turn her head. How did she see what Mysjenn did?

Mysjenn had arrived on the island a few hours ago. She had come by ship from her homeland of Corethe. It had been the first time she had ever been one. The hustle and bustle of sailors moving about the deck and up in the rigging like spiders, the ocean wind in her face, the bob of the waves as the ship cut through a swell made her fall in love with the sea.

Time spent on the ship helped dull the memories of her parents and what had happened to them. The wild men had attacked their farm. The bandit leader with the compass rose on his forehead above his colorless eyes and sharp featured face haunted her dreams.

Her aunt pulled her into a room and stopped. Mysjenn tripped as she ran into her and would have fallen if not for her aunt jerking her arm to keep her on her feet. Mysjenn bit back a whimper.

“Soren. Prepare her.” Her aunt thrust her forward and without a backwards glance, left the room.

A hunched man, skin pasty white except for the patch of honey brown spreading across his forehead and down his left cheek to the top of his pale blue tunic that matched his eyes, approached. His mouth stretched into a smile that gave Mysjenn the shivers and she backed away until she ran against the closed door.

“I won’t harm you. The Sea Priestess wants you prepared for a special ceremony and I am the man for that duty. All of us here must do as the Sea Priestess requests or the god will strike you down. You too. So you better do as she says.” Throughout this speech, he kept coming closer until he grabbed her tightly by her upper arm as he finished. “You want to please the god, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He dragged her across the room to a half cask filled with water that dominated one corner of this large cluttered room. He stripped her of her robe and left her standing naked in the light of the torches around the perimeter of the room. He walked around her, examining every inch of her. She turned and tried to run away from the invisible worms that crawled in her belly at the hungry of this strange man. Soren laughed and caught her easily.

“You aren’t getting away that easily, little bird. The door be locked and anyone in this temple who sees you will just bring you back.” He lifted her into his arms and gave her a one-sided embrace before he dumped her into the cask.

She came up sputtering out a mouthful of salty water. “It’s cold! And it tastes funny.” She shivered and sniffled back snot as her nose began dripping once more.

“It’s sea water and you’ll come to love it.” One large hand descended on her head and pushed her under and held her there.

Her lungs burned and she saw stars floating through the water. A black cloud closed in, narrowing her vision to a small spot right in front of her nose when she was finally allowed to the surface again.

A hard wooden bristled brush was slapped into her limp hands, fingers reflexively closed around it. She stared at Soren, dazed, confused.

“Scrub yourself. And be thorough. Unless you want me to do it for you?”

She grabbed the brush, large in her small hands and awkwardly began scrubbing. Worried he would not approve of the job she did and take the brush from her, she scrubbed until her skin was pink and scraped raw. New tears came to her eyes from the pain but Soren never even looked at her. He busied himself with a tray near a stool. From where she sat in the water she could see shiny silver tools arranged neatly. Small jars and other arcane containers were shuffled around on a nearby shelf. All set within reach of a small battered stool.

After she had finished scrubbing every part of her body including her hair, scrubbed with ragged fingernails that made her scalp sting. She waited shivering in the water for Soren to acknowledge her.

Note: As I didn’t want to turn my attention away from my current project, I am posting the opening scene from my NaNoWriMo novel last year.

        

                That was easy. I knew as soon as I thought those words it was a mistake. The job wasn’t done, anything could go wrong still. Stealing the fancy box had been fairly straight forward. Mind, I ain’t no theif. At least most of the time. I’m a merc, mercenary, sword-for-hire but when my pockets are empty, I dabble in thievery.  If the pay is enough.

                This time the pay was more than enough. Too much almost. Caid Caellan doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and if a client wants to pay generously for a little theivery, who am I to complain?

                My rooms were in the Traders Corner. Traders kept hours that were compatible with mine. They slept at night and left me free to wander about without anyone sticking their nose in. During the day, they were too busy with their businesses to bother me in bed. It was a good arrangement.

                I strutted along a deserted street towards bed. The meet with the client for the exchange was tomorrow night. I thought longingly of the Red Light district but I had to guard this all-important box and until I had my payment I couldn’t afford what I wanted from the ladies there.

                A faint scrape of a boot against the cobbles was all the warning I had before I was jumped. It doesn’t take much to surprise me and that let me know that either these gents were professionals or had help. The magic kind of help. And that let me know that this wasn’t your usual run-of-the-mill mugging. One long knife was in my hand faster than thought and a bright flash of steel flew from my other and burrowed itself in the throat of one of my assailants.

                One less dance partner for the party.

                Three scruffy men in thick leather jerkins formed a triangle with me in the center. Each of them had a sharp weapon in their hands and were ready to use them. Clearly not a capture the merc mission.

                I waggled my fingers at the one with the blond bedhead. “Let’s dance.” I drew a second knife and held it with the blade along my bracered forearm. The familiar crooked smile stretched across my face. I loved this part. Me against them. Proving who is better. The ultimate prize for the winner. Life.

                For the space of several breaths, grunts, clashing metal, and the slap of flesh against flesh filled the air. Another gent went down and unless he could survive a hands length of steel punched through the gut, he wasn’t getting up again.

                “Is that the best you can do, boys? I haven’t even broke a sweat yet.”

                “Perhaps I can fix that.” A brown man stepped onto the street; brown because he had brown hair, brown eyes, and wore brown robes and onto the street because he had been floating above me and settled to the ground.

                “Oh crap.” The words had barely escaped my lips when I was caught in a mage’s trap. A sick purple glow encircled my wrists and throat holding me still and sweating. I hated magic. Magic was for cheaters, no clean skill against skill contest there. But sure enough, the mage was right. I was sweating.

                “The great Caid laid low by a single spell. By your reputation I thought you’d be … taller.”

                “What can I say? I’m tall enough to get the job done. “ I’d have shrugged if I wasn’t slowly being stretched between the three points. “You’ve heard of me as is only right. But I haven’t heard of you so you must be some piss-poor mage hiding behind his master’s robes.”

                The mage approached and pulled the box out of my jerkin. “I’ll just take this and be on my way. My men will have their fun with you.”

                “Not so fast.” My feet weren’t bound in spells and I took full advantage of that fact. I landed a kick where it counts the most. No man can keep concentration in the face of that agony. And the mage was barely a man. The binding spell dropped and I fell to my knees.

                As I reached for the box, one of the gents stomped on it and it cracked under his weight. I hooked his ankle and lifted. He landed on his back with a ‘whoof’.  I snatched up the box and ran. I hadn’t come prepared to deal with the mage.

                The second goon tackled me and we both fell to the ground. I wrestled him to the bottom of the stack and a short quick jab to the chin had his eyes rolling up in his head.  The box was smashed to smithereens and I could see the fat paycheck trickling away. A glitter of gold caught my eye among the splinters.

                A ring. All this over a glitzy piece of fluff? Maybe it was for some girl. Some fools did extraordinary things for girls. It didn’t matter, maybe I could still get some of my commission if I brought back the ring.

                I slipped the ring over one scarred knuckle, sliding it on to my little finger. A black oily cloud seeped from the ring and crawled up my arm leaving a chill in its wake. The mage eyed me while the magic enveloped me and then soaked into my skin leaving an awful nauseous feeling in my gut.

                I spat a word that wasn’t fit for a lady’s ears. Hell, it wasn’t fit for a gentleman’s ears. My night had just got a whole lot worse.

        

                “Dance with me?” A well-manicured, calloused hand reached for hers.

                “Of course.” Zhina stood and stepped into his arms, where she had been trying to end up all evening.

                Denetrian led her through the crowds. His arrogance and security in his position cleared a path to the dance area. Dancers swirled by under brightly colored paper lanterns while a three-man band took its turn upon the low platform that served as a stage for the street fair.

                When a new, slower song began, Denetrian whirled her into the dance before settling down to a smooth leisurely pace. “You enjoying the fair?” He smiled at her, his eyes flickered over her head to the crowds beyond.

                “I am now, Lord Korkahti.”

                “Have we met?”

                “No. But we share a friend. Taist?”  Ouch. She hoped the bruises on her hand would be worth it.

                “What do you know of Taist?” His eyes didn’t wander now, they were firmly fixed on her face.

                Good, she had his attention now.

                “Do you play Kings and Pawns, m’lord?”

                “Tell me where Taist is. What have you done with him?” His dancing became stiffer, more like a military maneuver than a dance.

                “I’ve done nothing with him. It’s what you’ve done with him that matters. Where is the Elsullian Board?” The dance was half over, she needed something to go on. A tiny clue to make her next step with. The chances of confronting Demetrian anywhere else were slim. They didn’t exactly move in the same social circles.

                “The Elsullian Board? It’s you. You’re the one.” Denetrian pulled her closer. His breath teased loose hair near her ear as he whispered, “Taist was suppose to meet you. Arrange the trade. I haven’t seen him in three days. What did you do to him?”

                “Nothing. I did nothing.” Zhina pushed against his chest, a tight smile on her face for the onlookers. “You are hurting me.”

                He eased his grip on her. Not all the way but enough she could breathe and watch his face as she spoke. “I need the Elsullian Board. What do you want for it?”

                “What? No threats to expose my secrets if I don’t give it to you?” He laughed, harsh and low. “I sent Taist to arrange the trade. The Elsullian Board for the proof of my father’s sins. If anything happened to him, you’re dead.”

                Zhina knew Taist was dead. She had found him in the alley, eyes open and staring, blood drying in the gaping wound of his throat. The Kings and Pawns playing piece in his pocket led her to Denetrian.

                “M’lord, clearly there is some mistake. I know nothing of a trade. I only need the Board. It is urgent that I get it.” Zhina let a single tear slip down her cheek and her lip quiver.

                “Drop it. Your act isn’t worthy of a ha’penny show on market day.” Denetrian maintained a firm hold on her arm as he walked her back through the crowd. “If you aren’t the one who arranged the trade, who is? What do you want with the Elsullian Board?”

                “I need it to save my daughter.” Zhina pulled her arm free and disappeared into the drunken crowd. She would find another way to get the information she needed. She rubbed the playing piece tucked away in her bodice. Her little girl needed her, she would find a way.

        

A carriage creaked and rattled its way up the road. The horses that pulled in stepped in perfect time with each other.

                Clip. Clop. Clip Clop.

                Amika stayed hidden among the shadows. The driver neither saw her nor heard her, she was too good for that. She had spent long hours on creaky floors and between hanging sheets and bells practicing for her mentor, Scree. He whipped her legs with a cane every time one of the bells rang or a sheet swayed in the wind of her passing and then he made her do it again. And again.

                The front door opened and Lord and Lady Kalingim erupted into the night with stern orders to “Keep an eye on things” from him and a cloud of sharp smelling perfume from her. The carriage creaked under their weight as they stepped inside. A quick snap of the carriage whip and they were off. Off to some party where everyone minced around in too tight shoes with too tight smiles on their faces.

                Lud. Amika was grateful to be spared that life.

                When the street was silent but for the hiss of the gas, Amika made her way to the front door. The windows were darker now, one eye closed for the night. She fumbled in the bag slung across her shoulders and pulled out a small ceramic bottle and a soft cloth. She hated this stuff. She had heard of folks dying from too much of this potion. Too little and she wouldn’t be able to finish her job. What Scree wanted, Scree got.

                Amika dripped some of the potion onto the cloth a drop at a time. When she had enough she put the bottle away and knocked on the door with a quick glance up and down the street. Wouldn’t do for some nob to catch her in rags on the front doorstep, he might think her a beggar and set the watch on her. She wasn’t opposed to spending a night in the gaol now and again but she had better lined up. If she could finish her dithering and get this job done.

                The rap on the door was firm and steady, professional even. A messenger come calling in the middle of the night. When the servant opened the door, Amika darted forward and covered his nose and mouth with the cloth soaked in the potion. Her eyes swept the street and she strained to hear any sound while she waited the agonizingly slow moments for the magic to do its work.

                Luckily all remained quiet and still while the old man slumped in her arms. Working quickly, she dragged him inside and kicked the door shut. Amika found a pillow on the chair in the entry hall and placed it beneath the old man’s head. He wouldn’t be grateful for the courtesy but she couldn’t stand to leave him be on the cold floor.

                “Third door on the left.” That’s what Scree had said. Third door on the left was where she’d find it, in the gent’s study.  She slipped through the polished wooden door and stood in the dark, settling her nerves. She had gotten by the dragon at the door. The rest should be easy.

                Reaching again into her bag, she pulled out  an old brass candle holder, the handle long ago broken off. She mixed two powders in the recess in the middle with a bit of her spit to bind them together. Soon a dim light illuminated the area around her. One day she hoped Scree would tell her where he got his toys.

                Amika looked around the room and blew out a very low whistle. “Fancy that, a room for books and gew gaws.” She shook herself free from the awe she felt at the foibles of the rich and headed for the opposite wall. A painting hung there of a green field dotted with pale purple flowers and trees.  It was all very foreign. Nothing like that here in the city. It was pretty.

                She couldn’t practice this part. Not even Scree could afford the enchantment like this to practice on. She knew what she had to do. In theory. She was a good student. She could do this.

                She set the light aside and closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In and out. In and out. Time passed, Amika concentrated. The old man would be in dreamland for hours and the rich nobs who owned this place wouldn’t be back until dawn. When she had her focus, she opened her eyes. She lifted her hand and reached for the tree, only the tree, nothing but the tree. Her hand slid through the surface of the painting and it was as like putting her hand through dry dusty cobwebs.

                She was doing it. Her breathing quickened and her concentration began to fall apart. The painting gripped her hand, tightening with each ragged breath. Amika snapped her eyes closed again and breathed, scrambling for focus again. Gradually the painting released its hold on her and her fingers found something. Something hidden in the painting.

                She closed her fingers around the smooth cold object she had come for and withdrew it from the painting. Amika held it close to the light, admiring the red fire in the heart of the jewel when light speared through the shadows as the door opened.

                A masculine silhouette stood leaning against the door jam and applauded. “Well done, my little theif. Well done.”

        

I have heard writers say that being a great storyteller helps make one a good liar. If so, am I in trouble.

I have been described as “too honest” by my mother. “Brutally honest” or “blunt” by friends and co-workers. My children laugh at me when I try to lie to hide things, like presents and surprises, from them. They know when I am lying. I have found it safer to just avoid a direct answer.

Friends ask me “Does this look good on me?” and I don’t want to hurt their feelings so I try to temper a negative response with a positive aspect but I can’t lie and say “Yes, it does” if I don’t think so.

I love to make up stories though. When I am in a medium where a lie is expected, I love it. On the stage and in stories, it is ok to make things up and I go crazy. I explore things that are darker than I ever want to see in real life. I pretend to like things that I am too scared of.

I am drawn to the fantasy genre for this very reason. Everyone knows or at least believes that magic and dragons and monsters don’t exist. I tell stories set in places where these things might exist and try to make it as real as possible but I know that everyone will know it is make-believe.

So what do you think? Do storytellers have to be good liars? Or to put it the other way around do good liars make good storytellers?

        

I followed Karnage and Sygmund to the busy docks. It were easy to keep out of sight in the crowd and it were easy to keep them two in sight too. They ducked down a narrow alleyway. So narrow in fact that the tips of Karnage’s horns scraped the stone walls on either side when he weren’t careful.

Them two wended their way through a maze of alleys and overgrown, falling apart courtyards and finally ended up at a shadowed doorway. Syggy muttered a few of his mumbo jumbo words that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and traced a funny mark on the door. Sygmund called those kinds of marks sigils. I called them squiggles. Syggy didn’t appreciate that.

Then he placed his palm flat against the door and it opened with only the slightest of sounds. The elf and the minotaur disappeared inside and the door closed behind them with a slimmest flash of blue light.

“Darn them mage-types and their fancy shmancy magic.” I muttered. Magic gave me the willies. I had no defense against it. Nor did I have any way around it. I laid odds that if they used magic to seal the entrance they also used magic to prevent eavesdropping.

I kicked a loose cobble across the courtyard and watched it come to a stop against the bone dry, crumbling, stone fountain in the center. Clearly this wasn’t the way to find out what they were doing. And more importantly, invite myself along for the ride.

I guessed they wouldn’t move until the sun rose the next day. Karnage was always a big one for starting out first thing. And so I made plans to return before then to follow them once more. Until then, I had me a date with a certain shiny stone. I figured by now it be missing me and I never liked to leave a ruby in distress.

I left the maze-like slums and headed back to the shop district, liberating a few more metal coins from their owners along the way. Never knew when an application of coins would be needed to make those nasty militia types look the other way. I may not care for the things but they had a purpose. Sorta like cheese could be used to lure a rat away from its den. So to could coins be used to lure humans and most other races into doing things they otherwise wouldn’t.

Back in the shop district I spent some time in the stores on either side of the jewelers. I found myself a pair of nice gloves that were only slightly too big in the haberdashery. I also found the rear entrance to the jeweler’s place of business, the two windows in the living quarters above, and the low roof of the cheesemonger’s next door that would provide an easy means of entrance and egress.

My plan was coming together and I loved it when that happened. When darkness fell, I would put it in motion.

        

I’m not given to long drawn out plans but I was also not up to a physical confrontation with the nice man behind the counter. A ruby as beautiful as this belonged in the hands of a gnome. Only I could appreciate it in the way it deserved to be loved. Only one thing to do. Come back after the shop closed and liberate the ruby and place it in its rightful place. With me.

I left the shop, impatient for night to fall. The rumble in my middle let me know the time, lunch time. I swaggered on down to a tavern, placed some of those dull metallic disks that the other races tend to get so excited about on the table, and ordered up an ale and the fish stew.

My face buried in the bowl, tongue worked busily to lick up every last drop of the savory meal. My mother taught me to clean my plate at each meal and I always listen to Mama Minmat. She’s a great and wise gnome. An irritated throat clearing drew my attention to the pair of shadows looming over me. A pair of angry shadows matched up with a pair of angry friends.

“Hiya Karnage. Syggy. How’s it going?” I caught the last little shred of fish with my finger and sucked it off with a long slurp.

A red skinned palm with carefully trimmed black nails appeared right under my nose. My eyes crossed looking at it.

“You need something? More of those coins you collect so religiously?” I grinned up at them, grey eyes wide open. After staring into their unsmiling faces a long moment even my expression slipped.

“All right, all right. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. You use to take me on all your adventures. You always said I was a great help. I don’t understand why you have to be all secretive. Just let me in on your job and everything would be so easy.” I slapped the key into Karnage’s hand.

“Mouse, you aren’t invited on this job. The client is very particular about who he wants in on this endeavor and you aren’t a part of those particulars.” Karnage patted me on the head, his big hand palming my scalp. I winced when a couple of those friendly pats were delivered with a tad too much force. “In a couple weeks when this job is done, I promise we will get together and do a job for old time’s sake. However for now, you stay out of it.” Judging by the glare in his eyes and the frosty look on Sygmund’s face, charming my way in was not an option.

“Oh all right. You two go off. Have your little adventures. Don’t be surprised if you can’t find me around when you are done. My feet get mighty itchy when I’m bored and I’m not hanging around for long where I’m not wanted.” I slid to the floor and without a backwards glance, I departed the eatery, imagining the guilty looks on their faces as I marched across the worn wooden floor.

As I stepped out onto the dusty cobbles, I slid around the corner of the building. My Mama Minmat always use to say there is more than one way to palm a sparkly. And as I said earlier, I always listen to my Mama Minmat. I stepped into the shade draped opening between the two shops and waited. A moment later, Sygmund and Karnage passed by deep in conversation, headed towards the docks. I slipped into the traffic and followed. The large black minotaur horns and the fruity elf perfume easy to track in the rumpus of market day.

        

I gave the apple one last satisfying crunch and then tossed the core away.

The market was busy this morning. Farmers in from out of town, hawkers striving to be heard above the noise of the crowds, anxious couplings of merchant and buyer as deals were haggled over and sealed, sailors on leave or looking for their next cargo, city folk wives and servants testing the fruit and meat for quality before taking it home for suppers, and of course the pickpockets.

Pickpockets in their natural habitat. Crowds and chaos and full coin purses and boxes.

As I watched I saw one young feller, only half again as tall as me, stumble into a plump lady, sending both of them and some wares flying. The skinny merchant with a large mole on his nose shouted about their clumsiness and threatened the law if they didn’t return the flagons to his stand immediately. While his back was turned, a second thief, female this time and a tad older, slipped in behind and took half of his morning’s earnings from his cash box.

She turned to slip away in the crowd and I caught her eye and winked. Had to give encouragement to the younger generation. She blinked at me, grinned and disappeared into the fracas.

Bored, I meandered up the street. Karnage and Sygmund weren’t likely to come looking for me for several hours yet and I had time to kill. Plus it had been ages since I had been in a town of any size at all and I wanted to check out the jewelry shops. The shops with the pretty gems, polished until they glowed and sparkled, displayed on the velvet like a feast set before royalty. My fingers itched to caress a deep red ruby, to cuddle a fiery emerald, to hug a shimmering opal.

After gathering a bit of information on the local jewelry establishments, I set off for Jeneer’s Gems. The locals seemed to think he had a large selection and I wanted to see me some sparklies.

The shop looked fairly new, the wooden sills and awning lightly worn from the weather, the stone still square from the quarry. I had heard about the big fire in this section of Kyrancet a couple seasons ago. The rebuilding was nearly finished. I was glad. Stealing from the fire ravaged folk of this town might of tweaked even my conscious but as they clearly were doing a booming business and fully recovered, they wouldn’t miss a little sparkly or two. Would they?

I stepped into the shop and my eyes were immediately drawn to the display cases. Curses! I wasn’t tall enough to see inside. Equal rites for gnomes will be instituted someday and counters, tables, chairs, everything would be built to accommodate our size. We were the superior race, the other races were too intellectually challenged to realize that yet. But it was coming.

“Shopkeeper?”

An aging man with a permanent squint to one eye, presumably the eye he used his loupe in, leaned over the counter and peered at me with watery grey eyes. “Yes, miss?”

“Do you perchance have a stool, good sir? One on which I could stand and gaze upon your fair merchandise?”

“We don’t allow gawkers here, miss. Move along.” He moved down the counter to where a couple, sappily in love, were looking at promise rings.

“Sir! I am here to buy.” I shook my coin purse meaningfully. “If I find something I like.”

The man took in my worn leathers, stringy brown hair, and tanned skin. His gaze lingered overly long on the two daggers at my belt, at least the two he could see. Finally he studied the coin purse in question and said, “All right.” He passed over a small step stool that was clearly used to reach the upper shelves behind him.

“Thank you, sir. I will let you return to your other customers. It may take me a while to make my decision.”

I stepped onto the stool and my attention was drawn to the large medium toned dark red ruby pendant displayed proudly in the center of the case. The cabachon cut and gold setting glowed in the light coming in from the window.

I had to have it.

        

The following is a sample of my writing, quickly written with very little revision. It stars Mouse, my favorite character from my very first gaming experience. She weaseled her way into my heart and I missed her. So I had to bribe her to return from retirement. With copious amounts of sparklies. Hope you enjoy it.

“I’m back! That’s right. Mouse has returned.” I clambered up the chair and plunked myself down on the scarred, ale-stained table. The groans uttered by Karnage and Sygmund were quiet, so I ignored them. Probably had tummy aches anyway. That certainly wouldn’t be their reaction to seeing little ol’ me. Their bestest friend on the face of Corethe. “So, what pies have you two got your fingers in?”

Karnage, a minotaur of immense proportions and unusual education (that is, he had some), snarled. I don’t think he can help it. He has the face of an animal and animals snarl, right? “Oh no. You aren’t joining us. Every time you ‘help’ the job always gets more complicated and extremely dangerous.”

“But Karnage, you know you love me!” I threw myself at him. He had very fast reflexes so I wasn’t worried about him catching me. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m like an infant in his arms, he is so big. Of course most people are bigger than me but that’s just cause everyone else has an abundance of inconvenient inches. When you’re in my line of work a compact body is very useful.

Karnage gently held me in his arms and that goofy grin appeared. The one only I could put on his ugly mug. I laid a big fat smooch on his cheek and wiggled about until I was comfortable.

“Hm hmm.” That was Sygmund. You never knew how he was going to react to a situation. Sometimes he was very fun, almost as fun as a gnome. Other times he grumped and groused and in general brought everyone else down. Strange fellow that elf. This clearly was a grumpy day.

“Somethin’ wrong, Syggy?” I batted innocent grey eyes up at him.

He glared. “Karnage, check your pockets.”

Sighing, Karnage set me down on the table and patted himself down. “Hand it over.”

“Hand over what?” I held out empty hands.

“You know what.” His fierce brown eyes were level and unblinking.

I watched my reflection in them as I slid a hand up under my tunic and pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. I held it out, lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“I thought you didn’t try your tricks on your friends.” He slid the paper back into his battered belt pouch.

“I don’t. Usually. But you know I can’t resist not knowing. If you and Syggy would just tell me what you are up to, you would make me so happy. Not knowing is like an itch I can’t scratch. Very uncomfortable. Tell me, pleeeeaase, Karnage.” I squeezed a tear out, freeing it to run down my cheek. Most big un’s couldn’t resist it when I cry. I so very closely resemble their younglings. I admit it, I take advantage when I can.

“No. Karnage let’s go before she wraps you around her finger again.” Sygmund stood and straightened his elaborate robes. “Mouse, it was a pleasure seeing you. We must now take our leave of you.” He gave a half bow in my direction.

“Aww, Syggy. You did miss me.” Standing up on the table, I hugged him. He may be stick thin and currently in his pompous, too-good-to-associate-with-a-thief stage but he was a friend and I had missed him. He patted my back with less than stellar enthusiasm.

“Stop calling me ‘Syggy.’ It’s undignified.”

Karnage gave me another hug and then they both walked out the door.

“Huh.” I jumped down from the table, opened my hand and looked at the ring nestled there. The large ruby setting was so very pretty. Practically had my name written all over it. Sygmund was so very considerate to gift me with it.

A practiced shake of my sleeve freed a large iron key, the handle all swirly in design. I thumped it against my open palm. “They’ll be back.”

Whistling, I left the tavern and sauntered up the street.