knees.
'Seize him!' cried the hobgoblin officer.
Now, Tom the tailor was up and running across the weathered boards of the wharf, heading for the street ahead. There was a moment's confusion among the guards before they began running after the old man, so Tom had a head-start.
Even so, one soldier began to overtake the tailor. As William, Sintk, and Harum El-Halop watched helplessly, the grim-faced draconian thrust its hand out to grab the tailor's flapping tunic. Thetailor stopped abruptly, spun around, and swung his fist at the dra conian.
The force of the blow knocked both the tailor and the draconian off their feet. The tailor fell back on the cobblestones. The draconian weaved to a halt on rubbery legs, its hands clawing at its injured throat.
Within moments, the desperate tailor got to his feet and fled up the street, past the Missionary's Downfall, where William and his friends were still standing, mouths agape. A second later, he vanished into an alley. Two soldiers pursued the fleeing prisoner.
Harum the minotaur grinned in derision as the hobgoblin officer in command bustled past, his fat belly bouncing like jelly above his wide leather belt. The hobgoblin noticed his audience and stopped, his face twisting with anger. Ignoring the powerful minotaur, he focused on poor William and drew his sword, pressing the tip of the blade against the front of William's throat.
'Maybe you'd like to come along with us instead,' the hobgoblin snarled.
William trembled. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets to hide his fear from his friends. His stubby fingers closed over the coin as he prayed fervently for deliverance.
If only…
'I'm waiting for your answer,' sneered the hobgoblin.
William made a grunting noise like the excited squeal of a frightened piglet. The hobgoblin cocked his head for an instant, looked at Sintk and Harum, then lowered his sword. He chuckled as William's body shivered with fright.
A sudden shout came from the alley. Then, two draconian soldiers came out of the lane with the tailor held fast between them. He jerked and twisted to break free of their grasp. The hobgoblin officer sheathed his sword and walked away to join his troops.
'Close,' whispered Sintk.
'Poor Tom,' said William.
Harum El-HaIup stood quietly with his arms folded over his chest. He watched imperiously as the troops prodded the coffle of prisoners toward the castle. Then the minotaur shrugged and slapped William on the shoulder.
'Every dog has its day,' Harum said. 'Old Tom should have known better. I told him to mind his own business, keep sewing, and not get ambitious with his thinking. But, my friends, let us slake our thirst and forget about having those reptiles in town. And some-day we will throw them over, and you, William, will be our leader.' He laughed.
Accompanied by Harum, William and Sintk walked gloomily into the murkiness of the Missionary's Downfall. The bar wascrowded with dwarves, humans, hobgoblins, and a group of hard looking draconians drinking in the back. Several half-elves were noisily testing their mental prowess with a game of riddles. A drunken hobgoblin lay passed out beside his chair. Two bartenders hurried to keep up with requests for drinks. Harum leaned against the end of the bar. He motioned to a bartender, who hastened over with three tankards of ale.
William and Sintk were never completely at ease in the minotaur's establishment. The tavern's reputation for brawls and free-for-all fights was widely known. Bystanders and onlookers were often drawn into me-lees that ended in what were known as 'Harum's wall-bouncing parties.' Harum enforced a rule that weapons had to be checked at the door, but it was not completely effective when applied against magic-users and the lowest criminal element.
In addition to fights, the Missionary's Downfall was also widely known for a painting on the ceiling. Some time before, an itinerant artist wandered into Port Ba-lifor with a talent for painting and a yen for ale. The artist hired out to the minotaur for room, board, and all the ale he could drink. The artist erected scaffolds and worked for two years to create an oil mural on the ceiling.
The painting depicted a satyr gamboling with maidens in a pastoral setting. Neither the satyr nor the maidens were particularly shy, a fact that delighted customers of the bar. Some folks claimed the mino-taur's regulars could be recognized by the crook in their necks.
Now, after a long drink of ale, William drew the coin from his pocket. It lay coldly in his palm, a lifeless piece of metal.
'What's that?' asked Harum. His thick fingers plucked the coin from William's hand.
'It was a gift from someone special,' said William.
Sintk the Dwarf chimed in. 'William thinks the coin has magical powers.'
The minotaur cocked his head and held the coin up to the light of an oil lamp on the wall. 'What does it do?'
'It helps my mind go off to other places.' William was pleased that the minotaur had not ridiculed his beliefs about the coin.
Harum asked, 'You mean soul-travel?'
William looked startled. 'What's that?'
Harum grinned. 'Back home, I was given a sentence of supreme shunning. Solitary confinement without contact with anyone. You can't imagine the terrible loneliness. You get crazed from the need for companionship. My mind was becoming quirky and dull, un til I taught myself to take mental trips. Flights of the imagination. It helped me keep my sanity.'
Sintk asked dubiously, 'This was all in your mind?'
'Who knows for sure?' The minotaur shrugged his thick shoulders. 'But if you can escape this life now and then with such a magic coin, then you are a lucky man, William.'
William beamed. 'I told you it was magic,' he said to Sintk.
Just then, a shout came from the far end of the bar. One man slammed down his tankard, then drove a fist into the stomach of a loud, argumentative drinking companion. The unexpected blow knocked the loudmouth backward; he crashed into the table where the half-elves were sitting. Their table was upended against the wall.
With wine coursing through their veins, the half-elves leaped up to defend themselves. One fell over the slumbering hobgoblin; another was knocked down by a long-bearded dwarf. The hobgoblin on the floor roused himself, opened his eyes, and rose to a sitting position. A booted foot slammed into his head; he promptly lapsed back into an unconscious state.
Customers rushed from every side of the Missionary's Downfall for a better view of the ruckus. Another half- elf stumbled into a human, who slugged the offender on the chin. Within moments, most of the tavern's patrons were throwing punches, kicking, biting, howling, and exchanging blows in a loud and violent manner.
'Pardon me,' growled the minotaur. He handed the coin to William, walked over, and grabbed a half-elf by the neck and trousers. He heaved the elf against a wall of the tavern. Then, Harum grasped the end of a beard and propelled a screaming dwarf into the wall.
William's terror was mixed with awe of Harum.
'Let's get out of here,' he said in a quavering voice. 'You go' The dwarf was rubbing his hands in glee. 'I've never been to a wall-banging before.' Sintk dashed into the fight. William pocketed the coin and dashed for the door.
William was sitting behind the bar of the Pig and Whistle. He had been alone most of the evening, turning the coin over and over in his hand. He was thinking about Old Tom the tailor, and howpeaceful and carefree life had been before the draconians had over run Port Balifor. The coin shone in the lamplight as William pondered it. It IS an unusual and beautiful coin after all, thought William.
'William… come quickly!'
The voice was a whispered hiss followed by a light, discreet knocking on the back door of the inn.
He got off his bartender's stool, picked up an oil lamp, and walked to the back of the inn. He unfastened the latch on the door, opened it, and noticed shadowy forms in the gloomy darkness. William stepped back as Sintk and
