“Who’s going to keep us here when we have papers from the king?” Mumr asked in amazement, like a little child.
“Who’s going to keep us here?” the gnome echoed, mocking his comrade. “A lot of good those papers did us at Vishki! Those magicians never even looked at them properly. If they’d felt the urge, they would have wiped their backsides with them. If it wasn’t for that hand monster, darkness only knows what would have happened to us. Who can guarantee that everything will be all right this time round? Nothing to say? That’s right! No one can give us any guarantee. How about you, Harold? What do you think?”
“Nothing much, really.”
“Nothing much?” Hallas exclaimed. “Don’t you have an opinion on the matter?”
“Hallas, stop blathering,” I said, trying to calm the gnome down. “What’s wrong, don’t you trust Egrassa and Eel?”
At that the gnome just glared at me with his one eye and tightened his grip on the spoon, preparing to use it on me.
“Look,” I said soberly, drawing a line under the conversation. “There’s nothing to be worried about. Egrassa and Eel will manage to persuade the commandant somehow.”
Hallas glowered at me from under his bandage and pulled the pot back toward him.
“Just the same, they’re all slackers here. They left us without any guards.”
“Where are you going to run to, if you don’t mind telling me?” asked Mumr, licking his spoon. “There are men all around; you wouldn’t get away without being spotted.”
“Hey!” said one of the soldiers who was walking past our table. “I know you!”
The three of us gaped at him. Just an ordinary soldier like any other. I would have sworn I’d never seen his face before. But the crest sewn on to the warrior’s jacket was familiar. A black cloud on a green field—the crest of my dear old friend, Baron Oro Gabsbarg. So this lad was one of the baron’s soldiers. But what wind could have blown him so far from home?
“But we don’t know you,” Lucky muttered rather disagreeably. “We’ve never met.”
“You’re mistaken, honorable sir! Late summer, at Mole Castle. Do you remember now?”
“No.”
“I was in Milord Gabsbarg’s retinue. Agh! Listen, you’re the lad who pinned Meilo Trug to the ground!” said the soldier, talking to Lamplighter now.
“Well, yes,” Mumr admitted reluctantly.
“Hey! Lads!” the soldier yelled, loud enough for the whole barracks to hear, attracting everybody’s attention to us. “This is the master of the long sword I was telling you about. He wiped the floor with Trug in Kind Soul Castle!”
And then it began! Apparently every soldier in the kingdom had heard about Lamplighter’s heroic exploits. Anyway, a dense crowd gathered round our table, and every man was trying to pat Mumr on the shoulder. Those who couldn’t reach Mumr made do with me or Hallas, as if the gnome and I had also swung double-handed swords around in the courtyard of Algert Dalli’s castle during that memorable duel at the Judgment of Sagra. Hallas even thawed a bit and started grinning when he found himself the center of attention.
The lad wearing Gabsbarg’s crest was almost busting a gut as he told the story of the duel for the hundredth time. The men listened delightedly. A gray-haired veteran squeezed his way through the crowd besieging our table from all sides. He had a massive two-hander nestling on his shoulder, and the gold oak leaf was clearly visible on the hilt. A master of the long sword. The warrior bowed respectfully. Mumr kept up the good tone and replied with a bow of his own.
The warrior respectfully requested Mr. Lamplighter, when he had the time, of course, to give him a few lessons. Mumr agreed. Hallas grunted and hinted rather casually that it would be rather nice to have some beer, maybe. One of the young soldiers went dashing out of the barracks and less than five minutes later we had several potbellied mugs of beer standing in front of us.
Ah, darkness! In all that wandering around Zagraba I’d forgotten what beer tasted like. So I just relished it, leaving Hallas, surrounded by eager listeners, to get on with telling his tall stories. Puffed up with pride, the gnome told the whole world how he had singlehandedly dragged me out of the Labyrinth and how—with this very mattock—he had nailed ninety-eight orcs and one h’san’kor in the Golden Forest. He was just bullshitting with the number of orcs, of course, but they believed him. How could they not believe him, when as proof he showed them an absolutely genuine horn from the forest monster?
By the end of this epic tale every soldier in the barracks would have walked through fire for the gnome. I was sure that in three days’ time the entire army would know Hallas’s fairy tales. The gods be praised that he didn’t think of throwing in a dragon and a princess just to round things off.
I was beginning to catch inquiring glances directed my way. Probably some of those present assumed that since I was traveling with highly respected daredevils like Hallas and Deler, I was a legendary hero, too, and at the very least I must have wrung the Nameless One’s neck with my bare hands. If the lads had only known that I’d walked right through Hrad Spein and now I had the Rainbow Horn in my bag, they would have been absolutely convinced that we were three great heroes from the Gray Age.
The gnome was working his way into his third mug of beer and he hadn’t stopped talking for a moment. I seized my chance to attract the attention of Gabsbarg’s soldier.
“How did you end up here?” I asked him.
“I’m an adjutant now, and milord’s personal envoy!” the lad replied proudly. “I was sent here to get help.”
“Help? Has something happened to the baron?”
“Baron?” the soldier chortled. “Think again, my friend!”
But just then, as bad luck would have it, Kli-Kli showed up.
“Wind it up, Egrassa wants us!”
Everybody wished us good luck, and started thumping us on the back all over again. When I eventually followed the gobliness out through the crowd, my shoulders were aching.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked Kli-Kli.
“Somewhere a bit quieter. Where we can talk properly,” she answered.
“You mean Egrassa doesn’t want us?” the gnome asked with a frown.
“Of course not!”
“What did you want to talk to us about?”
“Lots of things. I’ve found out a thing or two that you’ll find interesting. Eel’s already waiting for us.”
“What about Egrassa?”
“He was invited to dine with the commandant.”
“Which means that everything’s been settled?”
“I’ve always said our Dancer was an absolute genius!” Kli-Kli chuckled as she led us out into the courtyard.
“And this is what you call privacy?”
“At least here no one will take any notice of us. Will there be any more questions?”
“What’s that sack you’re lugging about? Are you sure you won’t rupture yourself?”
“You worry about yourself,” she snorted. “Anyway, we’re here.”
The gobliness led us over to a building, casually kicked the door open, and we walked into a spacious room. Eel was enthroned at a table, gnawing on a chicken leg. And I should say that there was certainly plenty of food.
“My, aren’t you doing well! Who paid for all this?” said Hallas, asking the question closest to the heart of every gnome.
“No one. Milord Commandant was so kind as to provide us with food from his own table and give us a room, while Egrassa dines in the company of His Grace. Do join me in the feast.”
“Well, actually, we already ate in the barracks,” said the gnome, trying halfheartedly to decline.
“All right, that’s up to you. There’ll be all the more for me.”
At that Hallas rubbed his hands together and walked straight to the table.
“All right, you lot eat your fill, and I’ll tell you about what’s happened in Valiostr while we were walking through Zagraba. Eel already knows everything. Eat, Hallas, eat. It’s better than we thought.”
