Wanderlust

nod. He eased his sizable form into the chair nearest the tinker. 'I am feeling a bit parched. Performing drains one so.'

'Was this your first time on stage?' Gaesil asked, struggling to chew a bit of the stale, moldy bread. He hadn't thought the bard's act as bad as the rest of the crowd, but then bards weren't his area of expertise.

Delbridge looked insulted. 'Good heavens, no. Surely you've heard of Sir Delbridge Fidington? I received my title from Queen Wilhelmina of Tarryn herself, for service faithfully rendered as court bard.'

'Uh,' Gaesil gulped, 'I don't leave Abanasinia much, and seldom hear bards. I don't believe I've ever heard of Tarryn, let alone Queen Wilhelmina.'

'It's a small but vital kingdom in, uh, the eastern Plains of Dust.' Delbridge dismissed the point with a wave of his hand, which also brought the waiter over.

'My new friend here has insisted upon buying me refreshment,' Delbridge said happily to the same fleshy youth who had waited on Gaesil. 'A cup of your best mulled wine, my good man.' To save himself work, the waiter had taken to carrying filled mugs; he dropped one before the bard.

Delbridge peered with disdain over the rim of the mug. 'But this looks like-'

'— ale. It is.' With that, the youth left.

Gaesil smirked ruefully. 'I'm afraid it's all they have. It's not so bad after the first couple of sips.'

Delbridge looked skeptical, took a sip, and nearly choked. 'Say, you're right,' he said after a moment, downing another gulp. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, nursing their drinks.

'So why aren't you still court bard for Wilhelmina?'

'Who?' Delbridge was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. 'Oh, her. I grew weary of telling the same old tales. Bards need to hit the road, I mean, experience the common life every so often to refresh their repertoire.' He glanced around with disdain at the muddy tent and its coarse patrons. 'This, however, is a little more common than I had anticipated.'

Delbridge brushed a piece of lint from his velvet lapel, then straightened all of his many finger rings. 'I'll be heading someplace where you won't find such riffraff, I'll wager.' He blew his pug nose with a great honking sound into a large, threadbare silk scarf. 'I won't be sorry to see the last of this town, I can tell you.'

'Gee, I've had great luck here,' Gaesil said, taking a swig of his ale. 'Did more work today at the festival than any five last year.' The tinker was having a difficult time staying on his chair. Or maybe the table was shifting; he wasn't sure.

'Swell,' Delbridge muttered, forgetting himself.

'It's because of the dwarf's lucky bracelet, you know.' He looked down at the legs of his chair, clutching the edge of the table to keep from falling. 'Have you noticed the furniture moving in here?'

'Lucky bracelet?'

'What? Oh, the bracelet.' He wagged his finger at the bard almost accusingly. 'I saw it happen!' He drew back his cuff and held the bracelet up for inspection. 'Four times today this very item got hot just before I had these strange notions, visions almost, and then customers showed up!'

Delbridge peered closely at the piece of jewelry. 'You mean you predicted the future?' he asked skeptically.

'I guess you could say that.' Gaesil peered at him through bleary eyes. 'That would make a good story, wouldn't it? Do you suppose it's an omen?' Quickly he tossed the Eye behind his hand. He thought he saw Water, the sign of ill luck; he blinked to clear his vision, but he could barely make out the symbol in the dimly lit tent.

Watching him, Delbridge laughed and rose to his stubby feet. 'I think it's a sign that you've had too much to drink and you're mind is playing tricks. Perhaps I should help you home.'

The tinker shook his head until it lolled, and waved off the offer. 'No need. I'm staying in my wagon on the grounds here and can do jus' fine.'

'Then I'll say good night.' The bard patted his round stomach and clapped Gaesil on the back good-naturedly. 'My thanks for the drink and the talk. I hope your luck continues and mine improves.' With that, he turned up his lapels in anticipation of a brisk spring breeze and left the noisy tent.

Gaesil downed the last of his ale and decided to head home as well. He fumbled through his coin purse and paid his bill, leaving a copper for the rude waiter out of habit. Stepping from the tent, he was confused about the direction to his wagon. Spotting a familiar sign above a booth near his, he hunched his shoulders against the wind and staggered toward home.

He was pulling his boots off inside his wagon when he felt a now-familiar warming sensation in the skin under the bracelet. Too tipsy to focus and too tired to care, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. But they flew open as he felt the copper bracelet being wrenched from his limp and bloody wrist. Shocked upright, he felt something hard crash upon his skull, and he wasn't sure if it was vision or reality. And then he saw nothing at all.

'Funny thing,' said Sir Delbridge Fidington over Gaesil's collapsed body. 'I may not be a good storyteller, but I do seem to excel at thievery.'

Chapter 6

Lady in Waiting

'Honestly, Flint, it's not my fault,' said Tasslehoff, skipping along to keep up with the pounding pace set by the angry hill dwarf. Even Tanis had to take long strides to stay next to Flint as they hurried along in the darkness of very early morning.

'All of this is your fault, kender!' the dwarf growled. 'If you hadn't lifted the bracelet to begin with, I wouldn't be on this wild-goose chase in the dregs of the night!'

'But I've told you, I don't know how the bracelet got into my pocket the second time. And I was trying to return it… Why else would I give it to the tinker? You've got to believe me, Flint.'

'I don't have to do anything but get my bracelet back,' the dwarf said, turning his bulbous nose on the kender. 'And stop calling me Flint. It makes us sound like friends.'

'What should I call you, then?' asked the kender innocently.

'I'd rather you didn't call me anything at all! I'd rather you didn't speak to me!'

'You're awfully testy. You're probably just tired from all this walking, what with those stubby legs of yours,' Tasslehoff said. 'Speaking of wild geese, my Uncle Trapspringer used to chase them-for the feathers, that is. Oh yes, it's true. Goose feathers were all the rage among the rich in Kendermore. Males and females alike would wear them in their hair, put them in their pillows. Uncle Trapspringer made quite a tidy sum, he did. Spent it all on a trip to the moon.

'I almost went to the moon once myself, with a magic teleporting ring-'

'Stop that infernal chattering!' Flint screamed, clapping his thick hands to his ears.

Tanis struggled to keep a solemn face. 'You were the one who insisted he come back with us when we found him in Windy Vale.'

'As a hostage, not as a torturer! I wanted him with us in case he was lying about giving that infernal bracelet to the tinker.' Flint's eyes narrowed maliciously. 'Say, aren't hostages usually bound and gagged?'

'Yeah, but then you'd have to carry him.' Tanis laughed, then pointed ahead. 'Besides, that's the bridge over Solace Stream. We'll be in town shortly, and soon after we'll find that tinker and you'll have your bracelet back.'

'I only hope Selana hasn't come looking for it yet,' Flint muttered.

'If she has, I'll tell her it wasn't really anyone's fault, but that somehow-'

Flint whirled on the kender and hoisted him up by the collar of his furry vest. 'You say one word to her about this,' he threatened, 'and I'll cut out your tongue, fry it, and make you eat it!' He released Tasslehoff's vest and continued his march.

'Well,' Tasslehoff huffed, giving Flint a haughty glance. He brushed his clothing back into place as he trotted after the dwarf. 'That certainly isn't friendly of you. I was just offering to help.'

Tanis patted the kender on the shoulder. 'I believe Flint feels you've helped enough for one lifetime, Tasslehoff.'