“You’re in the wrong place,” said the slightly taller of the two ogres, his words lisping around his oversized lower fangs.
I looked the ogres up and down (more up than down), and thought what the mystorical heroes would do in such a situation. I decided to grab the conversational bull by the horns and responded, “This is the Burrows, is it not?”
The ogre blinked, apparently unused to such a direct approach. He nodded.
“And there is someone named Big Ugly in charge around here?” I continued, arching an eyebrow most archly.
Another nod.
“Then I am in the right place,” I said, stepping down toward the bar. “Please inform Mr. Ugly that Master Tertius Wands, of the Wands of Waterdeep, is present and wishes to converse with him.”
All thirty sets of nonhuman eyes followed me as I strode to the bar (at the far end from the drow), pulled out a stool, and sat down. Or at least tried to sit down.
The stool disappeared beneath me, snatched by one of the ogres. The other one, the slightly taller one, simultaneously grabbed me by the collar and breathed hotly in my ear, “this way.” He propelled me toward a door in the back of the tavern, keeping me slightly above the ground so could only graze the floorboards with my flailing toes.
Beyond the door lay darkness. Most nonhumans have some form of ultra-, infra-, or arcano-vision that allows them to see in the dark. Unfortunately that gift was not extended to the human race, so I merely strained my eyes against the ebon blackness. I was set down and found a chair in the darkness.
There was movement about me in the dark, followed by a sharp clicking noise. Then there was light, all of it funneled in my direction. I held up a hand against the brightness, and was vaguely aware that the two ogres were now flanking me.
“Who are you?” said a voice behind the light. I could not see anything other that a blaze of whiteness, but the voice came from above the light source.
“Ter-” I said, my voice breaking, “Tertius Wands of Waterdeep. I’m looking for the one called Big Ugly.”
“Why do you seek him?” said the voice.
I shifted in my seat. I was the one supposed to be asking the tough questions. “Ugly, er, Mister Ugly has something in his possession that I am interested in.” I shut up at this point. In the mystoricals, the hero would always give away as much as he had to, but no more.
I was rewarded with another sound I had not heard before, a sound of soft whispers behind the light. Big Ugly had advisors, it seemed. The voice said aloud, “What is the item in question?”
“A box. Amber. About so big by so big,” I motioned with my hands and immediately the ogres on either side of me tensed. “Belongs to a woman. She wants it back. She’ll pay a finder’s fee for it. Very generous one, indeed.”
I pulled out a slip of paper, on which I had written Drusilla’s offer. It seemed high to me for even an heirloom, but people are funny that way about family possessions. One of the ogres snatched the paper out of my grasp and took it to behind the light.
More silence and whispering. Then the voice said, “Come again in two nights time. Now go.”
“Now wait just a moment,” I said, trying to rise as I spoke. Two large ogrish paws clamped down, one per shoulder, and I was lifted again from my perch. The light was doused again and I was suddenly moving quickly through the main room of the tavern as fast as ogres could run.
A gnome at the front door flung it open as our party approached it. The ogres stopped but I did not. They released their grips and I was flung out into the night air.
Or rather, flung through the night air and into the arms of Ampratines, who manifested himself while I was mere inches from the cobblestones.
“Unsuccessful?” he said simply, helping me to my feet.
“A small setback,” I responded, readjusting my tunic where the ogres had left small claw tears. “They as good as admitted they had it, and that I should come back in two days time. The lovely Drusilla should be pleased when I give her that news. At least its a start.”
“This is horrible,” said the lovely Drusilla when I gave her the news. She had been waiting for us at the Wyvern. She seemed a little nervous around Ampi, which was odd because the djinni normally had the ability to remain unobtrusive. “Two days is far too late.”
“I don’t see why,” I said simply, “It will probably take a few days for them to pull it out of whatever file drawer they’ve parked it away in.”
“Or to appraise the item and solicit competing bids,” said Ampi softly. Drusilla started at the sound of his voice. Then she nodded and put the kerchief to her soft lips again.
I looked up at the genie, “How do you figure that?”
“While I was outside watching the tavern, I noticed that a number of individuals entered by the front door. Elves, dwarves, and gnomes, with an occasional orc or two.”
“No humans,” I said, agreeing, “The Burrows does not cater to that clientele.”
“No halflings, either,” said the genie, “even though there were apparently halflings within the bar. I noticed that they used another entrance.”
“So they used a shorter door,” I said, then stopped. “No, then dwarves and gnomes would use that other door as well. Let’s say that this ‘other door’ was the employees entrance, correct?”
Drusilla looked from one of us to the other, totally out of the loop.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she squeaked. It was a very sweet squeak.
“Halflings run the Burrows, which makes sense,” I said. “Big Ugly is a shadowy figure whose face is unseen. Indeed, there was a lot of whispering going on while I talked to him. Therefore, Big Ugly is probably a halfling. Or a group of halflings.”
“Much like Miss Rodigar-Glenn of Waterdeep,” said Ampi. I generously ignored the dig.
“But if this Big Ugly is a halfling,” she said. “Why is that a problem?”
“Consider,” said the genie, “A halfling has something you want. You tell them you want it. What do they do?”
I thought for a moment, then leaned forward and put my head in my hands, “They’ll try to get as much as possible for it.”
“They know its valuable?” said Drusilla, her voice rising a half-octave as she said it.
“They know it is valuable to you,” said Ampi levelly, “That is all they need to know. The next day will be occupied with them sending out the word and soliciting other bids. Only if they do not get a better offer will they sell it to you in two days time.”
“Oh.” hiccupped Drusilla, “Oh, its going to be horrible. Daddy will find out I lost the box and that will be the end of everything.”
“Perhaps if you could tell us what is in the box…” began Ampratines, but just the thought of Daddy’s disappointment set the lovely Drusilla on a longer crying jag. I shot the genie a fell look and he merely nodded and retreated to the hallway. After about five minutes of assuring the girl that everything would be all right and promising to help her recover the box, I sent her out as well. The genie reappeared as she vanished down the hallway.
“If I might suggest-” he began.
“You may not,” I snapped, “I think you’ve worried that poor girl enough.”
“Sir, that poor girl is not being entirely honest with you,” said the djinni.
“Anything in particular?” I asked. Drusila had left her kerchief on the drawing table. I picked it up and it smelled of salt and honeysuckle.
“She has a nasty tendency to break down in tears whenever asked a direct question,” said the genie. “The smartest move in this particular situation would be to retire from the field in good order and leave her and her family to recover the amber box on their own. Perhaps we might suggest they hire a halfling or gnome to place a bid on her behalf.”
I waved the genie’s suggestions down. “Objections duly noted and ignored,” I said. “No mystorical hero would abandon a woman in need.”
