White Plume Mountain

a stark contrast to the bright clothes of the merchants who flowed from the gateway to the city marketplace. With the fall of the Duchy of Tenh to Iuz during the wars, thousands of refugees had come flooding into Trigol. The poor now sheltered in makeshift shantytowns while the wealthy purchased property, patronized their imported temples, and started riots in the streets.

Even on a quiet evening, the city was a strange and marvelous thing. Crowds hurried with heads down, dispersing into the light and warmth of countless houses. Standing with his head craned back to see the rooftops and the painted wooden shop signs, the Justicar took a moment to simply enjoy the view. Excited at reaching a big city at last, Escalla made a brisk flitter-flutter of her wings. Cinders gave a happy wag of his tail.

Many houses! Very flammable!

“Don’t.” The Justicar growled then tugged the straps of hisbackpack. “We’re in no position to pay for repairs.”

The hell hound grinned his pointy grin and kept wigwagging his tail.

Hundreds of things seemed to be happening at once. Mothers, babies, and brats surrounded a puppet booth on a corner. Pack horses, carriages, and wagons trundled down the roads. Taverns spread open doors onto the street, filling the air with sounds of music, drinking, and merriment. The Justicar scanned the street to see if he had been tailed then turned to talk to the hell hound at his back.

“Cinders? Sniff.”

The dog’s nose swung to all points of the compass, snufflinghappily at the richly scented air.

Smell fire! Smell food! Good meat! Hot coals!

“And?”

Smelly socks, pine cones, beer, old leather, new leather,girls, dry bones, warm rugs! The hell hound pricked his ears. Beer! Meat! Coals!

Raising one brow, the Justicar cocked an eye back toward the hell hound. “We are supposed to be locating a magician’s supply shop.”

Escalla stirred, eagerly sniffing the scent of roasting meat from a tavern door nearby. “It’s almost evening. Let’s eat.”

“We have work to do. We have to find your black and whitespy.”

“So where better to ask than a tavern?” The faerie’s wingswhirred. “Come on! We’ve been living on your damned camp cooking for days. Eat!Eat!”

The Justicar stood his ground. “What’s wrong with mycooking?”

Escalla cleared her throat and leaned conspiratorially closer. “All right-real meals? Real meals don’t look up at youfrom the plate and offer to negotiate….” The invisible girl slapped him onone shoulder. “I’m kidding! Now, come on! There might be cake or something.”

Trigol’s taverns were mostly two-storied, wide, andovercrowded. Stomping in through the doors, the Justicar ducked beneath the low ceiling made by a surrounding gallery and walked down into a gigantic sunken taproom. He wondered briefly how the place could be kept clean, then noticed a sink hole and a sewer grate large enough for a man to wriggle through at the center of the stone-flagged floor.

All in all, the place looked as though it had once had another function-such as a public bath, an opera house, or a cattle barn. Theroof arched in a dome high overhead, while sleeping rooms ringed a balcony that rimmed the circular central hall. Tall enough to look over the heads of most of the patrons, the Justicar found himself a sheltered table, planted his backpack beneath his feet, and raised a hand to summon a short, sweating little man who obsessively wiped his hands upon a spotty apron.

The innkeeper was almost completely bald, sporting only a few juts of orange hair, which made him look as though he had been colonized by shelf fungi. He seemed rather over endowed with enthusiasm.

“Sir, sir, sir! Welcome to you, sir. Welcome to you. Welcometo you, sir!”

Leaning forward into the blast of verbiage, the Justicar thumped his elbows onto the table. “I need a place to stay. Is there room herefor the night?”

“Of course there is! Of course there is, course there is,course there is!” The innkeeper finished wiping his hands and began all overagain. “Plenty of room! Big floors, lots of space! Lots of space on the floor!One common copper, plus one for breakfast! Barley porridge! Very nutritious! Nutritious!”

Drumming his fingers on the table, the ranger gave a sigh. “Are there any rooms?”

“Rooms? Rooms? Of course there are!”

“Can I have one?”

“No, of course not! They’re all taken!” The innkeeper beganto briskly polish the table, chair backs, and oil lamp. “Refugees in town.Winter merchants coming in. We’re full, we’re full, we’re full, we’re full!” Theman flicked out his polishing rag with a crack like a whip. A little squeak of outrage showed that he had just managed to hit Escalla’s invisible rear. Keen onhis own voice, the innkeeper seemed not to hear. “There’s only the royal suites,that’s all. Just that, just that, just that!”

Drumming his fingers in impatience, the Justicar growled. “How much are those?”

“Ten nobles each, but that’s because they’re royal!”

A little voice whispered in the Justicar’s ear. “Ask him ifit has a bath!”

“Shhh!” The Justicar rummaged for small change inside hisbadger-skin sporran. “Floor space, then. And bring me a large mulled ale, somemulled ale in an egg cup, and some of that roast beef.”

And coal!

“Yes.” The ranger patted Cinders’ fur. “And a piece ofcoal.”

“Fine sir! Fine, fine, fine!” The innkeeper proffered hishand. “Two coppers for bed and breakfast, and one noble for the meal.”

The Justicar’s mind boggled.

“One gold piece!”

“One sir! Just one, just one, just one!” The innkeeper wavedhis hands in an attempt to fan out the flames of his customer’s outrage.“Supplies are at a premium, sir! The city’s overcrowded, and the fields are allchoked with weeds! Food, sir! It’s almost priceless!”

Angrily paying for his meal, the ranger passed over the coins and watched the innkeeper thread his way off between a heavy crowd of minstrels, townsfolk, and gamblers.

“There had better be bread with this.” The man sniffed thetorturous smell of fine roast beef and felt his stomach growl. “Escalla, do youneed me to make you a seat?”

There was no answer. From his comfortable den inside the backpack, Cinders waved his tail.

Girlie go bye-bye!

“Great. Maybe she’s doing her job.” The Justicar settledhimself more comfortably in his chair. “She’ll be back for her meal.”

At a far part of the tavern, a suave gambler dressed in blackheld sway over a large game of cards. With almost a dozen players, the pot grew to huge proportions-and weirdly enough, the profits rarely seemed to fall intothe gambler’s hands. The fact that the major winners were all assistants to thegambler seemed quite beyond the mental capacity of the other players to grasp. The constant chink and hiss of money cascading into happy hands served as a magnet to draw victim after victim over to the game.

Watching unhappily from one corner, a scraggly youth stared at the fall of money with a wistful, hungry eye. He seemed ill fed and unhappy and thus could scarcely believe it when three gold pieces fell into his lap from the empty sky. The boy looked about as though expecting someone to demand the money back-then blinked as a little voice whispered in his ear.

“Hey, kid! Psssst! Hey! Over here!”

A rather sleek and perky ginger cat sat in the shadows of his chair. The boy blinked then leaned a little closer as the cat jerked her head and beckoned him near.

“Hey, kid! I’m your magic wishing cat! Make a wish and we’llsee it come true!”

“Ummm…” The boy blinked. “I wish for true love!”

The cat’s ears flattened. “Fine, you’re now destined to meetMiss Right. Now is there anything maybe on a smaller scale we might try?”

“Um, I could use some money.”

“An excellent choice! You’re a gem, kid, no matter what theneighbors say. Now pay attention, kid, and we’ll