* * * * *
Kitiara had climbed into a tree. From her hiding spot she watched, transfixed, as El- Navar in his panther form ripped open Beck Gwathmey's body. Suddenly the sleek, black panther paused and looked up, directly at Kit. His gleaming diamond eyes invited her down, to partake. . . .
She woke with a start, hay dust in her nose, Mita kneeling down and gently shaking her.
"I let you sleep as long as I could, but Piggott's going to be up soon, and if you're gonna stay, then we have to get ready to serve breakfast," he told her. Kitiara shook off the dream and, rubbing sleep from her eyes, slowly stretched. Peering through the doorway behind Mita, she saw by the quality of the light that it was barely past sunrise. She rose crankily and brushed the straw off her clothes.
"Hurry!" Mita insisted, limping off toward the back door. Kit resolved to stay through breakfast at least. She had no money and no immediate plans. Piggott's place seemed like a magnet for all kinds of road flotsam, and she might pick up some valuable information and new companions. She decided to try and work out some deal with the horrid man.
Kit almost changed her mind when she entered the kitchen and experienced one of Piggott's foul moods. He was cursing in several dialects, knocking over stacks of dishes, and kicking at the table. A young dwarf—young for a dwarf, that is—was trying to ignore the innkeeper's temper while methodically stacking pots, pans, and dishes, well out of Piggott's immediate reach.
Piggott caught sight of Kit, seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he huffed and puffed out into the back courtyard, where he could be heard screaming at the chickens.
Mita slipped in the back door a moment later with an armful of wood for the fire. Kit went to help him.
"What was that about?" she asked in a low voice as together they stoked the flames.
"Road project's officially shut down," Mita whispered back. "Most of the dwarves have gone back to Thorbardin. Just like I predicted."
"Foreman had a mile-long bar tab, included him and his eight cousins," the dwarf, who was scrubbing dishes, tossed over his shoulders. "Left in the middle of the night, conveniently neglecting to pay up. Name of Ignius Cinnabar. Real tinpot on the job. Drinks half a barrel in his one night off, and his cousins just as much—each." The dwarf was wearing patched coveralls that absorbed the water and slop splashing onto him. He had long silver hair tied in a pony tail behind his neck. His eyes were light brown. If stubby and arrogant, he was quite handsome for a dwarf.
"Sooner or later he'll be back," the dwarf said. "Ignius is honest; his faults lie elsewhere. He'll pay his due, but maybe not for months. Meanwhile, Piggott can fume all he wants." Kit looked at the dwarf, and Mita took the cue to introduce them.
"This is Paulus Trowbridge. He's been here longer than me, off and on, and I've been here for going on five years."
Kit heartily shook the dwarf's hand. His grasp was more powerful than she expected and matched the strength that shone in his face.
"I was over at Silverhole when they broke camp," said Paulus by way of explanation.
"They had been shorted, so they couldn't pay any bills even if they cared to. But try telling that to Piggott. He thinks the whole world is out to cheat him. Especially—" he spat on the floor for emphasis "—dwarves."
He went back to cleaning and stacking dishes, but talked to Kitiara and Mita over his shoulder as he worked.
"Did they catch the ones who did it?" asked Kitiara, as nonchalantly as she could manage, her heart beating fast.
"Nah," said Paulus, "and they won't. They're long gone from hereabout. And even the ones who know, who saw them and maybe can recognize them again, they're gone too. The guards and the estatemen, they scattered but fast. They got to answer for their own failure, and the daughter what was gonna marry the young nobleman once the road was finished, she's posted a big reward for all accomplices, dead or alive. They say she's holed up in a tower somewhere, stark crazy with grief."
"Enough small talk!" snapped Piggott, who had come in the back door without them realizing it. He glared at Paulus. "You, get those dishes done and stop your dwarven chatter. Mita and Kitiara—if you're planning on dining off my generosity this morning, get to your chores. The customers are already arriving."
Sure enough, there was the sound of clomping from the dining room, signifying the arrival of customers. Paulus showed an indifferent mask to Piggott's hostility and turned to his work. Mita and Kit began to run around the room, preparing food and readying servings.
Within minutes, things were better organized, in part because Kit was not shy about giving orders. "Paulus, don't stack dishes so far away from the tub," she told the dwarf.
"Move them closer. And see if you can find a different tub for the pots and pans." The young ponytailed dwarf did as he was told, eyeing her with faint amusement.
"Mita, this is how you should beat biscuits." Kit took the bowl away from the kitchen helper and gave an expert demonstration. "And make sure the oven is hot enough before you put them in, or it won't matter if you mixed them right, they still won't turn out." This was the type of work that Kit detested, but her years of virtually running the Majere household had left her with more
