Flint grew silent. He felt Raistlin's eyes rake his face. Not for the first time, Tanis thought that Raistlin's eyes, with their pale blue irises, seemed to bore right through people.
"What's all the mystery?" Tanis asked mildly. "Why couldn't we meet at Otik's?"
From a deep fold in his cloak, Raistlin produced an ordinary-looking green bottle with a long neck. "Because I don't think anyone should know about this except for the three of us," he said mysteriously.
Flint bent his head to take a closer look at the unexceptional bottle and made a sound that was halfway between a harrumph and a guffaw. "Doesn't look so interesting or important to me," the dwarf snorted, with a tinge of disappointment.
Raistlin shot him a piercing glance. "Watch!" said the mage tersely.
He pulled out the cork that stoppered the bottle. There was a slight hiss and an escaping aroma of salt air. As the dwarf and half-elf watched, the body of the bottle began to glow brightly. Motes of light swirled within, then began to shimmer and form a recognizable shape. The lights were like tiny, brilliant stars, dancing and swirling, almost hypnotic in their effect.
The shape they formed was that of Tasslehoff Burrfoot, the very image of the kender, reduced to miniature and animated by the sparkling points of light. The kender was gesticulating. Not only that, but Tasslehoff's utterly distinctive voice also piped eerily out of the long neck of the bottle.
"Dear Raistlin,
"Isn't this amazing? I'm writing to you on board the good ship Venora . . . at least it's been a good ship so far (about two nights and two days). Caramon is up on deck having a good time with his new friends the sailors, and Sturm . . ."
The trio listened in silence to the first half of the magic message. Tanis was amazed. Flint's jaw sagged open.
"Incredible," said Tanis. "Where did you get it?"
"A kender in a bottle," mused Flint wryly. "Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all."
"Shhh!" said Raistlin, "Here comes the important part."
The kender image continued its tale:
" . . .He didn't smell as bad as most of them usually do, either. Sturm said he actually detected the scent of soap on the horned beast, whose name is—I guess I should say was, but that's getting ahead of myself—Argotz.
"As I said, Argotz had the crushed jalopwort, and I haggled a fair deal out of him, and I guess he threw in some extra out of gratitude because when I got back to the inn where we were staying in Hyssop I noticed that I had about twice what I paid for.
"Anyway, that's not the strange part—remember, I told you there was a strange part. Although I guess you could say that it is plenty strange when a minotaur runs an herbal shop in a cave. At least Asa said so, and I seem to recall that you said so, too. But the really strange part . . ."
"The kender isn't even here and he's talking nonstop," muttered Flint, rolling his eyes.
"But the really strange part is what happened next. Oh, did I mention that Argotz was packing up all of his herbs and seemed to be in a big hurry to go somewhere? Of course, we didn't think anything of it until two days later when we woke up on our last morning at Hyssop. That was the day we had planned to leave, and we did leave, too, but before we left, a man came rushing into the inn to tell everyone about what had happened to the minotaur herbalist at the edge of town.
"We went out there ourselves to see, and sure enough, what the man said was true: A great big explosion had ripped through the cave and blown out the side of the mountain. Bits of the minotaur's goods and belongings were scattered in all directions. 'Argotz probably made a mistake and mixed some of the wrong herbs,' one of the local geniuses said. But if that were true, I answered, then why was his head, neatly severed and dripping blood, stuck on a pike at the edge of the path leading off the main road to the cave?
"Sturm and Caramon and I thought it was darned curious, but probably none of our business, and we were ready to leave anyway, so we made the boring journey back to Eastport and hired Captain Murloch and his ship to take us to Abanasinia. Captain Murloch reminds me of Flint, although he's much burlier and human, of course, but Captain Murloch thinks he knows the right way to do everything and doesn't always appreciate my advice.
"Anyway, that's the story of the minotaur herbalist and the crushed jalopwort, which I hope you like, since it cost me the use of this magic message bottle. I have to hurry now because there's a powerful storm brewing—rather unusually dark and fearsome, if you ask me—and I want to toss this into the sea while the waves are crashing high.
"P.S.: To anyone who finds this bottle and uncorks it, you will hear this message, but that's okay. Bring the bottle to Raistlin Majere of Solace, and he will give you at least fifty coppers for it, or even more because he's generous and doesn't care a whit about money anyway. Ask around town. Most everybody knows him.
"Truly yours,
"Tasslehoff Burrfoot of Kendermore,
"lately of Solace"
Swiftly Raistlin replaced the cork in the bottle and dropped it back into the folds of his cloak. The mage peered at Flint and Tanis, watching their reaction. "The magic is in the cork," the young mage noted for their benefit, "more so than in the bottle."
Still entranced by the idea of Tas in a bottle, Flint could only shake his head in wonderment.
"Where did you get it?" Tanis, his eyes narrowed, repeated his earlier question.
"A lucky stroke," replied Raistlin. "An honest peddler scooped it out of the water near the
