Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,80

be asked twice.

They spent the day in the bustling market, Oliver perusing goods and Luthien, predictably, watching the crowd. The thief of the young man’s heart did not show herself, though.

“I have found nothing of proper value,” Oliver announced at the end of the day. “There is one merchant-type who will be in a better bargaining mood tomorrow, though. Of this much, I am sure.”

Luthien’s disappointment vanished, and as the young man followed his halfling friend out of the market, his expression regarding the halfling was truly appreciative. He knew what Oliver was up to, knew that the halfling was truly sympathetic to his feelings. If Luthien had held any doubts that Oliver’s lecture concerning “courtly love” was founded in personal experience, they were gone now.

They went through a similar routine at the market the next day, breaking for lunch at one of the many food kiosks. Oliver carried on a light conversation, mostly about the shortcomings of merchant-types: winter was near at hand and he had found little luck in reducing any of the prices for warm coats.

It took the halfling some time to realize that Luthien wasn’t listening to him at all and wasn’t even eating the biscuit he held in his hand. The halfling studied Luthien curiously and understood before he even followed the young man’s fixed stare across the plaza. There stood the half-elven slave girl, along with her merchant master and his entourage.

Oliver winced when the half-elf looked up from under her wheat-colored tresses, returning Luthien’s stare, even flashing a coy smile the young man’s way. The worldly halfling understood the implications of that response, understood the trials that might soon follow.

Oliver winced again when the merchant, noticing that his slave had dared to look up without his permission, stepped over and slapped the back of her head.

The halfling jumped on Luthien before he even started to rise, blurting out a dozen reasons why they would be foolish to go over to the merchant at that time. Fortunately for the halfling, several of the people nearby knew him and Luthien from the Dwelf and quickly came over to help out, recognizing that trouble might be brewing.

Only when a group of Praetorian Guards came over to investigate did the fiery young Bedwyr calm down.

“All is well,” Oliver assured the suspicious cyclopians. “My friend, he found a cock’a’roach in his biscuit, but it is gone now, and cock’a’roaches, they do not eat so much.”

The Praetorian Guards slowly moved away, looking back dangerously with every step.

When they were out of sight, Luthien burst free of the many hands holding him and stood up—only to find that the merchant and his group had moved along.

Oliver had to enlist the aid of the helpful men to “convince” Luthien, mostly by dragging him, to go back to the apartment. But after the helpful group had gone, the young Bedwyr stormed about like a caged lion, kicking over chairs and banging his fists on the walls.

“I really expected much better from you,” Oliver remarked dryly, standing by the pedestal to protect his treasured halfling warrior figurine from the young man’s tirade.

Luthien leaped across the room to stand right in front of the halfling. “Find out who he is!” the young Bedwyr demanded.

“Who?” Oliver asked.

Luthien’s arm flashed forward, snapping up the figurine, and he cocked his arm back as if he meant to throw the statue across the room. The sincerely terrified expression on Oliver’s face told him that the halfling would play no more coy games.

“Find out who he is and where he lives,” Luthien said calmly.

“This is not so smart,” Oliver replied, tentatively reaching for the figurine. Luthien jerked his arm up higher, moving the trophy completely out of the little one’s reach.

“It might even be a trap,” Oliver reasoned. “We have seen that many merchant-types wish us captured. They might suspect that you are the Crimson Shadow, and might have found the perfect bait.”

“Bait like this?” Luthien replied, indicating the statue.

“Exactly,” Oliver said cheerily, but his bright expression quickly descended into gloom when he realized Luthien’s point. The previous danger hadn’t stopped Oliver from lifting the bait from the hook.

The halfling threw his hands up in defeat. “Lover-types,” he grumbled under his breath, storming out of the apartment and pointedly slamming the door behind him. But Oliver was truly a romantic, and he was smiling again by the time he climbed the stairs back to the street level.

CHAPTER 18

NOT SO MUCH A SLAVE

I CANNOT TALK YOU OUT OF THIS?” Oliver