I’ll find another buyer.”
“Ah, but will you, my dear Honchel? For a price like that? It’s simpler to hire a squad of bowmen. For a hundred and fifty gold pieces.”
The dwarf shook his head and bit his lip. Then he scratched the-back of his head.
“You don’t need bowmen. But since you’re a regular, well-respected client—two hundred and fifty.”
“Two hundred. And don’t forget that I’m taking your other goods, too.”
“Two hundred and five,” the dwarf responded, clenching and unclenching his immense fists.
“The Darkness take you, honorable sir, I’ll have it!” There was no point in haggling any more with the tight-fisted shopkeeper.
“Shall we add up the bill?” The dwarf laughed as he took a massive abacus out from behind his back. “Or does the master require something else?”
“How about spells? What I usually take.”
“Glass vials? Wouldn’t you like some rune magic? I’ve just got in some very interesting scrolls from Isilia.”
“No, no rune magic.” After the disastrous scroll that had landed me with Vukhdjaaz, I’d never trust that kind of sorcery again till the end of time.
The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Then what kind of spells?”
“Well, what kind do you have, Master Honchel?”
“That depends on the kind of glass you want the vials to be made out of.”
“Magic glass.”
The magic glass for spell vials was made by magicians, and it didn’t break unless its owner wanted it to. That is, I could jump up and down in iron boots on the little bottles of magic, and the glass would stand it until I wanted it to break and the spell to work.
Magic glass is an excellent way of protecting yourself against having a vial with a magical potion break unexpectedly. That’s why the price for spells in vials of magic glass is much higher than for ordinary vials.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Honchel muttered, setting a pair of spectacles with rock-crystal lenses on his red nose. “Oh, and by the way, pardon my morbid curiosity, but how are you intending to pay?”
“In cash,” I hissed through my teeth, and set a heavy bag on the table. “There’s a hundred here.”
The dwarf didn’t even look at the money, and that, it must be said, is a genuinely rare event.
“Master Harold, I’ve known you for a long time, you’re a good client, I won’t deny it, but I won’t release goods on credit even to you. And the list of things you’ve ordered already comes to four hundred. Admit it, you don’t have the money, do you?”
“You’re right.”
I wasn’t about to argue with a dwarf. Only gnomes and dragons are capable of that.
“You’ll be paid, Master Honchel.”
“Permit me to inquire exactly who will pay me, Master Harold, if you fail to return from your dangerous trip?”
“He’ll pay,” I said, casually holding out the royal ring.
Honchel carefully took it with the fingers of his left hand, held it up to his eye, and examined it carefully.
“You’ll simply go to the palace and say you’ve come from me. And you can give the ring back at the same time.”
“Hmm. Hmm. Very well. I’ll give credit for the first time ever.” The dwarf carefully put the ring away in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. “So where were we, my dear fellow? Ah, yes! Spells. Let’s see what the poor shopkeeper has to offer the master.”
9
STARK’S STABLES
Curses! Over the last two months I’d got used to the silent, empty streets. But this night was special. In a couple of minutes it would strike midnight, and there were still a few rambunctious individuals wandering round the city, bawling out songs at the top of their raucous voices and reeking of cheap wine that you could smell from a league away.
The festivities in honor of the expulsion of the beasts of Darkness from Avendoom were continuing.
Fortunately, there were no revelers close to Stark’s old stables in the Port City. Not even drunks befuddled by the vapors of wine were drawn to that dark little street, where the poorest and shabbiest houses in the whole city stood.
I stood there in the dark, in front of the long-abandoned stables. The walls were skewed and twisted with age, and from the outside it looked as if the old building could collapse at any moment, crushing anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.
This was a place of desolation and silence. In this place people tried to avoid being seen by creatures who would slit your throat for a few coppers or just for the sheer fun of it. Nobody had called them