Page 1 of Ale Storm

1

Artifacts and antiques assessed and appraised: magical and mundane. Rates reasonable!

Inside the cavernous antiques shop, a miniature locomotive on rails traversed the front room, blowing its tiny steam whistle as it meandered between Rylana and Sylin. On a nearby counter, a clockwork monkey wandered between a stack of brochures touting the annual Tranquility art auction and a container of ogre “spirit-cleansing” incense sticks. They were large enough to club enemies with. Behind the counter, a wall clock bonged, two small doors opened, and a goblin figurine popped out to scratch its armpit and belch.

“Is that a sign that service will be imminent?” Sylin asked, the elven assassin’s voice as deadpan as ever.

“I think it—all of this—” Rylana waved around the shop, “—is an indication that the owner is quirky.”

“How rare for a person living in this city. To think I believed you when you said it would be a wonderful place for two mercenaries, worn and weary after the war, to find a relaxing respite.”

“Tranquility isn’t that bad. As the only city in the world where the many intelligent species live together in peace, you must have guessed it would be a little unusual.”

After issuing another belch, the goblin figurine disappeared back into the clock.

“It’s a wonder you’re as normal as you are—for a human—after growing up here,” Sylin said.

“Do you regret staying in Tranquility instead of returning to the royal court of elfness with your mother, the queen?”

A clockwork monkey that matched the one on the counter but dangled from a creaking ceiling fan hooted at them.

Sylin’s expression as she glanced around the shop suggested she at least regretted coming on this errand. But all she said was, “You know why I stayed.”

“Your fondness for our friendship of many years? Or a desire to find out if I manage to get the mighty dragon Jildarin to go on a date with me?”

Sylin’s eyebrow twitched, but her expression otherwise remained bland.

Rylana could read it nonetheless. “I know, I know, it’s your addiction to the wonderful coffee that Tezilly and Brella serve that keeps you here.”

“Correct. Though I would call it an appreciation rather than addiction.”

“How many cups have you had already today?” Rylana waved toward the goblin clock, the lunch hour yet two hours away.

She hoped the clerk would wander out of the depths of the shop soon. One of Rylana’s employees, Zalani, had a doctor’s appointment today, so Rylana had promised to return to the Dragon Diner to assist Rolf and Gniknik with the next meal service.

“Only three,” Sylin said.

“I would have guessed at least four. The points of your ears are quivering slightly from the stimulation.”

“Hilarious.”

“As bookkeepers are known to be.”

“Be there in a minute,” a reedy male voice called from a back room.

“Finally.” Rylana set what she believed was an antique dwarven hunting horn on the counter.

Made from ivory, with a gold filigree rim, it featured carvings of scenes on opposite sides. One depicted dwarves battling an ancient woolly mammoth, and the other showed the warriors feasting in the aftermath at a table spread with mugs and platters of food.

Rylana had acquired it while foraging for enchanted morels in the forest near Toadstool Rock. She hadn’t thought much of the horn, other than believing she might trade—bribe—her brother with it. He collected such things, and, at the time, she’d been trying to talk him out of his scheme to manipulate her into taking over his position in the family business by having the Dragon Diner evicted. Since she’d found another way to resolve that problem, she didn’t know what to do with the horn.

“I am moderately curious about whether you’ll succeed in wooing your dragon,” Sylin admitted.

“Curious enough that you would stay in this quirky city even if there weren’t coffee?”

“No coffee at all? No amount of amusement resulting from the cultural conflict and confusion of two very different species attempting to date could overcome that lack.”

“Most elves drink tea, you know.”