Page 94 of Ale Storm

“Of course you can. Others enjoy charging me liberally. In fact…” As if he’d sensed Rylana entering, Ekton turned to look at her. “Did you say your name was Something Avandar?”

“Rylana Avandar, yes.”

“Is your father the owner of Sun Whale Shipping?”

“Yes.”

“He charges me liberally. Monthly. And has no qualms about it. Of course, he does a moderately decent job of getting our shipments around the world, so I continue to be a customer. One of his best customers, I should think.”

Rylana didn’t know much about her father’s clients, but she’d seen the large train of ore carts the king’s carriage had been trundling along with and knew the dwarves shipped a lot of goods.

“Rylana should probably pay for your anatomically interesting scones then,” Mya suggested.

Ekton laughed. “I think that’s correct!”

Despite the statement, he placed two gold coins on the counter as soon as Mya was distracted by opening the case to extract the scones. She also waved the guards over to grab cookies.

“Your troops might not want to relax too much, Your Majesty.” Rylana glanced out the window, half-expecting the hooded dwarf that Sylin had seen to skulk past. “As I mentioned, there are people—other dwarves—after the horn that I left with your antiques specialist.”

“Nobody could pry it away from her! And I’d like to think the thirty-odd troops I left in the diner could handle any thieves who might show up.” Ekton accepted a scone and licked the frosting before biting in. “Oh, yes. So excellent. I should have finished the dragon’s tasty meal before indulging in sweets, but I have a weakness for anything frosted.”

“It’s a common dwarven trait,” Mya said.

A shout came from across the street. Had that been Jildarin?

“I’d better see what’s wrong.” Rylana jogged for the door. Jildarin didn’t usually holler in the diner unless people were having coitus in one of the booths, and she doubted the dwarven guards were involved in that. “Keep an eye out for thieves,” she called back.

“Oh, certainly.” Ekton shared a smile with Mya and took another bite of his scone.

As Rylana opened the front door, Jildarin’s stern words rang out from the dining room. “As I’ve informed all the staff, the king and his retinue are not to be charged for this meal.” His voice raised. “Nor for any ale that they want.”

“Sorry, Chef.” Rolf stood in front of him, his hands raised in innocence. “I didn’t realize the libations would also be free. I wouldn’t even have thought to serve them, but the dwarf I stumbled across in the storeroom was making a mess, running ale all over the floor. You’d think a dwarf, of all species, could operate a keg. When he saw me, he asked for a mug, so I thought the rest of the diners would want some ale too.”

“What dwarf was in the storeroom?” Rylana looked around the tables, trying to tell if any of the seats were empty, save for those vacated by the guards who’d accompanied the king.

She hadn’t counted dwarves as they’d come in, but she didn’t think any of them were missing. Many were, however, now imbibing from mugs of ale. One dipped a rockball into two different sauces and then also into his drink before smiling and biting in.

“One of them was wandering back there.” Rolf waved a hand, and a copper coin flew from his fingers. “Oh, my tip.” He scurried after it, diving under a table to snatch it from between two sets of iron boots. “My new baby was just born; did I tell you? I have to make extra coin to feed all the mouths.”

Jildarin looked a touch exasperated as he considered Rylana. “I do not object to the ale being served, as there is far more than I needed for the meals. Far, far more. But I do not desire to charge the king. We are successful enough this month that we need not profit from the ale, yes?”

Rylana nodded. “We’re doing fine. The terrace has brought in a lot more⁠—”

A thud sounded, and Rolf squawked. One of the dwarves who’d been seated at the table he’d crawled under had unexpectedly fallen off his seat—and onto him. Rolf squirmed and wiggled his way out as the dwarf groaned, rolled onto his side, and gripped his stomach.

The dwarf across the table cursed and peered into the empty mug of his downed seat mate. “Dag, was it the drink?”

The dwarf on the floor groaned again.

“Did the goblin poison you?” Dag’s buddy lunged to his feet, fingers going for the tranquility ribbon tying his axe to his belt.

“No, no!” Rolf sprang up with his hands in the air and ran behind Jildarin. “I served what was in the kegs in the storeroom, nothing extra. I don’t even have poison.”

More dwarves lunged to their feet, scrambling to untie their weapons.

“The goblin is trying to kill the king!” one cried.

“I’m not, I’m not! I swear!” Rolf cried. “Dead dwarves don’t tip!”