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“As you bid, we’ve returned with a response from the scroll-sorters,” Elgee said upon entering and after words of introduction. “And a whole host of seals and ribbons their baton contains. Caps are intact, you’ll see, Sir Elf.”
“Thank you. I’ve prepared a purse with the balance of your fee. Would you care for it now?”
“Only if you’ll deduct the cost of a pouring of this fine-smelling mead!”
Rainfall again: “That’s quite impossible, my good dwarf. I rounded up, and there are no pennies within.”
“Then the round and sup besides will be paid by our expense purse. A feast, good Innkeeper, and don’t skimp on the side dishes!”
Wistala shifted her weight in the chimney, wishing Rainfall would play his trick.
More drinking, lip-smacking, and beard-wiping followed. “This is one dragon I’ll be glad to see anytime I’m on the Old North Road,” Embee said.
“Would you like to hear the tale of how the inn came to be named?” Rainfall said.
“Stories always make the food come faster,” Elgee said.
“Then put that kindling on the fire, would you, Embee.”
Wistala saw a short-fingered hand appear, placing the splinters in a stack with plenty of air space between. “Shall I call for the innkeeper’s fire?” Embee asked.
“This inn has all the modern conveniences,” Rainfall said, and snapped his fingers.
Wistala let loose her foua on the stack of wood, which promptly burst into flame. She heard gasps of astonishment from the dwarves. Then she heard a sizzle like fresh meat thrown on a hot stove, and green smoke boiled up the chimney. Wistala hadn’t been expecting that, and as she held her breath, Rainfall snapped his fingers a second time.
She dropped down the chimney and jumped to avoid the small fire. She was a bit clumsy with her tail, knocking the burning wood to the side, but landed credibly.
The dwarves fell backwards off their hearthside bench and did amazing backrolls, coming up with hands at sheath hilt.
“What in the Lavadome?” Elgee sputtered. Embee moved to draw his weapon, but his uncle held his arm.
“Rah-ya,” Rainfall said. “I’m sorry, good dwarves, I couldn’t resist. Please, laugh with me at this little trick. This is the Green Dragon herself.”
“What, have you conjured her?” Embee said.
“Ach, she was hiding up the chimney, blockhead,” Elgee said. “Sorry for the violence of our reaction, sir. Robbers may be found round the keg-tap as well as on the road, and we’re accustomed to being always on our guard when outside the Delvings. Let me replace the spilled drinks.”
When everyone was settled, Wistala told her tale. It came haltingly at first; then the words flowed more smoothly. She found herself imitating the strange, loping, two-by-two run of the troll and mimicking its roars.
The dwarves’ eyes were white behind their masks, and they hardly looked away save to take another mouthful from their mugs until she was finished.
“Well told, good drakka,” Rainfall said. “You have a talent for pleasing an audience.”
Wistala bowed, hoping the dwarves didn’t hear her prrum.
“Will she dine with us?” Elgee said.
“You’ll find your expense purse lighter than you might like when you pay the tally,” Rainfall warned. “I’ve been feeding her these eight months.”
“What’s the price on being able to say you dined with a dragon?” Elgee said.
“Though my grandfather said many’s the time he feared being dined on,” Embee added.
“Keep your—,” Elgee warned.
“Oh, I’m sure he meant it as a joke,” Wistala said. “You dwarves tweak your beards when you jest, and I saw Embee pull at his.”
“So we do,” Elgee said. “Mark! I look forward to telling this tale to my directing partner when I return to the Delvings. A courtly dragon!”
