Tales of Uncle Trapspringer ll-3

by Dixie Lee Mckeone

  Trap decided he had the worst of the deal as he tried to keep the gully dwarves sitting in the large caldron of hot water. He argued them into rubbing soap in their hair and beards. He used a brush to scrub at their necks and backs. He insisted they clean the rest of their bodies. They knew nothing about closing their eyes to keep the soap out. Their howls echoed through the scullery and down the passage.

  Drawn by the excitement, Beglug came over to watch the splashing. The little fiend thought the bath looked like fun and he hopped into the caldron too. At first he contented himself with trying to bite the bubbles. Then he ate the soap.

  "Drink all water too," Umpth encouraged Beglug.

  Fortunately, the gully dwarves were as clean as they would get with one soaking. To remove all the embedded grime would take daily soaks for weeks. Still, one cleansing had made a tremendous difference. Umpth did have brown hair that flowed into a brown beard. They matched in a depth of color that was almost black. After a thorough cleaning, his cheeks, nose, and part of his forehead was pink, but the grime in his wrinkles gave the appearance of dark lines drawn on his face.

  Grod, without wrinkles, had a reddish complexion that almost blended with a reddish blond beard and hair. His eyes were a startling bright blue.

  While the gully dwarves and Beglug slept, Trap, Ripple, and Halmarain talked over their plans again and added details. They had decided the shopping trip to outfit the expedition would be made by Halmarain, who could negate the spells on the doors; with her would go Trap and Grod. One of the gully dwarves had to go to be sure the clothing and dwarf armor fitted. Halmarain fashioned herself a tunic and skirt that would allow her to pass as a dwarf.

  "It will work," Ripple said and with a sudden leap, did a back flip.

  Early the next morning, the three shoppers walked the long, confusing route through secret underground passages that Orander had cleared for his own use. They came out on a street nearly half a mile west of Market Square. Since Halmarain had spent most of her time far below the city, she knew little about Lytburg. Grod had to be forcibly pushed past trash heaps in the ally before he was convinced to lead them to a narrow, noisy, but clean street that served as the dwarven section of town. Their first purchases were clothing, two sets for Halmarain and Beglug, and an extra for each of the gully dwarves.

  To explain their numerous purchases, they told a tale of having been robbed of everything but the clothing they wore and a hidden purse. The story seemed to allay the suspicions of the shop keepers who were glad to make large sales. At the boot makers, Halmarain purchased new boots for the Aghar, a pair for Beglug, and attempted to find something that would fit her small feet. She had to settle for the smallest pair and stuff them with rags.

  Dwarves never traveled without weapons and armor so they visited another shop. Trap lost count of the steel pieces they were spending. He was doling out the money because, for some reason he could not explain, he always seemed to have Orander's purse. Halmarain finally told him to keep it. At least she would know where it was.

  Under the little wizard's suspicious scrutiny, he had been systematically emptying the bag, but though it was nearly flat when he returned it to his pouch in the second shop, when he took it out to pay for their third bundle of purchases, it was heavy with steel pieces again. He decided it was a magic bag, refilling itself automatically.

  When they left the armorer's shop, Grod and Halmarain were dressed in chain mail under dwarven tunics and wore metal helms. Halmarain clumped along in her heavy boots as if she were slogging through thick mud. She could no longer help to carry their purchases since she could barely walk in her armor. All this seemed to add to her bad mood.

  Their weapons-axes-would be useless in the hands of the wizard and the Aghar, but they were needed to complete the disguises. Trap struggled under the weight of a heavy canvas bag that held armor and weapons for Beglug and Umpth. Grod was loaded down with bedrolls, clothing, and boots.

  They left the purchase of food and other traveling needs for later, since they had so much to carry. Before they returned to the underground caverns, Halmarain wanted to visit an inn, one where adventurers and travelers gathered when they first entered Lytburg.

  "And you two, behave," she warned. "You sit with your mouth shut while you're eating, Grod. And Trap, keep your hands to yourself and listen. We want to hear any news about roads, traveling conditions, goblins, ogres, or any other humanoids on the move."

  Trap and Grod were agreeable. Grod was hungry and the kender loved to hear any sort of story, no matter if it was only a few words about the travel of goblins. The gully dwarves were familiar with the shops and inns, though they knew them from their trash heaps. Grod led them to an establishment where, he insisted, adventurers and mercenaries often gathered. In addition, judging by the tastiness of what they threw out, Grod said their food was good.

  They entered the inn, the Leaping Hart, and took seats at a small table in the corner. A hearth at the rear boasted a roaring fire with a pig roasting over the flames. The day had turned warm, so the inn was stifling. It did not seem to bother the more than twenty rangy, hard-eyed drinkers who were swilling ale and passing stories. Most had weapons and helmets lying beside them. Some had removed pieces of armor and their chain mail.

  Halmarain had instructed Trap to order enough food and ale to keep Grod quiet and had told him to watch the gully dwarf's table manners while she listened.

  Halmarain suggested they order rib meat, chicken, and rolls for the gully dwarf. Everyone ate bony meat and bread with their fingers, so Grod's lack of manners would not be too noticeable. Trap kept ordering food and ale, cautioning the dwarf to be as quiet as possible while he ate. Halmarain sat a little apart from them, her eyes on her mug as she listened in on the conversations at the other tables. Trap could hear practically nothing over Grod's slurping and smacking.

  Bored, the kender fingered the table, his mug and the seat, the only items available for handling. He finally became interested in tracing the raised grain on the well scrubbed table. He forgot to keep his hat on in order to hide his ears and top knot. He took it off to fan himself. He was soon noticed by a tall, rangy human who frowned and pointed at Trap.

  "Hey, innkeeper, I didn't think you allowed kender in here!"

  Every eye turned toward Trap. The innkeeper had served them twice with food and three times with ale. He knew Trap had paid promptly, but he slammed his tray of empty mugs on a table and glared at the three in the corner.

  "Out, you! I'll have no kender stealing from my patrons."

  "He is not stealing," Halmarain spoke up, dropping her highly pitched voice in an attempt to sound like a dwarf. "And he paid you in full! He travels with us, and we'll vouch for him."

  "And who will vouch for you?" The innkeeper demanded. "If you travel with a kender-"

  "Wait," a burly man on the other side of the room interrupted, rising to glare at the three in the corner. "Ask him his name."

  "Trapspringer Fargo," Trap said clearly and at once. "I'm very glad to meet-"

  "Wasn't that the name of that outlaw kender traveling with Alchar Groomb's band?" someone yelled. "Trap-springer, or something like that?" Several others nodded.

  "It's a common name among kender," Halmarain spoke up quickly. "Half the kender in Hylo are named Trap-springer."

  Trap turned toward her, already shaking his head. She must have misunderstood the name. As far as he knew he was the only Trapspringer in Hylo. Before he could object, movement among the patrons caught his attention.

  They rose from their seats and started forward, their hunger for revenge clear in their eyes.

  Chapter 8

  Trap gazed at the angry faces of the inn's patrons. Three humans had risen from their seats and seemed ready to charge the kender's table. Trap tried to decide how he was going to save his skin. He had never found hard blows to his person to be entertaining. At Halmarain's insistence, he had left his hoopak in the cavern so carrying it would not make him instantl
y recognizable as a kender. His only weapons were the small knife in the sheath at his belt, not much use against a number of swords and war axes. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth, leaving him no opportunity to explain.

  Grod, who had been sitting as still as a mouse, suddenly stood up and pulled off his new helmet. He bowed his head as he spoke.

  "That Trapspringer dead," he announced to the room at large. "A good tale, that."

  "Dead?" the first adventurer repeated. He sounded as disappointed as suspicious. So did the others, but they paused, waiting to hear the explanation.

  "Yes, he's dead," Halmarain agreed with a sigh. Under her lashes she gazed at the kender and when he didn't instantly agree, she kicked him under the table.

  "Dead," Trap said, trying to look sad. He thought of Uncle Goalong, a favorite relative that had recently died. Thinking of Goalong always made Trap sad and in seconds tears ringed his eyelashes; two rolled slowly down his cheeks.

  "A friend of yours, was he?" asked a short, heavily muscled man at the closest table when he saw the ken-der's tears. Along with their reputation for purloining, kender were also known for their loyalty to their companions. They grieved deeply at a friend's death.

  Trap gulped back a sob. "My uncle," he said. He had been thinking of his Uncle Goalong.

  "If we can't kill him ourselves, at least let's hear how he died," demanded the burly man with the red beard. He glared threateningly at Trap. The kender twisted on his seat, his mind racing to make up a story.

  "His full name was Trapspringer Quickhands," Trap said. "He was my mother's brother and the third son of Rogo Quickhands. Did you ever meet Rogo when he was wandering? I think he came by here, though he may not, but he did seem to go everywhere, even down to Solace and south from there to Zeriak where I want to go to see the Icewall Glacier. Have you ever seen a glacier? I hear they're really big and-"

  "Get on with the tale of this Trapspringer!" the first adventurer demanded.

  "Oh. Sure. It's just hard for me to tell it. The shame, you see." The word shame had brought with it a strong emotion and he gulped a sob. "Our village banished him for his misdeeds and I had not seen him for a long time when I met him on the road a few weeks ago."

  The kender hoped the customers of the Leaping Hart were not too familiar with the customs of his race. As far as he knew, no village in Hylo had ever banished anyone. He had picked up the idea from a scrap of conversation he had heard while they were shopping.

  "I had not thought he would take my purse!" Trap had always been able to throw himself emotionally into his tales and the thought of a kender deliberately stealing from another of his race caused his eyes to flash with anger.

  "Robbed his own nephew?" the burly man shook his head. "No honor among thieves today," he added, shaking his head. "Let's hear this tale of how he died."

  Kender loved tales, they enjoyed telling them as much, if not more, than listening. They never repeated a story exactly like it happened or as they had heard it. Their agile imagination improved on it, giving it more drama, suspense, or humor. Only a small step separated embellishment from pure invention. Trap decided to base his story on his own recent adventure with the portal.

  "Well, now… this is hard. We think my Uncle Trapspringer is dead, because we don't think he could have lived through his trouble with the wizard…" he began. He paused while the listeners took in the fact that a magic user was involved. Since the cataclysm, wizards were in disrepute throughout Krynn. His listeners would believe anything of them.

  Trap wove a tale of the outlaw kender stopping a wizard who was traveling toward Lytburg. Wizards did not use weapons because they were usually too busy studying their craft to practice the art of warfare and this wizard had been caught unaware. For a time he had been at the mercy of the kender's weapons. By the use of guile he had prevented the other Trapspringer from spearing him out of hand.

  "And that was my Uncle Trapspringer's mistake," the real Trap said as he looked around the room, allowing the tension to build. That's when he noticed Grod had left his seat and was slipping food off the plate of a fully armed mercenary who was giving his attention to the story. Halmarain had slipped away from her place also, and was bearing down on the gully dwarf. The kender left the tiny human to deal with the Aghar and went on with his tale.

  "The wizard threw off his brown traveling cloak, revealing himself in his red robes. This startled my uncle, as you can imagine." He gazed at the burly adventurer. "Have you ever seen a wizard wearing red robes? It's an awful color of red, you know." This last he said with a sly look at the little wizard.

  "Just tell us what happened next."

  "But wizards are interesting," Trap objected. Halmarain threw him a hard look and he went on with his tale.

  "Go on with your story," she hissed.

  "Before my uncle could do more than step back," he continued, "the wizard raised his hands and sketched a door, muttering his foul incantations. A black hole appeared in the sunlight of the road, from it sprang a wind, carrying such a stench of rot and decay, that the air turned green and viscous…" As he made up his tale, Trap was suddenly visited with the idea that his aborted journey to another plane had not been nearly as fascinating as his story. He felt a bit cheated as he continued to allow his quick thoughts to add intriguing details.

  "And then a black, scaled arm, so large it filled the door-way, reached out and grabbed Uncle Trapspringer."-the kender let the tears trickle down his cheeks-"And if he is still alive, he is in that terrible place.

  "We really think he's dead," he added softly.

  Most of the adventurers nodded solemnly, but the inn-keeper loudly scoffed. A city dweller, he had never believed half the tales of the mercenaries and wanderers who came to Lytburg.

  "And how do you know this happened?"

  "The-uh-half-goblin in the outlaw band told me of it," Trap added hastily. "He had been with my uncle, but you know his kind," he nodded wisely to the short, burly human who had seen his tears. "They're bullies, but they won't face any real danger."

  He allowed the adventurers' dislike of the humanoids to carry the weight of his pronouncement.

  "No, they never do," said a red bearded man with a scar. He turned back to his ale, looked in his mug and found it empty. He called to the innkeeper. Neither knew Grod had finished off the contents of several cups while the customers had been listening to the kender's tale.

  "When did all this happen?" a shout from across the room left Trap unsure of the speaker.

  "I-uh-don't know for sure," he said. He didn't want to ruin his story by saying the outlaw had died two days before he was known to have robbed one of the patrons of the inn. "I heard the story just last night. The half-goblin had the tale so garbled-you know what they're like when you want a straight answer. He was still scared, so I think it must have been recently. Do you know that half-goblin? He has a wart on his nose, just like him." Trap pointed at the innkeeper who, since he didn't like kender anyway, took instant offense.

  "You've told your tale, now get out of my inn," the landlord ordered. "I'll have no outlaws or even their relatives in here."

  "Let's leave," Halmarain whispered in his ear. "You've made a good tale of it, let's get out before they realize Grod has eaten everything in sight."

  They left the inn, sauntered down the street until they were sure they were out of sight of any customers watching them and ducked into an alley. Grod led them, supposedly toward the ruined building that would take them back to the underground passages. Before long, Trap could not recognize a single street.

  "I don't remember this street. I would. It's interesting. Where are you taking us?" the kender asked.

  "This way. Good trash this way," Grod said without pausing.

  "You're not rummaging through any trash dumps," Halmarain told him. "Take us back to the passages. Take us straight there."

  Their path took them through the dwarven section of the city, and as they rounded a corner Trap bumped into
a dwarf.

  "Excuse me," he said politely. He was always ready to admit any small, accidental faux pas.

  The dwarf glanced at the kender, looked again and stopped dead, blocking his path. "You were with that other thief!" he shouted at Trap.

  Recognizing the jeweler who had accused Ripple of stealing, Trap's anger flared.

  "That's a lie, she's no thief!"

  Lacking any other weapon, Trap swung his heavy sack full of armor and weapons. The bag caught the dwarf on the chin. Dwarves were doughty fighters and hard to overcome, but being hit with a sack of armor and weapons knocked the jeweler senseless.

  "Drag him farther back around the corner," Halmarain ordered Grod, looking anxiously toward the street.

  "Here! Stand here and block the alley. We don't want anyone to see Grod dragging him away," the kender said. "Let's put our bags down and lean over them."

  "We'll look as if we're redistributing the loads in the sacks." Halmarain agreed with the kender's idea.

  They spread themselves as well as they could to shield the gully dwarf's activities.

  "That's all I need, kender thieves," Halmarain grumbled.

  "Stop that. Ripple didn't steal," Trap snapped. He had already told the tale of the jeweler's tilting display and Ripple's attempt to return the jewelry to the dwarf.

  "What's keeping Grod?" Halmarain complained when she tired of poking in the bundles. The gully dwarf had been out of sight for several minutes.

  "Here he comes," Trap said as he stood upright and stretched to ease his muscles. He was also tired of bending over the sacks. Before long they reached the under-ground caverns again. Ripple, Umpth, and Beglug waited in the wizard's work room. The young fiend was curled up in the corner, asleep. Most of the debris in the room had disappeared and Beglug belched between snores.

  "By all the gods of Krynn," Halmarain fumed as she glared at the sleeping merchesti. "We forgot the one thing we must have to disguise Beglug."