Only a small part is played in great deeds by any hero.

- Gandalf



8. Friendly Arm Intrigue


Two half-elves sat at a tavern table.

The man smiled, and flexed his fingers.

Walk softly, son, and carry a big stick.

Ah, the legendary Jarek Bond, Harper 007...suave, slick, smooth, seductive.

Famous. Obvious. Too good to be true.

No one suspects a spy who stutters and falters.

The man smiled, and gripped the hilt of his sword.

This, my son, you can trust.

And he did. In Calimshan, it was all you could trust. But that was true anywhere. Except among those who were closest; those whom you truly loved.

The woman gripped her quarterstaff exactly halfway down, and held it out sideways, feeling it balanced.

Balance in all things.

Even in the Balance itself. Between this philosophy, and Good. Neither could see all ends, and no knight nor druid could so easily derive them from their internalized rhetoric.

Between mankind and elfkind. She regarded the aggressive the one with disdain, the pacifism of the other with ire. To act without thinking, or to think without acting, death.

Civilization and nature. She admired her elven kin for their idylllic harmony, but rued them for despising humans for lack of it - for her other kin, with no innate link to the land, without the lifepsans to beget the productivity to engineer such utopian living, could not be expected to do what the elves despised them for not doing, and she reagarded it odd that they should safeguard the innovations and secrets, while bemoaning that others ought to possess them.

But, she herself offend despised her mortal kin for these failures, and they surely would corrupt, turning creation to destruction, what her other kin wisely decided not to disclose.

Not many knew where the humans or halflings had come from, but she had an idea. She closed her eyes, but saw things still.

Two dark shapes glide from vine to vine. They leap down upon the jungle floor. The smaller one rises on two legs, holding a short stick, which becomes a crude hoe. The larger ones rises also, holding a long stick, which becomes a crude spear.

She was, in many things, torn, of two minds, of two worlds, and her questions of balance often turned to that within herself.


--------------


"Wow!" Imoen exclaimed again as the Friendly Arm Inn came into view, idly twiddling the magic dagger Onyx had given her, himself given it by Hull, a kind guard whose sword he'd fetched just yesterday. It seemed like ages ago now. "It really does look like an old fortress. I heard the owners are the ones who cleared out a buncha monsters in it a long time ago!"

"Oh yeah," Onyx smiled, "I remember not reading that book when they assigned it."

"S'posedly it belonged to a nasty ol' priestess of Bhaal before the current owners ratted her out!" Imoen exclaimed. "Ali-somethin' or Ameli-somethin' or somethin'-somethin'! Well, I don't know exactly what Bhaalite interior decorating is like - and I hope I never do - but I sure hope they've renovated it since!"

Onyx laughed and hugged his friend. "Don't worry Immy. Bhaal's long gone, his priestesses with him."

It certainly looked more like a fortress than an inn. A high stone wall around a large stone keep. It was imposing in the twilight, and it was certainly easier to picture it being the stronghold of some murderous fanatic than as a warm and welcome lodging for tired travelers.

"Ooh!" Imoen pointed suddenly, noticing a glint the sunset made at something in the soil by the base of a fir tree. She dashed from Onyx's side, nipped at the dirt with two fingers, careful not to damage the poison ivy that grew around the tree's base. She excitedly held aloft a shiny ring bearing a red gem. "Wow, this is pretty! It'd look pretty on me..."

"Wait!" Onyx shouted. "Don't!"

"Aww," Imoen sighed, "But I'm so curious." She peered down at the ring. "It looks so...precious."

"It might be cursed!" Onyx was at her side, but he never would have considered restraining her, and had it been suggested, would have abhored the idea. As it was, he merely stared at her and hoped she wouldn't put the ring on.

"Aww, that's what you said about the ogre's belts."

"You never know," Onyx shrugged, "Remember that story Gorion told us about the evil lord who made a ring that would enslave anyone who wore it with delusions of power?"

"That's silly!" Imoen protested, pouting, and looking at the ring in her hand.

"Well, there are different curses," Onyx sighed. "Don't worry Im, we'll find someone who can identify it. And you can wear it then, I promise."

"Aww," Imoen sighed, but slipped the ring into a pocket.

The pair passed through the open, castle-like porticullis and front gates of the wall around the inn, walking through the courtyard and toward the outdoor stone stairway leading to the doors into the inn.

Just as they reached the steps, a gray-robed man came bounding down. He had blonde hair and a faux-friendly smile, and the nature of the robe he wore made it easy for Onyx and Imoen to guess his profession as magecraft. Identifying mages was one of the few things growing up in Candlekeep would give you ample personal experience at, even if by and large that citadel of learning was the best place for book-learning, and the worst for real learning.

"Hi there," the man hissed with terribly feigned casualness, "I've not seen you before today. What brings you to the Friendly Arm Inn?"

Onyx sensed the evil aura about the man, and answered with the great care a less naive traveler always would. "I suppose inns, by nature, might attract new faces from time to time. We're just weary young travelers, you know. And what's your name, good sir?"

"Tarnesh, if it please you," the man spoke his name with an egotistical flair. "So you wouldn't be here to...met someone, would you?...Ah, I see in your face that you are. Your name wouldn't be Onyx, would it?"

"I'm afraid not," Onyx lied and shrugged, cursing himself for anything his face might have given, but wondering if the man was bluffing. "Name's Locksley. Sir Robin Locksley."

"And I'm Maid Marian," Imoen grinned and batted her eyelashes.

The mage nodded, obviously not convinced, and moved his hands in a strange manner. "Well, seeing as how you fit the description of one Onyx, I beg to differ. I think it's safe to assume you're the one I seek. Don't move, I have something for you."

His serpentine voice continued in tongues, and Onyx judged he didn't quite have time to draw and connect with his sword before whatever spell this mage was obviously conjuring was finished.

So, he just punched Tarnesh in his cruel face. Hard.

This shattered the man's nose, and his concentration to boot.

The spell was disrupted on the threshold of completion, however, and four imperfect, flickering mirror images of Tarnesh sprung out from his sides.

And each of them, like the original, then collapsed to the ground, its face splattered in real or illusionary blood, and a sharp cracking sounds echoing as the middle one's head hit the unforgiving stone steps; and each lay still.

"If that happened to me," Onyx glanced down at the fresh corpse and its four duplicates, "I'd be beside myself too."

A giggle escaped through Imoen's fright, "Now you sound like Robin Locksley!" Then she inhaled sharply, with another thought.

Onyx blinked, and shivered, and felt rather awkward at the macabre jest. Robin Locksley always had a fitting quip when he finished a foe, but...in the flesh, it now seemed inappropriate, and he felt an odd twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispered to whichever of the bodies was real, and knelt before them.

"Onde jamais esta alma agora vai, pode-o viagem a Elysium."

Wherever your soul now goes, may it journey to Elysium.

"You okay Ony?" Imoen looked up at her friend caringly as he rose. He nodded and smiled, and she smiled back.

Imoen rifled through Tarnesh's robe. "Hey, some money and scrolls! Neat-o! Hey, a letter, what's this?" She unfurled it and showed it to Onyx for both of them to read. "Oh no, Onyx! It's a bounty on your and Jade's heads! For 200 gold apiece! But why....you've never done anything wrong to anyone...I don't understand..."

"If Jade sees one of these - which I hope she doesn't", Onyx muttered under his breath, "She'll complain it's only 200."

"Neither do I, Immy," he answered his friend aloud with a long face and put an arm around her, the words he was about to say already paining him. "Immy, I can only assume this sort of thing is going to keep happening. Perhaps you shouldn't be with me. You'll be safer away from me...as much as I like having you with me, I hate to put you in danger like this," he looked at her with calm, but sad, compassion.

Imoen's eye softened, happy for his concern, but her mouth remained firm. "I'd never!" She defiantly put her hands on her hips and pouted up at her friend. "I'm not gonna let something happen to you. We're in this til the end! Dontcha remember the pact we made?" She held up her right hand, palm-out, showing him the faint scar on it. Onyx looked down at his own, matching scar on his right hand. "Blood brother and sister! Til the end!"

The wind blew high on the oceanside cliffs outside the walls of Candlekeep.

"You're my best friend, Ony," the auburn-haired girl hugged the brunette boy who stood heads taller than her.

"Well, you're my best friend, Immy!" he hugged her back.

"You're not just my friend, Ony, you're like my brother," she buried her head in his chest.

"Well that'd make you my sister, Im," he kissed the top of her head.

She drew a small knife out of a pocket, and without warning, made a slit across her right palm. Onyx was shocked for only the briefest of moments, and let her take his hand, uncurl the fingers, and do the same. She smiled at the way he didn't budge with the pain. So did he. He thought it was important to be strong for his friends, like her. In case he really had to be someday.

They pressed their hands tight together, the wounds perfectly overlapped, blood smearing over their hands, dripping down, and over each other's. Blood brother and sister.

"Very well," Onyx couldn't help but smile, "And I won't let something happen to you."

"Besides," Imoen grinned at him, almost tearing, "Meanies like this or no, I feel safer with you than anywhere else." They hugged.

"Let's hope," Onyx managed a grin as he kissed Imoen's forehead, "We don't meet any bumbling assassins that attack us without announcing it first."

The guards, having seen Tarnesh as the obvious aggressor and nearly getting there in time to help - but not quite doing so, as guards somehow never do - kindly let Onyx and Imoen go on with words assuring them the Arm was usually a safe place.

The two walked through the large doors atop the stairs into the Inn proper. Their first impressions were extremely positive. It was warm and well-lit, and quite clean, and had a pleasant hum of chattier. Not too crowded and bawdy, not too deserted and creepy.

"I'm almost disappointed," Imoen giggled, "Inns in the stories are full of drunken brawls and shadowy charcters!"

Don't speak too soon, Onyx thought while nodding, Would you prefer to meet another Tarnesh right now? He looked around warily for more potential bounty hunters. Eyes appraised them, but that was to be expected, and no one seemed to be approaching.

As they stepped through the room, cautious but trying to appear casual, the hum of the conversation became far less pleasant as they listened more carefully. The snatches they overheard were dominated by worries related to the iron shortage - rising prices, faltering equipment, iron-stealing bandits, even rumors of southern invasion from Amn. Figures, Onyx thought, I first go out into the world during an economic crisis, a crime wave, and maybe a war.

Onyx's face grew long with all this worried talk. Only a few days ago, the prospect of venturing out into the world someday had excited him so. It was all different now. His father was dead. People were hunting him. He was separated from his sister, and his friends back home. And the world seemed grim, with all this talk. Was it always so grim?

Then something else occurred to him. It was grim at the beginnings of the stories. That was when there were great deeds to be done.

Sir Robin Locksley wouldn't stay at home when the days were dark. He would travel the roads when they were most dangerous.

Maybe I had to leave Candlekeep for a purpose. Maybe I'm supposed to do something about this iron problem. Maybe Immy and I will find this Jaheira and Khalid and then meet up with Jade and that wacky wizard and hobbit, and work together. I'm sorry Gorion had to die, but he'd want something good to come out of it.

Or maybe I'm being utterly narcissistic, and maybe I'll be annihilatd by the next parlor-mage who fancies himself an assassin.

And get my best friend horribly killed along side me.

Imoen, safe for the moment, spotted a pair of half-elves approaching, and pointed them out to her friend.

Onyx grew tense and lowered a hand to his sword. Let's see... Tarnesh, lone ogre, Montaron & Xzar, big armored guy with ogre thugs, and two bumbling thugs. Yep, the last five groups that have approached me have all been murderers or psychos. Let's roll the dice again, shall we?

"Good day, friend!" one of them, a leather-clad woman with a quarterstaff, called out as they approached. She had a funny accent, as if she were exhaling too forcefully as she spoke. And something about the way she carried herself and her staff, was definitely forceful, and her sea-green eyes studied him like a mother her son. Her bearing added nearly a head to her physical height; and she was already quite tall for a half-elven woman, and her build, well contoured by leathers was both lithe and muscular. Onyx also noticed she was undeniably attractive - braided blondish-brunette hair, smooth and elegant face, shapely and athletic body, and confident posture. The sort of reflexive thought a man can't help, but can quickly push aside, which he did.

The other one was a male half-elf, who was decked out much like Onyx - in splint mail, with a sword at his hip, and a shield and bow over his back. He smiled timidly at them, while glancing nervously to the woman beside him, as if getting silent permission to grin. Despite the hunted-animal eyes, Onyx could recognize the movements of a man who knew something of martial pursuits. And he looked quite kind, with a gentle, if slightly hapless, grin. He looked scarcely different from a human, if a rather lean and light-footed one. He walked softly, but there is an adage about that.

"You are the son of Gorion, are you not?" the woman addressed Onyx. It was more a statement than a question. Perhaps even an order. "I couldn't help but recognize you from his letters, for he writes of you often. Forgive my manners; I am Jaheira, and this is Khalid, my husband," she gestured with compassion but slight dismissiveness to the half-elven man, and offered no hand in greeting. She then turned to Imoen. "You, girl, do not resemble his other ward."

Imoen felt vaguely insulted, her mind's eye flicking over her more physically developed friend Jade. Over their first years together, best friends, two peas in a pod, auburn and scarlet hair flying as they played pranks on mean teachers like Ulraunt and mean boys like Abdullard.

Their opinions on X had diverged, and when he had gone, so had she. Jade outgrew her, angrier and serious, pushing her body into an athletic machine, not out of hearty sportsmanship like Ony, but out of grim determination for Imoen knew not what. She outpaced her at archery practice, graduating to a longbow while Imoen could barely bend a short. She outpaced her in natural growth, blossoming into a young woman while Imoen remained a girl. It was not in her nature to envy, though she thought upon it now; but as she had grown keen of mind but remained a child at heart, while the more jaded Jade grew precociously serious and cynical, and as they grew, they grew apart.

Imoen exchanged glances with Onyx, regarding the half-elves. They were half-expecting more assassins.

Onyx had sensed no evil intent in them, but that, he knew, was sadly no foolproof guarantee. Could it yet be a trick? Could these be assassins who knew about his rendezvous with 'Jahiera' and 'Khalid?' Maybe the real Jaheira and Khalid were already dead in a room upstairs and these were assassin imposters?

"Huh?" Onyx asked the half-elves blankly. He wasn't much an actor, but he was feeling so much genuine confusion these days that particular this sort of 'fake' response came naturally. "Gorion? Who?"

The half-elven woman sighed, and looked up at the youth. "Gorion gave a detailed physical description, and said you slew 9 kobolds last summer, 7 the summer before, and two when you were fourteen. Happy now?"

They were, but for altogether different reasons Onyx and Imoen exchanged uneasy glances, recognizing the same memory in each other's eyes.

Chasing each other energetically through a hilly field, Candlekeep and the Sea of Swords both in view. The sea winds were blowing in high and rustling the grass and Imoen's wild hair, and the sky was overcast, but the sun lit the sky through it and was cheery despite the gray.

Imoen pointed and screamed as a pair of small kobolds came around a bush. Onyx yelled and threw a large rock at one but missed. Imoen threw a smaller rock and managed to bean one across the forehead, momentarily stunning it, but the other one came charging with a crude short sword. Onyx picked a thick stick off the ground and stepped in front of Imoen, parrying the kobold's first clumsy swipe and then swatting the kobold. His stick broke on his next parry and the sword grazed and bloodied his forearm. He lunged into the kobold, getting too close for its sword, and strangled it angrily while Imoen kept throwing rocks at the other one. Screaming with rage in a boy's voice, Onyx broke his foe's neck and picked up the short sword as it fell to the ground. He raised it high and charged the second kobold angrily, but the creature turned and ran with a squeak. The boy caught up to it and swung the sword into the kobold's back. It fell to the ground paralyzed and Imoen watched in fright as Onyx continued to swing at it.

"Dontcha ever attack people!" Onyx cried in angry tears as he mercilessly hacked apart the helpless kobold. "Dontcha ever attack my friend Immy!" He felt the righteous determination in his blood turn to pure rage.

As Imoen continued to watch, she felt her initial shock and digust turn to curiosity and studied her friend's slices and shouts as well as the mutilated body of the kobold. "It's dead..." she sighed, "death is...."

She jerked her gaze away, and Onyx too looked back to Jaheira. "Fair enough," he told the woman heartily, but in a low voice not meant for the room's other patrons, "I will trust you as his friends. Please forgive my paranoia, I..."

"Yes," Jaheira cut him off bluntly, "I know of it all, child."

Child? Onyx arched an eyebrow, looking down at the woman who stood more than a head shorter than he, but let it roll off. Well, she did look older, like a human in her early 30s - no, make that late 20s - and he knew about half-elven lifespans.

"G-good to know you," Khalid smiled. "I thought your m-manner looked familiar child, it reminded me of Gorion." Onyx nodded in thanks.

"Yes," Jaheira smirked. "Though it is almost a slight on him, I see it too." Onyx rolled his eyes, letting it roll off, and noticed her looking up and down him, wrly trying to contain a glowing smile within a smug smirk.

"Jaheira! M-mind your m-manners!" Khalid gasped at her thinly veiled insult.

"We are good friends of your adopted father," Jaheira continued, now looking at Imoen and quickly dismissing her again with her eyes. "He is not with you? Nor is his other charge, Jade? I must assume the worst; he would not permit his children to wander without accompaniment."

"If...if he has passed, we share your loss," Khalid head-bowed politely.

"Thank you, good Khalid," Onyx nodded. "Sadly, he has, upon the road just last night. Jade is fine, but decided to...take a different path than I."

"Gorion always thought you two would soon after the chance arose," Jaheira nodded. "He said that he often worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own. He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end. However, you are much older now," she pointedly looked at Onyx again, "And the choice of your companions should be your own."

"We could t-travel with you until you get settled; help you find your l-lot in life," Khalid offered, smiling helpfully. Onyx smiled back and nodded with genuine appreciation for his concern and offer.

Jaheira continued, cutting off her husband, "It would be a fitting last service to Gorion, though we should first go to Nashkel. Khalid and I...look into local concerns, and there are rumors of strange things happening at the mine. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you. We are to meet the mayor of the town, Berron Ghastkill."

Imoen and Onyx exchanged arched eyebrows and Onyx spoke, his face lighting visibly. "Well met, new friends," he shook Khalid's hand, and then kissed Jaheira's, drawing from the woman and indignant scoff, a restrained smile covered by a scoff and an accentuated eye-roll. Hmm...maybe Gorion raised me a little too formally for the real world. Jade always thought so. "We too wish to look into these concerns. Actually, Jade, along with two others we met on the road - one of them a childhood friend, actually - has already headed south to this same mayor of Nashkel. These other two seemed also eager to look into the iron shortage, though their motives hardly seemed altruistic. And I detected the aura of evil upon them."

Khalid raised his eyebrows, nodding, but Jaheira mock-spat. "Be not so quick to judge, squireling," she dismissed him, "You've much to learn about the world."

"Tell me, Jaheira," Onyx smiled, "Why is it that professed cynics are so reluctant to trust anyone for any reason, but will scoff and take offense when a paladin mistrusts someone for a more concrete, if far-from-perfect reason?"

Jaheira scowled at him, and said nothing. Khalid seemed to nod, considering it. "S-shall we stay here the night, or press on?" Khalid asked the other three after a moment, changing the sore subject.

"I, for one, have had my share of this Inn," Jaheira began, looking around at it boredly, "But you two have had a long and tragic trip since fleeing Candlekeep - you look as if you last slept in a bush, Onyx - and I'd certainly understand if you're eager to rest."

Onyx glanced at Imoen, who seemed as plucky as always. "Actually," he began, "We've both a good deal of stamina left, I believe..." He then looked at Imoen, who nodded pluckily, but at a same time, a yawn escaped her little lips.

"...On the other hand," Onyx chuckled and backtracked, "Immy and I lack infravision," he smiled knowingly at his new half-elven companions, and folded his hands over his chest. "And we'd have to rest sooner or later. Night has fallen, and is more dangerous. Let us rest, and set out at dawn."

"Very well," Jaheira acquiesced.

Onyx smiled inwardly, thanking Gorion for the exact nature of the instructions he seemed to have given her, and continued. "I overheard many a complaint about hobgoblins just north of the Inn as we went through the courtyard and this room. Perhaps a little...tour of the grounds...is in order in the morning?"

Jaheira put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. "You seem almost too eager, squire Onyx."

"I am no one's squire," he retorted to her coolly.

"Very well," Jaheira smirked. "But don't be too eager to die. I've lost count of the number of fresh-faced newbie warriors I've known to gleefully walk to their deaths on their first day out of the barracks."

"I've known a few myself," Onyx smirked, "And I appreciate the wisdom of your words. Imoen and I are decent archers, and tomorrow we will brave the wilds with caution. I am not the sort of silly paladin who will duel an ogre hand-to-hand when he might pump him full of arrows at 100 paces."

"Perhpas you'll live a few days then," Jaheira grinned, visibly betraying more approval than she wanted to, "But I've no wish to fulfill my promise to Gorion by reuniting you with him."

"If you still doubt us," Onyx grinned cockily, "Would you like to watch Immy and I sell of the glut of leather armor and shortswords he acquired from hobgoblin would-be bandits on our way to the Arm?"

Khalid burst out into laughter, and suddenly ceased when Jaheira glared at him.

"As long as we stick ta-gether, I'm sure we'll be okay!" Imoen smiled as Onyx took her hand and they headed toward the bar and emptied a pile of shortswords and leathers out on it, followed by two less-enthusiastic half-elves.


------------------


Later that night, Khalid and Jaheira had retired to a room, and Onyx and Imoen to the one next to it. Imoen, unable to sleep with the excitement of her very first night outside Candlekeep, had quietly slipped out after her friend had drifted off, and thus been rendered unable to admonish her against the danger. She was quietly skipping up and down the halls of the huge inn with wide-eyed excitement.

"Hey, kiddo," called the old gnomish woman who just now had managed to catch Imoen's attention, "I saw ya with those adventurers earlier. Name's Landrin."

"Yep yep!" Imoen smiled. "We're gonna be heroes!" She bounded up and down happily.

"I tell ya what then," Landrin smiled materanlly, "I've got a spider infestation in the celler of my home; it's west of the Jovial Juggler down in Beregost. Bentley said I could stay here until the buggers move on, but I hate to impose."

"Ooh spiders," Imoen gritted her teeth, "I hate 'em too! Want us to kill 'em?"

"Why thank you, child," the gnome nodded, for of course this had been her impending question, and began to reach into her pockets, "Take these poison antidotes for the job, and I tell ya what - I've give you guys 120 goldpence for doing the job. Bring back my ol' bottle of wine and my dear husband's old boots too, and I'll throw in somethin' extra."

"Woohoo!" Imoen grinned, and happily took a half dozen greenish vials. "Yes ma'am!"

She skipped down the hall, so excited she bumped into someone just as he was strolling out the door of his room, and if she hadn't been such an agile girl she would have surely lost her balance and broken her new potions.

"Er, sorry mister," Imoen grinned and looked up at the nobleman, whom she decided was wearing by far the most ridiculous and silly-looking outfit she had ever seen. It was a strange aqua shade, with poofy leggings and a ridiculous, mushroom-like hat with a huge peacock feather. Come to think of it, he looked like a peacock.

"Watch it you-" the man declared angrily, then hesistated and looked down at her. "You...ah! the scullery maid! About time you showed!" While Imoen scratched her head confusedly, deciding this guy was a meanie, he darted in and out of his room, carrying a pile of clothes no less gaudy than those on his back. "Here!" he declared with a pompous, commanding air. "I need these tunics cleaned and pressed by this eve, and be EXTRA careful with the golden pantaloons!"

Golden pantaloons? Imoen thought. How ridiculous can you...

"...It took 15 women and a small boy from Calimshan 12 days and 4 nights to weave them, so careful on the seams! Well?" he shoved the clothes in her face, "Get along!"

What the? Imoen wondered, very angry with this man. The maids here must dress in purple or somethin'! She looked down at her leathers, and was just about to explain her non-maid status, then thought, It took all those people so long just to make such a STUPID pair of pants? Look at them? Eww! Those poor people. I bet they got treated mean when they were makin' em too. Like this man is mean!

She was about to tell him off, and explain his mistake, in less than polite terms. But then, all at once, the anger vanished from her face, and she smiled, quite content.

"Sir, yes sir!" She jumped up and down, and yanked the clothing out of his hands in a snap, smiling like a court page given an errand. "Pantaloon pressed and ready by tonight, or breakfast is free, sir!" She grinned at him nicely, and he gave her a weird smile and wink back. Eww...maybe I shoulnd't act tooooooo nice...

"Done and done!" the nobleman snorted. "Now, be on your way!" She turned around to dash off, her face melting from perkiness to disgust as it turned away from his, but just then he shouted, "Wait a moment!" Imoen spun around, her face immediately resuming airheaded perkiness, and he tossed a few coins on top of the bundle she held. "Put in a pleat that would make daddy proud - if you know what I mean. Now get!'

Ewww.... Imoen thougth as she dashed off. Ooh, this guy deserves it good!

Early the next morning, the nobleman would have his gaudy tunics delivered by the girl, cleaned and pressed. And rubbed with crushed poison ivy.

The pantaloons, on a whim, she kept.