After crossing the inner grounds at a jog and trampling a few flower patches along the way, Dorean entered the inn again through the back door of the kitchen.

Most of the employees barely gave him a second glance except to give a quick greeting. Taking a pear from one of the nearby fruit bowls, he slowed his pace to a casual walk upon entering the common room, moving to his second-favourite spot in the inn; a secluded table offering a good vantage point of the area. Tossing the fruit onto the table, Dorean climbed onto the chair and turned the 'reserved' sign on the table face-down. He relaxed for a few minutes while slowly biting and chewing the pear to ensure that any potential onlookers would dismiss him as just another customer, before lifting his eyes to look around.

While he had never seen Candlekeep Inn devoid of customers, it had never been very busy. The regulars are mostly people from Beregost and Baldur's Gate who deliver orders and mail to and from the fortress.

It was easy to spot Imoen in her bright pink tunic and apron. She was easily the most distinctive person in the tavern, and certainly the most popular. Everyone in the inn seems to know her by name or face.

He watched her greet a group of men, whom he recognized as provision-deliverymen from Beregost, with a sunny disposition and cheerful smile, placing several pints on their table. Her hair had been tied into a bun similar to his, except secured with a ribbon rather than Dorean's hairpins.

He frowned at one of the men stroking Imoen's palm while tipping her a coin. She playfully smacked his hand away and walked off with a laugh.

Her head turned toward Dorean's table and with another bright smile, she skipped over to him, carrying her serving tray under her arm.

"Little brother! You're here! Thought you'd still be with Mr. G." Her eyes went to his hands and then widened. "You took off your bandages?"

"Gorion fixed them." Dorean held up and turned his hands in front of her. "See? No scars or lasting damage. And no rat fever either."

Imoen seemed to want to say something, and then deflated. "Well, just be more careful next time, alright?"

"Fine, I will," replied Dorean, dropping his hands to the table. "Did that man make a pass at you?" He inclined his head slightly in the direction of the deliverymen's table.

"Oisin?" Imoen laughed, glancing toward it. "He was just teasing. Do you know he's got a boyfriend now?"

The dwarf raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "Is he here?"

"No. He's in Beregost, waiting for his beloved to return to his welcoming arms." She hugged the serving tray to her chest.

"Hmm." Dorean's eyes moved back to the deliverymen's table while his hand went to his beard. "This boyfriend rich? Can you convince Oisin to bring him here?"

Imoen giggled, reaching over to tousle his hair. "That's my little brother! Always seeing people as nothing but bags of money and jewels!"

Dorean huffed from under her hand. "Says the kleptomaniac pickpocket."
Removing her hand from his now-messy hair, Imoen smiled down at him. "I'll find out about this boyfriend of Oisin's, don't you worry."

Dorean nodded in approval, then seemed to remember or realize something and went quiet. Imoen tilted her head to the side. "What's the matter?"

Dorean quickly looked up. "Just thinking about something Gorion told me this morning. Your break will be here soon, right?" he added quickly.

"Yep, just as soon as I'm done with a few more orders."

"Let me help you." He put down the barely-eaten pear. "I've got nothing better to do right now anyway."

Imoen straightened, her eyes widening. "Really? You've never offered to help me in the inn before."

Dorean shrugged, drumming his fingers on the table. "Well, I am now."

Beaming, Imoen removed a few small sheets of parchment from her apron pocket.

"What are those?"

"It's a new thing going on in Baldur's Gate," Imoen answered, handing him one and replacing the others in her apron. "Order slips, they're called. You write down the customer's order and sign it once it's done."

Dorean snorted. "Like they're even necessary in a place like this. It's hardly ever crowded in here."

Imoen shrugged, holding her serving tray against her stomach with both hands. "Well, you know how much my da likes keeping his inn all high standards-wise."

He takes an awful lot of pride in something he didn't pay for, Dorean thought. He hopped off his chair and walked around the table, looking at the parchment in his hand. "Alright, I'll see you back here when I'm done with this."

Imoen leaned down and gave him a one-armed hug, her serving tray bumping against his chest. Dorean straightened irritably.

"Imoen, what did I tell you about public displays of affection?" he said, his voice muffled.

"That they're always welcome and heartily encouraged?" Imoen grinned. She released the hug and turned in the direction of the side corridor leading to the kitchen.

Dorean sighed. "Yes, that, only the exact opposite."

Leaving the pear on the table, he followed her at a steady walk in contrast to her cheerful skip.

You fool. How could you have forgotten that you were leaving?

His mind preoccupied, Dorean did not realize who his customer was until he had moved directly in front of his table. He looked up and almost immediately recognized the green-and-gold robes.

Firebead Elvenhair, wizard and scholar from Beregost, was sitting at a table by the fireplace. He had a book in front of him and was writing in it with a quill pen.

Dorean paused with serving tray in hand, then lifted his head up further to speak.

"Good morning, Mister Elvenhair."

Firebead looked up from his book. "Oh! Good morning, young man." His brow furrowed. "Am I correct in saying you are a man? You have facial hair, but you are also quite short."

"That's because I'm a dwarf, Mister Elvenhair," Dorean answered mildly.

"Oh, my apologies. A dwarf? I don't recall meeting many dwarves here. Then again, it has been such a long time since my last visit to Candlekeep. Much may have changed since then."

"Yes," said Dorean, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "The hen in our farm gave birth to two more chicks."

He moved around the table to Firebead's right side, noticing the pack on the chair next to his seat.

"If you do not mind me asking, Mister Elvenhair, what brings you to Candlekeep this time?"

"Oh, study, mostly," replied the wizard, waving his quill pen. "You can never be too old for an education, you know, and there few better places for that in Faerûn than in Candlekeep."

"Of course," said the dwarf. He could barely see the book due to his height, but he did not have to in order to know its purpose. Firebead is a wizard, after all. "None better. Please forgive my further curiosity, Mister Elvenhair," he paused to bow his head. "If I may be so bold as to ask, what subjects at present hold your attention that you are now studying in Candlekeep?"

"Well, aren't you a inquisitive and polite one," smiled Firebead. "If only more of the bearded folk were like you, young man. The last dwarf I met was rather a crass fellow in comparism, if you'll pardon my language."

Leaning on his left elbow, the wizard tickled his chin with the feathered end of the quill pen. "At present, I am studying manuscripts in regards to the nation of Tethyr in the south, specifically its Forest known to some as the Wealdath. I would love to visit the city of Suldanessellar. I hear it is a wondrous place, built high up in the trees of the forest."

He looked up and smiled. "Imagine what knowledge could be gained in such a place." The old man exhaled through his nose in a good-natured sigh. "Unfortunately, wood elves are wary of foreigners and I suspect I would not be welcome in their city. And of course there's the civil war going on. A pity, that."

"Yes, a pity," said Dorean. Books on Tethyr. That's the second floor.

"Well, I am not letting that stop me," declared Firebead, puffing out his chest slightly. "It's going to take more than a little civil war and unfriendly customs to stop Firebead Elvenhair, I'll tell you that." He pumped a fist in the air (Dorean's eyes went to the rings in it) and then lowered it. "Though it would of course help to learn about the culture of a people before one visits them in their own home."

"I agree, Mister Elvenhair," said Dorean. The wizard was now tapping the feathered end of the quill pen against his chin and his eyes were turned upward instead of at him. The dwarf's body now stood between Firebead and his pack.

"I may have to delay this prospective visit before making the journey south, though," Firebead continued as though Dorean had not spoken. "There's been rumours in Beregost of trouble brewing between Baldur's Gate and Amn."

"Rumors of trouble, sir?" said Dorean. Keeping one hand on the serving tray, he reached behind him with his other hand into the pack, grasped and removed the first item he touched and then quickly tucked it into his tunic, all in the span of a few seconds. From the feel of it, he had taken another one of Firebead's ink bottles.

"Yes, and they aren't just rumours, it turns out. The Coast Way has become quite dangerous to travel nowadays. Why, even my journey from Beregost to here was rather hazardous."

Reaching into the pack behind him a second time, Dorean paused despite himself, now genuinely curious. "Were you attacked on your way here?"

Firebead seemed to hesitate at Dorean's question (or perhaps momentarily forget it), his eyes still facing the far wall, before answering.

"Oh, nothing worth speaking of. Still, the roads are no longer as safe as they used to be."

Realizing that his hand was still in the man's pack, Dorean quickly grasped another item, removing it from the pack and placing it in his tunic along with the ink bottle. Small, round and hollow. Probably a ring.

Feeling that he had stood there long enough, the dwarf took the pint of cow's milk from the serving tray and placed it on the table.

"Thank you, young man," said Firebead, lifting his elbow off the table and leaning back in his seat to look at him. "You are Gorion's ward, aren't you? Dorothy, was it?"

"Dorean, Mister Elvenhair," the dwarf corrected politely, quietly grinding his teeth behind his smile.

"Well, you have certainly come into your own, if you do not mind me saying."

"Not at all, sir," Dorean replied mechanically; he had heard this before from the old wizard.

"Well, Dorean," said Firebead, stretching out the pronounciation of the dwarf's name with a nod of his head, "Thank you for indulging an old man in his long-winded ramblings, and politely too. And thank you for the drink, as well." He took a sip from the tankard, leaving a white line on his moustache.

"It was a pleasure to listen to you, sir," said Dorean. Reaching into the pack again, he grasped something he immediately recognized as a coin pouch.

"Well, you deserve a tip nonetheless," said the wizard, taking a coin from one of his many belt pouches.

Not expecting this, and with his other hand still holding the serving tray, Dorean fumbled to release the pouch in his hand. There was a clink as it landed on the floor under the table.

Firebead stopped with coin in hand, turning his head to look around. "Did you hear that?"

"I kicked something, sir," Dorean said quickly, keeping his voice calm. "I think someone dropped their coin pouch here."

Firebead stooped to look down at it. "Is that so? Could it be mine?" He scratched his temple. "Oh, I can't ever keep track of my things, I seem to lose them all over the place."

Dorean hesitated for a second.

You'll be leaving soon anyway.

"I doubt it's yours, Mister Elvenhair. After all, isn't that your coin pouch right there on your belt?"

The wizard looked at where the dwarf was pointing.

"Oh! So it is. Someone else must have lost their money, then."

Dorean bent down and grabbed the pouch off the ground. "I'll just bring it to Mister Winthrop, then. He would know who's been at this table." He stepped back from the table. "I hope you will enjoy your time here, Mister Elvenhair."

The old wizard smiled and raised his hand in a wave. It seemed he had already forgotten about giving Dorean a tip. "I will, young man, and thank you again."

With a small bow of his head, Dorean turned around and walked away, maintaining a casual and relaxed pace while tucking the coin pouch into his tunic on top of the ring and ink bottle.

After signing and turning in the order slip along with the serving tray, Dorean returned to his table where Imoen was waiting for him, twirling the 'reserved sign' in the fingers of her right hand. Noticing her disapproving frown, he kept his voice low as he climbed onto the chair beside her. "Did anyone else see me?"

"No, but ain't why I'm peeved," Imoen whispered. She put down the sign and leaned toward and over him. "You gotta stop doing that. He's so convinced now that his memory's gone all wonky, he's writing notes to himself for everything."

"It was that or have him realize he's being robbed every time he comes here," Dorean replied. He looked around the table for the pear and spotted it in Imoen's left hand. "If he can afford to visit Candlekeep repeatedly, he's not going to miss what I take from him." The dwarf held his hand out. When Imoen did not budge, he dropped it to the table, glared at her and then exhaled deeply through his nose.

"Fine, I'll stop. No more stealing from him."

Imoen gave a triumphant smile and handed him the fruit. It was now half-eaten. Dorean looked at it, frowned up at her, and then rolled his eyes and took a bite.

"You see anyone interesting while I was busy with Firebead?" he said between chews.

"Let's see that reimbursement you promised me. Four gold." Imoen extended her hand in a manner reminiscent of Winthrop. "And you shouldn't talk with your mouth full."

"Winthrop found two marks?" the dwarf asked, ignoring her reproach while removing the money from his coin pouch and placing it in her palm.

"Oh, he did, alright," Imoen answered, grinning. She pointed with her chin over Dorean's head. "See those two over by the fire?"

Dorean slowly turned his head while adjusting his seated position in the chair, as though he were merely making himself more comfortable.

Even from across the common room, it was easy to determine that the man and woman sitting by the fireplace in Candlekeep Inn's lounge were the ones Imoen was pointing out. Both of them were dressed in bright gold-coloured fine clothing, and Dorean blinked at the sheen of silver reflecting off of the woman's dress.

"They arrived this morning while you were having breakfast with Mr. G," said Imoen. "Said they'd come here to enjoy the peace and quiet. Didn't have a book with them, but Ulraunt let them in anyway."

Dorean snorted, keeping his eyes on the couple. "He's always been a stickler for the rules except when it's his turn to follow them." He took another bite from the pear. "Did Winthrop find out how much they paid to get in here?"

"Five thousand gold. And that's not all." The excitement in Imoen's voice was palpable, and it made Dorean turn around to look at her. The girl's face was flushed almost as pink as her clothing, and she was grinning from ear to ear. "Puffguts gave his usual joke, about Candlekeep Inn having a custom booking fee of ten thousand."

Dorean paused, looking at her wide grin. His eyes widened and jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"Nope," Imoen said, shaking her head. "They paid it all. Didn't even ask any questions, just dumped the money on the counter. You should have seen my dad's face, he was lucky they were looking around the inn and not at him."

Dorean starred at her, then turned to look back at the couple in the lounge. "They have got to be the richest and dumbest people to have ever come to this place.

"Yeah," Imoen agreed. Her grin faded as she thought of something. "I hope Ulraunt doesn't find out about this."

"I doubt anything would happen if he did," Dorean replied. He looked toward the bar where Winthrop was instructing the barmaid. "If Ulraunt had any hold on your father, he would have tightened it a long time ago."

"I suppose so. Hey, take a look at her chest. You see what she's got pinned on it?"

Holding back an urge to comment on her attention span, Dorean looked back at the couple and narrowed his eyes, which widened seconds later. He then turned back to Imoen who nodded slowly at him. The dwarf began to wonder if her face might be hurting from her grin.

"This could be our biggest steal yet, little brother. Like you said, people that stinking rich won't be too badly off from us nicking a few of their things."

"I am glad that you are so quick to get on board with my outlook in the prospect of great wealth," Dorean answered, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"And I am glad that you are glad!" Imoen replied, laughing. She leaned over and hugged him around the head, momentarily smothering him and almost making him drop the pear. When he did not immediately attempt to push her away, she frowned and released him, leaning back to look at his face.

Seeing this, Dorean spoke up quickly. "So, you got their room number?"

"Hm? Oh yeah. Royal suite, fifth floor. Hey, come on," she added upon seeing his face fall, "they paid ten thousand gold to stay here! Dad felt he needed to keep up appearances!"

"Well, he just made our job a lot harder," replied the dwarf, looking over at Winthrop. After taking a moment to leer at the innkeeper, he turned his gaze back to the couple. "Anyway, if we want to get that gem, we'll have to find some way other than simply taking it off of her; she or her husband may notice in seconds that it is missing if we try that."

Imoen leaned sideways behind him, lowering her voice further into a conspiratorial whisper. "We could wait for her to take it off."

Dorean shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't like it. Probably the only time she'll remove something that valuable would be to keep it in her room." He stroked his beard. "And likely the only reason she would, is if she and her husband are in the room. I don't want us trying to break into a Royal suite with people still inside. We learnt that lesson the hard way."

"Did we ever," agreed Imoen. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed in thought. After a moment, she tapped Dorean on the shoulder. "I've got an idea."

The dwarf hesitated before turning around to look at her with a frown. "I don't like it. You sure you want them to see and remember our faces?"

"You sure you don't wanna get yer hands on the most valuable thing you've ever laid your eyes on?" Imoen countered, placing her elbow on the table and leaning on it, smirking at him.

Dorean huffed, looking up at her.

She really does take after her father.

"Meek and Pink?"

"Meek and Pink," Imoen repeated cheerfully. She hopped off of her chair and walked around the table, offering him her hand. Rolling his eyes, the dwarf took it, allowing her to 'help' him off his own seat.

Imoen held her head high while Dorean lowered his, and together they walked with the dwarf shuffling his feet and trailing slightly behind the pink-clad girl while holding onto her hand.

As they entered the lounge, Dorean wrinkled his nose at the smell of perfume emanating from both the nobleman and his wife, neither of whom noticed the young duo approaching.

When they had gotten several feet behind the couple, Imoen stepped forward, back straight with her hands clasped behind her back, while Dorean stood a single pace behind her with his head bowed, shoulders slouched backwards and his hands at his side.

"Good morning to you, milord and lady!" said Imoen. The couple turned around quickly in surprise, their eyes widening at the sight of the bright-pink-clad girl and dirty-yellow-clad dwarf before them. "Please allow me to welcome you to Candlekeep Inn." She gave a curtsy. "I am Imoen, humble worker of this here establishment, and this is my little brother Dorean," she indicated the dwarf behind her and off to her side, who bowed his head even lower than before. The pink girl resumed her straight-backed, hands-clasped posture, her smile radiating sunshine, green meadows, flowers and butterflies.

Is this where we both break into song? Dorean thought, keeping his nose pointed toward his own boots.

Nobleman and woman blinked, looked at each other, then smiled and visibly relaxed.

"A good morning to you as well, young lady," said the nobleman. "I must say, this is the warmest welcome we have received since we arrived here. The monks and priests have not been nearly as hospitable as I had hoped they would be. Haven't they, Lovey?" He added, turning to his wife. The red-dyed feather in his golden hat quivered.

"Oh yes, darling, they have been most stand-offish," agreed the noblewoman. Even with his head bowed, Dorean had to squint; the firelight reflecting off her jewellery was in turn being reflected off the polished floorboards.

"One would think we had been uncouth toward them, judging by their reception, when it is most certainly not the case." She lifted her nose in the air, then lowered it as her gaze rested on the dwarf. The woman blinked slowly, her long eyelashes fluttering. "Pardon me, young lady, but did you just introduce this person as your...brother?" She tilted her head to the side, and Dorean had to close his eyes to avoid being blinded by the increased intensity of the sheen being reflected off the floor.

Damn Winthrop and his high standards.

"Yes, milady," replied Imoen, curtsying again. "We were both orphans you see, until Mister Winthrop came along and adopted us. He has cared for and loved us like we were his own children to this day."

Keeping his head down, Dorean managed to resist the snort bubbling from his stomach to his mouth from escaping, settling instead for a quiet sneer.

"Please forgive my little brother, milady, milord." Imoen added, placing a hand on Dorean's shoulder. "Alas, he is unaccustomed to being subject to the presence and scrutiny of noble persons such as yourselves." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I am sorry to say that not every guest who has stayed within these walls have treated him with the same kindness as you have. Some do not enjoy being served by dwarves, you see." She lowered her eyelids and gave a small smile as she looked down at Dorean. "But he's really just a shy, humble boy." She patted the dwarf gently on the top of his head and tousled his hair, then looked up to see that the noblewoman's puzzled expression had softened considerably. She now looked teary-eyed, and had placed a satin-gloved hand to her chest.

"Thurston, darling, give the boy some money," she said, looking Dorean up and down, which wasn't much considering his height. "Look at him, the poor dear. I have never seen a dwarf so thin!"

"Neither have I, Lovey," agreed the nobleman, reaching into one of the several coin pouches at his belt.

"Oh, milord, milady, we could not!" Imoen exclaimed, raising her hands. "It will be most improper for us to accept any money from you without providing our services beforehand!"

"Why, don't be ridiculous, little girl," replied the noblewoman. Imoen fought an urge to giggle. From up close, she could see, despite the make-up, that the woman could not be more than a few years older than herself. "A handful of coin will not inconvenience us, and will certainly do more good in your hands than in ours. And you have done us a service, young one; by showing us that there is yet warmth and caring to be found in this cold and harsh place."

Imoen and Dorean silently glanced at each other.

"Well said, Nessa, my love!" declared Thurston, his hat-feather now quivering almost violently. "Let it not be declared anywhere that Thurston of Baldur's Gate is without compassion!" He stepped forward with money in hand, then stepped back. "What is the matter, boy? Why are you shaking?"

"Oh, urm," Imoen said hurriedly, her lips pressed tight together and her back ramrod straight. "My, my brother's just overcome by, by shock, mi-milord. No one has ever shown him such generosity since Mister Winthrop adopted us." She twisted her own fingers painfully behind her back and bumped Dorean in the shoulder with her hip. The noblewoman placed both hands to her chest, her eyes now definitely teary.

Imoen looked back down at Dorean, who had brought his head up slightly to glance at the coins in Thurston's palm.

"Go on, little brother," Imoen said gently, patting and pushing him slightly at the shoulder. Do not laugh do not laugh for Oghma's sake do not laugh...

The dwarf's eyes widened and he looked up at her, then at Thurston's money, and then back to her. He shook his head rapidly from side to side.

Thurston blinked and then his back straightened. His expression became stern. "Come here, boy." His tone brooked neither protest nor argument.

His head bowed low, Dorean shuffled forward until he was standing in front of the nobleman.

"Now take the money," Thurston commanded, holding out the gold coins.

Dorean 'hesitated' for several seconds, his hands held up in front of and close to his chest, before reaching forward with a trembling hand and grasping the money. His arms shot back to his sides.

"Say thank you to Lord Thurston, little brother," said Imoen from behind him. The dwarf bowed his head low once more.

"...'ank ye, me lord Thirst-tun."

He slowly walked backward to resume standing behind and next to Imoen before lifting his head to regard the two nobles with a bright, smiling expression of 'gratitude' and 'awe'. The couple seemed to preen at it, appearing taller and straighter.

Trying not to look at his face, Imoen tousled Dorean's now-messy hair yet again. "You've worked hard enough for now, little brother. Why don't you take a break?"

Big, wide gray eyes looked up at her, and Imoen bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. "Go on," she said.

With another low bow to Thurston and Nessa, Dorean took a few steps backward before turning and walking quickly from the lounge.

As soon as he had turned the corner of the doorway exit from the lounge, Dorean slowed his pace down to a casual walk as he entered the side corridor to the kitchen, placing Thurston's money in his coin pouch and adjusting Firebead's stolen items in his tunic.

He entered the kitchen, ignoring the employees as usual, and headed for his usual spot at the counter near the back door.

"Dorean, lad!"

The dwarf blinked and then frowned, though he did not slow his walk toward the counter; Winthrop was sitting on his chair.

The innkeeper lowered his voice as the dwarf approached, leaning down toward him. "So how did it go with our vacationing couple?"

"I'll have to wait for Imoen, she's with them now." Dorean's frown deepened. "You could have warned her about the name."

Winthrop quickly covered his mouth to hide his wide, toothy grin, and his body shook with suppressed laughter. "Sorry! I forgot!" The dwarf's intense glare only made him laugh harder. "Honestly, I did! Please forgive me! That Thurston dumped a bag full o' money on me counter and my mind just slipped!" He waggled his large arms in the air, nearly concussing a passing employee.

"We almost gave the game away because of you," Dorean growled. "I had to bite down on my tongue. It hurt."

"I'll make it up to ye, my friend," Winthrop said, lightly slapping Dorean on the side of his shoulder. He staggered sideways, regained his balance and rubbed his shoulder. "In the meantime, do ye mind doing me a little favour?"

Dorean looked up at him. From his seated position on the chair and also from leaning over him, the innkeeper's shadow almost entirely covered the dwarf. "Is this likely to end like the last time I did a favour for you?"

"No, no, nothing like that, I promise," replied Winthrop, waving his hand. "I'd like you to take one quick order for a couple of customers. Just bring two drinks over to them, and that's it."

"That's it?" Dorean repeated, his voice emitting suspicion.

"Weell," Winthrop rubbed the back of his bald head. "These newcomers are of, how should I say, disreputable appearance."

"What are people like that doing here?" Dorean asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Beats me," answered Winthrop, shrugging his broad shoulders. "They weren't in a very conversational mood when they first walked in here. Were right behind Thurston and his wife, actually. Anyway, they've been sitting at their table since they arrived ten minutes ago, and none of the waitresses are willing to go near them."

Dorean raised his eyebrow. "And you thought I'd be closer to their type."

"No! Well, yes, but you know what I mean." Winthrop took a deep breath, exhaled it and continued with a wave of his hand. "What I mean is, you're made of sterner stuff than my people. You wouldn't be scared of those two. I'll pay ye one gold," he added upon seeing the suspicion on Dorean's face.

A moment passed between them before Dorean blinked and then nodded, running both hands through his chestnut brown hair. "Alright, give me the order. And that'll be two gold."

Winthrop gave a slow, wide smile. "A man after me own heart." He took the coins out of his apron pocket and dropped them into Dorean's palm. "Ye really are Gorion's ward."

Dorean looked up at him, his eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Winthrop shrugged, still wearing the smile. "Just that you're a good negotiator, is all. Gorion taught ye well, didn't he?"

Dorean paused, studying the innkeeper's round, unassuming face. "Yes, he did." He pocketed the coins. "So, the orders?"

"Right there." Winthrop pointed at the table directly behind Dorean, on which sat two full tankards in a serving tray. The dwarf reached up and took the order slip from under the tray.

"You know these things are just a waste of parchment," he said, noting the table number.

"Well, anything to piss off Ulraunt, right?"

Dorean looked up. Winthrop's face had crinkled into a lopsided grin, and his eyes shined mischievously. After a moment, he returned the smile.

"Yeah. A man after my own heart," he said. "You really are Imoen's father."

As he exited the kitchen with the serving tray gripped in both hands, Dorean's forehead furrowed.

Thugs and ruffians aren't usually allowed entry into Candlekeep. What is going on here?

It became apparent to Dorean, upon approaching and then standing in front of the table, as to why the waitresses were reluctant to do the same; the two men seated at it clearly suited Winthrop's label of being of 'disreputable appearance.'

The one on the left had a nose that looks like it had been broken at least twice, while his thinner and shorter companion had a scar trailing from cheek to chin that Dorean suspected may have been from a broken bottle.

Probably got them from tavern brawling.

"Here you are, sirs," said the dwarf, reaching up to place the tray on the table. "Two bitter black ales."

"Thanks," said Broken Nose, lifting the tankard nearer to him off of the tray and taking a long draught.

"Aye, thank ye kindly," said the other. He produced two grimy coins from the thin, worn pouch at his waist and placed them at the edge of the table.

Dorean took the money and signed the order slip, then looked up at the sound of Broken Nose putting his tankard down with a thunk, inhaling gutturally and then giving a loud belch that drew stares from the nearby tables. The man looked down to return the dwarf's stare.

"Abou' time," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hadda wait damn near five minutes 'afore someone came to take our order, and another damn five minutes after that 'afore you showed up."

"Now, now, cousin," said the other man, raising his hand in a calming gesture. "Let's not be rude now, y'hear? Do you emember what happened the last time we were rude? Do you?"

The cousin huffed and continued to mutter into his beer, glowering down at Dorean. Resisting an urge to raise his eyebrow, Dorean settled for blinking twice instead. He stepped back from the table and gave a bow.

"I apologize for the delay in serving you gentlemen, and for any dissatisfaction it may have caused. If you would suggest a way in which Candlekeep Inn could make it up to you, I shall do my best to ensure that Mister Winthrop will see to it immediately."

"You could get us s'more ale fer free, immediately," came the quick and mocking reply from his left.

"Now, cousin," said the thin one again, his tone becoming sharper. He turned to face Dorean better. "Actually, there is a way you could do that. You see, we are new to this here place; Candlekeep, that what it's called? And we'd like to know more about it from someone who works or lives here."

Dorean blinked and then nodded. "Would you like me to get a guide for you, then? There are many monks and readers who would be happy to do that."

Though I doubt either of them could read.

"Well," answered the thin one, "We would prefer if you could simply chat with us fer a minute 'a two. We have travelled quite a ways from our home city, an' had little in the way of pleasant conversation." He gave a short laugh that sounded more to Dorean like a neigh. "It seems no one else here would like to talk to us."

"Damn straight," agreed the cousin.

"We'll buy ye a drink, my friend. Just a few minutes of yer time. What do ye say?"

In the moment that passed next, several thoughts raced through Dorean's head.

Accept or refuse? Imoen may be waiting for me now, or she could need my help with the nobles. And our lessons will be starting soon. But I still want to know more about these two...

The dwarf nodded, smiling up at them. "It would be my pleasure, good sirs."

"And ours, too," replied the thin man, scooting in his seat to make room for Dorean. The dwarf climbed onto it while the thin man signalled to a waitress, who eyed him nervously and Dorean with suspicion. "Oi! A drink for me friend here."

"I'll just have a fruit juice," Dorean said to her. After she had turned and left for the bar, Dorean looked away from her to see that both men were now regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"The ale here too strong fer ye?" asked Broken Nose, leering at him.

"I wouldn't know. I don't drink," Dorean answered, smiling back.

"A dwarf who doesn't drink?" said the man. "Heh. That's a new one," He took another draught from his pint.

"Please don't mind him, my friend," said the thin one. "He's always been lacking in social graces."

"It's fine," said Dorean, maintaining his smile. "Makes a nice change from the stiffs and fops around here."

"Knew I'd like you as soon as I clapped eyes on ye." The thin man grinned at him, raising and spreading his hands.

"Allow me to introduce meself and my cousin. I am Shank Gwist and this lout here's Carbos. We were hired to ensure the safety and well-bee-in' of yonder couple o'er there." He pointed in the direction of the lounge which, Dorean now realized, their table stood less than ten paces away from the entrance.

The dwarf hesitated for a full second before he spoke. "So you're serving as bodyguards to Lord Thurston and Lady Nessa."

"Heh. Aye," replied Shank. "We came across them in Baldur's Gate. That's the big city up north. They'd heard of the trouble goin' on along the Coast and thought they might need protection on their way to Candlekeep. So me and Carbos here up and offered our services."

Dorean raised his eyebrow. "You just walked up to them and said that you're professional bodyguards?"

"No, well, not exactly," replied Shank. "See, we were lookin' to head down south ourselves; heard there was a lotta work fer folks like us. And we jus' happened to be passing by when they saw us, called us over, asked if we know how to fight an' all that. Next thing we know, boom," he snapped his fingers. Dorean noticed that the pinky was missing. "We're followin' and guardin' 'em all the way to this here castle on the cliffside."

Dorean's other eyebrow rose. "Just like that?"

Carbos laughed in a series of short grunts that made Dorean think of chickens. "Aye, jus' like that. Pay's ten gold per day, they gave us the first ten on da spot. Easiest job we ever got." He grinned, revealing a set of yellowed, broken teeth.

Dorean slowly nodded, glancing toward the lounge where he could still see the glint of jewellery.

Money really does bleed good sense and judgement.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with his drink. Noticing her nervous glances at the two men, along with Carbos leering at her, Dorean silently paid her with a coin and a nod. She turned hurriedly and scurried away.

"Did you encounter any trouble along the way here?" he asked, as though they had not been interrupted.

"Oh, nothing we couldn't handle," replied Shank, drumming his fingers on the table and scratching the stubble at his chin. "Wasn't any real trouble, really, since us and the nobles were part of a caravan."

"Had an armed escort an' everythin'," chimed in Carbos, his voice now slightly slurred. Dorean glanced at his tankard. It was now empty. "Led by a dwarf," he added, tilting his head as his leer now focused from the waitress to Dorean. "Had armour, a winged helmet and a big white beard." He paused to belch again, drawing more glares. "Looked nothin' like you."

Dorean gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Not all dwarves are the same, you know."

"No, they're not," agreed Shank. "But especially not you." He tapped his fingers along the lid of his tankard. "You don't talk much like a dwarf."

Dorean turned his head to look Shank in the eye, and then Carbos. Both men were now staring at him. His eyes darted between them.

"Well, what do dwarves usually sound like?" he asked, keeping his voice calm and both of his hands on the table.

Carbos lifted his head and tapped his chin. "Drinkin', belchin', fightin'?"

Dorean smiled and cocked his head. "So, like you, then?"

Shank threw back his head and neighed while Carbos scowled at the dwarf. "He's got ye down pat, cousin!" Shaking his head and smiling, he took another sip of ale.

A flash of bright pink appeared in the corner of Dorean's vision, and he turned to see Imoen standing at the bar and waving to him. Her eyes moved to his drinking companions.

"Well, gentlemen," said the dwarf, leaning back in his seat. "It's been a pleasure, but I am afraid I must return to my duties."

"O' course," replied Shank, raising his pint to him. "Nice talkin' with ye."

It was only when he was following Imoen out of the main entrance to the inn that Dorean realized something.

They didn't ask any questions about Candlekeep.

Imoen did not speak until they had entered the inner grounds, though she gave several confused and concerned looks at him along the way.

"Puffguts told me about sending you to serve them rough-lookin' customers of his. I gave him a real earful for that. What were you doing sitting with them?"

"They asked me to. Said they wanted someone to talk to," Dorean answered. "And it's a good thing I did." Despite his short legs, the dwarf easily kept up with her steady pace. "Imoen, Thurston's a no-go."

"What, why!?" Imoen wailed, stopping abruptly and turning to him. "I convinced them to leave all their valuables in their room! It must have taken me three minutes, I had to give them so many hints! And did you see Nessa? She's practically a walking treasury!"

"They've got bodyguards, and not the polite kind, either."

Imoen frowned and tilted her head to the side. "You mean those two, the ones you were chatting with?" She blinked under her frown. "Why would anyone hire them? They're obviously scoundrels!"

"We're scoundrels too, and they believed everything we said, didn't they?"

"That's because I am an amazing actress!" Imoen declared, placing her hands on her hips and raising her chin.

"Uh huh," Dorean said dryly. "That, or Thurston and his wife are even stupider than we thought." He looked off to the side, noticing a nearby gardener repairing the flower patches that he had trampled earlier. "Regardless, the steal's off."

"Oh, come on, Dorean, we paid four gold for this," Imoen protested. "It's not like they will all be stayin' in the same room."

"We've never had to deal with bodyguards before, and at least one of them seems dumb enough not to care about Candlekeep's rules of non-violence," the dwarf hissed. "And there's now a much higher chance we'll be remembered if they realize they've been robbed. It's just too risky now."

Imoen leaned forward and prodded his nose. "We've taken bigger risks than this, and you know it, little brother." Dorean scowled and batted her hand away. "This could be our biggest haul yet."

"The last time you said that and I went along with it, we both nearly died."

Imoen threw her hands up. "I learnt my lesson, okay!?" A moment passed in silence and mutual stares before she spoke again, her voice more composed. "Besides, this is different. What's the worst that could happen?"

"We get caught and killed before the watchers can stop them," Dorean answered grimly, glaring at the gardener who quietly averted her gaze and returned to her work. Imoen winced.

"Gee, way to keep a positive attitude, little brother."

Dorean groaned, rubbing his forehead. He felt a hand on his head, although this time she did not tousle his hair.

"It won't be like that time. We'll just be sneaking into an empty inn room and then out again." She paused. "And you'll be in charge. Anything worries you even a little bit and you say we stop, I'll follow you, I swear." She smiled down at him. "I saw that look in your eyes when you spied that gem, little brother."

Dorean glowered up at her from below her hand and then sighed. Imoen blinked and tilted her head again when she saw that his expression had seemed to soften.

"I could never say no to you, can I?" he said, his voice filled with resignation.

"Hee!" Imoen pulled him close for a hug, then blinked again when no words or gestures of protest came from the dwarf. She raised her chin from his head and looked down at him.

Dorean looked at her face, his expression pensive, and then gently pushed her off.

"Come on. We're going to be late for our lessons."

He turned and walked away in the direction of the keep entrance. Imoen watched him for a moment before jogging up to walk beside him.