was three
times more expensive than any other inn in Port Balifor. He also watered the ale. As a
result, his bar was mostly deserted except for his old friends and the odd traveler, and,
once again, William enjoyed being an innkeeper.
Sintk waved a hand in front of William's piggy face.
“Are you dozing off again?” he asked. “William, I realize sleep is a good way of
forgetting about draconians and those nasty hobgoblins. But, sad it is, a person wakes up
and those sculpin are still prowling about town, snooping in everyone's business and act-
ing like they belong here. Which, as a matter of fact, they don't, and I would be the
first to say so, if I were so bold. Now, do you feel like yourself, or should I run to the
herbalist's shop for a potion?”
William shook his head vigorously to expel the list-lessness in his mind. “I'm fine.”
“What happened?” The dwarf looked suspicious. “Business was slow. I fell asleep.” “You
must have been daydreaming,” the dwarf said. "You
were sleeping when I came in for my afternoon pint. You were heaving and snorting like a
man possessed by demons."
“I have seen demons and all sorts of things.” William opened his hand. A large oval coin
was lying in his palm. The polished metal disc glistened in the light. “Remember that coin
the Red Wizard used for his tricks?”
“Raistlin?” Sintk looked surprised. “I trust that faker and his gang of misfits aren't
back in town. And I hope you're not going to start up with that magic coin business again.
. . .”
“But there IS something magical about it,” William insisted. “I traveled from here and had
a ... a ... strange encounter with a beautiful maiden and a fearsome beast. I journeyed
through a mysterious fog and almost fell into a black pit containing demons, snakes,
ghouls, and all sorts of bad things.”
“Things get confused when you are daydreaming,” said Sintk. “But being you're yourself
again and not grunting like a boar, I'll have a nice tankard of your finest brew.”
“It wasn't a dream,” William said sulkily. “It felt more like it was reality and this . .
. this ... is only the shadow of what my life could be.”
William drew two tankards of ale and set them across from his friend, Sintk. Then he
launched into a detailed account of his daydream-er, vision-while Sintk, parched with
thirst, diligently quaffed both tankards. But it was William's story, which was vaguely
familiar, that had Sintk yawning presently, not the ale, which was delicious.
“Oh,” Sintk rubbed his lips with the back of his hand at a pause in the recounting,
“what's that about a black pit?”
“The abyss at the end of the universe,” replied William.
“Oh, THAT black pit,” said the dwarf. “I should have known.” He gazed fondly at the row of
tankards behind the bar and licked his lips. “You're barmy.”
Sighing, William got up from his stool and drew two more tankards of ale.
“I wasn't daydreaming,” he declared, setting the drinks on the bar. “Look, touch the coin.
It became hot in my hand. Like it was pulsating with life.” He held out the large round
coin-which truth to tell, looked quite ordinary, resting there in his palm.
“Body heat,” said Sintk, wearily. “The coin is nothing. A piece of cast metal.”
“Magic!” insisted William. “Is not,” said Sintk. “Is!” said William, most
uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Why don't you let me be the judge?” said a surly
voice behind
them. William and Sintk whirled to see the fiendish countenance of a
barrel-chested draconian in smelly armor. It was Drago, captain of the prison guards, who,
despised and friendless even among his fellow dracon-ians, took an occasional meal and
tankard alone in the Pig and Whistle. The fact that his presence was so repugnant to
William Sweetwater and his friends made it all the more pleasurable
times more expensive than any other inn in Port Balifor. He also watered the ale. As a
result, his bar was mostly deserted except for his old friends and the odd traveler, and,
once again, William enjoyed being an innkeeper.
Sintk waved a hand in front of William's piggy face.
“Are you dozing off again?” he asked. “William, I realize sleep is a good way of
forgetting about draconians and those nasty hobgoblins. But, sad it is, a person wakes up
and those sculpin are still prowling about town, snooping in everyone's business and act-
ing like they belong here. Which, as a matter of fact, they don't, and I would be the
first to say so, if I were so bold. Now, do you feel like yourself, or should I run to the
herbalist's shop for a potion?”
William shook his head vigorously to expel the list-lessness in his mind. “I'm fine.”
“What happened?” The dwarf looked suspicious. “Business was slow. I fell asleep.” “You
must have been daydreaming,” the dwarf said. "You
were sleeping when I came in for my afternoon pint. You were heaving and snorting like a
man possessed by demons."
“I have seen demons and all sorts of things.” William opened his hand. A large oval coin
was lying in his palm. The polished metal disc glistened in the light. “Remember that coin
the Red Wizard used for his tricks?”
“Raistlin?” Sintk looked surprised. “I trust that faker and his gang of misfits aren't
back in town. And I hope you're not going to start up with that magic coin business again.
. . .”
“But there IS something magical about it,” William insisted. “I traveled from here and had
a ... a ... strange encounter with a beautiful maiden and a fearsome beast. I journeyed
through a mysterious fog and almost fell into a black pit containing demons, snakes,
ghouls, and all sorts of bad things.”
“Things get confused when you are daydreaming,” said Sintk. “But being you're yourself
again and not grunting like a boar, I'll have a nice tankard of your finest brew.”
“It wasn't a dream,” William said sulkily. “It felt more like it was reality and this . .
. this ... is only the shadow of what my life could be.”
William drew two tankards of ale and set them across from his friend, Sintk. Then he
launched into a detailed account of his daydream-er, vision-while Sintk, parched with
thirst, diligently quaffed both tankards. But it was William's story, which was vaguely
familiar, that had Sintk yawning presently, not the ale, which was delicious.
“Oh,” Sintk rubbed his lips with the back of his hand at a pause in the recounting,
“what's that about a black pit?”
“The abyss at the end of the universe,” replied William.
“Oh, THAT black pit,” said the dwarf. “I should have known.” He gazed fondly at the row of
tankards behind the bar and licked his lips. “You're barmy.”
Sighing, William got up from his stool and drew two more tankards of ale.
“I wasn't daydreaming,” he declared, setting the drinks on the bar. “Look, touch the coin.
It became hot in my hand. Like it was pulsating with life.” He held out the large round
coin-which truth to tell, looked quite ordinary, resting there in his palm.
“Body heat,” said Sintk, wearily. “The coin is nothing. A piece of cast metal.”
“Magic!” insisted William. “Is not,” said Sintk. “Is!” said William, most
uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Why don't you let me be the judge?” said a surly
voice behind
them. William and Sintk whirled to see the fiendish countenance of a
barrel-chested draconian in smelly armor. It was Drago, captain of the prison guards, who,
despised and friendless even among his fellow dracon-ians, took an occasional meal and
tankard alone in the Pig and Whistle. The fact that his presence was so repugnant to
William Sweetwater and his friends made it all the more pleasurable
Similar Books
