I shook my head feeling irritated once more, "How'd you like to end up in the Deezola orphanage? I have connections in this town." I felt immediately guilty when I imagined that her face had turned pale. It was kind of hard to tell what with the dirt and all. She muttered something rude under her breath which I ignored and said, "I have a message for you." She held out her hand again and I noticed this time that what I had mistaken for her extended palm was actually a potsherd. I gingerly picked the potsherd up ignoring the fact that she didn't stop holding her hand out. I turned it over and read the brief message I found there scratched in New Pavic:
If you want to know who killed the Sunlovers come to the Real City today, alone.
My eyebrows rose I looked back at the street brat, "Do they think I'm stupid or something? Who gave this to you kid?" She shook her head, "I couldn't see their face they were wearing a big cloak." "In this heat?" I shook my head again. How obvious a trap could you get? I wouldn't have given three bent clacks or a houseful of bolgs for my chances. "How big was the person?" She nodded her head and said, "Big. Taller than you." She looked me up and down, "Well, a lot bigger than you." I grimaced, "And what language did they speak?" "New Pavic." A thoughtful pause, "without an accent." I smiled, "What a clever girl", I said She scowled and blushed, I think damn that dirt, at the same time.
Hmm, this was too tempting, despite the fact that it was obviously a trap. I rummaged around in my belt pouch looking for money, a scrap of parchment, a pen and pot of ink. I told the girl to sit down, "What's your name, kid?" She looked suspicious and remained standing, "Daphne. Why do you want to know?" "Because I don't eat with strangers and I gestured for her to sit down again. She sat down and I waved Miltry over. "Miltry please bring my guest a pot of stew and something to drink." She perked up, "Wine?" I shrugged and said, "Why not? Bring her a glass of the good stuff. Put it on my account." Shaking his head at this Miltry walked off to fetch Daphne's order.
I arranged my writing implements and Daphne watched in fascination. "You can write? I didn't know you were a longbeard or brown sage?" I shook my head while I struggled to force the scrap of parchment to lie flat, "I am neither a follower of Lhankhor Mhy," I paused as thoughts of a certain attractive Lhankhor Mhy flitted across my mind, "Nor am I a follower of Irripi Ontor. I just need to know how to write in my business." Once the parchment was flattened somewhat I quickly scribed a brief note to Count Belarus telling him what I was planning on doing.
Miltry returned with a glass of wine and bowl of the famous stew Gimpy's served. He'd even thrown in a hunk of somewhat stale bread. The stew's not famous because of its quality but rather the fact that it originates from a magic stewpot that never empties. Actually I've had a bowl and it's pretty bland stuff. You wouldn't have guessed that from Daphne's reaction to it though. She made it, the bread and the wine all disappear like a conjurer makes coins disappear. As I waited for her to finish, and incidentally for the ink on my mesagge to dry, I watched her eat.
She ate like a starving kid, which obviously she was. Thin as a rail. I couldn't really guess at her age. No older than 12 or 13 years I'd guess though. Painfully thin, matted hair and possibly pretty under all the dirt. No life for a kid at all. Probably destined to die an ugly death on the street sometime in the future or be turned into a prostitute by some pimp. I reconsidered the Deezola orphanage but I wouldn't have wanted anyone to put those kind of restrictions on my freedom either.
To be continued.
Oliver
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