R. Salvatore - The Companions

Regis moved his hand toward the block, but paused and looked to the merchant for permission. The man nodded eagerly.

Regis rolled the block around his hands, the feel bringing him to another place and time.

“Ivory from the jungles,” the merchant proclaimed.

But Regis knew better. “Trout bone,” he corrected. “From the northern lakes.”

The merchant started to argue, but Regis fixed him with a look that brooked no debate. The halfling knew this material intimately, and just holding it now brought his thoughts careening back to the banks of Maer Dualdon in Icewind Dale.

“How much?” he asked, for he ne!” Bruenor warned.5N3And youoneded to have this piece. His gaze roamed the table and out to nearby tents. He had some items on his housebreaker harness, small-tipped knives and tiny files, that would suffice for many of the cuts, but he would need a true carving knife, he decided.

“Ivory,” the merchant insisted. “Five pieces of gold.”

“Knucklehead trout bone,” Regis corrected, “and I will give you two.”

“Two and twenty silver!”

“Two and five,” said Regis. “It is only impatience that makes me offer that, as I will be along the Sword Coast soon enough, traveling north, where the material is plentiful.”

“You are a carver then?”

Regis nodded. “I was.”

“Was? When you were a child?” the man said with a laugh, and Regis joined in, reminding himself silently that he wore the body of a young halfling, barely an adult.

“You make something pretty and I will sell it for you, yes?” the merchant asked, taking the coin and handing over the block. “You will find me here-I will sell your wares, sixty-forty!”

“Seventy-thirty.”

“Sixty-one.”

“Seventy-one!” Regis said, more than matching the merchant’s zest, his halfling eyes sparkling. This was all about the arguing, he knew-the bargaining was worth more to these merchants than the extra coin they sometimes gained or saved.

“Ahaha!” said the merchant. “Sixty-five then, but you must promise to be quiet so my other vendors will not carve me into something not so pretty, yes?”

“Spider Pericolo Topolino,” the young halfling introduced himself with a slight bow.

“Adi Abba Adidas,” said the merchant with a much more flowery dip. They shook hands and the merchant patted the halfling hard on the shoulder. “We will do very much good business, yes!” he declared.

Spider moved around the tents, always politely feigning interest in this or that. He walked with the air of importance and confidence, one gloved hand always resting on the sparkling hilt of his magnificent rapier, the other ever-ready to tip his beret.

Across the road, following directions Adi had given him, he found a kiosk that held many herbs of interest to him. He had no intention of giving up his alchemy training, after all, particularly with a small still and other needed alchemy items safely tucked away in his magical belt pouch. To Regis’s delight, the merchant herbalist also had several scrolls for sale, details for various concoctions Regis did not know, including a recipe for a potion of healing.

That lightened his supply of coin considerably, of course, but Regis left with a lighter step and a sincere grin. Yes, this day was moving along splendidly, all the more so because it had brought him a reprieve from the annoying Kermillon and Yoger.

That thought almost was prophetic for coming around the corner of one row of tents, Regis spotted the drivers talking to a pair of scruffy-looking fellows, a one-eyed dwarf and a tall man dressed in clothes that might have once been fine but had seen far too much of the open road. The tall man had long black hair and a thin mustache, with golden earrings on both ears. Regis thought he’d look more in place on a pirate ship sailing the Sword Coast than line-height: Idweonhere at Boareskyr Bridge.

Not quite sure what to make of the parlay, if there was anything at all to it, Regis ducked back out of sight. He felt a bit uneasy when he saw Kermillon hand over a small purse to the tall man, at the same time as Yoger held out his hand, palm down, just above his waist level, as if describing someone of about Regis’s height.

“Probably nothing,” he told himself, scurrying back across the road to the more fashionable tents.

Soon after, full of the sounds and smells and the bickering of the auctions, he had forgotten all about it and once more realized the fine mood that so befit his current persona and dress. He bought no more, though he showed interest in many items at many different kiosks, and he entertained offers of his own as various merchants sought to purchase his wondrous beret-although they didn’t know how wondrous it might be, Regis silently mused-or mostly, inquired about his rapier.

“Five thousand pieces of gold!” one woman offered, pointing to the weapon without ever having even held it.

“Good madam,” Regis replied, “it may be no more than an unbalanced stick bedecked with imperfect stones!”

The woman smiled at him and shook her head knowingly. “I know a stone,” she said, and she held forth her hand.

Regis considered it for a moment, then gave a little shrug and drew out the blade, graciously handing it over.

The woman took it and whipped it around gracefully-she knew how to handle it, the halfling realized, and that thought shook him a bit as he realized his vulnerability. But no, he told himself, this was an honest market, and she would not skewer him.

The woman handed back the blade, nodding. “I had thought my offer generous,” she said. “Perhaps not.”

“Indeed,” said Regis, replacing the rapier inside his belt loop at his left hip, after performing a couple of practiced moves himself.

“It is worth that ornamentally alone,” said the woman. “Those are perfect gems.”

“You have a good eye.”

“It keeps me thick with coin. Ten thousand, then?”

Regis smiled, tipped his cap and shook his head, but politely.

“Fifteen!” she said, “for I know your secret. The blade is powerfully magicked.”

“Indeed,” Regis agreed. He wasn’t sure of the dweomer upon the rapier, for he hadn’t much used it outside of simple practice. He had sensed nothing unusual in the blade, unlike his strange and powerful dagger, to be sure, but the rapier seemed far lighter than it should have been and struck with tremendous effect, its fine tip boring through most armor with ease.

“Sentimental value,” he answered, graciously kissing her hand before starting away.

He had barely gone a dozen strides when another vendor hailed him. “Here, then,” called the merchant, and Regis looked up, then fell back a step reflexively at the sight of the vendor, a one-eyed dwarf standing before a large tent.

The hairs on the back of Regis’s neck stood up as he recalled his earlier view of this one-now only coincidentally hailing him? He thought of running away, or of politely responding from afar and slipping off into the bustle of the marketplace.

“That’s what the old Regis would do,” he whispered to himself, as he approached the waving dwarf.

“Sure that a little one as finely cut as yerself ain’t thinking o’ sleeping in the wagon, then!”

“I hadn’t thought of it at all, good fellow,” Regis replied. “But then, I have slept in the wagons these last days, have I not? Indeed, all the way from Suzail. And in an open boat for tendays before that.”

“Yer clothes look none the worse for wear, eh?”

“New clothes, some,” Regis answered.

“Well, put ’em in a bed tonight, then,” said the dwarf. “Got many open, I do-them drivers are pinchin’ tighter, I say! — and I’ll put ye up on the copper.”