Chapter 16

Northmarket District, Oldtown

The Red Mountain dwarf, who the street urchins called Mr. Whiskers, birth name was Draga Stonecutter. He was 153 years old, middle-aged for dwarven-kind; old enough to have the beginnings of a true grandfather’s beard, 3 feet long and pure white. He was exceedingly proud of it and had his wives braid it into all kinds of fanciful designs. Dwarven-kind valued their elders for their wisdom; his beard gave evidence of high status.

He was behind the bar, serving ale to a motley collection of pipe-smoking oldsters of his kind, when Quinn and his small companions walked into the tavern. Quinn grinned when he saw the dwarf’s normal grumpy demeanor get grumpier.

He gave Quinn a sour look. “The little one said you were in the city. What were you thinking, giving her such a fortune? You have not changed. You were a troublemaker back when you were too short to cut a purse, and you still make trouble today. Your nonsense has the youngsters all atwitter with talk of the feast. So much so that they are not thinking about work. We will all soon be starving and homeless, thanks to your nonsense.”

Quinn laughed, reached over the bar and picked up the old dwarf and gave him a bone-crushing hug. “Greetings, Grandfather. You are the one who talks nonsense. All know you have wealth beyond counting. No doubt these grandfathers come to you asking for loans. Did you arrange the food for the feast?”

‘“Yes. If you wish to throw away the wealth that fate has gifted you, who am I to argue? Now for the love of The Stone Father, put me down, you big idiot.”

“Why don’t we grab a table and gossip a bit?”

The dwarf signed Klzyx and Clover to go to the kitchen to eat and waved to a young female troll server to take his place behind the counter. He drew a couple of mugs of ale and led Quinn over to a corner table.

“Tell me the marketplace gossip.”

“Things have been chaotic ever since someone eliminated two of the most powerful figures in Oldtown.” He gave Quinn a questioning look. When he realized that no comment was forthcoming, he frowned and continued. “Up till now, the war for control was in the background, but now the chaos has spread to even the thieves’ guilds. It’s getting harder and harder to borrow or lend money lately. A sure sign, that hard times are coming. No one is taking chances. Folk are hording. We have had peace for over eighty years. That peace has ended. We’re returning to the bad old days when I was a young lad. There has been a series of assassinations—very slick professional assassinations. That means the Drygioni have got their slimy fingers in one or more of the six guild lords’ wallets. Old scores are being evened up.”

Quinn told him of the conversation he’d had with the Vampire.