XXIV. THE DWARF’S LAST SLIP

“You have broken into my home. You have disarranged my things and destroyed my furniture.”

“No,” said Ystrien. “We tried to destroy your furniture, and that’s only because it tried to destroy us. If you go into the vestibule, you’ll find it more or less intact and eager to get back inside.”

“Never mind about the damned furniture!” cried Theoderus, though he was secretly relieved. “You are all trespassers, yet you make demands of me. Who sent you?”

“We come of our own accord,” said Ystrien.

Despite this unfriendly exchange, the conversation had been going far better than any of the adventurers had expected. The buzzsaw trap, the spear trap, and the animated gridiron had led them to conclude they would find the house’s owner a true maniac. But Theoderus had not even threatened them. He had welcomed them almost placatingly, with raised brows, and seemed pleased when they told him they weren’t there on behalf of someone named Jemel Ganza. It was only in the last few minutes, when it dawned on him that their purpose was altogether different from the two purposes he most feared–a Red Wizard’s audit and a customer’s revenge–that he became accusatory. 

“Your refusal to see any visitors is well known,” said Graddick. “And an innocent has every right to enjoy his privacy. But we have grave suspicions that you aren’t innocent.”

“What grave suspicions?” Theoderus balked. “Innocent of what?”

“The sigils on your wares,” the knight said. “Illegally traded slaves had a similar mark.” 

“I know nothing about slaves,” said the dwarf truthfully. “I don’t use slaves, and I don’t traffic in them.” He sat down at his desk, a cumbersome piece with a hundred cubbyholes and drawers. He fingered the belt he was wearing. The attached tools would spring to life, just as the gridiron and side table had, if these people attempted more violence. He had yet to make out who they served and what they really wanted. They were enemies of the Red Wizards, most likely–and therefore his enemies too, especially if they knew about his Thayan connections. But he wouldn’t fight them unprovoked. He would send them away and go to his masters about them. In the meantime, his real ignorance would be his shield. “I know nothing about these slaves,” he repeated. “Nothing.” 

“What about Stegistus?” said Vahera, her voice throbbing with emotion. “Have you forgotten Stegistus?” (Who’s Stegistus?, Graddick wondered to himself jealously; then he realized what she was up to.) “He was just twenty. No father, no friend. You told him you would give him a magical tattoo. You said it’d grant him great powers. Seconds after he submitted to your hot needle, everything went dark, and he woke up in a sea cave, penned in like an animal! He died last night of pneumonia. I think he was in love with me. The knight is here for justice–but I am here for him. I am here for Stegistus.” 

“That is preposterous! ‘Submitted to my hot needle!’ I have never handled such a tool or met anyone named Stegistus. I work with steel, not flesh. They didn’t even tell me what the marks do.”

Now it was Cuatala’s turn. “They? Who’s they?”