Free Yowler Foul-Up by David Lee Stone Page A

condemned latrines, he hurtled along a dank passage, up three flights of half-crumbled steps, past a dingy back door, over the wall in the Ferret’s beer garden, down the alley that clung to its western side, and out into the street that contained the inn’s decrepit entrance doors.
    The barrowbird spotted him immediately, alighting from its perch on a first-floor windowsill of a bakery across the road.
    “Anything?” it squawked. “I haven’t seen him go in.”
    “He’s not there,” Jimmy hurriedly confided. “But I’m talking to a gnome who’s gonna take me to him.”
    “A gnome?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What, just like that?”
    “Yes!”
    “No questions asked?”
    “Yes, I mean, no!”
    “Does the gnome know anything about the group that hired him?”
    “I don’t know!”
    “Can’t you find out?”
    “NO!”
    “Why not?”
    “Look, it’s simple. He thinks he owes me money!”
    “Who, the gnome?”
    “Grab, damn it! Why don’t you listen?”
    “I am listening; why can’t you speak properly?”
    “Don’t start with me! I’m doing you a favor here.”
    “Ha! You dug your own grave, boy. Now you listen. Why don’t you follow this dwarf—”
    “It’s a gnome, and I’m going to!”
    “Right, and then I’ll follow the pair of you.”
    “D’you think so? Gad, and I thought I was sharp. Can I go now?”
    “No, wait! Just hang on a minute; how did you get out?”
    “I lied; told him I was going to the latrine.”
    “Right. So hadn’t you better get back inside then, so we can follow him when he leaves?”
    “Yes! That’s what I’m saying!”
    “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
    Jimmy rolled his eyes. Then he raced back down the alley, leaped over the wall, shouldered past the door, fell down the stairs, hurtled along the corridor, bumped his way through the bar, landed on the three-legged stool opposite the gnome, and promptly fell off it.
    Mixer swallowed a gulp of ale. “That was quick,” he said.

TWENTY-THREE
    N IGHT YAWNED. …
    When Modeset returned to the Steeplejack Inn, he found Flicka waiting for him.
    The duke had always had a curious relationship with the girl, partly because he found her very beautiful, but mostly because he didn’t feel at all comfortable with young women. Any women, come to that.
    However, observing her now as she stood in the entrance hall of the inn, with her hair plastered to her face and her ragged clothes heavy with rain, Modeset was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about. The girl was healthy, that much was certain.
    “Well, I say, what a surprise,” he began. “I was very, very worried about you, Flicka. In fact, I was just this minute coming to get you out of the dungeons and, whoosh-adacadava, here you are. Most impressive.”
    Flicka raised a thick eyebrow. Her brown eyes glistened. “On your way to getting us out?” she said. “How thoughtful, milord. Odd, though, I seem to recall the palace being in the opposite direction.”
    Modeset nodded quickly. “Yes, well of course it is ,” he said. “But I was planning to get some shut-eye first, you know, conserve a bit of energy.”
    “That’s fine,” said Flicka, beaming. “I’ll grab the carriage from the stables and you can get some rest on the way to the guardhouse.”
    “The guardhouse?”
    “Yes. They’ve still got Pegrand, and they won’t let him out until you apologize to the guard. They only let me out because I’m a woman.”
    She swept back her hair with both hands, bunched up two fistfuls of it, and secured the resulting locks with a length of twine. Then, still grinning, she took a step toward the door.
    Modeset held up a hand. “We’re not going to the palace,” he said. His tone was set in lead.
    “What? But you said you were—”
    “It’s not done for a duke to apologize, and besides, that guard had it coming. All elves are deviants.”
    “That’s a rotten attitude for a duke, especially here. It’s not right to persecute any of Mother