Turn 97

Expedition:
    By now Emmett is quite certain they're talking to a gnome.
    Emmett nods to the air, "Master Alais would certainly have mentioned it, yes. I had begun to suspect that some human element was cloaking their activities to distract attentions into the woods. Glad to see it confirmed."
    "Now that that's settled, are you interested in," he pronounces the gnomish equivalent of "trade" with care.
    The voice corrects a couple of syllables and adds, "Self-sufficiency has its advantages."
    Emmett glances around, looking for any technological evidence of this self sufficiency. He finds that he is still looking at a few-days-old battlefield surrounded by forest. Then again, ten minutes ago he couldn't see any of *this,* so who knows what else there might be....
    Alais says "Master Emmett, do you know with what realm of being we are speaking?"
    "Master Alais, we are in the company of Gnomes. But it looks like they don't want either trade or company." He turns back to their unseen hosts. "if you change your mind, we are always interested in opening communication. Blessings of Gond on you."
    "And upon you. It has been... interesting speaking with you."
    "It always is. Thanks for the information." With that the Half-Man sheaths his sword and heads back to the Distraction, ushering the others before him.
    The ship lowers at his signal, and the four of them rejoin their companions.
    "There is more to this world than there appears," Hiro remarks, and explanations are made to those who remained aboard while darkness falls over the world. A violent storm is approaching, and after some discussion the group decides that it would be better to spend the night where they are than to attempt to fly through it. No one is expecting them back right away.
    "Fascinating," Pham opines, a bit disappointed that it seems his theory was incorrect, but intrigued by what they have learned about the world and also a by the puzzle before them. "But if they were then killed by human agency there should be some reason to it. A ship-owner's son, two artificers, and a land-rich heir.... Oddly enough, I encountered young Cenon in town, several days ago. He appeared to recognize this." He indicates his symbol and sighs a bit. "This troubles me. I have spoken to many of these people since we arrived, and from none of them did I hear anything to suggest the order is known on this world. Their gods are their own, all strange to me, but this suggests... I know not what, but perhaps there has been some sort of contact, via one of the Victor ships or otherwise. And now he is dead, along with these others."
    * * *
    In Town (the next day)
    Captain Feliks doesn't look like he's slept since the bodies were found. "What do you lot want *this* time?" He frowns at Michal, as if trying to figure out where he's seen him before.
    "To bring you some information about last night's attack on me, sir," ibn Fadil says.
    On cue, Michal launches into his story. And it's a *good* story. Ibn Fadil would have believed it if he hadn't already known what happened and why. Feliks asks a few probing questions but appears willing to accept both the Stoat's involvement and Michal's fundamental innocence (at least regarding this particular affair).
    "All right, so what do you want, then?" he asks when all is said. "I assure you we made every effort to find those men the other night."
    "Oh, have no doubt of that, sir. And I know you have more serious troubles to deal with just now. All we would ask is that you have a few of your men linger conspicuously near the inn we are staying at. We will not be doing any more wandering about at night, but Yestin did hear from the inn's people that someone was there asking about us yesterday. I think, however, that a few small precautions should prevent any more trouble."
    He considers that for a moment. "I think we can do that."
    "And I was wondering," he adds apologetically, in light of the man's obvious exhaustion, "Does it seem a usual thing for this Stoat to be giving such attention to persons who are his lordship's guests?"
    "Usual? I suppose not. But then you yourselves are not exactly usual, are you?"
    "Heh! We are not," he agrees cheerfully. "It is only experience that makes me wonder if it has something to do with our competitors. Still, I suppose the only thing to do about it is be careful. Thank you for your time, sir."
    Outside, the Zakharan says to Michal (quietly), "That was very good, very good indeed. I almost believed you myself." He smiles only a little, trying to hide the fact that he's almost as pleased as if he'd invented the lad himself. "Now, a little shopping, and then back to warmth."
    After a little effort, he and Michal acquire a slate and some chalk and retire to the inn, where ibn Fadil whiles away the rest of the day by starting to teach the boy to read and write Common.
    "This is the same phrase written in Zakharan, Elvish, and Common, in their three lettering systems," he says by way of introduction to the subject. He reads the Zakharan and Elvish and then the Common: "I really hate this planet."
    "Really?" He looks at the strange shapes of the letters doubtfully.
    "Really." He wipes the slate clean and starts writing out the whole Common alphabet. "Each of these letters is agreed to stand for a particular sound. Or sometimes several sounds. Strung together they represent the strings of sounds we call words. Simple in principle, but like most things, a bit more complicated in execution.
    "Now, for convenience each letter is given its own name, so we can talk about them properly. The names of the letters in Common are..."
    "No, you really hate this place? Why?"
    "Oh." He puts the slate down and thinks about how to answer that. "Several reasons. All of them unfair," he adds judiciously. "First, it is too cold. I am told it gets warm in summer, but it never gets this cold where I come from.
    "Second, it is too small. I like cities, the bigger the better. Except for Errinald. That is a planet that is almost all city, and I suspect even its gods hate that place.
    "Third." He sighs, and half-heartedly pretends he is not still angry. "In my entire life I have never been so thoroughly insulted as I have been here. Worse, I have had to swallow the insult, for a number of good reasons that did not make it any easier to do so."
    "Wow. Well, it does get warm in the summer, and I guess if you guys are going to the capital it's probably bigger than Myrr." He looks like he's considering asking about the insult business but thinks better of it.
    Glad to avoid further discussion the matter, ibn Fadil picks up the slate again and (barring further interruptions) returns to the alphabet lesson. It goes indifferently. But one has to begin somewhere.
    Soon thereafter, the expeditionary force returns from their visit to the forests, and after asking some questions locates the inn where the rest of the crew is staying.
    

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