"Hmm," said Rugud, looking up at the confused faces of friends who didn't expect to see anyone on their way out. "For some reason I thought so."

His assistants nodded their heads in agreement.

There was no point in running, no point in excusing themselves: the evidence was there. So Mez'A'Shib merely inquired in a colorless voice:

"Will you take us to Pulsok?"

"We'll see," Rugud grinned into his beard. "A little conversation would be a good start. If you don't mind."

Of course, no one was foolish enough to refuse the storekeeper's offer, so they followed the dwarves into one of the rooms next door. There they saw rows and rows of shelves piled high with bales and crates of all shapes and sizes. Tim wondered what they might have contained - instead of titles there were incoherent combinations of letters and numbers like U2ZF54N. But asking the dwarves about it is not the right time.

They rounded the racks and found themselves in the far corner of the room, where there was a massive squat table covered with a light gray tablecloth, and a few chairs around it.

"Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable," Rugud pointed at them, and the friends took their seats at the table. "There's no hurry, since the halls and staircases are permanently patrolled by the ghosts. Wasn't that because of you? Don't worry, the magic trap has not been disturbed or you wouldn't be talking to us right now. Just Dobuzh, walking by, spotted a door ajar and a trap behind it, disarmed by someone, and called us. It was a long wait, though. It sounds like you had a lot of fun there."

The friends were silent, not sure where the storekeeper was going with this.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Rugud went on as if nothing had happened. "I hope our conversation will prove fruitful; to our mutual benefit, of course. And to make it more intimate... Torun, would you be so kind as to make some tea, and Dobuzh, would you get the tea things out of the cupboard?"

The two dwarf assistants bowed and went their separate ways. Ri-Bo broke the pause in the conversation.

"What if the ghosts come straight here?"

"I don't think so," Rugud grinned again.

"Are they really afraid of you?" Naar-Tam said with admiration.

"No, they aren't. No living creatures are dangerous to them. Only those who have mastered Exorcism."

"But you people don't do magic, do you? Or am I wrong?" Mez'A'Shib hesitated.

"That's what we are, we're solid folk, we don't like to pull any tricks. But I'll let you in on a little secret. Since you are reliable boys..."

"What makes you think that?!?"

"It's a sign of bad manners to interrupt your elders," the storekeeper said grumpily. "It's very simple: someone, I won't tell you who, has supplied you with the means to disarm the trap. Because you couldn't have done it on your own. And if someone trusts you that much, there must be a reason for it. And he, believe me, knows who's worth something. As you came in here, you might have noticed that the door jamb is lined with metal plates. And it's not iron, it's mithril. Ghosts don't like it very much and try to stay away. Don't you dare tear it off!" He gave Mez'A'Shib a stern warning, glaring at him.

"I wouldn't even dream of it!" The drow took umbrage.

"All right, if that's the case. Once we had a drow so sneaky that he managed to get pliers somewhere and began to wield them with all his might! Fortunately it was not so easy to do. He only had time to tear three plates off, and then was caught in the act."

"What's so valuable about it other than scaring away disembodied creatures?" Tim wondered. He had seen references to mithril in some fantasy authors. Naturally, it was not listed on the table of chemical elements.

As it turned out, mithril is not a metal, but an alloy, the secret of which is owned by the dwarves of the clan Vurgdag, the best smiths of the dungeons of Galarud. Mithril armor is very light and strong, while the weapons are able to cut into pieces even a stone. Because of that, things made of it are so expensive that only the wealthy drowes can afford them. That's why there are only two things made of mithril in Mez'A'Shib's House: a ceremonial dagger hanging on the living room wall, and a badly shabby chainmail his grandfather wore when he was young (and no one's bothered to have it repaired since). No wonder that guy had decided to steal it.

But the main conclusion is that ghosts don't seem to be liked by dwarves either, otherwise why such tricks? And if so, there are prospects for getting along with them. But first it must be found out why they suddenly have the honor of having tea together. There's a reason for that!

At this moment, Dobuzh appeared with a tray containing porcelain cups, saucers and silver spoons, followed by Torun and Kruda who were carrying a huge cast-iron kettle placed directly on the table. The last to arrive was Satre, who was in charge of the medical aid station.

"Where are Wurrat and Lagur?"

"Sleeping. They asked not to be disturbed," Torun reported grumpily.

"Fine, we'll do without them. By the way," Rugud said to the friends, "the kitchen magic works here, too. If you're hungry after your adventure, you're welcome. Don't be shy, we're all friends here. We're of the same clan, we have no secrets from one another, and what we say can be kept secret."

A little relieved after these words, Naar-Tam and Ri-Bo followed his advice. A plate of what looked like mashed potatoes (hot, of course) appeared before the peirot, a handful of nutfu nuts (similar in appearance to walnuts, but sweet in taste) - before the tilfing. Inner excitement did not leave Tim, so he refused to eat, only accepted with gratitude the cup of tea offered by Kruda. The tangy drink actually had little in common with the classic black tea (maybe, more like green tea, but at home Tim drank only black tea), rather just a herbal infusion. And the herbs used to make it not only imparted flavor and aroma to the drink, but had a number of other properties as well. After a few sips he felt dizzy, but then it was as crystal clear as if he had had a good night's sleep. He was also no longer tired, and he felt as energetic as before the adventure. It would be nice to ask for the recipe, for such a tincture would do him good on Earth. Although it is unlikely that he could find the ingredients in his homeland, they must be alien!

Mez'A'Shib was in no hurry to use his kitchen magic, either: with his head bowed to the side, he listened to something. Or was he simply pondering something important, like what price the dwarves would charge for their friendliness? The unselfishness of their intentions was hard to believe. Perhaps they would have to share the crystals, the only treasure they possessed. But better to sacrifice some of it than to go to the goblin for interrogation.

Ri-Bo, who had had two cups of the wonderful drink, became so bold that he asked if the dwarves themselves had been to the lower tiers.

"Unfortunately, no," Rugud shook his head. "We're forbidden to look in there, too, and it's a much stricter prohibition - if you get away with lockup and community service, we'll simply be fired without severance pay. Even if only one of us goes in there, we'll all be punished. And we are, after all, reputable dwarves, we observe the order and laws rigorously. Otherwise, who'd be dealing with the Festrok clan? We're strict about this: if you break the rules, you're better off leaving the clan. And other clans don't like to take in outcasts. But since we're not contractually obligated to catch those who break the discipline, we can do as we please. It's more interesting to hear the stories of those who were lucky enough to stroll through the lower tiers and come back without being caught. As I understand it, you managed to solve the riddle of the fire."

"Of course it is!" Ri-Bo smiled broadly. "We're not stupid at all!"

Tim was modestly silent.

"I see," Rugud grinned. "Not everyone could do it, as far as I know."

"And where did the less smart ones go?"

"Well. If you keep interrupting me continuously, you'll go to Pulsok with a note that says you didn't just try to break into the dungeon, you also resisted arrest. And ask for a harsher punishment in it (Ri-Bo immediately promised to keep quiet like a fish). No such wish, then? That's fine. If you passed a fork in the road, you should have seen other ways. Those who hoped for strength had to open iron doors and clear the way, rolling aside huge boulders. Which, a short time later, would fall back into place. It's hard even for orcs, not to mention various weaklings (Ri-Bo gave an offended look, though the dwarf didn't even look at him). But it wasn't easy on those who took the route of nimbleness, either. First there were potholes and gaps in the floor you could easily trip over. And then rope bridges suspended over the precipice, and you have to walk on slippery wooden planks, or stone stairs around the precipices, where some of the steps are destroyed and you have to jump, risking to fall down. Not everyone, alas, was destined to conquer them."

"Do you remember that poor lycos boy?" Torun clarified.

"Yes, him. He thought as a beast he'd be able to get past the obstacles easily. But one of the stairs was too delicate."

There was a moment of grievous silence at the table. Naar-Tam was the first to break it.

"We found someone's wand down there. Could you tell me whose it was?"

Ri-Bo had to show what he'd found. Frowned Rugud twirled it in his hands.

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"Stars in swirls? A familiar design. Belong to that elf boy... unfortunately, I can't remember his name. Dobuzh, maybe you have a better memory."

The dwarf assistant, dressed in a blue coat, looked closely at the wand.

"Kiryerin, no one else. He once came running to ask for a new wand, saying he'd dropped his off the balcony by accident. And it flew off into the jungle, where it was impossible to get it back from. That was where he'd really lost it!"

Tim sighed in relief. So the boy had escaped the death trap after all. He must have been so frightened when he saw himself at the very edge of the cliff that decided not to go back for the wand.

"Is it going to the storehouse now?" Ri-Bo asked disappointedly.

"Of course it is. Where else would it go? I can guess you'd like to keep it. But, believe me, a wizard with two wands is as absurd as a shoemaker with two pairs of shoes on his feet. Is there any point, once you've found what you need, in looking for anything else?"

Do not seek good from good, Tim smiled to himself. And there seems to be another saying that the best is the enemy of the good.

"Moreover," Torun coughed into his fist, "there is a theory among the Great Wizards that if two wands are held by the same master, they are bound to clash and prevent each other from doing magic."

"Therefore, even though this theory has no experimental evidence, it is better to let the wand stay with us," Rugud said. "If any of you should happen to lose yours, you can have it back. There will be no punishment."

"Thank you, we'll keep that in mind," Mez'A'Shib thanked him politely.

"So, to the minus first tier you have reached (Naar-Tam and Tim nodded). You must have seen statues of strange creatures there (nods of agreement again). They are the geerkhs, the original inhabitants of Jelshakh. They were skilled builders, and in some ways even surpassed us, dwarves. Sadly, they're no longer here."

"But what happened to them?" Ri-Bo exclaimed impatiently. Fortunately, no one sent him to Pulsok, and there was no admonition.

"Who knows? They were gone long before we got here. The local sorcerers don't seem to have been bothered by it: the geerkhs have no magic, and after the school was built, there was no particular need for their services. As far as we know, they lived on the lower tiers for a while, and then they left. History does not say why, and there is no record of it in the archives of the local book archive. Perhaps not all magical experiments were to their liking. We, however, are interested in something else: it is unlikely that they took with them all their secrets, something must have remained. If you happen to find any manuscripts or blueprints while wandering around the lower tiers, bring them here. Miniature devices of obscure purpose are also welcome."

"Of course!"

"And from now on, I recommend that at least one of you carry a stylus and write paper with him. What if something interesting is represented by a text or a drawing on the wall? Just don't think about copying the writings of your predecessors. There's plenty of that stuff here too!"

So that's why they gave us a warm reception instead of simply turning us into the administration. Mez'A'Shib made Tim's thought in a milder tone:

"I suppose that's what you'd expect from us in exchange for a friendly treatment."

"Quite right. The knowledge of the geerkhs is of no value to you, young wizards, but it is very important to our people. Alas, you must go deeper, to the minus second tier, or even lower, to retrieve it."

"We've been there, too!" Ri-Bo boasted.

"Really? Did you even make it to the Mirror?"

"What Mirror?"

"Yes, there is one," Rugud said without going into detail. "It seems to be an ordinary looking mirror, but sometimes you can see in it things that are long gone. Or sometimes even events that have yet to happen. It's also said that if you stare into it for too long, you risk losing yourself. And that its surface is a door to the astral worlds, and that those skilled in the art of spiritualism may venture there. But to do so without proper training is deadly dangerous! So the best thing for you is simply to avoid it. I take it you haven't reached it yet, so my warning is not too late."

"We got lost in the labyrinth," Tim admitted.

"Which starts just past the entrance to the minus second tier? Of course we know about it. So you were able to defeat the Horror Generator after all? You didn't even poop your pants? Well done! By the way, we have a map of the labyrinth somewhere. Teitri did the work on it at one time. Too bad the kid was in such a hurry to get home, so at some point he decided to quit the adventure and concentrate on his studies. That's the right thing to do, of course, and that's why you were invited here. But his desire to map the entire dungeon remained, alas, unrealized."

"What's the problem? We'll do it!" Naar-Tam exclaimed cheerfully.

"But it will take time," Mez'A'Shib added cautiously. "And perhaps some equipment which is not part of the standard apprentice kit."

The dwarves looked at each other.

"We'll provide you with some things that will be useful in your adventures," Rugud agreed in the end. "But, you see, it's not advisable to walk around the school with them. You can hide them somewhere on the minus first tier and use them as you go."

"We may need an oil lamp," Tim suggested.

"That's a sensible idea. It's rumored to be much darker on the lowest tiers than here. And there are tunnels where magic doesn't work. Maybe your fellow drow could get you through them, but if anything happened to him, you'd never get back."

Tim mentally agreed - it's not nice to be dependent on someone, even if it's your friend.

"We could also use a mag-detector," Naar-Tam added cheerfully.

"Well, that's too much for you already. Only Masters are allowed to use such things. If one of you is found in possession of such a thing, everything is gone. A lot of people will be interrogated, including us. And if you're under the influence of True Speech, you won't want to, but you'll tell them everything!"

We are also in need of magic protection amulets, Tim thought. Or any other things capable of reflecting or absorbing magical influence directed toward you. And again - you cannot show them to anyone in order to avoid unnecessary questions, and you have to wear them all the time because you never know when they will be useful. How complicated everything is!

"So we wouldn't take it out of the dungeon!"

A threefold knock on the door interrupted the conversation. The friends were frightened - what if they had to hide under the table? But the dwarves remained calm.

"Only our own people knock like that. Kruda, open the door, please."

Two dwarves arrived, who at first asked not to be disturbed, Tim thought, but was mistaken - it was a kobold!

"Yep. Somehow I'm not at all surprised to see your foursome here. And a special thanks to you, Rugud, for harboring these malicious troublemakers. I don't think they'd be back in their quarters before morning. Too many of the disembodied creatures are roaming back and forth; they even tried to follow me."

"I wonder if they aren't at the lower tiers," Mez'A'Shib shrugged.

"Pulsok does not imagine that anyone would dare to break into the dungeon, just before he gets to the school. But sooner or later he will realize his mistake. In the meantime, the main search goes on in the woods. But in any case, I wouldn't advise you to get out of here before the green eye lights up."

"So we've decided to let them stay with us for a while," Rugud grinned. "Sit down, too, Tullum, there is no truth in feet."

Kobold wasn't twice persuaded, so he pulled a nearby chair toward him and gratefully accepted a cup of tea.

"Well, tell me, how was your trip? What did you see, where did you have a chance to look?"

"We should pay you first, Master Tullum," Mez'A'Shib gently offered as he poured the contents of the flask on the table. "Take as much as you need. I hope it's enough."

Even the dwarves, renowned for their equanimity, could not contain their emotions. Kobold was astonished to the core.

"Wow! So much to collect in just a couple of hours! Luck was clearly on your side today. If you can keep it up, you'll be the most remarkable students the school has ever produced!"

"Actually, we found someone else's stash," Tim confessed.

"It makes no difference; if it hadn't been for luck, you would have passed by and never noticed it. But be careful from now on, for such hiding places are often enchanted."

"Then we'll need a mag-detector all the more."

"I'm guessing our esteemed storekeeper has already given you a dozen reasons why students aren't allowed to possess such things. But without it, it would be much harder to get into the lower tiers. Speaking of which, I have an idea how to get a mag-detector by-pass. We'll think it over later, Rugud. For now..."

From the pile of the crystals that littered the center of the table, he picked a couple dozen, mostly cubes and octahedrons.

"The rest are your rightful trophy. Just do not get carried away, use them wisely!"

"Master Aerg said something like that, but he didn't explain why," the boys complained.

"Very simple: have you ever tried pouring an entire bucket of water into a tea cup? No? But I don't think it's hard to predict the result. The cup will hold exactly as much water as it can hold. The rest will be on the table and under the table. That's about the same thing that will happen if you try to absorb more mana than you can hold. At best, the excess will disperse into space and condense some time later, forming new crystals. At worst, the excess spontaneously transforms into some kind of magic, usually Elemental magic. For example, your clothes might burst into flames. Or everything around you will be covered in frost. Or you'll get knocked off your feet by a sudden hurricane. The more excess mana you absorbed, the more catastrophic the consequences would be. And some people would be very badly hurt. Satre could easily recall a dozen cases in which she had had her patients who were ambitious to get it all at once, with little effort. Take, for example, the story that happened a dozen years ago to one of the Anzimar boys..."

"You mean Dgirtur? Yes, I had to work hard to heal a lot of sores all over his body. It was the effects of the Acid Splash what the excess mana had transformed into. His clothes had become rags, but what upset him most was his ruined hair - it had become sparse."

"Oh yes, curls are a source of great pride to every anzimar!" Ri-Bo said with undisguised sarcasm.

"I had to cut it bald by hand," Satre went on. "The skin-removing elixir (my invention, the kobold winked) frightened Dgirtur even more than the acid."

"And then he wore a headscarf," Dobuzh added in a tone that sounded like it was the height of indecency for dwarves to wear such a headdress.

Ri-Bo, judging by his sly smile, was busy working out the idea of a magical attack on his golden-haired classmates' hair. It should warn them to be careful - they'd probably guess where the wind was blowing from. However, the continuation of the conversation distracted from that thought.

"We shall have to look into the dungeon more than once to retrieve the geerkhs' legacy, and trap neutralization potions will be needed again," said Mez'A'Shib, turning to the kobold. "So please take the fee for them up front."

"All right, I will not refuse," the head of the alchemical laboratory grinned and took a few more crystals for himself. "I'll make you a deal: you inform me or Rugud when your next quest begins. You were lucky today, but it won't always be like this. And I'm afraid that the first unsuccessful event will be your last, as has happened more than once."

"We don't want to get caught either!" Naar-Tam confirmed cheerfully.

"If you are careful, you can solve many of the mysteries here. Trust only those in whom you are sure as yourself. Remember - a false friend is more dangerous than an open enemy. In general, everything is in your hands! And now, let me say goodbye: business cannot wait. Thank you for the refreshment. By the way, where is the box with the new equipment for the laboratory?"

"Over there, on the third shelf of the seventh rack. Torun, please show it."

The box was quite weighty, and kobold hardly lifted it.

"May I help you carry it?" Tim jumped up.

"Absolutely not! You mustn't go in the tunnels until morning," Rugud reasoned. "Torun will help."

The green-coated dwarf bowed with dignity and then went away with the kobold carrying the box by two.

Tim furtively glanced at the local circle of eyes. The rifle-green was beginning to give way to green, so it wouldn't be long now. If someone had told him a few weeks ago that he would be having tea with dwarves and friends from planets that wouldn't be discovered by astronomers even in a thousand years, he would have laughed in the joker's face. But now he was so used to it that he took it for granted. The only thing that bothered him was that it was too smooth in the end. Everything seemed to make sense: we for you and you for us, but the suspicion did not leave him that the dog was buried in some other place, and the crystals and the knowledge of an unknown race was only a distraction. There is something of far greater value in the dungeon, and it is this that the kobold and the dwarves want to get. But they don't want to risk it themselves.

Mez'A'Shib's offer to taste his people's specialty, amlibahi baked in vanilla syrup, distracted Tim from his thoughts.