Diavla watched Tom head back to their table, then turned to face Miranda. Up close, the woman was not pretty at all, but she did have a presence, and her body was impressive. She was currently looking them both over with a skeptical eye.

“What (something something) you?” The human asked.

“I know small Western,” she warned the woman, then pointed at Varga. “She know very small Western.”

Miranda scowled, but was very no-nonsense about it. “You. Here. How?”

“I'd better give you the short tale,” Diavla muttered in Elvish, then marshaled her vocabulary again. “Slavers go Elf Land, get us, give village fire. One month, boat. Two month, wagon. Bandits fight. Bandits kill slavers. Bandits get wagon, get us. Tom kill bandits. Tom get us. Ten day? No, ten and two day. Tom help us.”

“How?”

“We give wagons, get gold. Give gold, get clothes, food. We help Tom. Tom help us.”

“He touch you?” Her tone and expression made clear what she meant.

Diavla scowled. “No. I ask. He say no.” That got a look of surprise from the woman.

“Are you talking about Tom?” Varga asked.

Diavla turned to her, briefly. “Our whole situation.”

Varga squinted at her. “Are you talking about Tom saying no to kissing you?” Diavla's scowl deepened and Varga grinned. Her traitor kanashim turned to Miranda and winked.

“He say no?” Miranda repeated.

Diavla nodded. “Yes. He say no.”

“He no want you?”

“No, very no, he want us. He very want us.”

“(Something) why?”

“Tom Walker is a good man,” she said grumpily. “He no want…give pain?” Diavla couldn't recall the word at the moment. She shook her head and went on. “He want he is good. He want we no scared.”

Miranda still looked skeptical. Diavla couldn't very well tell her that Tom had willingly worn a slave collar for a few minutes to earn their trust. Then the bartender surprised her by turning to Varga.

“Varga.” The bartender asked, “You? Tom?” And she made a universally understandable vulgar gesture. Varga barked a laugh and shook her head. “Diavla? Tom?” Again, Varga shook her head.

Then Varga laid a hand on Diavla's, and said, “Diavla. Varga. Yes.”

“You didn't have to tell her that!” Diavla hissed, once she got past being stunned. “Some humans don't like it.” Fortunately, Miranda looked surprised but not shocked or angry.

“Well, some elves don't like it either, but they can go mate with the Moon,” Varga replied, oblivious to the potential problems. Diavla squeezed her eyes shut a moment, trying to hang on to her temper. When she opened them again, Miranda and Varga were back to gesturing, this time making happy, sad, angry and scared faces. Diavla watched them in amazement as they communicated a great deal very quickly.

I guess they think alike. Varga's got a clearer grasp on the attractions between us and… Diavla blinked. Wait. That can't mean what I think it means. Diavla stared. Did Varga just suggest Miranda have sex with Tom?!

She's laughing it off. Thank the spirits. Varga, I'm going to kill you later.

Miranda turned back to Diavla, looking amused. “Your friend is (something something something).”

“I do not understand, but I think you are right.”

Miranda laughed at that, a loud braying sound that startled the elves a bit. “Good. I go (something). Now…Tom bad, you here. Maybe I (something) buy you.”

Diavla stared at her, then nodded her thanks. “Thank you very much. Tom is good. You…you are good woman.”

“Hey, we women (something something something) together.” Miranda offered her arm, and Diavla clasped it. Then Miranda did the same to Varga, and with a wary eye out, the elf women headed back to their table. They got curious looks, but no one touched them or spoke to them.

As they approached, Diavla saw that a human was sitting with Tom. Orvan was standing up, looking… disgusted. Tom was holding up a hand placatingly.

“Orvan, yes. Wait, please. I get Debbie.”

“What's wrong (something something) elf, Tom?” the man asked.

“Saa, Debbie!” Varga hollered shamelessly, turning a few heads, and the barmaid showed up quickly.

“Tom want you,” Diavla explained to the girl.

Tom and Debbie had a rapid conversation in Western that Diavla couldn't follow. She stared at them, thinking hard. I didn't realize how slowly he has been speaking for our benefit until now. Their speech is like a rushing river and I can't pick out any of the words fast enough. Finally, Tom turned to Orvan.

“Orvan, you and Debbie go to kitchen, food room.”

“Kitchen,” Orvan repeated, looking annoyed with himself for not remembering the word. “Yes. I go kitchen.”

Debbie then said something polite to Orvan, and led him towards the door on the far right. They passed through the door, and then Diavla heard Debbie in a much less sweet and demure voice yell, “HEY, KEN!” followed by some more words she couldn't catch. Diavla tried to smother a smile but couldn't quite manage it.

“Here's hoping Orvan doesn't get in a fight,” she mused. Tom looked at her quizzically. Why is he so adorable? she asked herself.

Hm, maybe that wine is a little strong.

To answer him, Diavla mimed a fistfight. “Orvan. Cook.”

“Uh oh. No good?”

“How do you say, maybe, small no, big yes?”

“ ‘Probably.’ ”

“Probably Orvan no fight.”

“Uh oh.”

Diavla grinned. I probably should be a little more worried about that, but right now I can't be bothered to care.

Tom continued his conversation with the human while they reclaimed their seats and had some of the stew. Tom introduced the man as Edge. Diavla kept an eye on the man as she ate, but didn't speak. More than one person stopped by and interrupted with questions.

“Tom,” Varga called. “What they want?”

Tom looked a bit embarrassed, but asked Edge for patience and answered in Elvish for their benefit. “They ask story. They ask how much gold I give, I get you. They ask how much gold they give, they get you. They ask, um…” Tom made an odd face, “how much gold they give…um…they get you…one night. I say no.” He was clearly embarrassed but seemed to feel duty bound to report it.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Who do they want?” Varga asked, grinning.

Tom looked amused and exasperated with Varga, then apparently decided to punish her with the truth. “One want you. Three want Diavla. One want you and Diavla. Two want Kervan.” Varga pouted for all of a few seconds before rallying.

“Men wanted me?” Kervan asked, sounding more than a bit disturbed. Varga laughed.

“One man ask, one woman ask.”

“If a man asks, very much say no,” Kervan instructed forcefully. There was a pause. After a moment, everyone was looking at him, waiting curiously for him to say more. Kervan looked pensive and a bit uncomfortable, then grinned. “If a woman asks, tell her one gold, I go with her one night.”

Everyone laughed. Tom translated for Edge, who looked thoughtful. A gold for a night was ridiculously expensive even for a good courtesan. Only nobles could pay that kind of money, and even they were very unlikely to. And the group wasn't about to encounter any nobles in the Floating Duck, from the look of the place and the neighborhood.

“Careful, Kervan. What if a woman says yes?” Varga asked with a huge grin.

“If a woman says yes, I finally get some sex and I make money for the boat home,” Kervan answered, smiling.

Diavla was less sanguine. You jest, Kervan, but you are probably the only willing male elf for a great distance in any direction. You can't get a human woman pregnant, you're not bad-looking, and you're exotic. If human culture is like elven this way, for twenty, thirty silver, you'd already be in a woman's bed. A gold might not be high enough to deter them all.

Diavla tapped Tom's arm. “Tom, I say no, man wants me for gold.” Tom actually looked relieved, and nodded with a smile. He glanced at Varga.

“Same. I say no.”

A glance at Orvan and he mouthed “no” with a smile.

Tom turned and resumed his conversation with Edge. The man had a jittery motion about him, and spoke with enthusiasm to nearly every person passing by the table. It seemed he could not go five heartbeats without talking. He sounded as if he were constantly welcoming someone, telling a joke, or bestowing a favor. He was a bit under average height for an elven man, which put him well on the short side of humans.

Tom looked interested and engaged in their conversation, as if he had been waiting for this to happen. Meanwhile, the impression Diavla got of Edge was of a man trying to sell Tom a leaky fishing boat. Tom seemed to know how to handle him, though.

It took a lot of effort not to butt in and ask for a translation. She noticed Kervan carefully memorizing things being said, so that he might figure them out later. Finally, they repeated a list back and forth, shook hands human style, and Edge excused himself, talking with blazing speed at his next conversation partner from across the room as he approached them.

Tom sighed, looking a bit tired but satisfied. He turned to everyone and said. “I am sorry. Edge talk a lot.”

“Edge talk alotta words,” Diavla agreed in Western. Tom grinned and nodded. Diavla took a deep breath. Doing her best to hide her trepidation, she asked, “What you and Edge did say?”

Tom switched to Elvish. “We speak Elvish, humans no understand.” Everyone nodded. That said, Tom took a moment to hunt for words. Finally, he explained, holding up one finger.

“One, I ask Edge what people say elves. Edge listen,” he tapped his ear to make the meaning clear. “Edge say me tomorrow.”

He raised another finger. “Two, I ask Edge boat. I ask where we go…ugh, I forget the word. Big, big water.”

“The sea. The ocean,” Kervan supplied.

“Ocean! That's it. Right. Edge say man we go see, talk boat.

“Three. I ask Edge where we go, do, get coin.”

Jobs, Diavla translated mentally. He was asking about work we can do while we're in the city.

“Four. I ask Edge where I get…things.” Tom didn't elaborate and clearly didn't want to. They didn't press him.

“And. Edge ask story. Edge ask gold for elves, gold for night. I say. I say I no give elves. Edge ask what we do, where we go. Edge ask what I want. Edge is man…” Tom struggled for words. “Edge talk man, man, man. Edge know things. Edge get coin, Edge say things.”

At that point, Debbie and Orvan came back. Debbie chatted with Tom rapidly. The gist was that Orvan had much improved the chowder and had brought out a few more bowls. Tom took an entire second helping, while the women and the men split one each. Debbie called something out to the room at large and Tom snorted with amusement.

“What say, Tom?”

Tom turned to the elves. “They get more gold, food. Thank you, Orvan.”

“The fish here is too oily. They were trying to use pantho; I substituted malash. I would have used orithia root too, but they don't have it here. Also, they weren't cooking it the right distance from the fire. Still, it's better than it was.”

“Definitely. Thanks, Orvan,” Kervan told him. There were murmurs of agreement around the table. Diavla noticed that Tom devoured his second bowl quickly. As she filled up her own belly, she mused, I suppose I have a while yet to put weight back on before I have to worry about eating too much. I hope we get more desserts tomorrow.

For a moment, she thought about Brallik, Arven, Rillik and Sheema. It's a pity they aren't getting good food like this. I hope they're eating enough. I hope they manage to stay away from humans until we find them.

All too soon, the food was gone. Tom emptied his second mug of ale while Varga finished her wine. Diavla was surprised to find that she had finished hers as well. I think I was drinking nervously while that man Edge was here. Tom asked them if they wanted more. Only Varga said yes. After a minute of waiting for Debbie, Tom shrugged and stood. “I go, get drinks.”

“I go!” Varga declared eagerly, standing up.

“You just want to flirt with the bartender some more,” Diavla accused.

“I want to ask her what she does for exercise!” Varga protested.

“In gestures?”

“Some gestures are better than others. Come on—zada zada.”

“If bad, big say ‘Tom’,” her human advised. Diavla nodded.

Call for help if we need it, he means. We'll be good at the table here for a couple of minutes without you, Tom, Diavla thought. I certainly hope we will, at least.

Diavla kept an eye on them. Tom had to wait for the bartender, and then he ordered drinks from the buxom woman. After a bit, Miranda leaned forward a little, showing off and watching for his reaction. Tom noticed the view; Diavla wondered whether he knew the woman was doing it deliberately. Men could be dense sometimes. I wonder, is she testing him or actually flirting?

Finally, Tom and Varga returned, each holding a drink that was already half-finished. Easy there, Varga. Tom looked around warily. “We go soon?”

Everyone but Varga nodded at once. Varga shrugged after seeing their reactions and agreed. Tom summoned Debbie, and paid out in silvers. Judging by her reaction, that included a sizable tip. Varga started drinking her wine quickly.

“Hey!” Diavla reached over and took the glass, downing the rest of the wine to keep her friend from getting dangerously drunk.

Whoo, this stuff is strong. Well, I could use the courage.

Tom drank the rest of his ale in one long draught, then slammed the mug down on the table. “Let's go.”

He led them across the crowded room and out the door without incident. Within a couple of minutes, they were upstairs in their rooms. True to his word, Tom removed their collars right away. Diavla savored the moments of contact, Tom's firm grip on the back of her neck, almost as much as the feeling of freedom as the magic lost its hold on her.

That done, Tom turned in, taking his rock light with him, and the hall and other rooms were plunged into darkness. Diavla wondered if he realized that they had no light. Probably not, or he would come right back out for us. He's considerate like that.

“We forgot candles,” Diavla observed. “We should get some tomorrow.”

“Mmm. That's tomorrow. Come here and help me work out my frustrations.” Diavla heard the rustling sounds of Varga shedding her clothing and climbing into one of the two small beds.

“The bartender didn't say yes?”

“She claims she's not interested in bedding women, but she was looking me over. She's at least a little curious. Spirits, those muscles.”

“Most human women don't seem to have a lot of visible muscle,” Diavla observed, getting out of her dress and folding it neatly. “We have that in common. She must work hard at it, like you do.”

“Well, I'll get another chance when we see her tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Come to bed,” her friend's voice urged.

“Varga, I need to meditate for a few minutes before that, all right? I want to keep checking on my soul.”

“Sure thing. Just don't…” Diavla heard her yawn, “…take too long.”

Diavla waited until she didn't hear Varga moving around any more, then took a deep breath. It was harder to focus her soul with the alcohol in her body. Diavla tried to remember the correct lesson, but found her mind wandering a bit.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

“Dwarves protect us from the demons,” the Wise Woman taught. “They are immune to possession. The spirits favor dwarves in that way. They themselves claim it is simply breeding—they say that any dwarf susceptible to possession didn't live long enough to have children. Of course, they don't believe in the spirits, so they have to have a rationalization for their blessing.”

“What do they think provides magic, then?” Diavla asked.

“They think that spirits are unaware, that a brook is simply a brook, a tree is simply a tree, and a mana well is like a vein of metal ore, simply there and waiting to be tapped.”

“But aren't we spirits? We have souls.”

The Wise Woman shrugged. “I confess, I have never understood the thinking of the Dwarves. Perhaps they do not believe they have souls, either. However they view it, they are certainly effective. Demon outbreaks on the surface happen only once or twice per century, and dwarven weapons are vastly superior for fighting them.”

“How do people fight demons if there aren't any dwarves or dwarven weapons around?”

“That is where we come in. We, the spirit-touched, are the defenders of the surface world. This is why we must learn to call upon the spirits for offense and defense. Now, we will practice listening for spirits of War…”

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Diavla blinked and shook her head. I don't need that lesson right now. Focus. Don't reminisce, meditate.

She tried for a while, then gave up. It was no use; she had drunk too much wine. I'll meditate tomorrow, she promised herself. Are there even any spirits in this city? Or if there are, are they too busy dealing with a host of requests from people? She undressed and lay down beside Varga, who was already snoring gently.

I wonder where my new libido has gone off to, she thought wearily. I wonder what would happen if I called for spirits of Passion right now…

Diavla tried listening for the spirits once more, but found the area so quiet to her soul-sense that she fell asleep before accomplishing anything.