They got to the Floating Duck at about the right time, as near as Tom could judge. He knocked firmly. For a minute, they stood there waiting. Tom decided not to knock again for a while. A minute or two passed, while Tom kept an eye on the people walking by. Am I too early? Finally, the door opened.

Miranda was standing there in a shift and overalls, wet in a few places and with a bit of something in her hair. Tom appreciated the view but jerked his gaze back up to her face. Her expression was surly and she squinted as if the sun were an evil lamp placed in the sky by a demon to annoy her. “Yeah?” Then Tom's face apparently registered. “Oh. Right. The man with the elves and liquor. Um…”

“Tom Walker.”

“Hi, Tom. I was just giving some spots a desperately needed cleaning. Give me a moment to put on my sandals and I'll be right out.”

“Certainly.”

True to her word, Miranda was back in under a minute. The first thing the bartender did was to compare the contents of the wagon with the listing on the paper. She squinted at it a while, grumbling about chicken scratches. Then she inspected the barrels from all angles, finding some markings.

“You're four barrels short,” she observed.

“I'm not too surprised.”

“Well, you've still brightened my day; we agreed on two percent, so I'm probably making close to a gold on this consultation.”

“Well worth it to know how much to ask.”

Miranda muttered to herself, tapping on some of the casks and listening. When she finished with the biggest barrels, she reported, “These are worth about ten silver each; I'd ask for twelve each for the two closest to the front. The real money is in these smaller casks. These are distilled. It's a little harder to judge the prices exactly, but I'll do my best. Roughly speaking, each of these is worth anywhere from one to six gold.”

Then Miranda crouched down and pointed. “You see that little one marked in red?” Tom nodded. “That's your real treasure. It's dwarven, and not just dwarven ale, which would already be worth triple a regular ale. Oh no, this is dwarven whiskey. Seven years old, if this paper is to be believed.”

“How much is that worth?”

“Hard to say, but twenty gold would be insultingly low. You'll likely get thirty gold for it, and might do better if you put it up for auction. Some nobles get in on the action and the sky's the limit.”

“Before I do that, would you be interested in it?”

“I'd love it, but I don't have that much coin to spare. Partly, it's expensive to me because it can sit there for years without being used. I can't lay out tens of gold without expecting to earn it back in a reasonable time. You should definitely stick to the high end establishments.”

“How would I put it up for auction?”

“I actually don't know; I've never done it.”

“Hm. Well, I think there's someone I can ask.” Tom remembered Simon Law. Or Mrs. Whistler looks rich enough to know, or she would know someone who does. Tom paused as an idea struck him. Then again…the very richest people are at the Keep. They would have a supply of drink, wouldn't they? He set it aside for the moment. “All right, that said, do you want to buy any of these while we're right here?”

“Well, let's see. My fee for the consultation is…let me think…” Miranda muttered numbers to herself for a few moments. “I think not counting the dwarven whiskey, the rest of the wagon is worth forty gold, which means my consultation fee is…eighty silver. Not sure how much to charge for evaluating the dwarven stuff. Call it thirty gold, and that makes a gold forty for me. I can take a few of these in trade and the rest in coin, but I don't need all the ale.”

“Sounds good. You need help unloading?”

“Yes, please! These will be heavy even for you, and Gus and Vince don't come in until midafternoon.”

It took some finagling, but they unloaded six of the large casks, and Miranda agreed to take a smaller cask that had already been opened by the bandits for the rest of her payment. There was a lot more room in the wagon after that. Miranda urged him to wrap the dwarven drink in something both to hide it and protect it; she found him an old blanket he could use for the time being.

Once it was all done, Miranda edged closer to Tom and said, “You know, your girl is really something.”

“Which one?” Tom asked without thinking about how it sounded.

“Oh? I see. Well, I meant the one in the green dress.” Miranda sounded as if she were teasing him.

“Uh, that's Varga.”

“Varga, that's right. She's been staring at me the whole time, and it should be creepy but it actually feels really flattering. If I were going to try girls I'd definitely start with her. But don't get her hopes up. I like men.” Miranda gave him a warm smile.

“Ah…all right.” Tom had no idea how to continue the conversation.

Fortunately, Miranda wanted to get back to her business, and stuck out her hand for a shake. “Well, don't be a stranger, Tom.”

“I won't be. Take care and thanks again, Miranda.”

“Don't thank me, I made out like a bandit!”

“Well, thanks to you, hopefully, so will I!”

“Good luck!”

Tom watched Miranda's body as she walked away. She's human, I don't have to feel guilty, as long as she doesn't catch me at it. Her brute strength was as attractive as her full figure, to his eyes. I probably wouldn't break that one if I bedded her…He still couldn't tell whether the bartender had been flirting with him or simply friendly.

Kervan coughed politely. Tom flushed. While it was hard to feel guilty, it wasn't hard to feel embarrassed.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

It was getting close to noon, so Tom had them stash the wagon back in the lot and they returned to their rooms. Tom asked Diavla to come with him to meet the ship captain, and the other three chose to stay in their rooms for the moment. Varga insisted on giving him a kiss on the cheek before he left.

Tom and Diavla made their way to the North Town docks. The day was cold but clear; Tom wrapped his cloak around both of them when he saw Diavla shivering. As they searched for the right dock, Tom couldn't help but think about how pleasant it was to walk around with this beautiful woman clinging to him. Her clever soul eagerly soaked up more words for things; parts of buildings that Tom could point out as they strolled through the city. Her Western was improving rapidly. I'm no slouch, but she's better at this than I am. I'm only keeping up because I've got four people to practice on and they mostly just have me.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

After asking for directions, they finally found Captain Weller, who led them to a place they could buy an early lunch. Tom paid for them all, and tried to recall all of his questions for the man.

“Thank you,” Weller said cheerfully as his food arrived and he hoisted an ale to his benefactors. “What can I help you with?”

Tom spread his hands. “I don't know boats. You do. I want to find out what it would take to send an elf from here, all the way back to Salathin—the Elf Lands, I mean.”

“From here to the Elf Lands?!” Weller asked incredulously, then laughed. “Oh, mate, are you ever in the wrong place!”

“That's what we want to fix,” Tom said agreeably.

Weller turned to Diavla and said, “My dear, I am sorry but you are a long, long way from home. You're looking at several months of travel—six months at a minimum, no matter how you slice it.”

“It only took her…um…three or so to get here in the first place,” Tom pointed out.

“Yes, but she came overland from the Empire, didn't she?”

“I…think so.” Then Tom got it. “The mountains.”

“Exactly. Unless you set out right this minute, I doubt you could cross the mountains before the snow blocks the passes. Not to mention that then you'd be in the Empire, which I wouldn't do as an elf for love or money.”

“So, why can't she go by water from here?”

“Well, she can, of course—‘All waters are one’, after all. But the Lasha River flows west, young man, not east. After weeks of going downriver, she'll reach the ocean all right, but it'll be the wrong one! Then she would have to find a ship sailing all the way around to the other side of the continent, three months minimum in fair weather with no serpents, and there are always storms and serpents. And then, after all that, you need to find a ship crazy enough to make the crossing, and who won't just grab your pretty lady here and sell her right back into slavery.”

Tom grimaced and sat back in his chair while Captain Weller took a big bite of his lunch. He exchanged a glance with Diavla, who looked worried but patient enough to hear the explanation later. He thought about how to phrase his question to get the information he needed. “All right, I think I understand. But even so, if you had to do it for some reason, had to get this lady home, how would you go about it?”

The riverboat captain looked thoughtful as he chewed, and washed his food down with a few swallows of ale. “Well…” he paused to put a small bite of something fried into his mouth, and kept talking while chewing. “The big problem is the last one. No sense in getting to the east coast if you don't have a way to get across the Elven Ocean.” He swallowed, picked up his ale, but paused with it in the air, not drinking yet, as he thought hard. “The crew need to be willing to drop her off when they get there, right? So, obviously not a slaver and not an Empire warship, which doesn't leave much. You'd either need to buy your own damned ship and hire a loyal crew…” Weller took a drink.

“Or…?” Tom prompted after a moment.

Weller swallowed, smacked his lips and sighed. “Or it has to be an elven ship in the first place.” Weller shrugged and took another bite of his meal.

“How could we get on an elven ship?”

“The usual way. Know where it's going to be, get there when it is, and get them to let you aboard before it leaves.”

“We can't predict an elven warship,” Tom protested.

“So, it can't be a warship,” Weller agreed. “What's that leave you?”

Tom furrowed his brow in thought. Not a warship, but it has to be able to come and go from our coast, despite the war. Who could…? “Oh! A what-do-you-call-it…?”

“An embassy,” Weller finished for him. Tom didn't know the word and gave him a blank look. “A house for diplomats that's their turf,” the ship captain explained. Diplomat was the word Tom had been trying to remember. “You need to get her to an elven embassy, and then pay them enough gold to fix your problem.”

“How much gold?”

“Not sure. So, you either need to write to them and wait for an answer, which would be months on its own, of course, or show up ready to throw around money as if you were Old Silverhand himself.”

“Rough idea? How much would you pay, if it was optional but you wanted it?”

Weller took another bite and chewed, scowling. “Could be anything from free up to…oh…I think ten or fifteen gold would be pushing it, depending on the port.”

120 gold just to get them all on the elven ship. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Sorry, kids. You don't look rich enough to pull that off, so any journey you make is going to be long and hard and might not even have a payoff at the end of it. My advice?” Weller turned to Diavla. “Make a new home here. Looks like you've got a fine young man. Set up a farm or a shop or something and have yourself a good life.” He looked at Tom. “And you, treat her well so she doesn't regret it.”

Tom rubbed a hand over his face. “All right, I get that it's hard. How do we find out where these elven embassies are?”

Weller finished his ale and set it down with a bang. “Ah, the stubbornness of youth. It always looks stupid, but then, who would get amazing things done if no one tried?” The captain looked at them both and smiled. “Me, I'd check the Library.”

Tom frowned. “Whose library?”

“The Library.”

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Tom did his best to explain the conversation to Diavla on the way back to the others. She was dismayed when he explained how much gold might be required, naturally, but pointed out that they had already made a good start on amassing the needed coin. Tom respected that she was trying to be optimistic. A lot of people would have just given up in despair. Diavla has strength of character.

As if I needed another reason to want her. She is amazing.

“You are amazing,” he told her. When she turned to him for explanation, Tom stopped and did his best to show shocked happiness on his face while looking right at her. “Amazing.”

“You are amazing, Tom.” Diavla showed him that wonderful smile that always seemed to dazzle him. “Thank you.” She clung to his arm, and looked…happy.

I want to remember this moment forever, Tom thought. They stared at each other for a few more moments until someone was trying to get past them, then resumed their walk.

All too soon, they were back at their rooms, and Diavla explained to the others what they had learned. Then it was time for lunch, and they all walked together as they searched for a place to eat. Tom was impressed by the sheer size of Rivermarch.

It's amazing how many places there are around here that will serve food so that you don't have to cook for yourself. It's expensive, but really convenient. We'd have to buy a house or something and set up a kitchen if we wanted to do our own cooking. If we end up staying in Rivermarch for the winter, we'll have to do that.

“Tom, what we do again?” Diavla asked after they had finished a meal of chicken buns and apples and extracted Orvan's nose from the cooking area.

“Beg pardon? Ah, I do not understand.”

“Again? And one?”

Tom took a couple of seconds, then snapped his fingers. “Oh! Next. One, two, three? Four is next.”

“Next. Next. What we do next?”

“ ‘What do we do next?’ ” he corrected.

“ ‘Do we do?’ ” Varga unexpectedly giggled. “Do we do. Do we do!” She started laughing harder. Kervan snorted.

“What?” Tom asked, smiling.

“In Elvish, dowidoo is word for…saa…” Kervan paused. Unusually for him, Kervan was stumped for a way to describe whatever it was. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I no say now. No big, saa, no now big.”

“It's not important?” Tom guessed.

“Do we do. Do we do. Do we do,” Varga murmured, still giggling.

“Shut up,” Diavla told her, grinning herself. “Adults are (something).”

Varga blew a raspberry at her friend. “Do we do.”

Tom shook his head in confusion, then waved a hand in dismissal. “Anyway, now we get wagon and we sell alcohol.”

“ ‘Sell’ is give, get gold?” Diavla asked.

“Yes,” Kervan murmured before Tom could.

Diavla looked Tom up and down. “Tom, you get you good clothes.”

“All right.” He stepped into his room to change, and Diavla followed him. He looked at her and she just looked back, smiling. Tom rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He took his shirt off under Diavla's watchful eyes, then put on his new dress shirt from Whistler's. If he hadn't done a stint guarding nobles, it would have been the nicest clothing he had ever worn. It actually had little frills in places.

He considered his pants, comparing what he was wearing to his spare pair. Diavla watched hopefully, but Tom decided to keep wearing the ones he had on. That will have to do. When he turned around, Diavla walked up to him, actually looking serious, and fussed with the frills and such for a minute, apparently fixing little imperfections that Tom hadn't noticed. “Good.” Then she looked up at him and the impish smile came back. “You are very handsome.”

“Thank you. Let's go.” Tom shook his head as he led Diavla back out into the hall, and locked his door.

“Tom, I no go,” Orvan said, suddenly. “I sleep.”

Tom nodded. “Yes. Collar.”

“Tom, I stay too,” Kervan put in. “Orvan no lonely? No. Orvan no alone.”

“All right. Yes.” Tom went through the process of removing the men's collars, then looked at the women.

“We and you go,” Diavla said. Tom nodded to her.

I am a lucky man.