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    Gimlet, whom she studied suspiciously.
    "Vat your name ist again?"
    "Gimlet, son of Groin, Dwarf-Lord of Geritol and Royal Inspector of
    Meats," said the stubby dwarf.
    Eorache dismounted and inspected Gimlet at closer range, a tight frown on her
    lips.
    "Dot's funny," she said at last, "you don't _look_ dwarfish!" Then she turned
    to Stomper. "Und _you_. Undershirt vas it?"
    "_Arrow_shirt!" said Stomper. "Arrowroot of Arrowshirt!"
    In a flash he had drawn gleaming Krona from its holster and flailed it about
    over his head as he cried, "And this is Krona of he who has many names, he who
    is called Lumbago, the Lodestone, by the elves, Dunderhead, heir to the throne
    of Twodor and true son of Arrowhead of Araplane, Conqueror of Dozens and seed
    of Barbisol, Top of the Heap and King of the Mountain."
    "Veil ba-dee-dah," said Eorache, eyeing the waiting medic. "But I ist
    believing dot you ist not der schpies of der Serutan. He ist one schtinker,
    but he ist not der schtupiter also."
    "We have come from afar," said Legolam, "and were led by Goodgulf
    Grayteeth, Wizard to Kings and Fairy Godfather, second class."
    The sheepess raised her yellow brows and let both monocles fall from her
    watery blue eyes. "Schhhhhhh! Dot ist not der name to be dropping around here.
    Der King, mein vater, lost his favorite mount, Saniflush der Swift, to dot
    schyster und later finds dot der dice ist queerer than der three-legged troll!
    Then der poor scheep ist coming back a week later covered with fleas and
    forgetting dot she ist housetrained all over der King's new tapestry. Vhen der
    King catches him, der ist vun dead Vizard!"
    "There is a sad wisdom in your words," said Arrowroot, trying to snatch a peek
    down her halberd, "for Goodgulf is no more. He met his fate o'er-
    matched in uneven contest with a ballhog in the Mines of Doria. The creature
    played not fairly with Goodgulf, mastering him with means foul and deceitful."
    "Der poetic justicer," said Eorache, "but I vill miss der old crank."
    "And now," said Arrowroot, "we are in quest of our two companions captured by
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    narcs and born whither we know not."
    "Ach," said the lady warrior, "ye fixed der vagons of some narcs yesterday,
    but ye don't see any boggies. Vhat ye find ist some little bones in der
    stewpot, und I don't think they vas having spare ribs."
    The three companions observed ten seconds of silent farewell for their
    friends.
    "Then how about a lift on your mutton-mushers?" said Gimlet.
    "Hokay," said Eorache, "but ye ist going to Isinglass to fix too der vagon of
    dot schkunken Serutan."
    "Then you fight with us against him," said Stomper. "We had thought the
    sheep-lords to have thrown their lot with the evil Wizard."
    "Ve haf never vorked for dot creep," said Eorache loudly, "und even if ye
    _did_ help him a little at first, ye were only following orders und it
    probably vasn't us dot you heard about because ye vas someplace else. Und
    anyvay, he vas vasting his time looking for some schtupider Ring vhat vasn't
    vorth nothing. Me, I don't believe in dot pixie-dust schtuff. Magicschmagic, I
    saying."
    The rider clicked her heels together and made an about-face, calling over her
    shoulder. "So, you coming mit us or you staying here und maybe starving to
    death?"
    Stomper fondled the last piece of magic zwieback in his pocket and weighed the
    alternatives, not overlooking the beefy charms of Eorache.
    "Ve going mit you," he said dreamily.
    Pepsi was dreaming that he was a maraschino cherry atop a huge hot-fudge
    sundae. Shivering on a mountain of whipped cream he saw a monstrous mouth of
    sharpened fangs loom above him, drooling great gobbets of saliva. He tried to
    scream for help but his own mouth was full of hardened fudge sauce. The maw
    descended, breathing a hot, odorous wind . . . down, down it came. . . .
    "Wake up, youse jerks!" snarled a harsh voice. "Th' boss want t' talk to ya!
    Har har har!" A heavy brogan kicked out at Pepsi's already bruised ribs.
    He opened his eyes to the night gloom and met the evil stare of a brutish
    narc. This time he screamed, but the gagged boggie only gurgled with fear, and
    as he struggled he remembered that he was still hog-tied like a prime roast.
    Now it all came back to him, how he and Moxie had been taken prisoner by the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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