“Well, then who does that makehim? Never heard of you having an assistant.”
I smiled smugly up at Ragnar. “He just started working for me today. Isn’t that right, Ragnar?”
“Hmm,” was all he said.
I fought down a giggle, then turned back to the dwarf. “Anyway, about those barrels, I—”
“You should ask Snorri and Otto over there,” the dwarf said, pointing to the second table over, where a shadow demon couple were locking horns. To shadow demons, locking horns was part of their pre-mating ritual. It was such an intimate embrace, I had to quickly glance away, embarrassment burning my cheeks.
“Well,” the dwarf said with a chuckle, “maybe wait ’til they’re done.”
* * *
The rest of the evening passed in a similar pattern. We chatted with nearly everyone who’d taken refuge in The Ship’s Anchor, but no one had seen a wily thief traipsing around the meadow, loaded down with kegs. I was starting to think perhaps we’d imagined the entire thing. How could someone have lugged eleven of my barrels around without it being noticed by at leastsomeone?
I plopped onto the stool beside the counter, seeking a brief respite from all thetalking. When I had my tavern up and running, I was used to constant conversation, but it was always the other way around. People liked to chat at me while they drank their ale. All I had to do was lend an ear and a kind smile, and the merry customers practically entertained themselves.
“No luck?” Nilsa asked when she stopped by for a rag to wipe up some rain leaking under the door.
I shook my head. “No one’s seen anything. It’s like those kegs vanished into thin air.”
Nilsa cocked her head, considering my words. “What if someone had some Galdur sand? Could any of it do that?”
“Make something disappear? Wouldn’t that be useful?” I reached for my pouch instinctively. It’d worn it for so long, I’d grown accustomed to the weight of it at my hip. Now that it wasn’t there, it felt like I was wandering around Riverwold half-naked.
“You sure it can’t do that?” she asked. “I’ve never had any of it myself.”
“Afraid not,” I replied. “Galdur sand can do a lot of useful things, like conjure water. But it’s all elemental. And the elements can’t make kegs of beer vanish into thin air.”
A pixie fluttered over to the counter, nibbling on her bottom lip. She cast a few nervous glances behind her, like she expected someone to jump out from beneath a table. I’d seen her around before. She had big brown eyes, black hair braided in two dozen rows, and a dimpled smile that she kept dimmed for now. Patches of flour coated her leather trousers. Her soft purple tunic matched the wings poking out through the holes stitched on the back.
“I hear you’re looking for a man who stole some ale,” she whispered fiercely.
I exchanged a surprised glance with Nilsa. “That’s right. You know of such a man?”
“I can’t be sure. Maybe?” she said, dropping her voice to an even lower whisper. I had to lean in close, what with the roar of the hearth and the burble of steady conversation.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Nilsa swatted her with the rag. “Tell us what you think you know, and we’ll find out if it’s good information.”
“I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, you see,” said the pixie.
“Why would anyone get the wrong idea?” I asked.
She huffed out a breath, shook her head, then closed her eyes. “There’s a pie man who lives down by the sea.”
“Ivar Olsen?” Nilsa asked, straightening. “Surely not.”
I frowned. “Who’s Ivar Olsen?”
I’d spent a lot of time in Riverwold, and I’d never heard that name, let alone met anyone who went by it.
Nilsa clucked her tongue. “He’s no one you wish to know. Bad news, that one.”
“He sure does make delicious pie, though,” the pixie said. “Savory ones, not sweet like Nilsa’s here.”
“No, that’s your specialty,” Nilsa replied with a smile.
“Ah, that’s right. You’re the local pie maker. You make a mean mushroom and leek. It’s probably my favorite dish made here in Riverwold.” I shot my friend a quick look. “After Nilsa’s bean stew, of course.”
