Page 69 of Morel Dilemma

“Is it magical?” Rylana asked Jildarin, trusting he could sense if it was.

“It is,” he said, still not sounding impressed. There was only one treasure he sought today.

Rylana thought about accepting the bracelet, since she could likely sell it at one of the markets for enough to cover not only the coins she’d given the gnome but the ingredients of however many meals Jildarin had promised him. Instead, she turned off her calculating mind and held a hand up to the gnome. He was probably losing a full day’s pay at his usual job to be out here.

“You can keep it,” she said.

“Oh, wonderful. It has great value.”

“Of even more value would be enchanted mushrooms.” Jildarin looked at the hound.

Willow wagged at him, having apparently forgotten to be alarmed by his powerful dragonness.

“I believe the bracelet would sell for more than morels, Lord Dragon, but I understand that is what you seek today.” Bixtok gave his hound another cube of meat, then pointed into the forest. “Willow, hunt magic!”

Tail wagging again, the hound bounded off into the ferns.

“That dog loves her work, doesn’t she?” Rylana asked.

“We breed our log inspectors to have great stamina and enthusiasm for life and work.” Bixtok trotted after the hound.

Rylana spotted a few presumably nonmagical mushrooms that had sprouted from the fir needles and dirt. “Is that a morel? A bunch of them.”

“They are not enchanted,” Jildarin said, “but they are still enjoyed by patrons of the diner. Especially when they are sautéed in butter.”

“Everything is better drenched in butter.”

“Yes.”

They worked together to pick the morels, Rylana thinking of Sylin’s request for her to put a mushroom in the window as a warning, if need be. By the time they finished, the bays of the hound were floating through the forest again. They caught up to Bixtok and his dog as the gnome was pulling himself out of an enormous stump with the core eroded away by weather and time. With a triumphant grunt, he landed beside it, dirt smearing his face and a cobweb draped over an ear. He held aloft a…

“Is that a terracotta pot?” Rylana asked.

“With a mild enchantment on it, yes.” Bixtok wiped dirt from it. He didn’t bother wiping the dirt off himself. “Possibly something that kept the soil inside from drying out. Look, there’s a flower engraving on the outside. And the edges are quite weathered. I’ll wager this is almost as antique as the bracelet. What a treasure trove this section of the forest is. I had no idea!”

Jildarin sighed again. “At what point will the dog locate mushrooms?”

“We’ll try again and see.” Bixtok winked, gave his furry buddy more treats, then commanded her to hunt once more.

“Yes,” Jildarin said morosely, “I was overly ambitious in believing we might find the morels today and be able to create an enchanted dish this evening.”

“You could wash out this pot and serve some of the regular morels in that,” Rylana suggested.

Jildarin looked flatly at her. “Since your expertise is bookkeeping and not preparing exquisite culinary delights, I will not condemn you for such a foolish statement. Or believing it would be appropriate to serve elven royalty out of a terracotta pot.”

“It was a joke.” Rylana pointed and led the way in the direction the hound and gnome had gone. They were circling back toward Toadstool Rock, so she decided to check the burned area herself. “Anyway, you had to work within the schedule of the coffee-shop owners to enact your scheme, and they were planning their unveiling of their specialty whatever it is tonight.”

“Dragons do not scheme.” Jildarin sniffed with derision. “Gnomes scheme. Goblins scheme.”

“What does a dragon call it when he’s manipulating other people to achieve his goals?”

“The urging of lesser species to rise up for a greater purpose is considered a noble act.”

“And getting the elf queen’s name on your plaque serves a greater purpose.”

“Clearly.”

Rylana squinted at him. Was that a hint of a smile on his lips?