Sometimes you wanna go
Where everybody knows you're slime
And they'd mug you for a dime--theme music from Jeers

The tinker's wagon stopped, and the horse refused to take another step in spite of the tinker's best efforts. A short man, he was able to stand up in his seat with less fear of losing his balance than most others. In a wheedling voice that tried to sound appealing, he spoke to the animal.

"Oh, what is it now, you worthless bag of intestines? Have you never pulled this wagon uphill before? All you're good for is eating and . . . " At that point, he noticed a young man passing him by on foot. "Ho, lad!" he called.

The young man stopped, turned to him and bowed slightly. "Yes, Master Geldirn?"

"Wha . . . How did you . . . Oh, of course! The sign on my wagon. How stupid of me. And what might your name be?"

"Theolare, sir. And how may I help you?"

"Help? Now who said I needed . . ."

Theolare smiled under his broad-brimmed hat. "Wagons pulled by only one horse often have difficulty entering the town of Hillside Rivers . . . especially on their first visit." He decided not to mention that the tinker had, after all, stopped him.

"Hmm. Is that so? Well, since you obviously know this place, how do you propose I get into that pestilence-ridden town so I can sell my services and . . . uh . . . my acquired wares . . . and thereby continue living?"

"I'll be glad to help. What is your horse's favorite food?"

"His favor . . . Oh, fire and smoke, lad! What's that got to do with anything?"

"Quite a bit, actually. And, if you want to succeed in this town, you'll have to start watching your language."

"Watching my lang . . .! Well, flames take that town! We're not there yet, are we?"

Theolare stiffened, saying, "Good day to you, sir." Then he turned and continued walking.

"Oh, slay and bury it anyway!" Greldirn muttered. Then he called out, "Ho, lad! Theolare!"

The young man stopped and turned.

Greldirn swallowed. "I . . . I misspoke to you. I must beg your forgiveness."

The smile returned."With a whole heart, sir. But, in order to help you, I still need to know . . ."

"Yes, yes. The stupid beast's favorite flam . . . favorite food. It's carrots, if you really must know."

"And have you any?"

"Well, I . . . say, you're not trying to get a free carrot from me, are you?"

Theolare glared. "I am the son of a farmer, a successful farmer, and have no need of anyone else's vegetables. Do you have any carrots, or must I bid you 'good day' again?"

Grudgingly, Greldirn reached behind him, rummaged around, and finally turned back with a handful of carrots. Theolare selected three.

"It shouldn't need more than these. But keep the others handy, just in case."

Resisting the impulse to spitefully start munching on one of them, he approached the horse and let him have a bite. Then he pulled away, and horse took a step. Theolare allowed it one more bite, then made it take two steps for the next bite.

"At this rate, we should be in the town in less than an hour."

"Excellent!" Then suspicion clouded the tinker's face. "What might you be wanting in return, lad?"

Theolare became gloomy. "I . . . I would be pleased if you would spend one night at the Iron Medallion Inn, and . . . and tell the owners you're there because of my suggestion."

"Sounds reasonable. I'll do it." After some silent progress, Greldirn said, "Say, lad. Tell me something."

"If I can, sir."

"Why was a town ever built on the side of a hill, anyway? It seems so . . . so flam . . . so inconvenient."

"Well, my own theory is . . . that very reason. I've seen what brigands and raiders can do to peaceful villages. It's more difficult for them here."

"That sounds logical . . . sort of. But you say it's just a theory?"

"Actually, I don't think anyone remembers. But this I know: they don't like being asked. If you want their coins, don't ask them about it."

It was during the afternoon break on this particular day that the front door swung open and a young woman ran breathlessly though the Common Room and straight into the kitchen.

The owner and manager of the inn was a heavyset, middle-aged man with a fringe of bushy grey hair. His family was from the South Country, but he considered himself a native "defender" of Hillside Rivers. His name was Sarundl: not a local name, but a respected one.

Right now, he stood sourly in the middle of the Common Room. As he watched the young woman run past him, he thought, I'm respected everywhere in this town . . . except my own place!

In the kitchen, the newcomer stood at attention next to the large and imposing Ordelpheta--Sarundl's wife. Seated on a simple stool as if on a throne, Ordelpheta Du'Sarundl glared at the girl.

"Well, come on, Arquela. Speak up already! What did the old tyrant say?"

Only now did the girl remove her cloak. "Theolare's already on his way! His father saw wisdom in your . . . suggestion . . . and acted on it immediately!"

Ordelpheta rolled her eyes at the news. "That heavy-handed old fool probably broke his son's heart without meaning to. I'm afraid we have our work cut out for us, child."

"Oh, I'm not afraid."

Ordelpheta lowered her head and gazed sideways at her employee. Like so many who found themselves working here, she was practically a daughter. "So, you find him...interesting, do you?"

Arquela blushed violently, but grinned. "He's . . . intelligent, sensitive, gentle . . . humble . . . and I think he's attractive!" After a pause, she added, "I could grow old with him."

"He's also awkward and clumsy, unaware of his own strengths and forever apologizing."

Arquela just nodded happily.

Theolare tried not to groan at the question and said, "The landlord's name is Sarundl. The stable-hand will take excellent care of your horse."

"Yes, well...hmm. Lad, why don't you take the wagon around to the stable yard and I'll introduce myself to Master Sarundl."

Theolare was doubtful about the impression Greldirn would make by himself, but nodded reluctantly, muttering, "As you wish."

The tinker clambered off the wagon, straightened his cloak, cleared his throat and approached the front door.

Looking around, Theolare allowed the bustling activity on the street to lighten his mood before coaxing the horse into the alley next to the inn. In the yard, he saw the short, skinny stable-hand lunging with a stick and saying, "Take that, foul dragon!" in a high-pitched, cracking voice that spoke of approaching adulthood.

"Hail, Leinrik, dragon slayer!" Theolare called, cheerfully.

The boy dropped his stick, embarrassed and confused. "M . . . Master Theolare! I . . . I didn't hear you. Allow me to tend to your horse and wagon."

"That will be fine, young man, but they're not mine. They belong to a tinker named Greldirn, who is even now negotiating with Sarundl for a room."

"Oh. Well, it's all right, then." As he unhitched the animal, Leinrik said, "Do you think dragon slaying is profitable these days?"

Theolare shook his head sadly. "Not anymore, I'm afraid. There have been so many dragon hunters, for so many generations, there just aren't very many dragons left." Seeing the boy's crestfallen look, he added, ""But there is a need for Guardsmen, and being a Guardsman is the best way to find yourself defending the town against a dragon some day."

While not quite delighted, the lad did brighten at the suggestion. "Leinrik of the Guardsmen. I like that. That's what I will be. Thank you, Master Theolare."

The young man waved to the boy and returned to the street. He knew he would have been welcome at either of the back doors, but wanted to see the street again before completing his unhappy beggar's errand.

He loved this town. He loved the shops, the noise, the people. That very love was a part of his current unhappiness, though. He slowly followed Greldirn's steps through the Iron Medallion's front door.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but he did catch Greldirn going upstairs. There were a few customers at various tables, all of them sitting alone, huddling over bowls and tankards. Then he saw Sarundl, who was glaring at the performer's stage to Theolare's left.

"Thinking of singing tonight?"

The innkeeper started, then snorted. "That would send my customers running to that thief in the Hog and Garden." Then he noticed who had spoken and brightened. "My dear Theolare!" he called, "What brings you here so early?"

"My father," Theolare muttered.

"Oh. That again, huh?"

The young man sat at a table toward the back, near the kitchen entrance. Sarundl joined him.

"For the last time, it seems."

"How do you mean?" the innkeeper asked. Marilna, one of the serving girls passed with a tray. He snapped his fingers at her, then held up two. It was all to impress the customers, Theolare knew. Sarundl would have given his life for these young people.

It was time to stop avoiding the question. "He finally agreed that I don't belong on a farm."

"That, by itself, should be good news. There's obviously more."

The girl returned with two tankards. Sarundl dismissed her with a gesture. She made a face at his back before flouncing off.

"Only that he took it a step further and concluded I don't belong on his farm."

"He sent you away?"

Theolare nodded, then grinned wryly. "I should have told you that right away. I'm sorry. Do you want your ale back?"

"Not at all! In fact, I'm delighted that you came here. You know, lad, I've been talking to my wife about you. Tonight you must be our guest, and tomorrow we'll discuss the future. There are treasures in your depths, boy. I believe that!"

Theolare took a sip. "Treasures in my depths," he mused. He wondered what his father would say to that.

Just then the kitchen door was filled by Ordelpheta Du'Sarundl . . . the one who really managed the inn. "Marilna just told me what she overheard," she announced. "Theolare, you must stay here."

Sarundl filled his immense chest cavity with air and bellowed, "Marilna hears too much and talks too much! Make sure she's properly punished!"

"Punished! Marilna's a good girl, and I've already commended her. Sarundl, your head is filled with fur!" She turned back into the kitchen, sniffing, "Punished. Hummph!"

Sarundl gave Theolare a martyred look, but the front door opened before he could begin his lamentation.

As the innkeeper stepped toward the newcomers, he was unaware of Arquela slipping through the kitchen door. She self-consciously leaned over the young man. "Sir Theolare," she whispered, "My mistress wishes to speak with you."

Theolare had seen her, and spoken to her, many times. But somehow, when he looked at her this time, something happened. There was an openness in her toward him, a vulnerability that she willingly shared, and it reached him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

When she saw Theolare's expression, she assumed she hadn't made herself clear, so she added, "Uh . . . in the kitchen."

He stood and found himself gazing involuntarily into a pair of large doe-like eyes. Finally she blinked, blushing furiously, and said, "This way, please."

In the hot, bustling kitchen, Ordelpheta sat on her stool regally. She acknowledged their presence with a bow of her head. "Thank you, Arquela. Now, back to those pots. I need them."

As the girl thrust her arms into the hot, soapy water, Ordelpheta indicated a stool near her. "Sit, Theolare. We must talk."

The young man obediently sat, still staring at the girl and somewhat frightened by the stirrings within him. His hostess never stopped chopping vegetables and sweeping them into a large pot on the floor.

"So," she said, "I believe something good begins today. Good for you, and good for us. Significant, and good."

"Good? How?"

"Well, in many ways. For instance, last month you were here when that sorcerer Vladrik had everyone believing his spirit-slaves were making off with people's belongings."

Theolare chuckled. "He offered to get them back, but made us pay half their value."

"That's the one. It was you who figured out that he was merely cloaking things with that power of his; they were still right where they belonged."

"It was all a matter of simply trusting my fingers rather than my eyes."

"Oh! Well, what impressed me was how you let Sarundl have the credit."

Theolare stirred uncomfortably. "It just seemed more . . . proper, somehow," he muttered, apologetically.

"That's an unusual way to think, son. I like it. That's why I'd like to try something."

Without quite understanding why, Theolare began to feel hopeful.

"People have started to bring their problems here. They think Sarundl can help them, because of that night."

"Just because of that one incident?"

She nodded. "These days people are grasping at hope wherever they think they see it. So, if the Iron Medallion gives hope, people will come here for stew and ale . . . and you'll have a secure place in Hillside Rivers."

He knew he was being mildly cheated here. The pressure would be on him to solve people's problems, Sarundl and Ordelpheta would reap fame and prosperity, and he'd get . . . room and board. Of course, he'd be under the same roof as Arquela, who now held a large pot up for inspection. He was watching the suds drip down her left arm when he realized Ordelpheta was staring at him. To cover his embarrassment, he said, "Shouldn't a man be doing that?"

Arquela turned and smiled. "I think he's volunteering, Mistress."

"Hush, child. Let him think."

Theolare, noticing the smiles the women tried to hide, forced his mind back to the subject matter. "I'm sorry I ch . . . changed the subject."

"Nonsense!" Ordelpheta raged. "You give no offense! If you don't learn to stop apologizing, I'll . . . I'll . . . well, I'll have something to apologize for. Now, do you have any questions about my proposed arrangement?"

"I'll need to consider this," was all he said.

Ordelpheta knew when to stop pressing. "Consider well, then. Stay here tonight, in one of our rooms. We'll talk again tomorrow. Arquela!"

The girl turned, and the expression on her face said, "I'm right here; no need to shout!" but she held her mouth closed.

If Ordelpheta noticed the girl's attitude, she gave no sign of it. "Take Theolare to one of the staff rooms and help him get settled."

"Any room in particular, Mistress?"

"No, you can . . . wait a moment. For tonight at least, let him have the room next to that new guest he brought us."

"But . . . but that's a guest room!"

"Not that one. It's on your mind because you just cleaned it. Give him the other one, just through the door.

Arquela nodded, took his arm--somewhat possessively, he thought--and led him up the back stairs.

"Be back here in ten minutes, girl!" Ordelpheta called after them.

They climbed past the second floor, which he knew was reserved for private groups, and marched down the third floor hall to where it came to an end at a set of double doors.

Arquela said, "The guest rooms begin on the other side. Your friend the tinker is right next to you." She opened the door and beckoned him inside.

"He's not my friend." The room was small, but not cramped. It had a bed, a desk and chair, wardrobe, washbasin and pitcher . . . and, blessedly, a window.

Arquela stood by the door. "Please let me know if there's anything you need." She fidgeted, her eyes searching for something to focus on. "I want . . . I mean, I hope you'll be happy here."

"I . . . I'm sure I will," he muttered, awkwardly.

She became businesslike. "You are expected in the Common Room as soon as you can go. I think I heard some new guests arriving, and it's almost time for the evening meal."

When the door closed and she was alone in the hall, she smacked herself in the head. "Why are you suddenly so stupid?" she challenged herself. Then she rushed down the back stairs to the kitchen, shaking her head in self-disgust.

Slipping through the hall door into the guest side, Theolare found the stairs to the Common Room and climbed down. His tankard was still at the same table, close to the kitchen door . . . but it had been refilled. Sitting quietly, he noticed Sarundl standing by the performers' stage. The large table next to the stage was full, and loud.

"Transmutation!" a heavy, dark-bearded man of middle years was insisting. "I've been learning it, you see. How to change what things are made of. It's quite an art; quite an art."

His companions, except for one, were not impressed.

"Well, then!" Murkiln, the dark-skinned blacksmith, said, ""We'll all save money tonight! Let's just order plain water, and Shelduk here will change it into ale for us!" A chorus of laughter and applause greeted that remark.

A younger man, at the same table, shook his pale hair out of his eyes and said, "He's right, though. I've seen him do it." He had a knife in his hand, and was absentmindedly scraping melted wax from the tabletop.

Some people from other tables were starting to drift over, making it difficult to see. Theolare decided to join them, but stopped first next to Murkiln. "Tell me," he said, softly, "If someone wanted to leave in a hurry, but needed repairs, how long could you hold them here?"

Murkiln grinned. "As long as I wanted to, in a just cause."

Theolare nodded. "Be ready for some business tomorrow morning. I think you'll be needed."

At Murkiln's nod, Theolare sauntered closer to the argument.

"You've seen him, have you?" Old Orklyn snorted. "What'd he change?"

Sarundl, who usually remained neutral during arguments, couldn't resist. "A little while ago I saw him change coins into ale."

Everyone laughed at that . . . except Shelduk and his whittler. The bearded man's eyes roamed the room, stopping at the far wall, where the immense fireplace held a small fire. But he pointed to the wall above it when he said, "What's that?"

Sarundl followed the pointing finger and smiled. "That's what names this place. That's The Iron Medallion itself!"

"Medallion!? It's wider than a blacksmith's shoulders, and thick as a wrist! Who would wear such a thing?"

Old Orklyn snorted again. "Who, indeed! Why, it was Gathlak, the giant who left it here. Who else would it be?" He was obviously hoping he would be challenged and asked to tell more, but he was disappointed.

Shelduk was saying, "Iron? That's a strange metal to make a medallion from. One would expect silver . . . or at least bronze."

"It had to be iron, you fool!" Orklyn shouted, and would have said more, but Sarundl silenced him by raising a hand.

"Please excuse our elder, sir. What he means to say is, the apparent lack of value is part of its significance to us."

"Is that so?"

Sarundl nodded. "The Medallion may not be worth much to anyone else, but for us . . . well, it's our treasure."

Shelduk stood, picked up his tankard, and sauntered over to the Medallion. He studied it for a while before saying, "I don't quite understand the inscription."

Orklyn cackled. "You're not supposed to understand it, you . . ." then silenced himself again at Sarundl's signal.

"It's a foreign language. The translation is, roughly, 'Blessings on this House, and Death to all its Enemies.' A happy thought, no?"

Shelduk scowled briefly, then forced a smile. "Happy for the owner if, indeed, true."

"True!?" Orklyn exclaimed, outraged. Another motion from Sarundl prevented more from coming forth.

Theolare watched them all, including the silent young man cleaning the wax from the table. Then as quietly as possible, he slipped away.

At first he was going to go through the kitchen, but Ordelpheta would be wanting a report. So he slipped out the front door and walked around back, to the stables.

Leinrik, stick in hand, looked startled and guilty.

"Slaying dragons again, eh?" Theolare guessed, cheerfully.

Seeing who it was, Leinrik brightened. "Yes, sir! Just got me one of those two-legged ones, with the big jaws!"

"Well then, please take a rest and tell me about those guests, Shelduk and his friend."

Leinrik leaned against a doorpost and assumed a conspiratorial attitude. "Well, sir, they arrived a short while after you did. The younger one, who don't say much, noticed the tinker's wagon and nudged the beard. That seemed to make them kinda happy. They gimme a coin to watch their wagon overnight, so I put it next to the tinker's. This way, I can watch both wagons, y'know?"

"Leinrik, you're a clever lad. If you do this all the time, the Guardsmen will be happy to have you."

"Really? Well, I did set it up rather neat, y'know. Wanna see it?"

Theolare nodded, that being precisely what he wanted.

Theolare was familiar with the tinker's wagon, so he concentrated on the other one. It contained cargo that consisted almost entirely of large, sealed, wooden casks.

"I wonder what's in them?" Theolare thought aloud.

"Oh, I couldn't let you open one, sir," said Leinrik, suddenly worried. "It'd be my job, it would."

"That's all right, son. I wouldn't ask of it of you. It wouldn't be right." When he'd calmed the boy down, he headed for the kitchen door.

Before Ordelpheta could ask anything, he said, "I'm sorry. I can't explain yet, but from this moment, Leinrik will require a fresh tankard of ale every half hour."

The girls all looked shocked, and Ordelpheta protested. "He's not used to that! He'd get drunk! He'd fall asl . . . "

Theolare smiled.

"I still say he's a liar!" Orklyn muttered, as Theolare rejoined the group. He didn't realize he looked puzzled until Orklyn caught his eye and pointed to the whittler. "Why, this young idler says that Shelduk can change the Iron Medallion into wax!"

Whittler fixed the old man with his eyes. "My name is Verandl, and I'm a craftsman."

Sarundl frowned, unhappy that the young man came from the same regions that he did.

Theolare said, "I thought transmutation changed base metals into precious ones. I would think you'd be more apt to change iron to gold, not wax."

Shelduk snorted. "Typical ignorance. Properly understood and controlled, the art and science of transmutation can change any material into any other."

"I also thought it required a workroom filled with foul-smelling chemicals and smelting vats."

"Quacks and charlatans! Those with the true gift--and the knowledge--have no need of such crutches!"

The room grew silent with hostile cynicism. Several men moved back to their tables, unwilling to hear any more.

As if on cue, the front door opened and a young couple entered. They were both dressed gaudily. He had two sacks and a lyre over his shoulders. When the door had closed behind them, he bowed and she curtsied to the group. Then the young man said, "Pardon our intrusion, good sirs. We wish to consult with the landlord of this worthy establishment."

Sarundl reluctantly stepped forward. "I am Sarundl, owner and manager of the Iron Medallion. I take it you two are troubadours?"

Oh, much more!" she said.

"We're actors!" he said.

"And storytellers!" she said.

"And acrobats!" he said.

Sarundl held up a hand. "And, in need of lodging. Am I correct?"

They nodded in unison.

"And short of coin, yes?"

Another nod, this time with some embarrassment.

"And you're willing to perform in exchange for food and a room?"

Orklyn chose that moment to cackle, "Looks like we'll have some entertainment tonight!" and was promptly shushed by several others.

Sarundl looked thoughtful. "Sometimes my patrons are generous with performers. I would expect five percent."

They nodded again.

"You can stay tonight. If my business picks up because of you, we'll make longer arrangements tomorrow . . . if you still wish to."

Another nod, this time with broad smiles.

"You'll have to work out the details with my wife, who is in the kitchen, through that door. I'll expect you to begin at sundown. Now, off with you."

They went through the kitchen door like two giddy children.

"Well," Sarundl said, "Sundown will be in about two hours. That should give some of you time to spread the word. Free service this evening for the one who brings the most new guests!"

In the rush to the front door, Theolare could see this would be a long night, so he slipped upstairs to his room for a nap.

"Good evening, friends. Welcome to the Iron Medallion. My name is Iliona, and this is Corolare. She then started singing the rousing standard, "Welcome, friends" and had half the room singing along before finishing the first verse.

Among those not singing were the visitors Shelduk and Verandl. They sat at a table in front of the fireplace.

They were sweating at this least-popular table, but didn't seem to mind. Shelduk was staring at the Medallion and muttering incessantly. Verandl kept his eyes moving around the room. At the next table, by himself, sat Greldirn the tinker, also staring at the Medallion while sipping his ale.

Sarundl leaned over and whispered, "It seems that Shelduk was offended by our cynicism earlier. He's going to change the Iron Medallion to wax, and be gone by daybreak."

Theolare's eyes grew. "He's going to change it right now?"

Sarundl waved dismissively. "He says it will take hours to say the right words, and then more hours for the change to happen." He snorted. "Probably just enough time for them to get far away before we realize what frauds they are."

They were interrupted by applause, after which the performers ripped into the rousing "Swing Your Lady". Conversation became impossible as hands clapped and feet stomped all over the Common Room.

Making sure he wasn't observed, Theolare slowly moved toward the kitchen.

Once inside, he saw Ordelpheta scowling at him. "What took you so long? Come, sit!" He obeyed, and she went on. "Those wayfarers are frauds! Turning the Medallion into wax, indeed!"

This almost angered Theolare, who'd been hoping to impress her with his report. "What? How?"

Arquela seemed to understand. "Oh, Mother, you didn't even give him a chance!"

The mistress scowled at the girl. Arquela only called her "mother" when rebuking her. It seemed her loyalties were becoming divided. Then she turned back to Theolare and grinned wickedly saying, "You're not the only gifted one on staff here, young man."

Deflated, he flopped onto the stool next to her. "Then why am I really here? Charity?"

She snorted, derisively. "Hardly. You are earning your keep here, boy, whether or not you feel like you are."

Theolare shrugged, not reassured. Arquela and Marilna joined them.

"While you're all here, I think we have an unusual team. You'll all find out what I mean...in time. Any reports?"

"I have a question," Theolare said.

They all turned to him and waited silently.

"When Shelduk and Verandl arrived, did you see if they showed any interest in the tinker?"

"The tinker?" Ordelpheta challenged. "What would he have that they would want?"

Taking that as a universal "no" he simply shrugged before asking, "Did they take any of the casks out of the wagon with them to their room?"

Marilna was filling tankards at the ale barrel. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Yes; only one. Nothing else. I thought it was kind of strange."

Then Arquela smiled coquettishly and said, ""Well, I have something to report." She waited until the eyes were all on her before going on. "Leinrik is . . . well . . . asleep." Then she giggled.

Theolare stood up. Excusing himself as politely as he could, he rushed to the stable and found Shelduk's wagon. He could hear Leinrik's snores as he gingerly stepped on and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark.

Small casks filled half the wagon's floor. He pulled out his dagger and pried one open. He tested the contents tentatively. It seemed that the cargo was precious enough to be encased in resin, or . . .

Quickly replacing the lid, he slipped past Leinrik and back to the kitchen.

Iliona was singing again or still. Her honey-voice lifted to the rafters in the closing lines of "Lost Forever":

	"In the shadows of the twilight
	I sometimes think I feel
	Your arms around me, holding tight
	In the twilight it seems real
	In that twilight it feels real."

Not very notable, but it had the men sobbing into their tankards.

Sarundl was beaming. Theolare knew he would try to keep the couple here as long as possible. Shelduk and Verandl were still at their table, but Greldirn's table was empty. And with that, he found Arquela. They slipped up the stairs to the third floor, where he said, "I need to look into Shelduk and Verandl's room, very quickly. I won't take anything; I just need to look."

Struggling to hide her disappointment, she nodded silently and led him to the room next to Greldirn's. She opened the door and stood there, nervously. He stepped in and looked around. More spacious and comfortable than his, it seemed emptier. There was a connecting door into the next room, but no cask.

He stepped back into the hall and to the door into the staff section. "That's all. I'm sorry to take up your time, and especially sorry to ask such a thing of you." She flashed him a look that mingled anger with things he didn't recognize. "I'm sorry, too: sorry that's all you wanted!" and fled downstairs.

He sighed in confusion, then went to bed.

A knock on the door woke him. He stumbled over, opened it a crack and saw Marilna fidgeting outside.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Ordelpheta wants you downstairs right away! Those wayfarers are leaving!"

"Oh! I'll be right down!" He slammed the door and turned, trying to remember where he'd thrown his clothes. He had the presence of mind to splash his face with water from his basin before dressing hurriedly. But on the way down the stairs, he still felt groggy and wondered if he'd really accomplish anything. They were already in the stable yard, everything was loaded and the horses were hitched. No one from the inn was there except Leinrik, who looked awful.

Theolare stepped out and glanced at the boy, who seemed frightened to see him. "What's the matter, Leinrik?"

"They were angry at me, sir. I couldn't help falling asleep! They wanted their coin back." His voice broke on the last sentence.

"Don't worry, son. This isn't over yet."

They watched the wagon turn onto Hillside Rivers' main street . . . and saw the right wheel wobble crazily before slipping off its axle.

The crash was ear-shattering in the early morning quiet. After a few moments of shocked silence, Shelduk's voice rose, shouting obscenities and imprecations to boil the blood of common folk.

Theolare stated forward, saying, "Leinrik, get Murkiln! Tell him I said his services are needed!" The girls peeked through the kitchen door, and he beckoned to them.

In the Common Room, the fire was blazing as the wayfarers were ushered back in. Bread and tea was laid out for them at their table. "No charge!" Sarundl announced solicitously, standing at the front door.

None of this seemed to comfort Shelduk and Verandl. They sat morosely, waiting to depart.

Leinrik entered then and said, "Murkiln says that the broken axle and the fall weakened a lot of the floorboards. He sent for the carpenter, and the physician."

"Physician!" Shelduk roared. "What flaming good can he do for a wretched wagon?"

"It's your horses, sir!" Leinrik announced, boldly. He was enjoying this. "He thinks at least one of them might have gone a bit lame."

Sarundl stepped away from the door as Leinrik took his place there and ambled into the kitchen, where his wife looked as if she hadn't moved since the night before. "I sure hope Theolare knows what he's doing," he muttered.

Ordelpheta waved dismissively. "Of course he does! Look at how guilty they're acting already!"

"Guilty? They just look unhappy to me. And that's not the way we want guests leaving."

A shriek from the Common Room sent both of them through the door. Marilna was pointing at the Medallion, her eyes huge with terror.

Over the blazing fireplace, the Iron Medallion was bubbling . . . rippling . . . dripping . . .

Marilna gasped, "It's . . . it's melting! He did it! He trans . . . transmuted it!"

Sarundl approached the melting Medallion and stared, speechless. Even Ordelpheta stepped entirely through the kitchen door and joined her husband. "Can . . . can you change it back once it's melted?"

Shelduk didn't move. Verandl said, "I don't think so. I've never seen it done."

Leinrik opened the door to admit Theolare and Murkiln, bearing a burden between them. "Looks like a wheel!" the lad said.

"What in smoking blazes are you bringing it in here for?" Shelduk raged, "Put it on the flaming wagon!"

Theolare said, "Leinrik, we have more visitors. Better let them in." Then he and Murkiln gently slid their round, covered burden onto a table.

Three uniformed Guardsmen entered. The third one led in a bound Greldirn.

"Relax, everyone!" Theolare called. "The explanation is simple. You see, this man was fooling us all along. He's no tinker; he's a sculptor! And his specialty is . . . wax!"

"Wax!" Sarundl exclaimed. "Why, that's what Shelduk transmuted the Iron Medallion into!"

"He never transmuted it," Theolare said. "He substituted it!"

With that, he pulled the cover off the object he and Murkiln had brought in, revealing the Iron Medallion itself. "It was in Greldirn's wagon. It would have fetched a good price in the next town," he commented. "These men are fairly clever, but they're still basically common thieves."

"So clever indeed!" Ordelpheta strode to Shelduk and Verandl, smiling her forgiveness. She put a hand on each of their shoulders . . . and drove their heads together with such force they both collapsed. Then she smiled again.

"Ooh, that felt good!" she said.

Theolare risked a glance at Arquela, whose smile was proud and loving. Perhaps he had found where he belonged.

I get the feeling that we haven't heard the last of the Tales of the Iron Medalion--at least, I hope we haven't. And, if we haven't, I'm sure we haven't seen the last of the mighty elipsis . . . How do you feel about it? Comments to the BBS, please.