Quest's End: The Broken Key #3 (6 page)

“A wine merchant?” she asked with a grin. “Here?” After chuckling for a moment, she said, “Only place around here where you might find wine is over at Tinton’s. He runs a place that has more merchandise than two chandlers’ if you ask me.”

“Where might we find it?” Bart asked.

“You boys come through the west gate?” she asked.

Riyan shook his head. “No,” he replied. “The north.”

“Well, head over to the west gate and you’ll find it not too far from there,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Riyan said to her.

They left the inn and made their way across town toward the western gate. The streets were fairly clear of snow. Most of it had either been removed by the citizens of Hunter’s Reach or else melted. Either way, the dirt streets were a veritable mess of mud and ruts. The carriages and wagons moving about town were bouncing along so badly, Bart was surprised they hadn’t broken an axle yet. He was amused by the circumstances of one fine looking lady who was riding in a carriage. Every time the carriage hit a rut, which was about every other second, she would bounce in her seat. It looked as if she was holding on for dear life to the window frame of the carriage door.

Similar sights continued to be seen as they continued their search for Tinton’s shop. When the eastern gate finally appeared down the street, they had yet to find the place. They asked one of the local townspeople and were directed down a side street. It wasn’t far before they saw what the proprietress of the Tradewynd had meant when she said you couldn’t miss it.

The storefront had to take up one full block of the street. There were three separate doorways just on this one side through which people could enter Tinton’s establishment.

“Is there enough business in this town to make it worthwhile to maintain such a shop?” asked Chyfe. He had seen some large businesses back in Catha, but what he saw before him dwarfed them all.

“I doubt it,” replied Bart. Moving toward the closest doorway, he led the others into the building.

Just within the entrance were two small children, neither could have been more than six or seven. When they saw their group enter, they immediately came forward and began wiping the mud from off their boots.

“Here now,” Bart said as the younger of the two boys grabbed the calf of his leg and began cleaning his boot with a less than clean rag. The boy paid him no heed. Once he finished with one, he began with the other.

Riyan glanced to the other entrances and saw similar pairs of children stationed at each of them. One such pair was doing the same to another group of three men that had just entered. “Looks like they do this to everyone,” he said.

“Son,” Chad said as the older of the two boys came to him for his turn, “I don’t think this is necessary.”

The lad looked up at him. “Master Tinton doesn’t like mud tracked through his shop,” the lad explained. When Chad drew his boot away from the child’s grasp, the child looked up at him again. “Tracking mud inside is very bad,” the child said. He again started reaching for Chad’s boot.

Riyan, who had just had his boots wiped clean, said, “Just let him do it Chad.”

“Yes, Chad,” Seth said with a grin. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Chad gazed down at the lad waiting to wipe his boots, then relented. “This feels odd,” he said as the child raised his boot off the floor and commenced cleaning it.

“Different places, different customs,” offered Kevik. He was grinning at Chad’s expense when he felt his staff being grabbed by the other child. The grin vanished from his face in a flash and he snatched his staff out of the child’s hand. “What are you doing?” he demanded. He definitely didn’t like anyone touching his staff but himself.

The child pointed to the lower end and said, “Master Tinton doesn’t like mud tracked through his shop.”

That’s when Kevik looked down and saw the lower end had a small amount of mud attached to it.

“Come on Kevik,” Chad said. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Yes Kevik,” Seth grinned. “Different places, different customs.”

Kevik glanced at him then down to the child who was waiting patiently. “Can I clean it myself?” he asked. The child offered him his rag and he soon had the lower end of the staff clean. Once everyone was suitably clean, the boys returned to their stations adjacent to the doorway.

“You have to admit,” Soth said as they moved further into the shop, “he keeps a clean place.” And in fact, it was one of the cleanest shops any of them had ever been in.

From the inside, this place looked even larger than it had from the outside, as if that was even possible. Shelves lined the floor and walls, there was even a stairway leading up to a second floor.

“There couldn’t be this much up there too can there?” Chad asked.

“Maybe,” replied Riyan.

The store had maybe two dozen customers moving along the free standing shelves lining the floor. Riyan stopped one of the ladies and asked, “Do you know where I can find Mr. Tinton?”

The lady glanced around the shop for a moment before saying, “You might try upstairs.”

“Thank you,” he said then headed for the stairway up.

They walked past shelves containing a variety of items ranging from tunics to rope, and even one shelf with a display of deadly looking knives. This place held more merchandize than a dozen chandler shops.

Upstairs they found more of the same. It didn’t look like the merchandise was laid out to any sort of plan either. For instance, in one spot as they began moving through the second floor in search of Tinton, they found one freestanding shelf containing nothing but blankets. On its right was another holding a variety of candles, while on its left were dozens of brass cooking pots. All in all, a very odd place.

They wended their way through the second floor and still didn’t find Tinton. When they saw an older boy that looked like he worked there, they flagged him down. “Excuse me,” Riyan said as the boy came to them, “could you tell me where I could find Mr. Tinton?”

“I’m Tinton,” the boy said.

“You?” asked Seth incredulously.

“Yes,” the lad said, turning to him. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Look sonny,” Seth said. “We don’t have time for games. We need to find him.”

A crooked smile crossed the lad’s face. “Well, when you find him, let me know.” With that he turned about and walked off.

“Someone should teach that kid some manners,” Seth said as the boy disappeared around one of the free standing shelves. The way the boy had said what he did, and then turned his back on him and walked away, grated on Seth’s nerves.

“We don’t have time to ‘teach him some manners’ right now,” Bart said. Looking around, he saw a man walking among the shelves not far away. The man was dressed well and had an air of ownership about him. “That must be him,” Bart said to the others. Moving forward, he worked his way through the shelves toward the man.

“Excuse me sir,” he said. “Would you be Mr. Tinton?”

The man stopped and turned toward him. “Me?” he asked with a laugh. “Hardly.”

“Could you point him out to me?” Bart asked. “We need to speak with him.”

“Assuredly,” the man replied. He glanced around for a moment then pointed down to their right. “There he is.”

Bart looked to where he was pointing and saw the older boy that they had talked with earlier. “The boy?” he asked incredulously.

“Boy?” the man retorted. “He’s over four hundred years old.” When Bart still looked confused, he said, “He’s a gnome.”

“A gnome?” he asked. The man nodded in return.

Then he took a better look at the lad, uh gnome, and could begin to see characteristics one would associate with such creatures. The slight upturned point to the ears, the youthful appearance that the eyes contradicted if you but looked.

None of them had ever seen a gnome before. Oh they had heard tales of them their whole lives, but who would have thought to find one in such a place. They were supposed to be cutesy little creatures that lived in the forest.

The boy, or rather Mr. Tinton, took notice of them looking his way. His gaze lingered in their direction for a second before he turned and began making his way through the store.

“Damn,” cursed Riyan under his breath as he hurried to catch him. Riyan wended his way through the freestanding shelves as he worked to catch Mr. Tinton. Behind him, the others hurried after.

“Mr. Tinton!” Riyan hailed when he had caught up to him.

The gnome turned around with a crooked grin. “Are you ready for games now?” he asked.

“No,” replied Riyan as he came to a stop before him. “We’re sorry we didn’t believe you before.”

“I’ve discovered a certain amount of patience is required when dealing with your kind,” he replied. Mr. Tinton glanced over his shoulder to Seth who had the good grace to blush.

“Yes,” Riyan said, “I’m sure you do. But we were wondering if you could help us with something?”

“And what would that be?” he asked.

Riyan removed his pack and proceeded to retrieve the wine bottle with the crest. Once he had it in hand he held it up for Mr. Tinton to see. “We are interested in finding out where the winery is that produced this,” he explained.

Taking the bottle from him, the gnome gave it a once over then turned his gaze to Riyan. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“An acquaintance of ours who is a trader,” he replied.

Mr. Tinton gave the bottle another brief examination and then handed it back. “I haven’t seen many of those,” he told them. “One usually doesn’t find them this far north.”

“North?” asked Bart. “As in north of the Moran Tribes?”

“Something like that,” he said. “The crest on the bottle is that of the Orack Tribe. More specifically, their ruling family.”

“Would that be the family of The River Man?” questioned Chad.

Mr. Tinton turned his attention to Chad and nodded. “I’ve heard they were thinking about opening trade with the north. But what with all the recent hostilities, such now seems unlikely.” Turning back to Riyan, he said, “If by chance you do manage to procure quantities of
guerloch
, send some my way. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“
Guerloch
?” asked Bart.

“That’s what was in the bottle,” he explained. “A very special brew that is highly prized.”

“It isn’t wine?” asked Kevik.

“In a way, I suppose you could call it such,” Mr. Tinton said. “I’m not sure what goes into the making of it, but I’ve never known it to have any sort of harmful effect.”

With the wine bottle securely back in his pack, Riyan asked, “You wouldn’t know where they make it do you?”

“No, sorry,” he replied. “That’s a closely guarded secret of the Orack.” Just then one of the gnomes whom they earlier mistook for children came to him and whispered into his ear. Nodding to the gnome, Mr. Tinton turned back to Riyan and said, “I’m sorry, but I must see to something. If you’ll excuse me.” Then without further ado, he turned and followed the other gnome as it quickly departed.

Riyan stood quietly in thought as he watched Mr. Tinton walked away. Definitely not what he had thought a gnome to be. Turning to Chad, he could see the same thoughts were running through his mind.

“So now we know,” Chyfe stated.

Riyan turned toward him with a questioning look.

“The River Man,” Chyfe clarified. “He is involved in some way with the key.”

“Maybe,” Riyan replied.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Soth reasoned. “Just because the crest of his family bears some resemblance to the coat of arms we are looking for doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a connection between the two.”

“Don’t forget, Durik was interested in him for some reason,” Chad explained.

“That’s true,” agreed Riyan.

“This does mean one thing though,” Bart announced.

“What?” asked Soth.

“We’re going to have to pay a visit to the Orack Tribe to find out how the River Man is connected in all this,” he explained. And with that they turned about and headed back to the inn. Outside, snowflakes were beginning to lightly fall.

“Great,” groaned Riyan. By the following morning, there was another foot of snow on the ground with no sign of stopping.

Off and on for a week the snow fell. Then just when blue sky peeked through and they thought the weather was about to improve, it disappeared and the snow fell once more. On the eighth day since their arrival in Hunter’s Reach, they finally awoke to sky devoid of snow. Clouds still held a presence, but the storm was over.

Snow covered everything. From Riyan’s window, the world looked to be covered in a blanket of white. A few people were out and about, struggling through snow that came to their hips. “Man,” he breathed. Glancing over to Bart who stood next to him, he asked, “Can we make it?”

“Possibly,” replied Bart. “One trader I talked with yesterday said there was a roadside inn several miles to the south. If we can make it before nightfall we should be alright.”

“But if we don’t,” added Chyfe, “we’ll freeze.” When Riyan glanced at him, he gave him a concerned look.

Bart nodded in agreement. “Most likely.” Glancing to the sky, he again took in the way the clouds were continuing to disperse. Off to the west it looked like another system may be coming their way. If it was, it wouldn’t arrive for a day or so.

“How about after the roadside inn?” Riyan asked. “Is there anything further south?”

“Not until the crossroads in the hills north of the Tinderlock Mountains,” he explained. “The trader said there were a couple inns and a smithy there.” He turned to Riyan and said, “It’s only half a day past the roadside inn.”

Riyan nodded. “What do you think?” he asked.

Bart glanced again to the sky. “I think we should try it,” he replied. “The weather looks as if it’s going to hold.” Turning back to Riyan, he added, “We won’t be assured of good weather for another month or two at least.”

“I don’t fancy remaining here in Hunter’s Reach until spring,” Chyfe stated. “Let’s go.”

“Alright,” agreed Riyan. “Let’s get the others and be on our way.” As Bart and Chyfe went to gather their equipment and head down to the stables, Riyan again looked to the sky. “Just hold,” he said under his breath. Then he turned and made ready to leave.