Fawnlum and her friends had blown back into the Spur Saddle, after being gone for only two days.  They set upon the bar with a vengeance, at precisely the right time of evening.  With the sharing of their tale, and buying the house a few rounds, the establishment quickly became a festive and noisy place.  She hardly saw Klingger, as he and his attendants rushed to keep the glasses full.

Blonde-haired Dreighton told the tale repeatedly, mixed in with some from his homeland, giving more retellings of Fawnlum’s battle with Felldrake the red dragon.

The cheers that accompanied the Coastals’ shouts of victory, and displays of their ear-strings, shook the house more intensely than a barroom brawl.

And like a lighthouse in a dark sea, the tavern kept drawing more customers.

Fawnlum watched the party-charged atmosphere.   If she could not work with the Council, she would work with the masses.

She clapped a hand on Sienna’s shoulder, as her friend had met the eyes, briefly, of Tinker Daws, sitting quietly alone and nursing a drink.

Fawnlum raised her mug, dumb and happy, and turned back to the merriment.

Sienna pushed her way through the crowded tavern room, and stood across the bar from Klingger.  She waved a hand and shouted most sincerely, “Sorry about all the noise!”

The desert southerner simply laughed.  “Let them drink!” he shouted at her.  “Let them celebrate!”

“Too bad it’ll be harder from now on.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of the tools we’ve used is a special oil from the Coast,” she said, nearly screaming.  “It burns hotter and brighter than any other oil.”

He nodded attentively.

“It’s worked for blinding the scum so they can’t see.  Now it runs low.”

She showed him a small amber bottle.  “It’s from Coastal fire-eels.  I doubt if more than a dozen barrels leave our homeland in a year.”

He looked at the flask in all earnestness, and shook his head.  “I’ve never heard of it.  Is normal oil not good enough?”

“Too tame!”

“I know someone who can perhaps help you.”

The next morning, Sienna snuck out the back door with the dawn, leaving behind the carnage of the night before, where many still slept where they had fallen.

The pathetic light of early morning guided her well enough, and shortly she was ducking to pass through the door of a particular shop.  Her eyes were immediately drawn to the chiming bell above her head, signaling her arrival.

She had seen bells before, of course, but as she let the door close behind her, she simply had to study this one, for how well it shone with a particular luster, despite the subdued light coming through the windows.

Its tone had been so clear and ringing, as if its sound was coming from a voice, not just a pendulum striking an inner surface of metal.

“May I help you, young lady?”

She turned and looked down, to see a creature the size of a child standing before her, but instead of assessing what disadvantages his stature gave him, her thoughts turned to how much like the bell he was – – precise, polished, and well-carried on his feet, as the bell was precisely hung on its mount.

His hair was clean and combed back, in a shade of brown that looked plain but not dull.  He showed signs of regular bathing and grooming; and his minute mustache and beard were straight and neatly trimmed, with clothes that were casual but well-kept.  They were obviously his work-wear; but he had just as obviously endeavored to keep himself presentable.

His eyes held unfamiliarity at seeing a girl her size, but the person behind the eyes looked with courteous interest, attentive to the needs of a customer.

This was the right place.

She smiled and gave a short bow.  “Good day, master.  Sienna Bluddjore of the Coast of Storms.”

“Hiram Nacklegem,” the gnome said, with a return bow, “at your service.”

“Yours is a family of alchemists, yes?”

“Aye, among other things.”

“Klingger of the Spur Saddle recommended you for a special job.”

“This way, please.”  He motioned her to follow, and led her between the shelves of stacked goods, toward the counter in back.

If she was still at that rambunctious but cheery age of girlhood when she liked dolls, she could well imagine scooping this little man-creature up in her pack, and taking him home to set on a shelf.

It was good Hiram was not meeting Honee today.

The walk took longer than she expected, for this store section was only part of the building.  Behind the counter were small, shadowed halls leading back deeper into the structure, and she detected the distinctive aromas of heated iron, sulfur, and the ring of crafting hammers.  From another passage came the clinking of boxes and bottles, and the muted remarks of voices similar to Hiram’s.

He and his kin made and sold their own goods, which also spoke well for them.

She wondered what was beyond the thresholds, as Hiram climbed a couple of steps behind the human-sized counter.  Stepping lively, he came to stand beside another gnome, looking up at her from the raised platform.

“Alcon Nacklegem,” the family member said pleasantly, with a curt bow and the same attentive light in his eye.  “You’ve come a long way, woman of the Coast.”

“To slaughter the monsters that plague your good city.”

“Well met.”

Her smile at their company came naturally, and she pulled the amber flask from her pouch to hold before them.

“This is fire-eel oil, from my homeland.”

Both Nacklegems’ eyes popped open with such interest, she wondered if they were going to jump across the counter to snatch the bottle from her fingers.