Morticai's Luck by Darlene Bolesny Page B

were looking at him suspiciously. “Anyway,” Morticai continued, “I thought that with all this Inquisition business, it might be nice if the two of you came along. You could, y’know, keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
    Coryden and Dualas exchanged glances.
    “Morticai,” Coryden began, “there’s nothing wrong with coming out and saying that you don’t trust the man, y’know?”
    “Well, it’s not that I don’t trust him.”
    “Uh huh,” Coryden said, unconvinced.
    “When are we supposed to meet him?” Dualas asked.
    “At six o’clock.”
    “Morticai,” Coryden complained, “it’s almost six now! If we’re going to make it we need to get moving.”
    “But I haven’t eaten,” Morticai complained.
    The clock at Grandhaven Sanctorium struck the quarter hour, punctuating his comment.
    “See?” Coryden continued. “We’ve only got a quarter hour. Come on!” With that, Coryden rose from the table.
    Dualas rose also and threw enough money on the table to cover the cost of the chowder. Begrudgingly, Morticai rose and followed his two friends.

    * * *

    Fenton’s shop lay at the far end of one of the twisting underground tunnels that comprised Watchaven’s Lower Bazaar. Centuries before, the merchants had discovered that shops built underground were easier to heat; that way, they could enjoy a healthy business even during Dark Season. Thus had the Lower Bazaar been born. During Light Season, however, it was less expensive to operate out of above-ground shops that did not require lamps. Consequently, most merchants had a shop both below and above ground and opened their Lower Bazaar shops only during Dark Season. Now, the tunnels were largely deserted, with light coming from only a few widely scattered shops.
    “I can see why you wanted us to come along,” Coryden whispered, as though the quiet tunnels would have protested any louder volume. “How much farther is it?”
    “We’re almost there,” Morticai replied. “I think it’s at the end of this tunnel.”
    “Don’t you know for sure?” Coryden asked.
    “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him. But I’m almost positive this is the right tunnel.”
    Coryden shook his head and wondered how—and why—he’d let Morticai drag him into such a situation.
    Soon, they saw dim lamplight emanating from a far doorway. Morticai held up his hand for them to stop.
    “Okay. I think the best way to do it would be for Dualas to come with me and you,” he indicated Coryden, “to wait out here.”
    “ Sir , yes, sir!” Coryden replied.
    “Oh, Coryden,” Morticai complained, “you know I don’t mean anything. Besides, we’re not on patrol.”
    Coryden smiled and nodded, knowing he’d made his point. “Right. I’ll wait here. Just get on with it—I could be back in quarters catching up on my rest.”
    “We shouldn’t be too long,” Morticai said, handing the lantern to Coryden.

    * * *

    “No matter what happens,” Morticai whispered to Dualas as they approached the door, “let me do the talking. Fenton is a little strange.”
    Dualas asked, “ Strange? What do you mean …” but Morticai had already gone through the door. As he followed, a cord attached to a metal wind chime announced their entrance into the small shop. Worn tapestries and strung shells adorned the upper walls. Below them, every section of available wall space was lined with narrow shelves that held row upon row of small jars. Dualas moved closer to look at the jars. Herbs.
    A short, fat, balding man had come into the room through a back doorway. He smiled broadly and stretched his arms out to embrace Morticai. They grasped arms in greeting “Friend Dyluth,” he said, “it has been far too long since you have honored my humble abode with your presence!”
    Dualas realized that Fenton, for this must be the merchant, was referring to Morticai by that strange name—Dyluth. An alias, perhaps?
    Fenton caught sight of Dualas. “And who is your