help the poor girl. He barely knew
Tika's friends. “There, now. It's not like he's your own true love, just an older lad with
a good voice. You don't want him.”
Tika laughed and wiped her eyes on her arm. “That's true. But Loriel's supposed to be my
friend- what does he see in HERI”
“Ah.” Now he understood. “Well, she's older than you.” “Only a little. A year isn't so
much.” She sniffed. “Don't cry again.” He added, to get a smile from her, "You'll
salt the ale.“ It almost worked. ”You must be patient, like that woman in the song. How
did it go again?"
Tika looked wistful, forgetting her own sorrow. “It's about a man who kisses his love
good-bye and goes away forever, only she doesn't know that, and waits for him until she's
old and lonely and she dies-”
“Birds sang where she died.”
Tika sighed happily. “And all their songs were sad. Otik, am I going to end like that? Do
you think I'll end up living all alone, with nobody to love or to live with, sleeping by
myself and making meals for one?”
Otik looked for a long time in the mirror at the long bar's end. Finally he turned around.
“Sometimes it happens. Surely not to you, though. Now go, pretty young one, and get the
last cask.”
He scrubbed the tun hard, perhaps harder than it needed.
It was noon, but there were no spiced potatoes cooking, no shouts for ale. Otik had hung a
tankard upside down on the post at the bottom steps, so that even the unlettered would
know not to climb up needlessly. Otik closed for every brewing, opening only when the
alewort was made.
The brewing tun was clean and filled with spring water, waiting behind the bar for the
malt syrup. The syrup was warmed and waiting. The yeast, the final addition to the
alewort, was in a bowl on the bar.
But the hops had not yet arrived, and Otik was as impatient as Tika. before he heard slow,
heavy steps on the stairs.
“Tika,” he called, “come out.” She came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron as
he said, “Hear that? Someone carrying a burden. Our hops have come.” He cocked an ear,
listening with the knowledge of long years. “Not as heavy as I thought. Did Kerwin not
bring a full load?”
The Inn door flew open and a burlap bag waddled in, seemingly under its own power, and
leaped to the floor before the tun. A kender, still doubled from his load, peered through
his arched brows at them and grinned suddenly.
“Moonwick.” Otik did not say the kender's name with pleasure. Among men, the short,
mischievous kender were famous for
practical joking and for disregarding other people's property, and Moonwick Light-finger
was famous among kender. It was said, even by sober travelers, that once when Moonwick was
at Crystalmir Lake, the partying crew of a small fishing boat had woken in full gear, on
deck, to find their boat lodged thirty feet off the ground between two trees. The topmost
tree branches bore pulley marks, but the pulleys had been removed. It took eight men two
days to get the boat down.
It was further rumored, in stories possibly started by the kender himself, that Moonwick
had on separate occasions stolen the tail from a cat, the blonde hair from a human woman,
and, on a night of unexplained eclipse, the moonlight itself-which was how he got his
name. Otik subscribed to the more popular theory that the kender's name was a flattering
corruption of Moonwit. Moonwick smiled up at Otik. "Here's your hops, and gods how
I prayed a thousand times that they'd hop themselves here. Where's my reward?“ He added,
”Gold will do."
Otik did not smile back. “Kerwin was bringing the hops. What happened to him?”
“You paid him in advance. He had money. He wanted to gamble.” The kender said earnestly,
“I said we could do it for anything: buttons, rocks, things in our pockets-but he wouldn't
listen. He said he felt
Tika's friends. “There, now. It's not like he's your own true love, just an older lad with
a good voice. You don't want him.”
Tika laughed and wiped her eyes on her arm. “That's true. But Loriel's supposed to be my
friend- what does he see in HERI”
“Ah.” Now he understood. “Well, she's older than you.” “Only a little. A year isn't so
much.” She sniffed. “Don't cry again.” He added, to get a smile from her, "You'll
salt the ale.“ It almost worked. ”You must be patient, like that woman in the song. How
did it go again?"
Tika looked wistful, forgetting her own sorrow. “It's about a man who kisses his love
good-bye and goes away forever, only she doesn't know that, and waits for him until she's
old and lonely and she dies-”
“Birds sang where she died.”
Tika sighed happily. “And all their songs were sad. Otik, am I going to end like that? Do
you think I'll end up living all alone, with nobody to love or to live with, sleeping by
myself and making meals for one?”
Otik looked for a long time in the mirror at the long bar's end. Finally he turned around.
“Sometimes it happens. Surely not to you, though. Now go, pretty young one, and get the
last cask.”
He scrubbed the tun hard, perhaps harder than it needed.
It was noon, but there were no spiced potatoes cooking, no shouts for ale. Otik had hung a
tankard upside down on the post at the bottom steps, so that even the unlettered would
know not to climb up needlessly. Otik closed for every brewing, opening only when the
alewort was made.
The brewing tun was clean and filled with spring water, waiting behind the bar for the
malt syrup. The syrup was warmed and waiting. The yeast, the final addition to the
alewort, was in a bowl on the bar.
But the hops had not yet arrived, and Otik was as impatient as Tika. before he heard slow,
heavy steps on the stairs.
“Tika,” he called, “come out.” She came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron as
he said, “Hear that? Someone carrying a burden. Our hops have come.” He cocked an ear,
listening with the knowledge of long years. “Not as heavy as I thought. Did Kerwin not
bring a full load?”
The Inn door flew open and a burlap bag waddled in, seemingly under its own power, and
leaped to the floor before the tun. A kender, still doubled from his load, peered through
his arched brows at them and grinned suddenly.
“Moonwick.” Otik did not say the kender's name with pleasure. Among men, the short,
mischievous kender were famous for
practical joking and for disregarding other people's property, and Moonwick Light-finger
was famous among kender. It was said, even by sober travelers, that once when Moonwick was
at Crystalmir Lake, the partying crew of a small fishing boat had woken in full gear, on
deck, to find their boat lodged thirty feet off the ground between two trees. The topmost
tree branches bore pulley marks, but the pulleys had been removed. It took eight men two
days to get the boat down.
It was further rumored, in stories possibly started by the kender himself, that Moonwick
had on separate occasions stolen the tail from a cat, the blonde hair from a human woman,
and, on a night of unexplained eclipse, the moonlight itself-which was how he got his
name. Otik subscribed to the more popular theory that the kender's name was a flattering
corruption of Moonwit. Moonwick smiled up at Otik. "Here's your hops, and gods how
I prayed a thousand times that they'd hop themselves here. Where's my reward?“ He added,
”Gold will do."
Otik did not smile back. “Kerwin was bringing the hops. What happened to him?”
“You paid him in advance. He had money. He wanted to gamble.” The kender said earnestly,
“I said we could do it for anything: buttons, rocks, things in our pockets-but he wouldn't
listen. He said he felt
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