he had dragged two wooden stools to the tired explorers.
“It is best to do business when comfortable,” Ibn said, but he did not take a seat himself. Instead, he leaned on the counter, openly sizing up the strangers before him. “What brings you to Chult? If I understand your goal, I can better help you to reach it, do you see?”
“We wish to hire a guide and six bearers, and buy supplies for a few weeks trek into the jungle. But we prefer not to discuss our reasons for being here,” Artus began, “There are others”
“No need to say more. I understand entirely,” the shopkeep said, holding up a restraining hand. “I will tell you this, though. The men and women here will do no traffic with slavers. It is something we will not tolerate, do you see?”
“Of course,” Pontifax said. The mage nodded emphatically. “We’re no slavers. You can count on that.”
“Then I can help you,” Ibn replied, “but not for a few days. This very morning, before dawn, the only guide in Port Castigliar has gone away with the unpleasant young woman from your ship. It is too bad you could not travel together, but”
“Young woman?” Artus repeated, shocked, “No young woman got off the Narwhal this morning.”
Ibn shrugged. “I could be mistaken, but I doubt so very much. Only locals and people from trading ships stop here, and yours has been the only vessel in days.”
“Was there an elf with her? A young, blond-haired fellow?” Pontifax asked, rubbing his chin.
The boy, who had been watching the mage from atop a pile of crates, shouted down, “No. She left the camp with the guide. No bearers and no supplies: She was very rude to me and my father.”
“She tried to strike Inyanga when he shouted at her for tracking mud into the store,” Ibn noted. He pulled a large ledger from beneath the counter. “The guide leaves a record of his destination with me. I am his agent, do you see?” After flipping past a dozen yellow-edged pages, he frowned. “There is no entry here. Perhaps this woman is searching for the same thing you are, for she is certainly as secretive.”
Artus was on his feet before the book clapped shut. “There has to be another guide here. You, perhaps? Or the boy?”
“Absolutely not,” Ibn said. “Inyanga and I, we will not leave our home, and the bearers, they are slaves freed from galleys along the coast. They work here to earn their passage home, do you see? They do not know this place any better than you.” He slid the ledger back under the counter. “You will have to wait for the guide to return. Until then, you can stay in one of the huts. A few are empty now, since three of my bearers bought passage back down the coast aboard a merchant ship last week.”
The door slammed open, and the leader of the Narwhal’s shore party stuck his head into the depot. “All the stuff is on the beach,” he shouted. “Stacked and covered with a tarp. We’re going.”
“Not until I inventory the boxes,” Ibn replied. He vaulted over the counter. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but Captain Bawr’s men have trouble counting their own fingers and toes.”
Artus and Pontifax watched the shopkeep hurry outside. “We could risk going on alone,” the mage ventured halfheartedly.
“That would be foolish.” Inyanga climbed down from the crates. “You would not last a whole night in the jungle alone. There are goblins and wildmen who would eat both of you for dinner.” The boy laughed. “And the Children of Ubtao. They do not like strangers roaming around in Ubtao’s jungle. Then the bearers would bring you back, and my father would have to bury what’s left of you in the ground beside the beach, like the other men who came here and wandered off on their own.”
Artus knew many tribes in Chult worshiped Ubtao as the mightiest of gods, the maker of men and animals. Perhaps these “children” were his high priests. “Well, Pontifax?” the explorer sighed.
“What else can we do?” the
“It is best to do business when comfortable,” Ibn said, but he did not take a seat himself. Instead, he leaned on the counter, openly sizing up the strangers before him. “What brings you to Chult? If I understand your goal, I can better help you to reach it, do you see?”
“We wish to hire a guide and six bearers, and buy supplies for a few weeks trek into the jungle. But we prefer not to discuss our reasons for being here,” Artus began, “There are others”
“No need to say more. I understand entirely,” the shopkeep said, holding up a restraining hand. “I will tell you this, though. The men and women here will do no traffic with slavers. It is something we will not tolerate, do you see?”
“Of course,” Pontifax said. The mage nodded emphatically. “We’re no slavers. You can count on that.”
“Then I can help you,” Ibn replied, “but not for a few days. This very morning, before dawn, the only guide in Port Castigliar has gone away with the unpleasant young woman from your ship. It is too bad you could not travel together, but”
“Young woman?” Artus repeated, shocked, “No young woman got off the Narwhal this morning.”
Ibn shrugged. “I could be mistaken, but I doubt so very much. Only locals and people from trading ships stop here, and yours has been the only vessel in days.”
“Was there an elf with her? A young, blond-haired fellow?” Pontifax asked, rubbing his chin.
The boy, who had been watching the mage from atop a pile of crates, shouted down, “No. She left the camp with the guide. No bearers and no supplies: She was very rude to me and my father.”
“She tried to strike Inyanga when he shouted at her for tracking mud into the store,” Ibn noted. He pulled a large ledger from beneath the counter. “The guide leaves a record of his destination with me. I am his agent, do you see?” After flipping past a dozen yellow-edged pages, he frowned. “There is no entry here. Perhaps this woman is searching for the same thing you are, for she is certainly as secretive.”
Artus was on his feet before the book clapped shut. “There has to be another guide here. You, perhaps? Or the boy?”
“Absolutely not,” Ibn said. “Inyanga and I, we will not leave our home, and the bearers, they are slaves freed from galleys along the coast. They work here to earn their passage home, do you see? They do not know this place any better than you.” He slid the ledger back under the counter. “You will have to wait for the guide to return. Until then, you can stay in one of the huts. A few are empty now, since three of my bearers bought passage back down the coast aboard a merchant ship last week.”
The door slammed open, and the leader of the Narwhal’s shore party stuck his head into the depot. “All the stuff is on the beach,” he shouted. “Stacked and covered with a tarp. We’re going.”
“Not until I inventory the boxes,” Ibn replied. He vaulted over the counter. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but Captain Bawr’s men have trouble counting their own fingers and toes.”
Artus and Pontifax watched the shopkeep hurry outside. “We could risk going on alone,” the mage ventured halfheartedly.
“That would be foolish.” Inyanga climbed down from the crates. “You would not last a whole night in the jungle alone. There are goblins and wildmen who would eat both of you for dinner.” The boy laughed. “And the Children of Ubtao. They do not like strangers roaming around in Ubtao’s jungle. Then the bearers would bring you back, and my father would have to bury what’s left of you in the ground beside the beach, like the other men who came here and wandered off on their own.”
Artus knew many tribes in Chult worshiped Ubtao as the mightiest of gods, the maker of men and animals. Perhaps these “children” were his high priests. “Well, Pontifax?” the explorer sighed.
“What else can we do?” the
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