Just once, she'd like a challenge. A task she could sink her teeth into. Something that might actually stretch her abilities, allow her to test herself and provide, along with the usual shower of gold, the satisfaction of a job well done. Gold was easy to come by, after all. Satisfaction, not so much.

And she'd thought this might have been just such a job. Three soldiers, albeit two of them retired, three individuals with the kind of skills that might just, if not match her own, then at least allow her to make good use of them. Some use of them, at any rate.

But, no. It seemed they were to be easy pickings, just like all the rest. Following their trail from the palace had been child's play, tracking them down to the gnomes' magic shop simplicity itself, and shadowing them to the tavern—and now to wherever it was they were headed next—laughably, contemptibly easy. It was true the elf had glanced her way once or twice, but it could only have been by chance. In her hooded cloak, trailing half a block behind her quarry, utilising every trace of the copious cover the bustling streetscape provided, she knew she was as good as invisible. Particularly among the remarkably diverse denizens of the Downside.

Lord Hirschnopple had provided no justification for her task and she had asked for none. There was perhaps a time, years ago, while still in the early stages of her own life, that she might have wondered at the reasons for the taking of another, but those days had long since passed. While it was true the League's elders had taught her such concepts as morals and honour and compassion—and taught them well—they had only done so in so much as it allowed them to be cast aside. To be overcome and ignored as the useless and sentimental fripperies the best and most talented apprentices soon understood them to be.

Even to a disinterested observer such as herself it was clear her targets had been appointed some task, and it didn't take a genius to conclude three such as these could only be on a quest they believed, in their emotionally handicapped judgements at least, to be just. As being good, whatever it was they perceived that to mean. Which, she supposed, by extension, made her bad. Evil or wicked, or what have you.

She could still faintly remember a time when that might have bothered her. When those concepts held some meaning, some power to sway her feelings and perhaps even influence her actions. Now, of course, they were nothing more than that—concepts. Good or bad, angels or demons, heroes or villains, it mattered not—to her the trio were targets and nothing more. A paycheque, a means to an end.

And it was time to collect. Time for the end.

Their end.

"You cannot be serious. Haven't we already wasted enough time?"

Striding by his side along the street, Carri turned and gave Slash a frosty look. "Excuse me? An hour or so to obtain a device that will lead us directly to Vazor, a man who could be literally anywhere on the face of this benighted world, and who might otherwise have taken us years to find? If we'd ever been able to find him at all? You call that wasted time?"

Slash fought down the urge to sigh. It was only day one and this was already starting to feel like a long quest. But he knew all too well picking a fight wasn't going to advance their cause. It was perhaps ironic that one of the key lessons he'd drawn from his military career was the value of keeping the peace.

"No, sorry. Obviously, the orb will be a great help and the time to get it was time well spent. That goes without saying. I just meant we shouldn't delay any longer. Like the Nanny said, once Hirschnopple gets wind of what we're up to, he'll do everything in his power to stop us. We need to get out of here. Without any more side-excursions."

"Oh, right." Stomping along on his other side, Hobe glared up at Slash. "I see how it is. When the Nanny or the elf makes a suggestion it's all 'yes ma'am, no ma'am, please bend over so I can kiss your arse ma'am' but when the dwarf comes up with something, it's 'fat chance, shorty'. Typical."

Sadly, it seemed the reluctance to start a fight was not universal in the group. This time Slash didn't bother to suppress the sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry, but 'We just need to duck in and see a mate of mine' doesn't really come across as the kind of suggestion likely to contribute much to our quest to save the kingdom. Unless, of course, this mate of yours happens to be Vazor. That'd be a different story, naturally. So, tell me—is your mate Vazor?"

"Haha, what a hilarious human you are. No, of course she's not bloody Vazor. I'll tell you what she is, though. She's someone who might know where Vazor is."

"The thing is," said Carri, "I hate break it to you, but we already know where he is." Retrieving the jar from within her jacket, she pointed at the little orb straining against the glass. "He's that way."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Hobe. "You know what direction he is. Not where he is. Sure, he might be that way—assuming your gnome friend knows her thaumaturgy from her elbow, that is—but we've got no idea know how far that way. For all we know, he might be one block over or he could be on the other side of the world. I dunno about you, but when I head off on a mission, I generally like to know whether I'll be coming back next week or next year. Plus, you never heard of corroborating your sources?" The dwarf shook his head. "And I thought elves were supposed to be smart."

"Smarter than some people I could name," she muttered as she put the jar away.

"Hey!" Hobe bristled. "I'll have you know I topped the class in two subjects in my final year at the academy."

"Let me guess," said Carri. "Beard Maintenance and Axes 101?"

He glowered up at her. "I dunno, everyone's a comedian of all a sudden. It was Advanced Axes, thank you very much. That, and Interpretive Dance."

"Ha!" Glad to have the mood lightened a little, Slash gave Hobe's upper arm a friendly punch. "Good one."

"I'm sorry." The dwarf's stony expression did not budge. "But are you implying there is something somehow humorous about a dwarf such as myself choosing to embrace the challenging and emotive—not to mention athletic—art of dancing?"

"Uh..." Slash swallowed, as he sensed the elusive goal of group harmony slipping ever further away. "No?" he hazarded.

Thinking back, he recalled that dance had indeed been on the curriculum at the academy. In fact, several of his instructors had lauded its positive effects on balance and coordination and (in at least one not particularly PC case)...well, getting laid. Personally, he'd picked up just enough to not disgrace himself at balls and then elected never to go near the performing arts studio again, thereby freeing up crucial extra time for swordplay and drinking.

Clearly, Hobe had adopted a more enthusiastic approach, and being a couple of years junior to the dwarf, Slash had somehow managed to entirely miss his dancefloor adventures. Which now left him needing to find a way out of the hole he'd just dug for himself. He looked to Carri in the forlorn hope of some assistance, but the elf steadfastly refused to catch his eye, instead staring straight ahead as she strode along, with a distinct fixity to her expression. Slash was on his own.

"Er," he started, straight away recognising this as not the strongest of openings, "it's just that I didn't realise dwarfs could...um, I mean, I've never seen...er, I thought they'd be too, you know..." He swallowed. "I'll bet you were very...graceful."

Given this display of eloquence didn't appear to have shifted Hobe's thunderous expression one iota, he clutched at the first straw he could think of. "Hey, it's a shame Vazor didn't know about your, ah...extra-curricular skills. That boy was a demon on the dancefloor. I seem to recall him driving old Queen Marise nuts with some of the moves he'd pull. Livened up those stuffy balls of hers no end."

"Aye," agreed the dwarf. "He did. And where exactly do you think he learned those moves?"

Slash stared down at him. "Wait. You're saying—?"

"Yep." Hobe's ruddy features softened in recollection. "It was plain the lad was frustrated with the staid old boring crap the royal dance tutors were drumming into him. So, whenever we got the chance—and nobody was looking—I'd teach him something a little less conventional. Something a bit more contemporary. The boy lapped it up." 

"Sounds like you might have missed your calling," said Carri. "Why are you wasting your time as  a bouncer when you could be a dance instructor? I can just see the sign above the door—'Hobe's Delightful Dance Academy for Dainty Dwarfs'. Oh yes, I think you'd look just lovely in a tutu. A nice little pink number."

Bristling once again, the dwarf hefted his axe. "Listen here, missy—" 

"Hey, why don't you tell us about this mate of yours?" interrupted Slash. Having somehow talked Hobe down, the last thing he needed was Carri arcing him back up again. He smiled a winning smile. "You know, the one we're going to see?"

The dwarf glared at them both in suspicion for a few seconds more, before relenting. "Oh, fine. She's a lass from my hometown, out by the Grulch Valley. Goes by the name of Gella Gwain. She was silly enough to be sweet on my big brother for a bit, before she grew up enough to work out what a bad idea that was. Came to Quollo to make her fortune and made it ten times over by setting up the biggest copper mine in the province, but then went bust when Duke Lowditch convinced the High Council to deregulate the copper market and all that cheap stuff from Froom came pouring in. Anyway, these days she runs The Forge."

"The Forge?" repeated Carri. "That some kind of dwarf bar or something?"

"No, it's..." Hobe scratched his beard. "It's kind of hard to describe. I guess you could say it's, um...sort of a printed list of stuff that's been happening."

"What, like a noticeboard?" asked Slash. "That kind of thing?"

"No. Well, yes, sort of. But not exactly. Gella collects info on all the stuff that's going on, see, and then prints it out and sells it."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Slash.

"And sells it to who?" added Carri.

"All kinds of stuff, and to anybody who wants it. It's sort of an...information-sheet, I guess you could say. A pamphlet on what's been going on lately. Kind of an events-book. But not the kind of book you keep. You just read the stuff you're interested in, and then chuck it away."

"Chuck it away?" asked Slash "Why would you chuck it away?"

"Because," replied Hobe, "you're just going to buy another one tomorrow."

"And why would I do that?" asked Carri.

"Because by then different things will have happened."

The elf absorbed this. "Hang on. Is this why I was reading about Lord Nuff's latest sex-scandal on the wrapping for my fish and chips last night?"

"Well," said the dwarf, "unless your local takeaway is into some pretty weird stuff, then I'd say so." He tugged at his beard. "Look, I'm not very good at explaining these kinds of things."

"That's okay." Slash ruthlessly stamped down on the urge to suggest perhaps some interpretive dance might help. "I'm sure this Gella can explain when we get there. The main question is, why would she know where Vazor is?"

"Sources, mate." Hobe gave him a wink. "She's a lady in the know, believe you me. She's built up a network of people who report back to her on stuff from all over the place. Not just Irmway, either. She's got 'em in Volanda and Froom and Norlandia and the Sky Reaches and a bunch of others places. If anyone's got the good goss on our scarpered prince, it's her."

Slash nodded, relieved to find there may indeed be some merit to this further delay in their departure. "Right, sounds good. So, we go see Gella and then—"

"Help!"

Wavering, yet quite audible over the bustle of the city, the female voice came from the narrow alley they were passing.

"Won't someone help me? Please!"

Without conscious thought, Slash's sword was in his hand. And without so much as a glance at the other two, he charged into the alley.

"Come on!"