“Well, is it done yet?” Duramarth asked.
“Eh, no, naught yet.”
“Well, why not?”
“Just ta keep ya in suspense I suppose,” the dwarf replied wryly.
“Skufr! I need you to do your job and get that globe opened!” Duramarth chided in frustration.
“Well whadya have me tinkerin around wit Elven garbage fer anyways! Nuttin but swirly-doos and glimmer fairies floatin around dis ting,” the Dwarf shot back in defense. Trying to mask his difficulty with cracking the complex piece of Elven master craft.
“You know perfectly well, I can’t remember how to unlock that confounded device to access its inner chamber and I need it ready to deliver my missive by tomorrow night. For the market,” explained Duramarth.
“Alright, alright Grandmaster. Though I don’t know why you’ll be needin it by tomorrow night. What’s so important bout tomorrow night anyways?” the dwarf complained.
“Because tomorrow is open market where anyone may peddle wares. The seer said tomorrow night, she…”
“Seer?” the Dwarf cut him off. “You mean that creepy ol’ bag-o-bones, livin wit all dem cats? Sorceress would be more like it.”
“Be still! Leave the poor old woman alone. The cats keep her company. It's a charitable thing she does taking care of them like that. They would be starving in Beggar’s Alley otherwise,” Duramarth argued.
The dwarf paused his work for a moment, slowly lifting his gaze toward Duramarth and spoke in a cautionary tone, “Aye. Now ye listen here Grandmaster. I’d much rather be starving then someone else’s supper. Do ya know I’ve never seen the same cat come outta that stench-filled hovel twice? She cooks em fer dinner! I’m sure of that. That or sumtin else…unnatural. And besides, she smells like days ol piss.”
The Grandmaster chuckled aloud at the claim. He admired the Dwarf’s candor and defensive nature. Allies that questioned everything were exactly the kind he needed right now.
Deep down however, he knew that Skufr’s instincts about the Old Crone were accurate. Though, consequence of dealing with her mattered little to the Grandmaster right now. The old woman was a means to an end, albeit a messy one. She knew things seen and unseen and he needed answers quickly. She had given him guidance on where and how to find new allies within the self-absorbed and chaotic town of Bree.
Unlike the Elves, fickle in their nature and slow to provide help if any at all, the old woman would provide direction on how to move forward in a preemptive strike against that which pursued Duramarth and his kin. Yes, her knowledge would come at a price. It always did but Duramarth faced bigger threats at the moment and future recompense for a bargain struck now would have to be worth it.
“Click.” Tumblers aligned, and the latch came loose revealing a hidden cylindrical drawer just large enough to contain a small rolled up piece of parchment.
“Ah ha, here ya are Grandmaster! Yer little Elvish puzzle is solved. Now you can put yer little riddle, treasure map or whatever else yer scheming heart desires in there. There’s nuttin dem Elves can build that Skufr can’t break!” the Dwarf boasted proudly.
“Excellent! Good work Mister Skufr. I knew one of Dwimmer’s kinsfolk wouldn’t let me down,” Duramarth exclaimed.
“Who? Eh, never met em,” replied the dwarf.
