Delbridge peered closely at the piece of jewelry. "You mean you predicted the future?" he asked skeptically.

"I guess you could say that." Gaesil peered at him through bleary eyes. "That would make a good story, wouldn't it? Do you suppose it's an omen?" Quickly he tossed the Eye behind his hand. He thought he saw Water, the sign of ill luck; he blinked to clear his vision, but he could barely make out the symbol in the dimly lit tent.

Watching him, Delbridge laughed and rose to his stubby feet. "I think it's a sign that you've had too much to drink and you're mind is playing tricks. Perhaps I should help you home."

The tinker shook his head until it lolled, and waved off the offer. "No need. I'm staying in my wagon on the grounds here and can do jus' fine."

"Then I'll say good night." The bard patted his round stomach and clapped Gaesil on the back good-naturedly. "My thanks for the drink and the talk. I hope your luck continues and mine improves." With that, he turned up his lapels in anticipation of a brisk spring breeze and left the noisy tent.

Gaesil downed the last of his ale and decided to head home as well. He fumbled through his coin purse and paid his bill, leaving a copper for the rude waiter out of habit. Stepping from the tent, he was confused about the direction to his wagon. Spotting a familiar sign above a booth near his, he hunched his shoulders against the wind and staggered toward home.

He was pulling his boots off inside his wagon when he felt a now-familiar warming sensation in the skin under the bracelet. Too tipsy to focus and too tired to care, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. But they flew open as he felt the copper bracelet being wrenched from his limp and bloody wrist. Shocked upright, he felt something hard crash upon his skull, and he wasn't sure if it was vision or reality. And then he saw nothing at all.

"Funny thing," said Sir Delbridge Fidington over Gaesil's collapsed body. "I may not be a good storyteller, but I do seem to excel at thievery."

"Honestly, Flint, it's not my fault," said Tasslehoff, skipping along to keep up with the pounding pace set by the angry hill dwarf. Even Tanis had to take long strides to stay next to Flint as they hurried along in the darkness of very early morning.

"All of this is your fault, kender!" the dwarf growled. "If you hadn't lifted the bracelet to begin with, I wouldn't be on this wild-goose chase in the dregs of the night!"

"But I've told you, I don't know how the bracelet got into my pocket the second time. And I was trying to return it… Why else would I give it to the tinker? You've got to believe me, Flint."

"I don't have to do anything but get my bracelet back," the dwarf said, turning his bulbous nose on the kender. "And stop calling me Flint. It makes us sound like friends."

"What should I call you, then?" asked the kender innocently.

"I'd rather you didn't call me anything at all! I'd rather you didn't speak to me!"

"You're awfully testy. You're probably just tired from all this walking, what with those stubby legs of yours," Tasslehoff said. "Speaking of wild geese, my Uncle Trapspringer used to chase them-for the feathers, that is. Oh yes, it's true. Goose feathers were all the rage among the rich in Kendermore. Males and females alike would wear them in their hair, put them in their pillows. Uncle Trapspringer made quite a tidy sum, he did. Spent it all on a trip to the moon.

"I almost went to the moon once myself, with a magic teleporting ring-"

"Stop that infernal chattering!" Flint screamed, clapping his thick hands to his ears.

Tanis struggled to keep a solemn face. "You were the one who insisted he come back with us when we found him in Windy Vale."

"As a hostage, not as a torturer! I wanted him with us in case he was lying about giving that infernal bracelet to the tinker." Flint's eyes narrowed maliciously. "Say, aren't hostages usually bound and gagged?"

"Yeah, but then you'd have to carry him." Tanis laughed, then pointed ahead. "Besides, that's the bridge over Solace Stream. We'll be in town shortly, and soon after we'll find that tinker and you'll have your bracelet back."

"I only hope Selana hasn't come looking for it yet," Flint muttered.

"If she has, I'll tell her it wasn't really anyone's fault, but that somehow-"

Flint whirled on the kender and hoisted him up by the collar of his furry vest. "You say one word to her about this," he threatened, "and I'll cut out your tongue, fry it, and make you eat it!" He released Tasslehoff's vest and continued his march.

"Well," Tasslehoff huffed, giving Flint a haughty glance. He brushed his clothing back into place as he trotted after the dwarf. "That certainly isn't friendly of you. I was just offering to help."

Tanis patted the kender on the shoulder. "I believe Flint feels you've helped enough for one lifetime, Tasslehoff."

Flint just snorted.

They reached the south edge of Solace just as the thin edge of daybreak showed in the east. Tanis was all for going home first to wash away the grime from a day on the trail. A faint stubble of beard that no elf could grow covered his cheeks, an inheritance from his human father. Flint would have none of it.

"You can wash and change all day long after I get my bracelet back." If the tinker was using Hint's stall, as the kender had predicted, then he probably had spent the night there in his wagon like most out-of-town merchants, the dwarf reasoned. He marched the kender and half-elf to the festival grounds on the west edge of town. A few of the fair workers were up and moving about, collecting water and starting breakfast fires. Flint ignored their friendly calls and marched the bedraggled party straightaway to his booth.

"He was here, all right," the dwarf said, noting the sign above the planks, as well as some tools inside the curtained area. Flint pushed his way through the curtains and emerged out back to find the tinker's wagon.

"That's it! That's Bella!" Tasslehoff crowed as he pushed his way through the curtains and around Flint. The horse was tethered to one of the stall's supports.

Shoulders set, Flint stomped toward the door at the back of the wagon. Tanis grabbed at his belt and yanked him to a stop.

"You can't just barge in on a sleeping man at the crack of dawn and demand your bracelet like a lout," the half-elf cautioned.

"Whyever not?" Flint demanded, eyes narrowed. "It's my bracelet and I want it back, and he's sleeping in my stall and I want it back as well."

"OK," Tanis said, conceding his points, "but at least try to be civil with him. It's not his fault he has the bracelet." Two sets of eyes, one furious, the other mildly amused, turned toward the kender.

Seeing the conversation taking an ugly spin, Tasslehoff danced to the wagon's door. "He knows me. I'll go first. It's probably locked, so I'll just-" Most people would have said "knock," but Tasslehoff was about to say "pick the lock" when he noticed that the door was already ajar.

"That's strange," Tas said softly. "You'd think he'd be more careful. I don't mean to sound unkind, but people who work fairs are not considered to be the most trustworthy types."

"Something they have in common with kender," Flint muttered. Tas's little face glared down at him. "But you're right, something seems amiss here." Frowning, Flint climbed the two crates used as steps, elbowed his way past the kender, and pushed the door open gingerly. Peeking under Flint's arm, Tas gasped.

The lanky tinker lay on the floor amid his tools, his head, and the floor around it, caked in thick blood. The dwarf scrambled through the door and dropped to one knee to check the human for a pulse.