"Gee, we don't look like ourselves," he complained when they were ready. With their top knots and ears hidden and their weapons camouflaged, they resembled slender twelve-year-old human children.

"I think it's what Uncle Skipout intended," Ripple said.

"I can't think why." Trapspringer murmured with a frown, but when an idea struck him his face lit with a smile. "Maybe humans like kender to look like them."

"I see, we're doing it to be friendly! I like that," Ripple said, nodding her approval. "Remember what father said."

As she took a step away from the log a low branch nearly dislodged her hat. She leaned her whippik against the tree, readjusted her headgear, and as she reached for her camouflaged weapon, noticed a small, interesting flower: a pink puff on a short stem.

"What did father say?" asked Trapspringer, who had been gazing into the bushes where a rustle had given evidence of a hiding animal. He decided he had been mistaken and had picked up the thread of the conversation.

"It's very pretty."

"Father said your hat was pretty?"

Ripple looked from the flower to her brother and said, "Did he ever see my hat?"

Brother and sister exchanged smiles and shouldered their weapons and packs. The typical kender conversation flowed along a serpentine course with eddies of unrelated but interesting sidelights. To a human, the entire point of the conversation would be quickly lost, but since the kender seldom wanted to make any point they were usually satisfied.

"I hope the soldiers aren't mad at us anymore," Ripple said as she stepped over a log.

"They made a mistake, and when they realize it they'll be sorry," Trapspringer said. "We shouldn't be angry about it, it could happen to anyone. I know they'll apologize, but right now, I think we should keep to the woods as long as we can."

Walking through the forest was more pleasant than traveling the dusty road. Spring was well underway, it being the beginning of the month of Flower-field in the kender language, Fluer-green in Solamnic. The trees had been in full leaf for less than a fortnight. The day was lazily warm so they enjoyed the shade. Busy insects buzzed through the shadows and into the dappled sun-light where their wings glowed in the bright beams.

The forest stretched east another two miles. When they reached the road again they saw no sign of the patrol, so they continued until they stood looking at the walled city. The ship captain's map that had mysteriously appeared among Trapspringer's belongings had listed the name of the city as Lytburg.

"What do you think?" Trap asked his sister.

Above the outer defenses, bristling with battlements and bartizans, they could see the towers of the keep, set far inside the city's fortifications.

"It looks as if they're expecting trouble," Ripple said, undaunted by the prospect of danger. "It looks interesting."

"Interesting" was the rallying cry for the entire race of kender, who would rather face death than boredom, so they continued up the road.

As they drew closer to the bridge at the gates of the city, they noticed a deep trench that ran along the outside of the city'swalled defenses. Abatis lined the ditch. The bark of the securely anchored, up-thrust logs and strong tree branches had grayed with age. The pointed ends showed blackened tips, suggesting they had been hardened with fire. Below the black char the pale, freshly cut wood indicated that the points had been recently sharpened to cut away the rot.

A stone bridge with sturdy stone railings limited the access to the gate. Several farmers' carts were drawn up as close to the left railing as possible. The drivers waited for the gate guards to inspect their cargo. The wide sharp tips of the city's military weaponry gleamed as if newly sharpened. The soldiers roughly shoved one of the farmers about. They demanded to know the farmer's business and poked at the baskets of potatoes and cabbages in his simple cart.

"The guards look busy," Ripple said as they approached the end of the bridge.

"They're important to the city," Trap replied. "We shouldn't take up their valuable time."

Ahead, a guard ordered the arriving cart to pull to the left. The vehicle was unwieldy, piled high with hay. The mules objected to the wall and the soldier kept shouting at the driver. When the wagon finally stopped, the guard reached up and grabbed the arm of the farmer, hauling him off the seat.

The two kender had been about to skirt the cart and cross the bridge, but just then a troop of soldiers came through the gate, leaving the city. The leader shouted at the guards and the farmers to make way as he urged his horse forward. Behind him the troop, riding two abreast, were shoving the farmers and the guards up against the carts.

Trap and Ripple ducked back behind the last cart and he climbed up on the left bridge railing to get out from underfoot. The stone facing had once risen to a knife-sharp angle, but age had rounded it. Kender in general had excellent balance, particularly the Fargo family.

"We can just walk along this railing to the gate," Trap said, leading the way. "The guards will be grateful to us for not bothering them, and we won't get in the way of the horses and wagons."

The two kender walked along the railing behind the carts, entered the city unnoticed, and strolled down a busy street. The locals, mostly human and dwarf, hurried in both directions on unknown errands. Occasionally they saw an elf, but they had not seen any of their own people. The height of the humans' shoulders were well above the heads of the kender, so their view was limited to the buildings they passed.

Two and three story half-timbered buildings, most with cantilevered second floors, shaded the pavement and the smell of mustiness mingled with the odor of bodies.

Their diminutive height had kept them from seeing what lay ahead. Then, through a break in the crowd, they saw a sunlit open square and caught a glimpse of awnings over rough stalls.

"Wow, it's Shadow Day," Ripple said with delight.

"Call it Bracha here," Trap reminded his sister. Whether they used the kinder or the Solamnic name, it did seem to be the seventh day of the week, market day.

They increased their pace and in minutes they reached the open square. There they slowed, stopping occasion-ally to look at the displayed merchandise. Everything in the world seemed to be on sale in the square. They saw pigs and horses, furs and vegetables, hoes and plows, wagons and fowls roasting on spits. Bolts of silks, wool and velvet lay cheek by jowl with cured leather.

Farmers in homespun clothing, with the mud of their fields still on their boots, rubbed shoulders with the city dwellers, some in filthy rags, some in clean, well darned clothing, some in silks and velvets. Hawkers carried trays and baskets supported by leather straps or ropes around their necks or over their shoulders. They shouted over the noise of the crowd as they announced their wares. Calls of "Roasted Nuts!" "Meat rolls!" and "Melon slices!" rang over the arguing, bargaining, shouted greetings and laughter of the shoppers.

Further on they discovered a traveling baker's stall and behind it an oven made of iron sheets cleverly fitted together. It could be taken apart in minutes. Trap stopped to consider the oven, wondering if it was of dwarven design. Ripple continued down the row of stalls.

Trap picked up a still warm loaf, inspecting the crust to see if it was to his liking. Across the way a shouting match broke out between two would-be buyers for the same pig. The kender hurried over to see if there would be a fight, but the seller, a narrow faced little man with a twitching nose, decided he had undervalued the pig. He upped the price and the two bearded, roughly dressed farmers suddenly allied against him.