Page 96 of Ale Storm

“Uhm.” Rolf leaned out from behind Jildarin and peered around the dining room.

Ekton stuffed a piece of his scone into the horn. He probably trusted Mya, but with his troops bent over, grabbing their stomachs, he would be foolish not to test his food. The mugs did not glow. Good.

Rylana tipped the horn out over a table to remove the soggy contents.

“I don’t think it was one of these people, but…” Rolf lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dwarves all look alike to me.”

“I’ve had the same thought about goblins,” Ekton murmured.

“Let’s check the storeroom.” Rylana spoke the words to Jildarin, but Ekton and half the dining room occupants followed her and the horn down the hallway. And was that one of the food critics trailing after the dwarves with a notepad and pen? “Who doesn’t love a show with dinner?” she muttered.

Rylana eyed the kegs of ale stacked three deep and two high along the storeroom wall. The thought of testing the liquids in each was daunting, but only three or four looked to have been opened. The poisoned ale had to have come from one of them.

Ah, and there was a half-mopped up puddle under one of the kegs. Had someone been trying to dump out the contents when Rolf had chanced into the storeroom?

The carriage doors in the rear swung open, one banging against the wall and startling Rylana. She’d leaned the lance she’d acquired in the valley near that wall and thought about rushing over to grab it before noticing that Jildarin had stepped into the storeroom and stood at her side. He would protect them all from whatever threat entered.

Sylin walked into view, pushing a blonde-haired female dwarf ahead of her, a blade resting against her throat. Rylana recognized her as their tail from the market. Noticing a drop of blood on the dwarf’s neck, Rylana glanced over her shoulder to make sure there weren’t any peacekeepers in the crowd of diners who’d followed her down the hallway. Some would inevitably arrive, but they hadn’t yet.

“This is the dwarf who was skulking about near the premises.” Sylin stopped a few steps inside the door with her prisoner.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” the dwarf growled, but when she spotted King Ekton, she swore and looked away.

“She isn’t carrying vials of poison on her, is she?” Rylana walked forward with the horn. Was this dwarf also the black-market dealer that Captain Laridon had hired Sylin to find?

“I didn’t search her,” Sylin said. “I merely apprehended her.”

“What, searches aren’t included in your fee?” Rylana asked.

“They are not. You’re not paying me enough to grope dwarves.”

Rylana stopped in front of her captive and started patting pockets. Sylin’s prisoner glowered at her and also gave the horn a long look.

“This is going back to its rightful owner,” Rylana told her quietly.

The dwarf only glowered further.

Jildarin started to walk over, probably to offer help or protect Rylana, but someone in the back of the crowd called, “The peacekeepers are here,” and he paused, looking in that direction.

“Chef Jildarin?” a gnomish voice called from the dining room. “Violence has been reported here. Are you present?”

“Rolf?” Rylana asked when her search didn’t reveal poison or anything else except a few coins and a pocket watch. She could barely see the goblin in the crowd that had flowed out of the hallway, but he leaned around someone and met her gaze. “Is this the dwarf you saw letting ale out of that keg earlier?”

“No, that was a male dwarf.”

“You have a partner in here?” Rylana asked the female. “Is he the one with the poison?”

The dwarf spat at her.

Something struck the ground beside them and shattered. Plumes of smoke filled the air, quickly obscuring the view.

A grunt sounded—Sylin.

“I’ve still got her,” Sylin growled amid rustling clothes.

A faint bump came from the side of the storeroom near Rylana’s bed. With her instincts shouting warnings, she lunged for the lance against the wall.

Almost dropping the horn, she grabbed the weapon and spun as the smoke swirled nearby—someone rushing at her. A hand reached toward her—toward the horn. Rylana thrust with the lance. A warning buzz ran through the lance, probably from the tranquility ribbons, but she caught someone with the tip anyway.