Chapter 25

The tornadoes and lightning slowly departed the region of Goodlund during the night, and the following day dawned bright and clear over Kendermore.

Trapspringer Furrfoot and Damaris Metwinger were wed at noon in the chamber of the Kendermore Council. The bride’s father, Mayor Merldon Metwinger, presided over the ceremony.

Damaris wore a butter-yellow dress that perfectly matched her soft hair and that was adorned with tiny seed pearls and creamy brown cat’s-eye agates. Woven into the six braided strands of her topknot were lengths of gold-spun thread, and at the crown of the knot was an arrangement of the finest feathers ever sported by a bluebird. In her fine-boned hands was a bouquet of clover, crabgrass, and lavender bull thistles.

Trapspringer wore his finest cloak of black velvet, a sparkling, white tunic, and wine-colored pants. His head was bare, as were both the bride’s and groom’s feet, a kender symbol of the many roads that would be traveled (and shoes worn out) during a long and happy marriage.

Tasslehoff, dressed in clean, blue leggings and his usual vest and tunic, stood attendant for his uncle. In the pocket of his vest were two wide bands of shiny, polished silver. Under such short notice, Damaris was attended by a blushing Woodrow, who was wearing a new muslin shirt with properly long sleeves.

Smiling proudly, Mayor Metwinger straightened his purple mayoral robes and gulped in a big breath, preparing to ad-lib the traditionally long but unwritten kender marriage ceremony.

“Daddy,” Damaris said, holding tightly to Trapspringer’s hand, “could you give us the condensed version? We’d like to get on to the party at the Autumn Faire.”

“That starts today, does it?” said the mayor, actually relieved. He was still having a bit of trouble, after his bump on the noggin, remembering anything longer than three or four sentences.

“So, will you marry her, and you marry him?”

“Yes!” they both cried at once.

“Done!” the mayor announced joyously. “Now let the celebration begin!”

Tasslehoff lay in the warm autumn sun, his back propped up against a tree on the grounds of the Palace.

Moving the Autumn Faire to the relatively unscathed setting on the northeast side of the city was the population’s only concession to the devastation visited upon Kendermore. But the unspoken kender motto, “There’s always more where that came from,” certainly applied to homes. Members of the city’s Department of Housing had been out early with reams of parchment, planning Kendermore’s “new look.” “It’ll be like getting a whole new city!” they all agreed happily. Unfortunately, so far not a one of them agreed with another’s designs.

In the meantime, the rearrangement of buildings into rubble gave the city’s inhabitants whole new places to explore.

Nearby, Tas could hear Phineas and Vinsint.

“With your muscles and my brains,” Phineas was saying, “we could clean up as tour guides on the trail from Kendermore to the Tower of High Sorcery.”

“I don’t know,” said Vinsint, rubbing his large, flat forehead.

“I’m telling you,” wheedled Phineas, “this is a goldmine waiting to be harvested! I arrange the tours, and you take them to the Ruins and lead them safely through the grove. We collect enough money to retire in two, three years, tops!”

“How come it sounds like I’d do most of the work?”

“Are you kidding me?” squealed Phineas. “I’d be stuck doing the tedious stuff — making schedules, taking reservations, advertising, buying supplies — while you’re out taking walks! But I’d be willing to do it for only a slightly higher percentage of the profits — say, eighty percent?”

“You would?” Vinsint asked, his voice edged with eagerness.

Just then, Woodrow sat down next to Tas on the green grass and handed him one of two cups of fresh-squeezed strawberry juice. The human looked out wistfully at the merchants’ tents, the vegetable vendors, the small wedding party nearby at an open foodhall.

“I keep seeing Miss Hornslager here,” he said softly.

“She was hoping to get her melons to this faire before they went bad.”

“I know. I miss her, too,” said Tasslehoff. They were quiet for some time.

“What are you going to do now?” Tas asked finally, taking a long sip of the fresh berry juice.

Woodrow chewed on a thick blade of grass. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot since I lost you in Port Balifor,”

he said. “These last weeks have taught me a lot, but mainly that life is very short, at least for a human,” he added seriously. “I want to have some fun, but I can do without the danger; I was thinking maybe I’d take over Miss Hornslager’s import business. I pretty much got the hang of it watching her.” He gave Tas a questioning glance. “What do you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea!” said Tas, clapping his hands.

Woodrow nibbled the grass pensively. “Someday I’ll have to go back to Solamnia and make peace with my Uncle Gordon, though. Just not yet.” With a toss of his blond head, he shook the gloomy thoughts away. “How about you? What are you going to do?

Tasslehoff plucked a full-blown dandelion and blew the seeds into the air. “I’ve been thinking about that myself. I haven’t seen my parents in years — since I left on my Wanderlust, actually. I would have tried to find them here in Kendermore yesterday, but things got a little busy, what with the fire and the tornadoes and the wind.”

Tasslehoff sighed, and an uncharacteristic look of concern crossed his face as he spoke. “Anyway, Uncle Trapspringer told me where my parents were living, so I went to find them and invite them to Trapspringer’s wedding.”

The tiny creases in his face deepened. “Their house survived the fires and the tornadoes, but they weren’t there.

I asked some neighbors about them, but no one knew anything.”

“They were probably out helping friends clean up,”

suggested Woodrow.,”Or maybe they were among the kender who fled the city.”

“Probably,” Tasslehoff agreed reluctantly. But he didn’t mention that the neighbors hadn’t seen his parents in some time… strange, because they were a bit old for Wanderlust. Tas abruptly decided to hold his concerns at bay on such a happy occasion.

“Look!” he said, pointing to the wedding party clustered around Trapspringer and Damaris, who stood by a silversmith’s booth. “I think the newlyweds are preparing to leave on their honeymoon. Let’s go say good-bye.”

The two jumped up and hastened to rejoin the wedding party.

“— And so I bought it,” Trapspringer was saying. “All we have to do is stretch it over both our wrists, say the magic words, and we’ll go to the moon!”

“Oh, do you really think so?” Damaris breathed excitedly. “What a marvelous honeymoon that would be!

Let’s try it!”

With that, Trapspringer produced an inch-wide, etched silver band. Snapping it over his own wrist first, he stretched the right side out to enclose Damaris’s own fine-boned one. “There!” he exclaimed in satisfaction.

“That ought to do it, dearest. Good-bye, everyone!”

Trapspringer’s face became a mask of concentration as he tried to remember the magic words. “Esla sivas gaboing!”

“Good-bye, Uncle Trapspringer!” Tasslehoff sang happily. “I hope this trip to the moon works out better than the one with your first wife!”

Damaris’s face fell into a stormy glare. “What first wiiiiiii — !” In a poof of smoke, Trapspringer and his second wife were gone.

“Oops,” mumbled Tasslehoff, giggling behind his hand.

At dusk that evening, Tasslehoff sat sipping a mug of ale, contemplating the events of his life since leaving the Inn of the Last Home. Gazing at the moon, he thought fondly of Trapspringer and Damaris. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he squinted at the full, glowing orb. Could it be? Staring intently, a smile grew on his face.

Tasslehoff was certain he saw two tiny shadows racing over the pocked surface — or was it three?