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“Could I help you?” Izmakiel asked, glancing from Tarathiel to Dick and back again.
Dick took a seat as he answered. “Well, yes, I think so. This ‘ere elf says he’d like to speak with you. He travels a bit, I think, and – and,” his attention wandered suddenly. His eyes had caught someone enter the door and then he heard himself called. He stood up. “And he thought you two might have a bit to talk about. I must beg your gentlemen’s pardons.”
He bowed and turned as quickly as he could without being impolite and hurried across the room. He thread his way through tables and then around the counter, skittering up as fast as he could to the place just opposite the new comer.
“I am the inn keeper, sir!” he said, looking up into the young man’s face. “How can I help you?”
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