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. "Back there, somewhere.
Tramp."
"Pig." They grabbed each other's throats and vanished under the
table.
Tika watched, hand to her mouth. Grunts and heavy breathing
emerged from under the table. Otik wondered, trotting past to the
next crisis, if the two were still fighting, or . . . ?
Tika rushed by him, nearly spilling ale from the pitcher. Otik
grabbed her arm as she passed. "Did you give them full-strength
ale?"
At first he thought he had grabbed her too hard;
then he realized that her tears were from panic. "I did. Strong as
can be, straight from the new kegs. But they all get worse, not
better. They're not even sleepy."
"Impossible." Otik sniffed at the ale. So did Tika. "Then what's
happening?" wondered Otik.
From just the sniffing, Tika's eyes were already bright and
restless. Otik knew the answer almost as soon as he had asked the
question.
"Moonwick." Otik remembered speaking of magic, and he
remembered leaving the kender alone with the alewort. "The
empty purse he dropped." A love potion! "If that damned thief-
trickster ever returns-"
Just in time he saw the man with the eye-patch raise his
tankard, staring directly at Tika. Her eyes leveled in return. Otik
gave a start and shoved her hastily behind the bar, setting a barrel
in her place. The man licked his lips and came forward, tankard in
hand. At the time, setting out the barrel seemed a clever feint, but
it opened unforeseen floodgates
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