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The brewing tun was clean and filled with spring water, waiting
behind the bar for the malt syrup. The syrup was warmed and
waiting. The yeast, the final addition to the alewort, was in a bowl
on the bar.
But the hops had not yet arrived, and Otik was as impatient as
Tika. before he heard slow, heavy steps on the stairs.
"Tika," he called, "come out." She came from the kitchen,
wiping her hands on her apron as he said, "Hear that? Someone
carrying a burden. Our hops have come." He cocked an ear,
listening with the knowledge of long years. "Not as heavy as I
thought. Did Kerwin not bring a full load?"
The Inn door flew open and a burlap bag waddled in, seemingly
under its own power, and leaped to the floor before the tun. A
kender, still doubled from his load, peered through his arched
brows at them and grinned suddenly.
"Moonwick." Otik did not say the kender's name with pleasure.
Among men, the short, mischievous kender were famous for
practical joking and for disregarding other people's property, and
Moonwick Light-finger was famous among kender. It was said,
even by sober travelers, that once when Moonwick was at
Crystalmir Lake, the partying crew of a small fishing boat had
woken in full gear, on deck, to find their boat lodged thirty feet off
the ground between two trees. The topmost tree branches bore
pulley marks, but the pulleys had been removed. It took eight men
two days to get the boat down
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