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. The dagger, attempting
the first step, scuttled quickly aside as a great many people
stepped past, going up and down.
A less simple, more wide-awake mind would have been
frustrated. The dagger had slept more than a thousand
years; it lay in the brush and waited patiently for the three
to return.
II
After some time there was a great deal of noise:
benches falling, bodies bumping or, more likely, striking
the inn floor, a crowd gasping as a flare of blue light
illuminated the night even through the stained glass of the
inn's windows. A quavery old voice cried, "Call the guards!
Arrest the kender! Arrest the barbarians! Arrest their
friends!" The rest was lost in confusion. Someone ran down
the long stairway, shouting for the guards and panting.
The dagger waited, but Flint and the others did not appear.
It heard a thump and muttering from under the kitchen of
the inn, and then a ruckus nearby, but the dagger could not
imagine anything so devious as a trapdoor.
Shortly, there was the sound of heavy, clumsy feet
running. Armored goblins ran up the stairs and then back
down; they dispersed. A pair of feet stopped in front of the
dagger. "What's this?"
A voice as harsh said, "Somebody dropped an old
knife
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