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. He had not thought about being
traced by his boots! He took a sip of hot chicory and tried to
keep his hand from shaking.
"Don't 'good morning' me!" Tybalt cried, slamming his
fist to the table. "What were you up to, anyway? And what
possessed you to leave your boots behind?" Tybalt was
working himself into a frenzy.
"What in heavens are you talking about, Tybalt?" asked
Bertina, handing him a cup of the hot drink.
He waved it away in exasperation. "It seems our visiting
brother took a trip through the mountain dwarves' wagon
yard yesterday. They found his muddy boots by the barn."
Tybalt began to pace before Flint. "That's not the worst of
it. When I showed up at the constabulary for work this
morning, I was told a derro had been stabbed to death and
that the murderer had left behind his boots! I began to
laugh, but then I nearly choked when I saw them," he
snarled, his hands clenching into fists.
Tybalt squinted at Flint. "They have a good description
of you, too! The guards you jumped got a good look at your
face before you fled. Of course, the description could match
practically anyone - except for the boots
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