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. The derro, still
holding the steel blade slick with blood, tried to twist away
but the board caught him on the hip and sent him sprawling.
The short sword sailed from his hand and landed point-
down in the muck, with the handle above the water. Basalt
dove toward it. But before he could reach it, a heavy body
slammed into him from the side and pushed him back down
to the street.
"Stop it!" snarled Tybalt, inches from his nephew's face as
Basalt struggled in the mud beneath him. "There's been
enough killing in this town - we don't need a hanging on top
of it all."
Basalt writhed desperately, still reaching for the leering
derro as other hill dwarves helped Tybalt restrain him. He
lunged again, spitting sounds that did not resemble words.
"That's enough!" growled his uncle more firmly. Three
other dwarves held Basalt so tightly he could barely move at
all, however much he struggled.
The constable turned back to the derro, who was stand-
ing again with his hand on the hatchet at his belt. "You're
coming with me," he said, "as soon as you hand over that
weapon. You'll be staying, courtesy of the town
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