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"Milk's a-curdlin', so speak up, harrn! You look harder
used than an old anvil - where have you been drinking all
night?" Ruberik demanded.
Basalt pushed words into his throat. "Ma, Uncle Rubie,
I've got to tell you something," he began, his voice shaking,
his eyes darting from one figure to the other. "You're not go-
ing to want to believe any of this, but you've got to! Dad
didn't die of a heart attack, he was murdered with derro
magic!"
Bertina gasped, then bit her knuckles. Ruberik slapped
his thigh angrily. "Gods curse you, now you're making up
hurtful lies to cover your indulgences! I've tried everything,
talking to you, yelling at you, shaming you, trying to help
however I could, and this is your response?" He stomped
over to Basalt and snatched the young dwarf's wrist.
"Maybe a day or two in jail - for running from the scene of a
murder - will make you dry out and think about your
ways!"
Basalt stood his ground, in spite of his churning stomach
and trembling knees, and spoke quickly and intently.
"Please let me explain," he began again
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