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"Witty, yet simple. But I don't see it applying here."
Darll shook his head.
"Still and all," Graym continued, "we've done well.
Three months on the road, and we've four barrels left." He
shook a finger at the others. "No sneaking drinks from here.
We'll need it all at the end of the road in Krinneor."
Jarek said eagerly, "Tell us about Krinneor, Graym."
"What? Again?"
"Please!"
Jarek wasn't alone. Fen and Fan begged to hear the
story, and even Darll settled, resignedly, to listen.
Graym picked up a bowl and took a deep swig of Skull-
Splitter. "I've told you this night after night, day after day -
in the Black Rains, when the dust clouds came through, and
in the afterquakes, and when we'd spent a long day dragging
this wagon over flood-boils, potholes, and heaved-up rock
on the road. And now you say you're not tired of it." He
looked at them fondly. "I'm not either.
"Back in Sarem, I was nobody. Every town needs a
cooper, but they don't care about him. They buy his barrels
and leave. And I'd watch them, and I'd know they were off -
to fill the barrels, travel up roads, and sell their stock."
Jarek leaned forward. "The city, tell us about the city!"
"I'm coming to that." Graym loved this part. "Every time
a stranger came down the road, I'd ask him where he'd been.
And he'd talk about Tarsis by the sea, or the temples of Xak
Tsaroth, and one even showed me a machine from Mount
Nevermind, where the gnomes live. The machine didn't
work, of course, but it was a lovely little thing, all gears and
sprockets and wires
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