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. Dwarves from the town were
busy setting up tables and tents.
"As you can see, Rosloviggen's Oktoberfest will be
quite a splendid festival," Baron Krakold said with pride.
"Those workmen are having a time of it," commented
Woodrow, nodding toward a crew of dwarves struggling
in the square with one of the supporting beams of a tent.
Two dwarves were trying to raise a beam upright with
the help of a rope slung over a sturdy tree branch, while a
handful more shouted directions.
"Pulley job! Pulley job!" chanted the gully dwarves.
The heavy beam swung round in a wide half-circle,
threatening to crush several dwarves, all of whom dove
to safety while the rest frantically tried to bring the mas-
sive timber under control. Grunting and straining, they
wrestled the wayward beam into place between four
other large supports. The workmen drew a collective
sigh of relief and mopped their brows.
But Gisella's eyes were locked on the half-naked forms
of two young dwarves, their shirts stripped off while
they assembled a wooden bandstand, In addition to the
obvious attractions, she thought the festival would pro-
vide an opportunity to replace her lost trade goods.
"I insist you accept the hospitality of my home," Baron
Krakold boomed, repeating an earlier offer. "We are not
far from it, and I should think that the telling of your
travels over a sizzling haunch of aged beef, buttered
gourd, and candied green apple would amply pay for a
warm feather bed." It was not so much a statement as an
order, and Gisella liked men who gave orders
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