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With a soft "thunk," the sailor's hatchet chopped through
the rope that linked the barge to the ship. Tas's and
Woodrow's garbage barge slowed and fell behind. The
beautiful, two-masted ship glided through the water to-
ward Port Balifor as the barge glided to a stop and rolled
gently on the waves.
"For the last time, Woodrow, I'm not mad!" Tasslehoff
snapped. Tempers were short on the garbage barge. The
kender had cleared himself a little, slimy patch of boat,
which he'd rinsed as best he could by scooping up seawa-
ter with his hands.
"I just wish you'd warned me before you tossed me on
my head, that's all." He gingerly touched the bruised
knot that had formed just above his brows. "I'll bet it
looks like a third eye."
"You can hardly see it," Woodrow said kindly, pri-
vately amazed by its size.
"Not see it!" Tas cried. "I can see it myself without
looking in a glass!" To demonstrate his point, he crossed
his eyes and looked up, only managing to look de-
mented. They broke into ridiculous, hysterical laughter,
hiccupping slowly to a stop.
The barge fell unnaturally silent. Not even a whiff of a
breeze crossed their heap of fermenting, rotten, stinking
garbage. The midday sun beat down on them, and the
sea was as still as bathwater.
"I'm hungry," Tas said at last, rubbing his growling
stomach. He remembered their sweetbuns back on the
dock.
Woodrow's boyish face scrunched up in disgust. "How
can you think of eating in the middle of this stench?"
"I eat when I'm bored, OK?" Tas said defensively
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