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"All right, get out of here," Phineas growled, grabbing
Trapspringer by the scruff of the neck. "I'm not in the mood for
practical jokes."
Genuinely surprised, the kender twisted out of the human's
grasp. "I wasn't joking. I lost my finger. It was from a minotaur, or
maybe a werewolf; they're hard to tell apart. I collect interesting
bones, and this was my lucky one, a beautiful, polished white joint --
it looked just like alabaster. Actually, I didn't lose it. The
Kendermore Council borrowed it, but that's another story entirely and
part of the reason I can't come back tomorrow. So can you help me?
It's really very important, and I'm certain my life is proba bly in
danger."
Totally bewildered, Phineas stared at the kender for a long
time. This Trapspringer Furrfoot looked very cosmopolitan for a
kender. Phineas judged him to be late middle;aged, from the advanced
network of lines on his face, the gray streaks in his copper-red,
featherstudded topknot of hair, and his deepish voice. He wore a very
expensive, flowing cape of purple velvet, so dark it looked black,
with leggings of the same, unusual color. His tunic was pea green, and
a wide, black leather belt hid the beginnings of a paunch. Around his
neck hung a necklace of small, gray-white bones -- from what, Phineas
did not wish to contemplate.
Trapspringer's red-and-gray-streaked eyebrows twitched in
curiosity above his almond-shaped, olivecolored eyes.
"Well?" Trapspringer said expectantly, tapping a toe
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