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Straightening the collar, the mayor decided the color looked
very nice on him.
Phineas hurried forward to take advantage of this unexpected
turn of luck. "Your Honor, I understand you might know the whereabouts
of a, uh --" he treaded lightly, in case the mayor was sensitive on
the subject -- "a person named Trapspringer Furrfoot."
"Trapspringer, Trapspringer," the mayor muttered. "I know quite
a number of Trapspringers. Can you describe him?"
Phineas's eyebrows puckered as he concentrated. It had been dim
during much of his talk with the eccentric kender. "Um, he wears a
topknot, his face is very wrinkled, I guess, and he's short." Which
describes every kender ever born, Phineas realized with dismay. "I
believe he collects rare bones," he added desperately.
"Oh, that Trapspringer!" the mayor said cheerfully.
"Why didn't you say so? He's my dear friend and soon to-be
in-law! His nephew is birthmated to my daughter Damaris, you know.
Yes, I know where he is. ' had to put him in prison." Only Metwinger
didn't sound the least bit concerned or remorseful.
"You put your daughter's future uncle in prison?" Phineas asked
the question despite the little voice in his head that told him he
probably wouldn't understand the answer anyway. "What did he do?"
"Oh, he didn't do anything," Metwinger said lightly.
"His nephew is late for the wedding, so we sent a bounty hunter
after him -- standard operating procedure concerning wayward
bridegrooms, actually
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