more urgent; the blood and broken glass could wait. He supposed he probably should have kept that in the vault, with the other expensive materials, but wizards used so much dragon’s blood that he had never bothered—he and Twilfa would have spent half the day locking and unlocking the iron door. It seemed as if half the spells used in Ethshar of the Rocks required dragon’s blood.
The stuff had a sharp, metallic odor, and Gresh’s nose could detect nothing else. On a whim, he leaned forward and sniffed at the spriggan.
It backed away a step, startled. “No money,” it said. “You let spriggan go now?”
The creature had no scent at all, so far as Gresh could discern. He could smell the blood and the carpet and a dozen other normal shop odors, but nothing at all that might be the spriggan. That was odd, like so many things about the little pests. “You’ll just have to pay me with something other than money,” he said.
“But spriggan not have anything,” the spriggan wailed woefully.
“You can pay me with answers,” Gresh said.
The spriggan calmed down slightly. It blinked up at him, then looked from side to side, as if hoping to see an explanation standing nearby.
Twilfa was standing in the passageway, watching the conversation, but there were no explanations in sight.
“What answers?” it asked warily.
“You owe me five rounds of gold,” Gresh said. “That’s forty bits. Let’s say each answer is worth, oh, two bits—which I’m sure you’ll agree is very generous of me. Then you owe me twenty answers.”
“What kind of answers?”
“Answers to my questions.”
The spriggan considered that carefully, then brightened visibly, its immense ears straightening. “Yes, yes!” it said. “Answer questions! Then you let spriggan go, yes?”
“Yes,” Gresh said.
“Good, good! Have answers, have fun!” It ventured a tentative smile.
“Don’t get too happy,” Gresh warned. “You still have to give me those twenty answers.”
“Will! Will! Ask questions!”
“Indeed I will. First off, did you come out of a mirror, as I’ve heard?”
“Not know what you heard. That one answer.” It blinked up at him.
Gresh grimaced. Obviously, he would need to be more careful about his phrasing. “Fair enough,” he said. “Did you come out of an enchanted mirror?”
“Yes. That two answers.”
“You’re counting…Can you even count to twenty?”
The spriggan hesitated. “Not sure,” it admitted. “Can try. Can count to twelve for sure. Twenty is more than twelve, might not get all the way. Try, though.” It smiled happily. “That three answers!”
Gresh sighed. “I suppose it is. Now, do you know where the mirror you came from is?”
“No. Not know. That four.”
“No, it isn’t!” Gresh protested. “That’s not an answer!”
“Is, too. ‘Not know’ is answer. Just isn’t good answer. You not say good answers!”
Gresh put a hand to his forehead. “I’m being outwitted by a spriggan,” he said. “I don’t believe this.” Then he lowered his hand and said, “Where was the mirror when you last saw it?”
The spriggan turned up empty hands. “Not know,” it said. “Five.”
“You have to give me honest answers, you know.”
“Did. Have. Will.”
“How can you not know where it was?”
“Not good with places. Not good with names. Not remember well. Six.”
“Well, how did you get here from wherever the mirror was?”
“Walked, mostly. Ran some. Got thrown once by pretty woman who found spriggan in her skirt—maybe eight, nine feet? Rolled down slope once. Is seven? Yes, seven.”
“Seven down.” Gresh sighed again, and rubbed his forehead. “Which direction did you walk?”
“Not know names of directions. Walked away from sun. Not like light in eyes. Eight.”
“But the sun moves!”
“Sun moves, yes. Spriggan know that. Spriggan is not that stupid.”
“But then you’d walk west in the morning, and east in the afternoon, and you’d wind up in the same place—was the mirror here in the city?”
“No, mirror not here! Silly. Walked in mornings, had fun in afternoons—talked to people, played games. Nine.”
“So you went west.”
“Away from sun in morning.”
“That’s west.”
The spriggan turned up an empty palm. “You say is west; spriggan not argue.”
“So you came from the east—which makes sense, since we’re on the west coast. You didn’t turn aside, go north or south?”
“Went other direction when water got in the way. Ten.”
“Water? You mean the ocean?”
“Mean big, big water, great big huge water. Is ocean? Ocean’s eleven.”
“So when you got to the coast you turned aside and walked up the coast to the city.”
“Turned aside twice. First time long ago, then not so long at all. Twelve.”
Gresh struggled to remember his geography. The second time would be when the spriggan reached the west coast, of course, but the first time…
That would have been the Gulf of the East, the water between the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars and the Small Kingdoms.
“The first time you turned aside—you walked around the very big water and crossed a long bridge across more water, and then headed west again?”
“Yes, yes! Long bridge with guards.”
“Across the Great River.”
“What comes after twelve? Thirty?”
“Thirteen,” Gresh said automatically, as he tried to choose his next question.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Thirteen,” the spriggan said.
Gresh
