Sorceress of Darshiva

bathing, Silk excused himself. "There are a few other things I need to attend to," he explained. "I won't be very long."
    It was after bath time, but before suppertime, when a wiry little fellow in a tar-smeared canvas smock was escorted into the main sitting room. "I was told that there was a Prince Kheldar as was wantin' words with me," he said, looking around.
    He spoke in a brogue almost identical to Feldegast's.
    "Ah—" Garion floundered, "the prince has stepped out for a moment."
    "I surely don't have all day to sit around coolin' me heels, me boy," the little fellow objected. "I've things to do an' people to see, don't y' know."
    "I'll handle this, Garion," Durnik said mildly.
    "But-"
    "It's no problem at all," Durnik said just a bit more firmly. He turned to the little deckhand. "The prince just had a few questions, is all," he said in an almost lazy tone. "It's nothing that you and I can't take care of without bothering his Highness." He laughed. "You know how these highborn people are—excitable."
    "Now dial's the truth, surely. There's nothin' like a title t' rob a man of his good sense."
    Durnik spread his hands. "What can I say?" he said. "Why don't we sit down and talk a bit? Would you take a spot of ale?"
    "I've been known t' take a sup from time t' time." The little fellow grinned. "Yer a man after me own heart, me friend. What trade is it ye follow?"
    Durnik held out his callused and burn-scarred hands. "I'm a blacksmith," he admitted.
    "Whoosh!" the dockhand exclaimed. " Tis a hot an' heavy line o' work ye've chose fer yerself. I labor on the docks, meself. 'Tis heavy enough, but at least it's out in the open air."
    "It is indeed," Durnik agreed in that same easygoing fashion. Then he turned and snapped his fingers at Belgarath. "Why don't you see if you can find some ale for my friend and me?" he suggested. "Get some for yourself, too—if you're of a mind."
    Belgarath made a number of strangling noises and went to the door to talk to the servant waiting outside.
    "A relative of my wife's," Durnik confided to the tar-smeared man. "He's not quite bright, but she insists that I keep him on. You know how that goes."
    "Oh, by the Gods, yes. Me own dear wife's got cousins by the score who can't tell one end of a shovel from another. They kin surely find the ale barrel an' supper table, though.''
    Durnik laughed. "How's the work?" he asked. "On the docks, I mean?"
    "Tis cruel hard. The masters keep all the gold fer their-selves, and we git the brass."
    Durnik laughed ironically. "Isn't that always the way of it?"
    "It is indeed, me friend. It is indeed."
    "There's no justice in the world," Durnik sighed, "and a man can only bow to the ill winds of fortune."
    "How truly ye speak. I see that ye've suffered under unkind masters yerself."
    "A time or two," Durnik admitted. He sighed. "Well," he said, "on to the business at hand, then. The prince has got a certain interest in a fellow with white eyes. Have you ever seen him?"
    "Ah," the dockhand said, "that one. May he sink in a cesspool up to the eyebrows."
    "You've met him, I take it."
    "An' the meetin' gave me no pleasure, I kin tell ye."
    "Well, then," Durnik said smoothly, "I can see that we're of the same opinion about this fellow."
    "If it's in yer mind t' kill him, I'll lend ye me cargo hook."
    "It's a thought." Durnik laughed.
    Garion stared in amazement at his honest old friend. This was a side of Durnik he had never seen before. He glanced quickly to one side and saw Polgara's eyes wide with astonishment.
    At mat moment, Silk came in, but stopped as Velvet motioned him to silence.
    "However," Durnik went on slyly, "what better way to upset somebody that we both dislike than to overturn a scheme he's been hatching for a year or more?"
    The dockhand's lips peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin. "I'm listenin', me friend," he said fervently. "Tell me how to spoke the white-eyed man's wheel, an' I'm with ye to the end." He spat in his hand and held it out.
    Durnik also spat on his palm, and the two of them smacked their hands together in a gesture as old as time. Then the smith lowered his voice confidentially. "Now," he said, "we've heard that this white-eyed one—may all of his teeth fall out—hired a ship for Melcena. What we need to know is when he left, on what ship, who went with him, and where he was to land."
    "Simplicity in itself," the dockhand said expansively, leaning back in his chair.
    "You, there," Durnik said to Belgarath, "is