The story so far: Two objects down (sort of), five to go, and Nikole and Darklis are on the track of one last pearl. Or they would be, if Darklis hadn't drunk quite so much at that last tavern.

Uncle Goratze's methods are crude, but effective. Cold water and live mice are involved.

Nikole winces and averts her eyes.

Darklis shrieks a lot.

Nikole says "Don't be such a baby! It'll stop hurting eventually!"

Darklis stares miserably at Nikole. "Shaddup, or I'll yak on your feet."

Nikole picks her feet up quickly! "Well, you shouldn't have drunk so much!"

Nikole relents, though.

Darklis, we shall assume, recovers. At least enough to no longer be /drunk/. Miserable, perhaps, hung over, perhaps, but not /drunk/.

Darklis is sober, then. And grumpy. And it's getting on to late afternoon.

Darklis holds her head, grumpily. "Did I see a tent?"

Uncle Goratze pats you both on the head, suggests that if you have to drink socially you take small sips, and pushes you out the door of his tent.

Nikole gives Uncle Goratze and some carefully selected cousins hugs, and takes Darklis out into the fresh air. "You were saying something about a white tent."

Darklis nods like her head weighs six tons. "Fancy white tent. Esther mentioned it. We should go there."

Nikole says "Don't move your head, that just makes it worse. What's in this white tent?"

The cluster of tents is right where you left it, mostly deserted in the slanting afternoon sun.

Darklis, who doesn't take instruction well, shakes her head. "I donno. The pearl?"

Nikole says "That would be nice."

Nikole stops someplace where she can get a good look at the tent and Darklis can lean on a wall.

Darklis leans, and blinks fuzzily at the sky, trying to remember exactly what Esther said. "She thought there might be *something* good there..."

It sticks out like a sore thumb amid the dingy canvas of the other tents. At a guess, it's made of white deerskin, with blue beads sewn into the seams and fringe along the top and entrance flap. The tent pegs are of a polished pale wood that must have been just cleaned this morning.

Nikole looks to see if it looks like it's been set up recently (how much garbage, ash, and stuff has accumulated?), and what kind of people are hanging around it.

Although there's garbage scattered all down the row of tents and splattered around the bottom edges, the white tent is almost pristine. It can't possibly have been there long, even if someone scrubbed it. Which they have - the bottom is damp.

Nikole mutters, "I hope we don't caught. Anyone with a campite that clean must be a real bastard."

The area is deserted, except for a few tired-looking men watering horses. Maybe everyone's inside.

Darklis nods. "That's what Esther said." She straightens up, and frowns at the tent. "I hope the pearl is in there."

Nikole says "Even if it isn't, I bet there's something we can sell to Mindy so I can buy a new shirt when this one gets torn off."

Darklis laughs. "Maybe this one won't," she says helpfully. "Well, c'mon, let's go see, huh? Or hey, maybe he's got a lethe-snifter."

Nikole says "We need a plan. We can't just walk in and ask for the pearl."

Nikole says "Can we? They're new in town, they might not know we're newts."

Nikole says "But they know Frond's people, I reckon."

Nikole says plaintively, "Let's make a better plan than I show off my chest in front while you sneak in the back this time?"

Darklis crosses her eyes. "*Everybody* knows we're newts. We might as well be wearing signs. Ooh! I wonder if we could convince them that we're the messengers to bring the pearl to Frond's!"

Nikole says "That was my idea, aye."

Nikole says "Don't do that to your eyes, they'll stick that way."

Nikole says "You'd be better at playing a messenger, I reckon."

Nikole says "You look inconspicuous, which is what they want if they've any sense."

Darklis looks at herself, then at you, then shrugs. "Okay."

Nikole says "And do something to look different, so they don't track us down right away?"

Darklis's eyebrows draw down. "Like what? I don't have any other clothes..."

Nikole says "You can use my hat, so they don't see your hair. And we can steal some clothes."

Nikole looks around for clothes left out to dry/air/smoke.

Darklis wiggles her bare toes. "Shoes, maybe," she says thoughtfully, and reaches over for Nikole's hat. It's too big, and flops over her eyes.

Nikole's head isn't that swelled!

Nikole says "That's good; it sort of hides your face."

There's a line strung between two of the tents a couple rows over, and some muddy brown clothing hanging over it. No shoes, though.

Nikole has more /hair/ than Darklis. That's why it's too big. Darklis peers out from under the edge of the hat. "Hey. What's wrong with my face?!"

Nikole says "Nothing, but we don't want them to see it!"

Darklis hmphs, and lets the hat flop back down over her face.

Nikole says "We should get you a skirt. And something distinctive. Like an eyepatch, but not so obvious."

Darklis, in horror, says, "A *skirt*?"

Nikole says with every evidence of sincerity, "Your face is so beautiful that if they got a good look at it, it would be branded in their memories forever, and they'd recognize you anywhere, to their dying day."

Darklis stares. "I thought /I/ was the one who was drunk."

Nikole grins. "I reckoned you needed cheering up."

Nikole says "You're never going to wear a skirt again, at least not until you step out dancing with Mindy, so it's a perfect disguise."

Darklis flops the hat back up to Glare. "I'm *not* going dancing with Mindy. Okay, where's a stupid skirt." She looks around, Glaring.

Nikole looks around. There must be one somewhere.

No skirts. No women, in fact. The last ones you saw were Esther and Nikole's cousins.

Nikole says "You should make him show you a good time before you take him out back."

Nikole is sure there must be women of frequently-removed clothing around here somewhere.

Nikole's cousins sure talk about them a lot, at least.

Probably, but not in the middle of the afternoon. At least not outside the tents...

Darklis yells, "I'm NOT TAKING HIM OUT BA...ck." Ahem.

Nikole peeks into alleys for laundry hanging out?

After a lot of arguing...

Darklis in Disguise:

Short, disasterously cut brown hair is fortunately hidden under a hat which is, at best, floppy. In fact, it falls right down over her eyes, causing her to peer out uncertainly, and look at her feet when she walks. She may have to do this anyway; she wears a full skirt which evidently is the bane of her existence; carefully clad shoes tend to step on the edge of the skirt, pulling her over forwards. It's belted around her very narrow waist, and a blouse with slight frills is tucked in there, and loose in the chest. She looks somewhat dour.

Cousin Limmea is happy to provide her best outfit for Darklis, along with some friendly advice. Well, not exactly happy, although she grins obediently when Goratze is standing behind her.

Nikole promises Darklis will take very good care of the clothes!

Darklis peers out from under her hat and nods uncertainly.

The tent is still there. It's now definitely late afternoon, although the summer sunset will last for hours.

Nikole looks Darklis up and down. "No one'll ever recognize you. Let's go!"

Darklis flops her hat back. "Is this gonna work?" Siiiiigh. Okay. She trods forward. On the skirt.

Darklis swears, and gets her feet under her again, and hitches the skirt up. With a determined look, she marches forward towards the tent.

As you get close to the tent, you can hear small sounds of occupancy.

Nikole stays far enough back to not be obviously trying to steal the pearl from the messanger, but close enough to pile in if things go wrong.

Darklis casts a nervous glance over her shoulder at Nikole, then takes a breath and straightens up and peeks into the tent. "Master Stoneface?" Oh dear. What if that's not really his name? What if it's just what Esther called him? Too late! The words are out!

Inside, the tent is luxurious and soft, with carpets and furs piled several layers deep. A tall reflective glass leans against one wall, by the bed. The man sitting on it (the bed) turns to look at Darklis. "I beg your pardon?"

Darklis' eyes widen a little. Let's see. We'll skip answering that question, yes we will. She steps into the door a little more, and bobs a curtsey. Not a very good one, but she's *trying*. "Hello, sir! I'm from Frond's."

He's short and middle-aged and fat and desperately trying to disguise all three, by means of a sumptuous velvet tunic, a coiffed wig, and the powder which he's fluffing onto his face with a small cloth. He squints at Darklis in bewilderment. "You are? Oh dear, what's gone wrong now?"

Darklis, brightly, says, "Oh, nothing! Well. Poor Mirabelle had a misfortunate accident with a suitor this morning. That's why I'm here instead. You know how it is." Pause. "Has something /else/ gone wrong?"

The man blinks. "Oh, don't tell me they didn't tell you? The most _terrible_ thing happened this morning. Oh dear, this is not right at all."

Darklis comes in a little further, putting on a look of faint exasperation under her hat. "They never want to tell me *anything*. What's happened? Something worse than Mirabelle's little mishap?"

He waves a hand, dismissively. "If Frond's can be disturbed by a little snip like that they've lost their touch. No," and he bends a stern gaze on Darklis, "they told me this morning there weren't _any_ of the tourmalines for my arranged fee here yet!"

"Moreover, they can't even pay me in gold - or so Fred says - because the Mint has been shut down from some absurd thieves' attack. He actually had the nerve to ask for my shipment on trust. Can you imagine?"

Tourmaline? Tourmaline? What the hell is a tourmaline? Darklis' expression collapses in dismay. "Oh no," she says. "No, they *didn't* tell me." The second part she gets, anyway. She bites her lower lip worriedly. "I can't believe he'd send me without telling me." It's not a wail, but it's a piteous little sound. "He won't be at all happy with me if I go back without it."

The man leans back, and folds his arms with a deep and dramatic sniff. "No, I'm sorry, young lady, whatever Fred has told you, I do not conclude business without a fair and equitable payment. It was quite underhanded of him to send you - most unlike him. He must be desperate, poor man."

Darklis's shoulders droop. So does the hat. She looks mournfully out from under the brim. "I haven't anything worth trading. Master Frond won't let us carry too much, you know, and he sent me off without an explanation at all today. Whatever shall I do?" This is Darklis' impression of a Maiden In Distress.

He clicks his tongue sympathetically. "It's not your fault, poor girl. Just go back and tell him it didn't work. He should have known better than to send you. Now, I'm very busy, so if you'll excuse me..." He turns to continue powdering his face in the glass.

The bed the merchant is sitting on is littered with small jars, combs, bits of brightly colored cloth, and a truly amazing cloak embroidered with small blue beads. A pair of high-heeled shoes is carefully placed at the foot of the bed, clearly ready to put on.

There's not much else in the tent, except for a blanket-covered lump in one corner. It seems to be breathing.

Darklis sighs, beginning to turn away, when the breathing blanket catches her eye. She stops, and stares, and clears her throat. "Excuse me...?"

"Yes, what?" says the man impatiently. He's putting his face very close to the glass and trying to do something delicate.

Darklis clears her throat again. "Your blanket," she observes, "is breathing." She takes a couple steps towards it, curiously.

He turns, and blinks. "That's my guard, young lady. Did you think I'd no notion of security?" An injured sniff. "Fred may default on his obligations, but I shall not. Noone has stolen Shovar's merchandise in twelve years of business, and you can tell him that, too."

Darklis looks up, wide-eyed. "You're clearly very dedicated to your work. I'm lucky to have finally met you." She blinks at the blanket again, and takes another step. "What is it? I've never seen anything like it."

Shovar, for that is his name, stares at Darklis like she's daft. "What?" He scoops up a small bottle from the bed and throws it at the lump. "Wake up! It's almost time."

The lump groans, and a hand sticks up and wiggles acknowledgement.

Darklis laughs, relieved. "Oh. I thought perhaps it was magical. The strangest things keep happening." She sighs, and turns to face Shovar. "Can I at least tell Frond you have it? Could I see it to be sure? I can't help but trust you myself, but you know how /he/ is."

After another minute of primping, Shovar stands up and reaches for the blue robe. "If you _wouldn't_ mind, young lady - oh." He gives a melodramatic sigh. "Fred knows the security arrangements perfectly well, and he knows you can't see it. It stays in the safe-"

He flips a length off fur off a table, revealing a squat copper box, about a foot on a side.

"-until payment is rendered. Good day."

Oooh. What kind of lock does it have? Darklis nods solemnly. "Of course. You've been very kind. So much nicer than Master Frond. You *care*, I can tell. You understand how hard it is to do your job right when nobody will tell you what's going on." She steps back, then blinks interestedly at the blanket. "Wake up," she reminds it. "Almost time for what?" she adds brightly.

The blanket sits up, and falls down to reveal a sandy-haired, cute young man. He stares at Darklis suspiciously.

Shovar ignores everyone, pointedly turning his back to try on the robe.

Hiiiiiii. Darklis blinks slowly, and then smiles both slowly and dippily. Hi. You're /cute/. "Almost time for what?" she whispers to him.

He stares impassively back. "You're supposed to leave now."

Darklis grins and looks through her eyelashes. "You gonna come with me?" she whispers. Okay, this would work better, probably if a) she was better at flirting and b) her hat wasn't mostly over her eyes.

The man - he must be a mature nineteen, to Darklis' eyes - slowly and deliberately rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "No."

"Aw. Maybe I'll see you later." Darklis smiles hopefully, and backs up a bit. Go back to sleep so I can steal the safe. Or come meet Nikole and her cleavage.

Instead he stands up, drops the blanket, and closes the tent flap firmly in Darklis' face.

(But he looked cute doing it.)

Darklis hopes she's on the out side of it. Wow. She stands there a minute smiling stupidly at the tent, then squeaks and goes to look for Nikole.

Continued next week...