“This is stunning,” Gwen walked through rooms of the rolkin with her mouth open, her head turning side to side taking it all in. Her face was filled with an expression Hadrian could only describe as glee. They all looked that way to one degree or other, like kids discovering a secret place that would be adopted as their new hideout. “Being a hole in the ground I expected…well, I didn’t expect this.”

With walls of pure white, no sharp corners and few straight lines, the place looked to have been formed from pristine snow. Ceilings were arched into mini-domes, walls curved into circles, and every edge had been smoothed as if a sculptor had formed it all using only gloved hands. Light poured in large glassless windows illuminating every corner. Cut deep into the cliff the ancient stone and ocean breeze kept the interior cool and smelling fresh. Built-in seats, and shelves were all pre-formed out of the cliff. Tables rose out of the floor, with bowls built into them. Oil sconces, planters, coat hooks, and stools were all part of the whole. Additional furnishings were not simply placed within rooms—they decorated the spaces. Calian carpets of exquisite designs accented polished floors. Petrified wood stumps supported green and black onyx sculptures of fish, and dolphins. A tree planted in the common room grew up through the ceiling, its trunk appearing like a wooden chimney. A broad-leafed Jungo plant spread out from a massive hand-beaten copper urn. And a huge clay pot that appeared to serve no purpose at all but to look beautiful, stood to one side. In an obvious contrast against the stone was an overabundance of softness. Thick cushions and numerous brightly dyed pillows formed delightful sitting spaces.

And all of it was miniature.

Royce and Gwen had no problem at all, but Hadrian ducked when passing through any doorway and often felt his hair brush the ceiling when standing straight.

“For once I’m grateful for my age-imposed hunched back,” Arcadius said as he moved about the rolkin. “Hadrian has clearly learned but you need to be wary, Albert. This place is a death trap for the tall.”

“I think it’s cozy,” Albert replied. He had already changed into a loose fitting cotton tunic and was swimming barefoot in the fluffy cushions of the main room’s oversized bench that was practically a bed. “And these big chairs are so nice.” He hugged a bright yellow pillow to his face. “Why is it that up north we insist on hard wood, and the closest we ever get to comfort is lining a chair’s seat with cane?”

“Because of the church, lad,” Arcadius said eyeing a stone chair laden with cushions. “Too much comfort means a closer relation to the body and a more distant one to the spirit, misery makes all of Mankind better people.” He took the plunge and collapsed into the all consuming pillow-chair that hissed as air escaped the cushions. Joining into the pillow’s song, Arcadius sighed contentedly. “I fear that I’m doomed to wickedness.”

Hadrian stood in the middle of the central common room running through a mental checklist of things he wanted to tell everyone. Auberon had taken him on a lengthy tour of the home pointing out all the amenities, quirks, and features. The dwarf also made a point of touching a small reoccurring symbol painted in turquoise on the wall of every room: three thick lines, the center one taller than those on either side, each topped with a little circle. It didn’t look at all like a turtle and while Hadrian inquired about many things he saw, he never asked about that. Something in the way he dwarf looked when he touched the symbol suggested a profound and personal reverence that Hadrian didn’t feel right inserting himself into.

“There’s a well in the courtyard,” Hadrian explained as he stood in the center of the common room and the others dispersed and explored. “Also that courtyard is our private garden and includes a mango, avocado, lemon and papaya tree. We can help ourselves to the fruit, but the mango isn’t producing right now.”

“You can see the ocean from the balcony up here,” Gwen announced, her voice bouncing down to them from the upper story. “It’s a great view of the bay. All the ships look so little.”

“There’s pots, pans and a big kettle and plenty of wood,” Hadrian continued. “A wood merchant keeps the pile stocked, but we have to pay for what we use.

“I’ll just add that to Lord Byron’s bill,” Albert said.

“There’s a hearth and stone oven inside and another outside. But Auberon suggests we use the outside, one unless it’s raining or really windy, because otherwise the fire will make the house warm. Also…” he looked at Royce. “There’s no locks on any of the doors.”

Royce nodded. “With no glass, and simple shutters on windows big enough to ride a horse through, I can’t see why there would be.”

“There’s an amazing fish mounted on the wall in one of the bedrooms!” Gwen called down.

“Auberon is fisherman,” Hadrian explained. “You’ll see lots of fishing stuff.”

“Who is this Auberon?” Royce asked.

“The owner and I think possibly the builder of this place. He’s a dwarf, and will be coming by to take care of the plants and trees, and answer any questions, so don’t be alarmed if you see him in the courtyard.”

Royce, who had looked miserable since arriving, closed his eyes and shook his head.

“He’s a nice guy. Owns one of those fishing boats docked on the bay. Very easy going. Just being around him you feel more relaxed. Talking to him is like staring out at the ocean. You know?”

Royce stared at Hadrian as if he was insane. “And you’re sure his name is Auberon and not Gravis?”

“Yes, Royce, I’m might be making a massive assumption here but I think there may be more than one dwarf in all of Tur Del Fur.”

“You didn’t tell him why we’re here, did you?”

Hadrian frowned.

“What?” Royce said. “There was a time when you would.”

“And there was a time when you would have already killed half a dozen people.”

Royce looked abruptly stern and made a sudden slashing motion across his neck as Gwen reappeared descending the curving steps.

“There’s four bedrooms upstairs,” Gwen said. “May I have one, or I suppose I could sleep down here if—”

“Yes, take which ever you like,” Royce said louder than necessary. “Take that one with the balcony view. You seem to like it.”

“I don’t need the—”

Royce walked out.

They all watched him move with that disturbing quickness that caused his cloak to fly behind struggling to keep up.

Everyone stared at the empty doorway for a moment then looked at each other mystified.

“What was that?” Albert asked, rolling to his side peering out the door.

No one answered for a time then, still engulfed in the chair, Arcadius said, “There was a little incident at the dock.”

“An incident?” Albert asked. He looked back out at the courtyard, then rotated, placed his feet on the floor, and stood up. “Is someone dead?”

“Please excuse me,” Gwen said. “I think I’ll settle into my room. I need to change my dress. This one is wet.” Then she too disappeared.

Hadrian found Royce still in the courtyard seated at the small table in the shade of the mango tree. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Royce was drawing invisible pictures on the surface of the table with his fingertips.

“Well…” Hadrian pulled a chair out and sat down. “It’s warm enough to go swimming and you’re sitting here wrapped in thick wool with your hood up. Add to that the fact you just walked out on Gwen mid-sentence, and that suggests something’s not right. Is it because…you know—did you talk to her? Did you tell her how you feel?”

Royce shook his head. “Never got a chance. I think she hates me.”

“Hates you? What happened to sleeping with her head on your shoulder?”

Royce slapped his palms on the stable. “How should I know?”

“Arcadius said there was an incident down at the dock.”

“There wasn’t. Nothing happened.” Royce sat back far enough that Hadrian could see under the hood. His friend looked angry, which wasn’t all that unusual, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes.

Staring at him and thinking it over, Hadrian realized that wasn’t altogether strange either. Still… “Something must have.”

Royce’s fascination with the little stone table continued as he rubbed the top with his thumb. It left a damp mark on the polished surface.

Royce is sweating?

“You remember Bull Neck and Orange Tunic?” Royce asked.

“You mean Brook and Clem from Dulgath?”

“They had names?”

“Think so. Their mother would have to be awfully careless to forget that.”

Royce nodded. “They were just down on the dock. Only it turned out it wasn’t them.”

Hadrian was puzzled, but only for a moment. Not so long ago, Hadrian would have had no idea what Royce was talking about, and it both fascinated and bothered him slightly to realize he was able to workout exactly what his friend was saying. The sensation reminded Hadrian of when he first started to pick up the Tenkin language. He’d learned a word here, a phrase there, and then one day he found himself thinking in Tenkin. He felt the same excitement now—the realization that he achieved a new level of understanding, but also he had to wonder if he had sacrificed something in the process.

Royce pulled back his hood a bit and looked at the door to the rolkin where Arcadius and Albert discussed something Hadrian couldn’t hear but assumed Royce could. “I did absolutely nothing—nothing at all, but she got upset.” He sighed. “She was scared—scared of me.” Royce threw up his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This whole thing…it’s…it’s not going to work. She’s…” Royce at a loss for the right words opted instead to fold his arms in a violent manner. “Well, you know.” He took a breath and let it out slow. “And I’m…well…me. Aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” Hadrian nodded again, this time wetting his lower lip. “I can’t think of much worse than being you. That’s tough.”

“It’s worse than that,” Royce said, completely ignoring his joke, not hearing it, or perhaps not understanding it was a joke at all. “Gwen and I…” He shook his head and let out another loathing sigh. “It’s not possible. I can see that now. Don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly I wasn’t—I was listening to you, which should have been a huge warning right there.” Royce pointed to an engraving of a marlin cut into the stone of the wall near the fountain. “We’re from different worlds. She’s like that beautiful fish there and I’m a bird.”

Hadrian nodded. “A vulture, I suppose.”

Royce glared.

“Sorry.”

“My point is I don’t belong with her. I don’t think I belong with anyone.”

“Really?”

The hood nodded.

“Well, maybe you’re right.” Hadrian pushed back in his chair. Somewhere overhead a bird was singing—several in fact. Tur was filled with song birds. The sun was shining. They were nestled in the shade of a fruit laden tree as a cool breeze blew by, and Royce was as happy as a man forced to witness paradise but never enter. “But, let me ask you something then…who does?”

“Who does what?”

“Who belongs with her? You think maybe Brook or Clem ought to marry Gwen?”

Royce stared at him like a tiger trapped in a cage and Hadrian was using a metal pole to ring the bars. “How about one of the nobles back in Medford? Maybe Baron Rendon, or Sir Sinclair? They’d be a good choices, right? They all have nice homes and lots of money. They could take her to fancy gala’s, right?”

“She doesn’t like them. They’re clients, that’s it.” His voice was low and dangerous.

Hadrian was sliding on river ice and knew it, but hoped his new found fluency in Roycespeak might help him to safely reach the far bank. “Okay, but what about Dixon, she likes Dixon, right? What if he asked her to marry him. What’s more, what if she said yes? What if she said yes because no one else ever showed an interest? Because the one she hoped would say something never did.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Obviously!”

“Did Dixon ask Gwen to—“

“Oh for Maribor’s sake! Honestly!” Hadrian ran both hands through his hair. While he might have made great strides in understanding his partner, Royce had regressed. “How can you be so perceptive and intelligent about most things, but so dim-witted about this? You’re like a man unable to find the sun because that bright light in the sky is blinding you. My point is you’re being an idiot. Gwen’s in love with you, and you’re in love with her, and the only thing in the way is that neither of you feel your worthy of the other. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic. Worst part is how much the two of you truly need each—”

The hood jerked up as Gwen came out into the yard. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but I was thinking that if we could get some food I could cook it. I’m no chef, but having heard the tales of Hadrian’s campfire cookouts I have to assume—”

“Absolutely not!” Albert shouted from inside. “No cooking! Tonight we eat out. My treat—that is to say I’ll charge Lord Byron. This is our first evening in Tur, and we deserve the best. So it is the Blue Parrot, for us. I will spare no expense.”

“Fine.” Gwen lingered a moment. She looked at Royce as if on the verge of tears, then turned around and went back inside.

“I think she might have heard us.” Royce said.

Hadrian clapped the table between them. “Tell her, Royce! This stopped being funny a while ago.”

The Blue Parrot was the same two-toned, three story stone building with the terrace and shiny copper-colored dome that they passed on their way in. It actually had five domes as there were four little towers, each with their own mini domes, but they were tiled and not metal.

“This is a tavern?” Hadrian asked as the five rolled up in a pair of the little donkey-drawn carriages that frequented the streets. The Parrot wasn’t more than a mile and a half away, but Albert had arranged transportation as if they were royalty.

“It’s a danthum,” Albert said.

“But that’s like a tavern, right?”

“I would consider them distant cousins. One could make the argument that Roy the Sewer and I are both human beings—and there are more than a few passing similarities to support this—but I would hope you wouldn’t think we are the same.”

The carriages only comfortably seated two. Gwen and Arcadius rode in one, but Hadrian, Royce, and Albert squeezed in the other. That Royce chose to pry himself into their carriage instead of Gwen’s was noticed by all.

The Blue Parrot’s popularity was made obvious by the crowd waiting to get in and the line of carriages dropping off passengers. The gathering was a remarkably varied group, and Hadrian saw just as many ladies as men. There were plenty of fops, peacocks, and popinjays: men and women in huge hats, finely embroidered vestments, and shiny leather boots, all too heavy to be comfortable. Others wore more relaxed attire making do with simple light tunics and sandals. Some brought their dogs, there were a few cats, and Hadrian even spotted a pig on a leash sporting a blue bonnet. But the most peculiar surprise was the variety of nations. Refined Avryn nobles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with rustic Calians, and men dressed in the frocks of the clergy waited along side a group of Urgvarian Sailors.

“What’s everyone waiting for?” Gwen asked as the carriages abandoned them and promptly clip-clopped away. So many carriages, carts, and wagons, created a non-stop clatter in the background.

“It’s not open,” Albert explained as he adjusted his doublet and checked the alignment of the buttons. That evening Albert insisted they all dress up. After washing at the courtyard fountain, he had changed into his viscount clothes donning his black velvet and silver brocade doublet. He chose not to wear the usual overtunic and in a breezy carefree manner left the collars of the doublet and white shirt undone.

Arcadius had complied by throwing on a different but identical robe, the only difference being that the new one was made of linen instead of wool. Hadrian didn’t have anything else to wear except a second shirt which he changed into leaving his leather jerkin behind. Albert explained that long blades were not allowed in the Parrot, so he left those, too.

Gwen put them to shame. She disappeared upstairs and reemerged in a stunning off-the-shoulder white linen gown that wrapped her body with the intimacy of a silk cocoon. Her hair was brushed back to its normal luster and she had rings dangling from her ears, and bracelets on her wrists. Her lips were colored a pale red, and her eyes painted dark like smoke from a smoldering fire.

Royce, not surprisingly, ignored Albert’s demands remaining in his usual funeral colored wool.

“Not open?” Gwen stared up at the marvelous edifice disappointed. “Well, I can still cook. Some of the markets might still be open.”

“Not to worry,” Albert assured her. “Unlike the taverns and brothels in Avryn, many of the finer establishments down here are only open for a set number of hours each evening. This allows workers to rest, clean up, restock, and generally prepare for the next night’s festivities.”

Gwen looked up at the sky. The sun was well on its way to setting, creating a stunning spectacle of orange, pink, and gold over the bay. “Evening is almost over.”

“Not down here it’s not. In truth, it’s just about to start.”

The doors opened and the crowd cheered.

“We need to hurry if we’re to get a good seat,” Albert pushed them forward into the fray.

The interior of the Parrot was as remarkable as the patrons. The place was the size of a small cathedral. The central room—with its three-story, domed ceiling, fresco decorated walls, twinkling lantern chandeliers, and towering stone pillars—only housed the extravagance. Within this grand chamber a massive sculpture of an elephant, twice the size of those Hadrian was familiar with, stood to one side of a grand wooden stage, while on the other was a gorilla just as big, its arms raised as if holding up the ceiling. Part of the left wall had living fish swimming behind glass, and everywhere there were potted plants and full size trees giving the interior a jungle feel.

“Parrots!” Gwen exclaimed pointing up at a dozen beautiful blue birds flying under the dome from tree to tree, startled at the flood of people pouring into the room.

“Over here!” Albert waved them toward a round wooden table as close to the stage as he could find. All the tables closer had already filled up, but he managed to snag one only two rows back. “Five chairs. Perfect!”

The room roared with the conversations of hundreds as it rapidly filled.

“This is so exciting!” Gwen said, a great smile on her face, her eyes darting from one delight to the next.

“It’s insane.” Royce glowered. He too looked around but showed none of Gwen’s amusement. Instead he glared at every face that came close, and even scowled at the parrots. “This is a mad house.”

“Trust me,” Albert told him. “It only gets worse.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because in Tur Del Fur, worse is wonderful.”

A small army of blue jacketed servants dispersed out of side doors and into the sea of patrons moving from table to table taking drink orders, as somewhere unseen a band began to play. Strings, drums, and pipes joined together to create a wave of sound richer and more powerful than anything Hadrian had heard. And it was lively to the point of decadent with a booming rhythm he could feel.

Albert leaned over to Hadrian. “So, yes—to answer your question, it’s like a tavern.”

“Good evening gentlemen,” a blue jacketed waiter greeted them shouting over the music. “My name is Atyn, allow me to welcome you to the Blue Parrot.”

It took Hadrian a moment to realize that their waiter wasn’t a man. His tapering ears, high, cheek bones, and angled eyebrows proclaimed his heritage from afar, but Hadrian was so unaccustomed to seeing an elf in any establishment—much less employed by one—his mind second guessed his eyes.

“Is this your first time with us?” Atyn asked. He was looking right at Hadrian making him realize he was staring.

“These three are novices to the city,” Albert answered, then Albert looked at Arcadius.

The professor shook his head. “Not my first time within these walls, but when I was last here…” he thought a moment. “I believe this was a municipal building.”

The waiter looked stunned. “That would have been even before my time, and I have been here a good while.”

Arcadius smiled. “Sorry to admit that I’m just about as old as I look.”

“A few things have changed,” Atyn said with a perfect dead-face that made the professor smile. “Now for those who have never been here, or haven’t visited this century, please allow me to explain that the Blue Parrot is the finest danthum in the city, and tonight you will have the experience of a lifetime. The shows will begin soon, and when they do it will get loud, so if you plan to eat—which I strongly advise as we have delicacies unmatched anywhere in the world— you might considered deciding now what you want while I can still hear you.”

Hadrian, who had determined that the musicians were hidden in a pit just before the stage, was already forced to lean across the table to hear, and wondered how much louder it could possibly get.

“Tonight,” Atyn proclaimed with a flourish of his hand, “we are offering our spectacular flaming peacock.”

“Oh, by Mar!” Albert reacted with physical delight. “We must have at least one of those!” He looked at the others as if the very idea had sent him into a fit of ecstasy. “You have no idea.”

“Also this evening,” Atyn continued. “We offer roasted swan, complete with head and neck—tucked under the left wing of course. We also have our popular Treasures of the Ocean, and for dessert frozen blueberry and custard magpies.”

“Frozen?” Hadrian asked.

“Indeed!” the waiter said. “Barges of winter lake ice are packed in straw and sailed down the coast to fill our storehouse and provide you with such unmatched delicacies. We also have a special tonight, our legendary Flame Broiled Sea Monster.”

“What may I ask is that?” Arcadius inquired.

“Grilled octopus,” Atyn explained with a grin. “The tentacled beast is caught fresh daily, hung out to dry in the sun and then grilled on charcoal. The outside is blackened to a wonderfully crunchy texture but the inside is succulent and just as chewy as you’d hope. It’s served with a wedge of lemon.” Atyn took a needed breath. “I can imagine this is a lot to consider so, in the meantime can I bring the table a bottle of wine?”

“Oh, Royce,” Albert said. “They have Montemorcey here.”

Royce shook his head, “I’m not in—”

“Such a rare treat,” Arcadius interrupted. “Bring two bottles to start.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll get that right away. And please enjoy the show.”

Atyn bowed with an otherworldly grace, and moved on to the table with the Calians. “Good evening gentlemen, my name is Atyn, allow me to welcome you to the Blue Parrot.” He said to them as well, but he did so in perfect Calian.

Hadrian continued to watch the waiter. The only elves Hadrian had ever known were wretched things living lives of impoverished misery on the streets of the larger cities. Always filthy, they cowered in the shadows eating from trash piles while hiding from everyone in fear of being attacked. Seeing Atyn dressed smartly and speaking eloquently in multiple languages was like seeing a polished gem that used to be a rock. “He’s an elf.”

“Delgos is a very tolerant nation,” Albert said. “And Tur Del Fur is about as progressive and free as you can get. Their creed down here is simply, do what you like, just don’t bother others, and above all, don’t interfere with commerce. I suppose I should have warned you.”

“Nothing to be warned about,” the professor declared. “The hateful mistreatment of such individuals back in Avryn is one of the great embarrassments of our civilization. They are people, plain and simple, and it is refreshing to find them granted the common curtsey all deserve.”

“But it does take a bit of getting used to,” Albert said. “Last time I was here, the Earl of Tremore made quite the scene. It began with the earl demanding the elves—not just the staff mind you, but patrons as well—be removed from the premises, and escalated when he stabbed one.”

“Oh dear! What happened?” Gwen asked.

“They locked the earl up in the city prison.”

“They did that to an earl?”

“He’s not an earl down here. Happens all the time. Almost every night there is a noble fresh from the north who hasn’t acclimated to the culture and thinks he’s still in Avryn. Most of the time, it’s just part of the entertainment. You’ll see, this place gets pretty boisterous as the night goes on, but sometimes it goes too far. Granted, this being Delgos, that’s a long walk to be sure, but stabbing a waiter or waitress in the Blue Parrot is absolutely too far. And they have a professional crew to deal with that. As I said, interfering with commerce isn’t allowed.”

All around them people were flowing past, finding seats, and settling in. To their right was a group of Calians dressed in the typical white linen thawb and loose trousers that Hadrian found himself envying. They wore tall festive hats, spoke loudly and laughed a great deal. Directly in front was a group of sailors easily distinguished by their long greased hair and the sail-canvas tar flap that protected the shoulders of their blouses. They were louder than the Calians, but didn’t laugh as much.

In this turmoil, Royce looked as comfortable as a cat riding a sinking board in the midst of a flood. His hood was up, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Let’s have a toast,” Arcadius said when the wine arrived along with the shocking luxury of crystal stemware. He poured everyone a glass, including Royce who had pushed his away. “To Gwen DeLancy,” the professor announced raising his wine. “What might have been merely a pleasant trip has been elevated to the height of rapture by her presence.”

Gwen looked embarrassed as everyone drank to her, except Royce who refused to touch his glass.

“What is it, Royce?” Arcadius asked. “You disagree?”

He looked up to see Gwen watching him with agony in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she offered a sad smile. “He doesn’t—”

Royce got to his feet.

Hadrian feared another walk-out, but Royce surprised everyone. He took up his glass, and lifted it toward her. “To Gwen,” he said. Then he drank, and sat back down.

Gwen continued to stare at him with dark puzzled eyes.