the smuggler’s bible


Snake-in-the-Grass peeks at the bundled form by the fire, then plucks at the musty little wizard’s robes and draws him over behind one of the stalagmites.

“Listen, doc,” he whispers, “I’ve got plenty invested in this mess. What if you just sorta gave me the goods so I could get a head start on things?”

“I understand completely,” Branbildon says, pulling a shimmering purple flask from deep inside a sleeve, “but, of course, I couldn’t possibly hand this over except to a primary signatory on the original quest documentation.”

“Ah, yes,” Snake-in-the-Grass says glumly, “I suppose I see your point.”