Kwestor, Donald and Muce, along with the harried looking cobbler’s assistant, returned to the common room of the Redfruit Inn with the scraps of vellum. They selected one of the larger tables near the front window and methodically began placing pieces of the Warden scroll in the proper order like a jigsaw puzzle.
The inn gradually gathered customers as the old Gotroxian document took form, and now several people sat in the common room eating supper, drinking and talking. Four men, possibly teamsters, played cards and exchanged stories and money at one table. A pair of old men quietly hovered over a checkers game at another. The prince’s party received some curious glances but, for the most part, remained an inconspicuous part of the normal dinner scene at the Redfruit Inn in Barter’s Forge.
Muce suggested they order dinner, but Donald wanted to wait until they completed their task. When they finally positioned the last fragment, he breathed a sigh of relief. “It looks like they’re all here.” Kwestor agreed. He detected no obvious gaps—no large ones, in any case.
The young apprentice shoemaker opened a leather box and withdrew needles, thread, and scissors. Donald peered anxiously over his shoulder while the boy sewed the bits of vellum together. When he finally tied the last knot of the last stitch, few diners remained, and empty plates, bottles, and glasses littered several vacant tables. On theirs, rested a rectangular scroll covered with ornate writing and colorful but faded decoration. It was about twice as wide as Kwestor’s hand and as long as his forearm.
The prince thanked the boy and dismissed him with two silver pieces for his trouble. This, of course, came in addition to what he generously paid the master boot maker earlier. At least someone is having a good day, Kwestor thought.
Muce caught the serving girl’s attention and she hurried over to take their order for dinner.
“We still have some of the chicken stew and biscuits,” she said. “It’s real good today. Or you can have lamb chops with mashed potatoes.”
Kwestor and Donald both selected the stew and Muce opted for the lamb and potatoes—with extra potatoes. They also ordered a bottle of wine and pitcher of water, which they could mix according to their individual tastes.
“I still can’t read it,” Muce said, looking at the sheet they had been examining either as a whole or in bits for the last couple of hours. “I like the decoration, though.”
The reassembled sheet, decorated with curling vines, flowers, stars, moons, lightning bolts, and an occasional bunny in the corners, could be considered aesthetically pleasing—if you squinted just right, Kwestor thought. It reminded him more of a child’s doodle.
“It’s definitely in old Gotroxian,” the young prince said. I’m sure I can translate it, but it may take me a little while. I’ll get to it in earnest after some dinner and work down here. There’s more room.”
He turned his attention to the ranger. “Kwestor, do you speak Gotroxian?”
“Some.”
“Would you mind staying down here with me and helping out with the translation.”
“Of course,” the scout said. “I expected to.”
“Good. Thanks.”
Kwestor did not hide his sarcasm, but it may have been too subtle for the prince. Either this or he remained incurably obtuse.
When dinner arrived, the trio continued their conversation, speculating about what the mysterious document might be, how old, where it came from, and how it ended as scrap leather in a cobbler’s shop in Barter’s Forge.
When they finished eating, the prince said, “Well, I suppose I better get to work on this.” He spoke as if he regarded it as a chore he must do, but Kwestor could easily detect the prince’s excitement about learning what secrets the scroll might reveal, and he expected the young prince would find some, whether they were there or not.