“Ha ha ha ha ha,” the merchant pressed, wiggling back in their path. “What you need, Sali Dalib got. In plenty, too, many. Tookie, nookie, bookie.”

“Smoke weed, women, and tomes in every language known to the world,” the lisping little goblin translated. “My master is a merchant of anything and everything!”

“Bestest o’ de bestest!” Sali Dalib asserted. “What you need—”

“Sali Dalib got,” Bruenor finished for him. The dwarf looked to Drizzt, confident that they were thinking the same thing: The sooner they were out of Memnon, the better. One weird merchant would serve as well as another.

“Horses,” the dwarf told the merchant.

“We wish to get to Calimport,” Drizzt explained.

“Horses, horses? Ha ha ha ha ha,” replied Sali Dalib without missing a beat. “Not for long ride, no. Too hot, too dry. Camels de thing!”

“Camels…desert horses,” the goblin explained, seeing the dumbfounded expressions. He pointed to a large dromedary being led down the street by its tan-robed master. “Much better for ride across the desert.”

“Camels, then,” snorted Bruenor, eyeing the massive beast tentatively. “Or whatever’ll do!”

Sali Dalib rubbed his hands together eagerly. “What you need—”

Bruenor threw his hand out to stop the excited merchant. “We know, we know.”

Sali Dalib sent his assistant away with some private instructions and led the friends through the maze of Memnon at great speed, though he never seemed to lift his feet from the ground as he shuffled along. All the while, the merchant held his hands out in front of him, his fingers twiddling and tap-tapping. But he seemed harmless enough, and the friends were more amused than worried.

Sali Dalib pulled up short before a large tent on the western end of the city, a poorer section even by Memnon’s paupers’ standards. Around the back, the merchant found what he was looking for. “Camels!” he proclaimed proudly.

“How much for four?” Bruenor huffed, anxious to get the dealings over with and get back on the road. Sali Dalib seemed not to understand.

“The price?” the dwarf asked.

“De price?”

“He wants an offer,” Catti-brie observed.

Drizzt understood as well. Back in Menzoberranzan, the city of drow, merchants used the same technique. By getting the buyer especially a buyer not familiar with the goods for sale—to make the first mention of price, they often received many times the value of their goods. And if the bid came in too low, the merchant could always hold out for the proper market value.

“Five hundred gold pieces for the four,” Drizzt offered, guessing the beasts to be at least twice that value.

Sali Dalib’s fingers began their tap dance again, and a sparkle came into his pale gray eyes. Drizzt expected a tirade and then an outlandish counter, but Sali Dalib suddenly calmed and flashed his gold-and-ivory smile.

“Agreed!” he replied.

Drizzt caught his tongue before his planned retort left his mouth in a meaningless gurgle. He cast a curious look at the merchant, then turned to count out the gold from the sack Deudermont had given him.

“Fifty more for ye if ye can get us hooked with a caravan for Calimport,” Bruenor offered.

Sali Dalib assumed a contemplative stance, tapping his fingers against the dark bristles on his chin. “But there is one out dis very now,” he replied. “You can catch it with little trouble. But you should. Last one to Calimport for de week.”

“To the south!” the dwarf cried happily to his companions.

“De south? Ha ha ha ha ha!” Sali Dalib blurted. “Not de south! De south is for thief bait!”

“Calimport is south,” Bruenor retorted suspiciously. “And so’s the road, by me guessing.”

“De road to Calimport is south,” Sali Dalib agreed, “but those who be smart start to de west, on de bestest road.”

Drizzt handed a pouch of gold to the merchant. “How do we catch the caravan?”

“De west,” Sali Dalib replied, dropping the pouch into a deep pocket without even inspecting the contents. “Only out one hour. Easy catch, dis. Follow de signposts on de horizon. No problem.”

“We’ll need supplies,” Catti-brie remarked.

“Caravan is well-stocked,” answered Sali Dalib. “Bestest place to buy. Now be going. Catch dem before dey turn south to de Trade Way!” He moved to help them select their mounts: a large dromedary for Wulfgar, a two-bumper for Drizzt, and smaller ones for Catti-brie and Bruenor.

“Remember, good friends,” the merchant said to them when they were perched upon their mounts. “What you need—”

“Sali Dalib got!” they all answered in unison. With one final flash of his gold-and-ivory smile, the merchant shuffled into the tent.

“He was more to bargaining, by me guess,” Catti-brie remarked as they headed tentatively on the stiff-legged camels toward the first signpost. “He could’ve gotten more for the beasts.”

“Stolen, o’ course!” Bruenor laughed, stating what he considered the obvious.

But Drizzt wasn’t so certain. “A merchant such as he would have sought the best price even for stolen goods,” he replied, “and by all my knowledge of the rules of bargaining, he most certainly should have counted the gold.”

“Bah!” Bruenor snorted, fighting to keep his mount moving straight. “Ye probably gave him more than the things are worth!”

“What, then?” Catti-brie asked Drizzt, agreeing more with his reasoning.

“Where?” Wulfgar answered and asked all at once. “He sent his goblin sneak away with a message.”

“Ambush,” said Catti-brie.

Drizzt and Wulfgar nodded. “It would seem,” said the barbarian.

Bruenor considered the possibility. “Bah!” He snorted at the notion. “He didn’t have enough wits in his head to pull it off.”

“That observation might only make him more dangerous,” Drizzt remarked, looking back a final time toward Memnon.

“Turn back?” the dwarf asked, not so quick to dismiss the drow’s apparently serious concerns.

“If our suspicions prove wrong and we miss the caravan, …” Wulfgar reminded them ominously.

“Can Regis wait?” asked Catti-brie.

Bruenor and Drizzt looked to each other.

“Onward,” Drizzt said at length. “Let us learn what we may.”

“Nowhere might you learn more than in a land unlike your own,” Wulfgar remarked, echoing Drizzt’s thoughts of that morning.

When they had passed the first signpost, their suspicions did not diminish. A large board nailed to the post named their route in twenty languages, all reading the same way: “De bestest road.” Once again, the friends considered their options, and once again they found themselves trapped by the lack of time. They would continue on, they decided, for one hour. If they had found no signs of the caravan by then, they would return to Memnon and “discuss” the matter with Sali Dalib.

The next signpost read the same way, as did the one after that. By the time they passed the fifth, sweat drenched their clothes and stung their eyes, and the city was no longer in sight, lost somewhere in the dusty heat of the rising dunes. Their mounts didn’t make the journey any better. Camels were nasty beasts, and nastier still when driven by an inexperienced rider. Wulfgar’s, in particular, had a bad opinion of its rider, for camels preferred to pick their own route, and the barbarian, with his powerful legs and arms, kept forcing his mount through the motions he chose. Twice, the camel had arched its head back and launched a slobbery wad of spittle at Wulfgar’s face.

Wulfgar took it all in stride, but he spent more than a passing moment fantasizing of flattening the camel’s hump with his hammer.

“Hold!” Drizzt commanded as they moved down into a bowl between dunes. The drow extended his arm, leading the surprised glances skyward, where several buzzards had taken up a lazy, circular flight.

“There’s carrion about,” Bruenor noted.

“Or there is soon to be,” Drizzt replied grimly.