Tas glanced down at his mud-soaked leggings and the trail of dirty, wet footprints leading across the carpets to where he now stood. He giggled, which was certainly a mistake. The words "I'm sorry," were barely formed on his lips when the merchant realized his mistake, too.

"A kender! And I mistook you for an innocent child. Away!" he roared.

"But I was pushed," protested Tasslehoff. "It wasn't my fault-"

"Away!" The rug merchant's face turned purple with anger. His hands flew across Tas's upper body, probing and poking the kender's woolen vest and pockets, which only made Tasslehoff giggle again. When the merchant was satisfied that nothing of his was secreted on Tas's body, he whirled the little fellow around and pushed him away, back into the milling crowd.

It would be natural to think Tasslehoff was discouraged by all the manhandling he'd been subjected to, but kender are not so easily put off. It was all part and parcel of the fair, and Tas had a taste for excitement. He was also partial to the crispy-fried spiral cakes sprinkled with sugar, which he purchased from a toothless but jolly, red-cheeked old woman. Absently sucking the sugar from his fingers, he set off to explore the grounds.

Strains of exotic music drifted across the festival grounds, sounds of long-stringed instruments and tiny cymbals, which wrapped Tasslehoff up in their pulsing rhythm. Like a dog on a scent, the kender threaded through the seething crowd and found his way to the stage. On it, a dark-skinned woman shivered and whirled, her silk veils floating like gossamer petals. Steel coins jangled on her wrists, ankles, and hips. The music, strange and wonderful, seemed filled with color and faraway scents.

But even that wasn't enough to hold Tas's attention when the magic show started up in the next stall.

Foul-smelling smoke drifted across the stage. With a whoosh, a man appeared in the smoke, grimacing. The crowd swayed in awe, though Tas was quite certain he saw the curtain move just before the man "materialized."

The fellow was dressed in a floor-length forest green tunic, so dark it almost appeared black. A fur-trimmed robe of the same color reached just below his waist. Both items were decorated with cabalistic symbols of every size and color.

"I am the great and potent Fozgoz Mithrohir," announced the wizard, "grandson and only surviving heir of the equally great and potent Fozgond Mithrohir, the Eternal High Light and Grand Mustard of the Imperial Order of Green Wizards! Stand back!"

With that, he produced a wand from his left sleeve and flourished it menacingly toward the crowd, which stepped back respectfully.

"I shall now summon here, to this spot, before you, with great authority and power, a creature of the nether planes, a dread beast from whence you cannot imagine, for only I, Fozgoz, have ever ventured there to return again. Do not be alarmed, for it is completely within my power and under my control. I am master of this dire creature, having established my authority in wizardly combat against the nemesis in its own magical world! Now, silence, and stand back!"

Tasslehoff, like everyone else, stared unblinking and dry-eyed as Fozgoz waved his wand in complex and mystic convolutions through the air. Sparks sputtered from its tip as it traced its sulfurous pattern. Then, with a bang, another cloud of acrid smoke burst across the crowd. Tasslehoff and other spectators who stood in the front rows staggered back, blinking their stinging eyes and coughing. The first to rush forward afterward was Tas, who stared intently into the swirling cloud. Emerging from it, looking somewhat dazed and hardly ferocious, was… Tas could see it was about the size and shape of a goat, but hairless and apparently covered with orange scales. It had only one horn. As the crowd gasped and gaped in astonishment, the creature stood placidly chewing. Just as Tas reached out to touch it, an assistant rushed forward and led the incredible monster away behind the curtain.

With his eyebrows twisted to an unnatural posture, Fozgoz glared at Tasslehoff.

"You are certainly a brave and adventurous fellow, little traveler," he announced. "That creature would have torn off your arm and swallowed it whole, then lapped up your blood for dessert, had I not been here to contain its bestial urges."

"It looked like a billy goat," said Tas, suspicious.

"You noticed that, did you?" Fozgoz's smile was patronizing. "That is because the universe contains only a finite number of forms. To grant existence to all creatures, some forms must be used twice, or even more, on the many planes of existence. Do not be fooled. It merely resembled a goat in outward shape." The astonished crowd murmured over its new enlightenment.

Turning to the man next to him, Tasslehoff muttered, "It sure looked like a goat. Didn't you think it looked like a goat?"

Before the man could answer, Fozgoz interrupted. "Tell me, little traveler. You are a kender?"

"Tasslehoff Burrfoot, of the Kendermore Burrfoots. Have you heard of us?"

"Thankfully, no," Fozgoz said, drawing laughter from the crowd, "but I'm certain everyone here knows of the strange and wonderful things kender carry in their pouches. Perhaps you would allow me?" The magician extended a hand to Tasslehoff, his eyebrow raised Questioningly.

Tasslehoff's face lit up. "Sure, I'd love to!" He stepped forward and slipped the pouch from his shoulder. As he began unknotting the drawstring, Fozgoz stopped him.

"Please," he said, "I am a wizard, after all. There is no need to open the purse. I can divine, yes, even extract, its contents while it is still tightly drawn. Stand here."

Tasslehoff stepped obediently to the place next to Fozgoz. The magician placed his left hand lightly against the pouch. In his right he waved the wand.

"Now relax, my valiant friend," he cautioned. His eyes grew narrow, his lips pursed tightly together, and he passed the wand close to the pouch. "Radorum, Radorae, Radorix, Radorostrum!" A shower of sparks burst from the end of the wand and rained over Tasslehoff. Fozgoz stepped back triumphantly, holding his left hand aloft. The crowd gasped. Slowly he lowered his palm to Tasslehoff's eye level, and the kender saw that it held the dried foot and beak of a raven.

Tasslehoff peered at the objects. "Wow, I'd forgotten all about those. But hey, you missed the best stuff. Here, let me show you." Before Fozgoz could object, Tas popped open his pouch and pulled out a beautiful orange and green feather. "Here's a harpy's tail feather. And a minotaur's tusk, and a lock of somebody-or-other's hair, though he was important at the time, and some moon dust from Lunitari-or is it Solinari? Well, anyway, Uncle Trapspringer brought it back from some moon or other. Where's that powdered pegasus hoof? Oh, and I have maps of everywhere I've ever gone, which is just about everywhere, and lots of places I haven't gone, too."

By now the crowd was pressing in, trying to get a look at the strange and wonderful things Tasslehoff held in his small fists. Fozgoz waved his arms against the pressing crowd, but it was no use.

Just as Fozgoz was about to give up on the rest of the show, he heard the kender's voice calling his name. "Mighty Fozgoz! Look!"

The spectators parted far enough so Fozgoz could see Tasslehoff. In his outstretched palm he held a raven's beak and two dried feet. "Look, I found them. They were back in my pouch. How'd you do that, without waving your wand, I mean?"

Caught off guard, Fozgoz looked down to his own hand to see whether his props were still there. They were. Unfortunately, at least sixteen members of his audience saw them, too.

"Say, what sort of a double-dealing trick is that?" asked one of the larger members of the audience, stepping toward Fozgoz.

"What do you take us for, a pack of fools?" asked another. "I'd say we ought to know phony magic when we see it.