Having A Gay Old Time

Once all of the immediate questions have been answered, the party carries on the discussion regarding the tavern plan.

Xavier is still not terrible happy at the suggestion of taking the form of an orog rather than an orc:

"Damn Orc I have agreed to be, for in them I see some human characteristic. Vile they may be, but at least they have a tongue I understand. But damned will I be an vile demon spawn, lice infested, fat, mindless mongoloid Orog for a week. Gotten himmel, this open resort to magic to achieve our ends, is foul enough to me, without asking that."

Winnacer is tired after spending nearly the whole day working on the strategy. He is delighted when Bennett helps him out by coming up with a choice as to their next actions.

"I think we should get moving on this pretty quickly" starts Bennett. "We should go out to the tavern right now, one by one like paying customers. As far as the staff, we need whoever we will be mimicking to stay around long enough for us to get an idea of their personalities as well as a very good impression of their looks. As a matter of fact, it would be a good idea to keep them there as we do the transformations, that way there will be no flaws caused by lack of memory or anything else. If I was the Guildmaster, I would send somebody in prior to the meeting who knew the staff and check to see if they had been replaced, to avoid the chance that Reinburger might be pulling something. I vote we do the transformations as soon as possible, at least myself and whoever plays the staff, as the longer we have to get used to our new appearances, the better. I would recommend the same thing for Winnacer, Xavier, and the others, though they will have to use more general models for thought."

'I'm all for that plan' says Boris. 'All bleedin' day it's bin talk, talk, talk. Let's get finishin' the talkin' and startin' the doin'. Let's check out the staff o' the Queen's 'Ead, 'ave a final decide of our disguises and then look to get things movin' tomorrow.'

He looks out of the window seeing that the sun has now set.

'I don't reckon as if we'll have much of a problem getting' to the Queen's 'Ead in the darkness. Yaz an' Jihan, I think that a change o' clothin' is all that yer needs to stop 'em from clockin' yers, providin' that yer keeps yer faces covered.'

'So are we all ready to go? Winnacer, Bennett, Xavier, Yaz, Jihan, Faewen'il?'

They all nod, bored of being cooped up in the building for the past 24 hours, despite Boris' hospitality.

'What about the goblin?'

Darius has been staring out of the window for the whole of the afternoon, showing no interest in the planning of the operation whatsoever. It is obvious that he has no intention of joining them in the mission. He appears to be sulking.

'I think it best if we leave Darius here for the evening,' says Winnacer. 'Perhaps there is still time to change his mind tomorrow, but for now I think that we shall have to assume that he is not going to change his mind.'

'Be ye comin' with us, Corrow?' asks Faewen'il.

'Sorry, lass' interjects Boris, with an unhappy look on his face. 'The boss' words were clear. He said that Corrow would 'ave to stay with us until the mission is over. It's a bit embarrassin' for me to 'ave to say it, knowin' what a good bunch yer are, but those are the rules, an' the boss don't know yers from anyone.'

Faewen'il glances up at Sonya, who has been hanging around the group all afternoon. She can see that Sonya is very relieved at the fact that Corrow is not going into danger. She looks at Faewen'il and has a worried look on her face, however. It is obvious that she has formed a strong bond with the lass.

Jihan looks towards Robert, who has been staring at Sonya's bosom ever since he entered the room, oblivious to the conversation:

"And what are we supposed to do with him? Some extra muscle perhaps? We can't possibly send him back now that Daniela knows about Yaz's 'charming' personality, plus him trying to stick his blade in her and all."

'Couldn't we just leave him here?' replies Yaz, weakly.

'Don't expect us to act like no nursemaid to the waifs an' strays that yer brings in from the street, "Mr. Liebermann"' replies Boris, with another grin on his face. 'E's your problem, I'm afraid.'

'OK, then' replies Yaz, resignedly. 'I guess that I'll have to look after him.'

With that, the party descends the ladders until they are at the front door.

'Orright, we'll 'ead there in pairs. Keep to the shadders as best yer can, an' act natural like. Don't do nothin' suspicious an' we shan't run into no problems,' arranges Boris.

At a slow walking pace, the journey to The Queen's Head takes around 20 minutes. As Boris promised, the party has no problem in getting to the destination. There are no signs of any dodgy looking characters that may be Diamonds, and the few patrolling Nyemetz pay no attention to any of them.

They take in the surroundings of The Queen's Head. As Boris described, it is situated in an upmarket area, nestling in the shadow of the keep and temple on the hill to the south. The tavern is on the end of a row, adjoining a costumer's shop to the west.

The pairs file into the tavern. They pass through the entrance hall and then through the doors into the tavern. They are met by the delightful smell of ale and roasted meats. They see that the inside of the tavern is well-kept. Currently, around half of the tables are full. The clientele is well-dressed in the main. They look to be mainly shopkeepers, with the odd traveling merchant amongst them , as well as more qualified tradesman. None of the clientele look anything like they would have anything to do with the Black Diamonds. The majority of the clients are human, with one or two dwarves amongst their number. Walking amongst the customers, they can see a couple of barmaids. Both of them are in their late twenties and are somewhat buxom, which is easy to see from their low cut black dresses.

The party positions themselves at the stools on the bar, which are all empty, so as to have an uninterrupted view of the whole tavern area.

'Ooooh, are all you big strong men together?' asks a strange sounding voice from in front of them. All look forwards to see the owner of the voice.

They see a sight unlike any that they have ever seen before.

It is a dwarf, but dressed unlike any dwarf that they have seen. He is dressed in black leather, encrusted with glittering studs. He wears leather pants and a leather waistcoat, open to reveal a large expanse of hairy gut. His arms are bare and he wears a black leather cap on his head, decorated with yet more studs. His face is framed by a huge handlebar moustache that droops to below his chin. He is smiling at them all in a friendly way. Perhaps a little TOO friendly.

'Mr. Boris' he says in his bizarre sounding voice. 'How lovely to see you again. Are you still working with all of those lovely young boys of yours?'

'Ha! Ha! Ha!' laughs Boris, heartily. 'Yer in good form tonight yer are, Tharnold. Pint o' me usual please.'

He pours a pint of foaming brew for Boris and then moves down the bar to Xavier.

'Oooh, that's a massive weapon that you've got there' says Tharnold, spying the hilt of the Saxon's bastard sword. 'Do you have to hold it with one hand or two? Ha! Ha! Ha!' he chuckles.

Xavier is wondering whether to give the dwarf a demonstration by lopping his head off, but manages to control himself.

'A pint, please' he says instead, feebly.

Bennett is next in the queue.

'Now you look like a big strong lad' says Tharnald, looking the warrior up and down. 'I like a bit of rough! What be your fancy, sugar?'

Similar thoughts to those of Xavier run through Bennett's mind

'Same for me' he utters after a moment of silence.

Winnacer is next. Tharnold notices the young knight's lock of hair flopped across his forehead. Gently, the dwarf reaches up and combs it back for him.

'That's better, you don't want to be hiding your good looks now, do you sweetheart. Now what can I do for you?'

'Errm…and for me. A pint' stumbles Winnacer.

Next is Faewen'il.

'Now ain't you a gorgeous looking little thing' he says, smiling at her. 'What absolutely gorgeous eyeshadow you're wearing. Matches your lovely hair a treat it does. What's it called that color? Where did you get it from? And isn't that a lovely dress, suits you down to a T. Anyway, mustn't stand here gossiping all evening. What can I get you, lovey.'

Faewen'il is trying to stop herself from laughing out loud, reveling in the discomfort that all of her male colleagues are feeling. She orders a glass of wine.

Next is Jihan, who is wrapped in the borrowed robes which are hiding an assortment of knives and daggers. Tharnald looks him up and down as well.

'Is that a dagger in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?! Ha! Ha! Ha!' Tharnald laughs.

Jihan simply ignores him, acting as if this kind of thing happens everyday.

'A mug of mead, if you have it' he replies.

Then Tharnald comes to serve Yaz, whose face is all but hidden by the cloak that he is wearing.

'I can't get a good look at that pretty face of yours' Tharnald says. 'Can I pull your hood down?'

'No' replies Yaz, a little peeved after the bad day that he has been having. 'Have you got any spirits? I really need a stiff one,' he adds, not thinking what he's saying.

'You and me both, sweetheart! Ha! Ha! Ha!' says Tharnald, creasing up with mirth.

Finally he gets to Robert, who is continuing to grin away to himself.

'What a gorgeous smile you have' Tharnald says, looking deep into Robert's eyes. 'Like an angel. Now what can I be getting for you?'

'Pint of your best please, squire.'

As Tharnald is drawing his pint, Robert nudges Yaz.

'Hey, he's a nice friendly guy. Don't you reckon?' Robert says, still grinning like a cat.

Yaz just shakes his head underneath his hood.

As Tharnald finishes dispensing the drinks, Boris speaks to him:

'I'm a bit peckish actually, Tharnald. Got any of that beef jerky of yers?'

'I know what you mean Mr. Boris. I could do with some gristle to suck on as well! Ha! Ha! Ha!'

'DARLING!' shouts Tharnald in a singsong voice. 'I NEED YOU!'

Another dwarf bursts through the door behind the counter. This character is wearing a white chef's outfit, with a frilly lace apron. His hair is dyed a light blonde color and he has a huge ruby earring in one of his ears.

'Glad to hear that you're missing me, darling' says the second dwarf. 'Now how can I be servicing you?'

'Mr. Boris wants to know whether he can have a nibble on your jerky' Tharnald says to him.

'Oh what a shame!' the chef positively cries. 'Jerky's off!'

'Not until we go upstairs to bed' Tharnald replies, with tears of laughter in his eyes. 'I've got customers to be serving!'

The two dwarves hug each other as they collapse in hysterical laughter.

Boris takes his eyes off the sight to speak to the members of the party:

'So, Bennett, you're going to become the barman. So which of yers wants to be the cook for a week?!' Boris says, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

At Boris's comment, Faewen'il bursts out into laughter, unable to hide her mirth anymore.

"Keep in mind... whoever it be had best be learnin about make-up." she says before bursting into laughter once more.

Bennett doesn't say anything. He just has a look of abject horror upon his face.

Winnacer laughs out loud when he hears this. All the sudden the task of playing the Witchfinder General seems just a trifle to the young lord. With a smirk, Winnacer says jokingly:

"Perhaps Yaz and Jihan would best be suited for the role. They tend to sneak off together and they certainly are not all man."

In no mood, Yaz gives Winnacer the whack-me gesture and remains seated in front of his rather potent Bohavian whisky, head propped by one hand.

Winnacer can't keep back a chuckle from his little joke. After a moment he regains his composure, apologizing if any feelings were hurt.

"But honestly, who is willing to make such a sacrifice for king and country? It's either orc flesh or very odd dwarf flesh. Any volunteers?"

At Winnacer's little 'jest,' Jihan's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before narrowing in pain. All this happens in but a split second before the features of the elf freeze into a look unexpectedly cold, Winnacer's last words stick in his mind like fire. He squares his shoulders, and his hands seem to tense for a minute. Something of Seavahn Halbarad's pride still remains in the lad, who crosses his arms, muttering incredulously:

"What makes a man, I wonder?... 100 years? 20? not all man indeed..."

He shakes his head before responding with forced gaiety, his voice lisping ridiculously:

"Oh, I wouldn't mind, love. Perhaps you could lend me some of your leathers? That studded thong would be smashing!"

A thin smile that doesn't reflect in the elf's eyes spreads across his face.

Arms still crossed and eyes still cold, Jihan states that he will volunteer for the role as barkeeper:

"And there aren't any serving boys around any way," he says, nodding towards the girls that are busy making the rounds. "I know a little about bartending, as at one point in my life I spent a lot of time in taverns as partial payment after guiding merchants through the forests, though their stories were often more interesting than the mead..."

Turning towards Bennett, he enquires:

"Would this be all right with you, brother? I can't imagine you'd want to hold with the role now..."

Bennett just nods, seemingly in a state of shock.

Jihan nods in reaction to Bennett, and directs one more cold glance Winnacer's way before turning towards the dwarven bartender to get to know his mannerisms better, talking over his mug of mead "So just how ever did a fabulous dwarf like you end up in a city like this?..."

Before Tharnald has a chance to respond to Jihan, Faewen'il speaks:

"I think I should be tha cook." she blurts out after sobering up a bit at Jihan's reaction to the jest. She can't figure out why she wants to stick up for Jihan, but she does it nonetheless.

"I speak tha dwarven tongue... and....well... anyone can be taught ta walk like a servin girl.... even sar Bennett."

Bennett simply stares at the lass as she says this. It doesn't take a mindreader to see that he is trying to figure out which of the options is worse - a gay dwarf or a buxom serving wench.

"Why dun' we just keep the dwarfies here, pay 'em a few coins... what are they gonna do, squeal on us?" adds Yaz, looking up again from his whisky.

"I been thinking that maybe I shouldn't be the Shaman. Maybe I oughta be someone they wouldn't expect to cast spells. Gain a little surprise."

"Although... you know... what I was thinking," he continues, raising his head to speak more coherently, "was this… and I know it's got weaknesses, but what if Hind-burger," with a glance at the dwarves, "what if Hind-burger insisted that Pavlichek be scanned for charms or other magical effects on him before the discussion began? Then, instead of me detecting that stuff, I just cast my Charm on him. Maybe if he's open to receiving a spell, he won't have his mental defenses up. Like Daniela did." Yaz scowls with the memory, and takes a gulp of his drink. "F***."

Boris shakes his head at Yaz's suggestion:

'If I was 'im, then I'd never agree to no one usin' no sorcery on me. Not only 'is 'e a bleedin' proud bloke, but there ain't many folks that would willin'ly allow sorcery to be used on 'em. Try it if yer likes, but get ready for a big argument wiv 'im if yer does.'

"I'll be whoever the hell you want me to be," Yaz sighs wearily. Today has been a very long day for him.

Jihan starts chatting to Tharnald regarding his past life and details as to the operations in the Queen's Head. Tharnald is happy to talk, answering all of Jihan's questions openly, pleased at receiving the attention. Tharnald tells Jihan that he was born in a small dwarven village, among the peaks of Sudeten to the northwest. The dwarf explains that, in his youth, it became obvious to him that he didn't think the same as other dwarves and that he could not hide his differences. As a result, he became a great embarrassment to his family and clan, particularly his father, who sent him packing as soon as he was old enough to fend for himself. Tharnald, although sad at being split from his family, was not too unhappy at moving from the village, as he hated the tedium of life there. He ended up in Hradetz, some 30 years ago, and found the relatively liberal attitude of the city, together with the fact that there was a significant dwarven population there, to his liking. He met his friend the cook, who Tharnald refers to as Darry, some 10 years ago, and the pair have been an item since then.

The pair of them really love their jobs, having been fixtures here for more than five years. After their initial shock, they have found that the clientele of the tavern come to accept their differences quite quickly and enjoy the impromptu cabaret that the pair's antics often provide.

Jihan asks him about whether they get any low-life in here, trying to work out whether the Black Diamonds appear here regularly. Tharnald shakes his head at Jihan's questions. He is aware of the Black Diamonds and is vaguely aware of the owner mentioning something about paying protection money to them, although it is no concern of his. Tharnald tells him, however, that he has never seen any of the rogues drinking here, as they prefer the more rough and ready entertainment provided by other hostelries in the city.

He has known Boris as long as he has been working here and knows that he is a friend of the owners. Boris pops in every once in a while, but is not a regular. The majority of Tharnold's customers are like that. The upmarket crowd of shopkeepers and craftsmen are not regular drinkers compared to the lower classes, and the prices at The Queen's Head are higher than other taverns in the area. However, Darry's meals bring a steady stream of customers to the bar.

Jihan continues on with this small talk, pretending to be a bit drunk from the liquor for a while, until he is certain that he could pull off the masquerade adequately. The rest of them spend the evening observing the clientele, trying to learn as much as they can about the operations. Faewen'il keeps an eye on Darry, who has finished his work in the kitchen and is sat at a corner of the bar chatting with the serving girls, with whom he gets on very well.

Eventually, Tharnald rings a bell on the counter.

'Can you finish your glasses now please, ladies and gents. You'd better be getting back to your homes now ,as curfew begins in half an hour. If you haven't got any homes to go to, then just give me a wink. Me and Darry are ready and willing to offer you a bunk!'

Tharnald and Darry start killing themselves with laughter again.

'Orright' says Boris as he observes the tavern starting to clear. ' I reckons that we should spend the night 'ere. I've arranged with the owner that we've got the run o' the place from now on, an' we can keep on any o' the staff what we wants. 'Ave we got the powder wiv us?'

Faewen'il shows the small powder box that Heimlin gave her before they all left.

'Good' replies Boris. 'Well I reckon that we should spend the night 'ere then, as all the rooms upstairs are empty. Yers can do yer stuff with the powder tonight an' then start off yer new roles in the mornin'. That way no one will be any the wiser.'

The bar is empty now and they say your farewells to Tharnald and Darry who give them all big hugs as they say goodbye. They then troop upstairs and resume the meeting in Boris' room, as he has taken the bridal suite.

Faewen'il opens up the powder box and peers again at the fine green powder:

'There be ten pinches left' says the lass. 'That's what Heimlin be sayin an' it looks right to me. There ain't none to be a-wastin' she adds, looking towards Yaz.

'So let's 'ave a re-cap' states Boris. 'Winnacer will be Reinburger, Xavier his orc bodyguard, Jihan will be Tharnald and Faewen'il, Darry. That leaves jus' Bennett an' Yaz what needs to come up wiv somethin'. Oh, and we've got to think of what to do about Yaz's new friend as well,' he adds looking at the still grinning rogue who has been drinking far too much during the evening.

'So what we needs to know now is, the roles for the others, the way in which yers gonna get word to Pavlichek about the meet an' also timin's for everythin'. When are we gonna be springin' the trap? Once we've figured that out, then I reckons yer should use the powder an' start getting' used to yer temporary bodies. Those of yers what already knows who yers gonna be might as well change now. So which of yers is gonna be the first to 'ave a go?'

"I think I will take on the role of Reinburger's backup Witchfinder" states Bennett. "Since I lack any magical skill at all, plus no magical items, mayhap we gain advantage from Pavlichek's hopeful concentration on myself and Winn. Maybe he even uses whatever magic he brings to nullify our 'spell-casting' abilities, freeing the others to do their thing. It also puts the three strongest of us, Xavier, Winn, and myself right there in front of Pavlichek and his bodyguard. Whatever deviltry they respond to us with, we are the best equipped to survive it while you others do your thing. Plus I would like a shot at splitting this fellow's skull, which I probably won't get as a serving wench."

Bennett is happy and relieved to avoid the prospects raised above.

"I'll model myself after the Witchfinder that Winn chopped in two at the river. I remember his face well enough and I imagine that his character will not be known to anyone at the meeting, so I can play it sullen and moody, a role I can do."

'Very well' says Winnacer. 'There's no time like the present. You might as well give it a try.'

Trying not to appear nervous, but failing a little, Bennett reaches into the snuffbox and pinches a small quantity of the dust between his fingers. He shuts his eyes to help him concentrate upon the image of the Witchfinder and then gently sprinkles the dust on his head.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, however, the outline of Bennett's form seems to blur a little, and then shimmer. He then seems to shrink in size a little and his face morphs into another. A couple of seconds later, the transformation is over and Bennett is the spitting image of the dead Witchfinder who was the last person to use the powder, with fatal results.

'So 'ow does yer feel?' asks Boris, as he and the rest of the party stare at the transformed Bennett, glad that it is he who took on the role as guinea pig.

'I feel fine' replies Bennett as the Witchfinder's lips break into a smile. 'Absolutely fine.'

Bennett starts to move his arm around and is relieved to discover that his new body works just as well as his regular one did.

Winnacer is next to undertake a transformation. He carefully lays 'Old Bohavia' on the table in front of him and then tries to picture in elaborate detail the features of Pavel Reinburger before sprinkling the dust upon himself. As was the case with Bennett, the powder works as well as Heimlin explained it, and the rest of the party find themselves staring at the form of the Witchfinder General of Dvur Kralovye. Winnacer too is relieved that the operation was a success.

Xavier follows immediately after Winnacer in the taking of the powder. He turns into the form of a particularly large orc, resembling Sargeant Sklad in more than a number of ways.

"Well, Robert... what do you want to play?" Yaz says as he stumbles over to the box in a quickly-developing stupor and hovers above it, trying to focus. He takes a pinch, and holds it up to his nose. Then, with a whiff, it's gone..

And so is he. In his place is a young child, perhaps 3 years old. He wears grimy pants that hang to his shins, a tattered shirt with food stains all down the front, a leather vest that reeks of the gutter, and a small cowboy hat with chew marks in the brim. His face is covered in dirt, except around the mouth, where pieces of his most recent meal still lurk. His eyes are big and very round, with the most innocent look to them anyone has ever seen. Contrast this with the natural Yaz scowl that continues to sit on the boy's face and it is a most interesting picture indeed.

The kid hops up on to the chair where he sat a minute ago, and drains his depleted whisky. "For shit's sake," he curses, looking at the bottom of the glass, "where do I find another one of these?" Then he slumps his urchin bottom down on the table and sulks.

The others stare at Yaz's totally unexpected transformation, especially Robert. The alcohol has definitely gotten the better of poor Robert (who was not the sharpest knife in the drawer to begin with). It is the first time that his attention has been off of the buxom barmaids for more than an instant. He glances at where Yaz a.k.a. 'Mr. Liebermann' was just standing, and his eyes grow as big as saucers upon seeing the form of a young lad.

"BLIMEY! Mr. Lieberman! You'se been ssh...shhh... shrunkded ye have!"

He steps closer to the apparent boy and rubs his eyes, trying to work out what he's seeing with his limited intellect, through the fog of inebriation.

"Are ya's still in thar?" He slurs, trying to get a peek under the grimey hat and clothes.

'Will someone else please tell the f***ing cretin what's going on' says the scowling toddler in reply.

Winnacer says gingerly:

"Uh, so Yaz...I guess you have a plan of some sort. Do you think you could share it with us?"

Winnacer blinks after he realizes that he really did kneel down to try to make eye contact with Yaz.

Jihan listens to the others talk in a sort of detached way, finally realizing that it is his turn to take the powder. Starting at Yaz's new appearance, Jihan looks the druid over quizzically, muttering:

"A witchfinder with a grubby urchin leeching him? hmmm..."

Picturing Tharnald carefully in his mind, he then takes a sniff, hoping for the best...

He needn't have worried. The powder has the desired effect and the tall, lithe figure of Jihan morphs into the squat, tubby form of Tharnald. As far as any of them can tell, it is a perfect reproduction, a sign that Jihan was paying attention to the dwarf while questioning him earlier.

Seeing Jihan successfully transformed, Faewen'il realizes that she is the last of the party to take the powder. A little nervously, she takes a pinch of the powder, noticing how little of it that there is left now and sprinkles it upon the crown of her red colored hair. As is the case with all of her colleagues, she is transformed. Instead of the slight lass, the bizarre form of Darry stands in her place, complete with ruby earring, lacy apron and dyed blonde hair.

Boris is grinning wildly at the transformations. Partly out of relief at the fact that there were no problems with the powder performing as expected and partly because of the motley collection of bizarre and mismatched characters that he now finds himself sharing the room with.

'Great stuff all of yers!' he says. 'So that's all the disguises worked out.'

His eyes then stray towards Robert, who is staring around the others with a very confused look on his face as a result of not having the faintest clue as to what the hell is going on.

'Oh, well, I reckons it's not all of yers sorted out. Yaz, what d'yer want to do wiv yer new friend over there?' Boris adds, looking towards kiddie-Yaz.

'Then there's the question as to how yer gonna approach Pavlicek an' get 'im to come 'ere. 'Ave any of yers got any suggestions on that one?'

Kiddie-Yaz suggests that Reinburger himself deliver the message:

"I doubt if I'd believe a messenger, otherwise... Maybe send a small party over. Winn, Xav, and Bennett, to be exact...?"

'P'raps yer right' replies Boris. 'Does the rest of yers agree?'

'Once yer've figured that one out, comes the big plannin'. Just what set up are yer gonna use? Who's gonna be where? What's gonna be the trigger to start attackin' 'im? What is each of yer gonna contribute to the fight?'

Not having had a chance to practice any Witchfinder type looks yet, the visage of Reinburger stares at Yaz with a typical Winnacer style 'I don't believe you did that' look:

"Whaaaat... do I not meet with your appppproval again? Shit...." Yaz says as he jumps down to the floor, landing on hands and feet, and stands up, wobbly:

"I ain't gonna be no serving wench," he slurs, wagging a finger up at the others. "All I wanna be is forgotten. Forget it! Forget me! I'm just a kid, you know? Freakin' can't even flippin' do a little fartin' job right, gotta scccccrew it all up for us... I feel this big, you know?"

He moves his fingers close together in front of his screwed up face as his head swirls.

"This big." He slumps to the ground. "This..." and he indicates his diminutive body with flailing hands, "…big."

His head drops into his hands. "F***."

Yaz looks towards Robert and sees that he is still grinning back at him:

'I reckon that we must as well let him in on the act. He might be useless, but at least he's loyal and useless. In any case, there's not enough powder left for us all to have a completely new set of identities in the future, so it will probably go to waste in any case.'

Yaz tries to explain to Robert what the powder does and how to make it work. He asks him what he wants to become.

Robert is still well in the control of the spirits he has consumed, but realization of what is going on around him is beginning to set in. Slowly though it may be.

He has watched everyone since Yaz go through the transformation with a mixture growing belief and amazement.

"Ye means I kin become anybody I wants just by thinkin' on 'em and dustin' me'self wit' some a dat snortin' powder?"

He looks around at the mismatched party, and the lad-Yaz in particular for approval and confirmation.

"And ye be askin' me who I am thinking on becoming?!?"

He is obviously getting excited about the whole situation.

"I dont know the rest of ya blokes, but if ye be mates of Mr. Lieberman's, then ye be friends of ole Robert Cherny's!"

He pushes onward with his drunken speech.

"This here," he gestures toward the powder," this is a dream come true, it is! I've always wanted me own set of knockers. You know, to bounce around and such! Dont get ta thinkin' that I be of the same mind as the barkeep and the cook. No sireee! I be just wantin' to know how it feels to be in such a lovely form of a woman. Not that I havent been in..... er....what I be meanin' to say is.... Oh blast it."

Robert loses his pace for a moment before picking back up in a more sober tone.

"I can be of quite some assistance too. I know lots of the Diamonds, and can give you the word if some of 'em come in. And I don't guess I got a job there anymore after that psycho crazy woman attacked us today."

He helps himself to a pinch of powder. The same shimmering effect takes place on him, and the form that emerges has the curves and shapes and face of the buxom barmaid of earlier. If anything, the barmaid is even curvier and bustier than the original.

Robert/barmaid feels up his skirt momentarily and shock comes over his/her face.

"Eh What! This stuff is temporary, right boys? I mean I get back all me goods in a bit right?"

When the party assures him that is the case, then he exhales in relief, then begins to get the feel for his new form.

"Ye Gods but these things are heavy!" he says, putting a hand on his back and hoisting his/her chest upward and outward.

He then turns to Boris," So, guv'na what was my name. I hates to say it, but I was too busy starin' to ask the lass' name earlier."

'Well' replies Boris. 'I think the girl that yer've tried to become was named Barra, although yer wouldn't know that by lookin' at 'er assets. Anyway, what about the messenger?'

Yaz suggests that either Reinburger himself sends the invite, or, if they've got the necessary tools to fake his wax seal on a letter, they could send the urchin on the errand.

"If you're gonna go, go in disguise, and don't talk much. Invite him for around dusk maybe? An hour or two before curfew? I forget, what's the hook again... Hindburger looking for Pavlicek's help in finding the renegades? We should also maybe think of a way to deal with the extra guard Pav will likely have around the place outside... Or maybe think of a way to make him decide not to bring them..."

Winnacer does not agree with Yaz, as per normal. "I would think the Witchfinder General to be too arrogant to simply go knock on doors. I still believe that 'my' assistant - Benito - should deliver the message."

Winnacer pauses as if he had a thought. "Yuck. I feel so disgusting like this. Just up to two weeks, right?"

"I agree with that," says Bennett. "I think that Xavier and myself should deliver the message, as Reiny probably is too important to go and do it himself, plus he would be putting himself in a lot of danger."

'Sounds 'orright to me' says Boris. 'Anyone 'cept Yaz got any objections or better ideas?'

All are silent.

'Good, right, that's the plan then.'

A clock on the temple starts to chime the fact that it is midnight.

'That's enough for today, I reckons. It's bin a long day today an' will be a longer one tomorrow, so I reckons that yer should get some good sleep in a good bed, as it might be the last one yer sleeps in for a while. Yer can get used to yer new bodies as well. Mind you, it's gotta be an early start in the mornin' as the tavern starts servin' breakfast from 7.00, so we needs to be up at 6.00'

The motley crew says goodnight to Boris and files from his room into one of the others in the hotel and try to get a good night's sleep in their new bodies.