"Least one of ye isn't a complete dolt." Bederweir says, directing Tar-va'tyrr to an upstairs room where he finds everything he needs.

A few minutes later the young kitchen lad runs in panting, holding a carton of vegetable oil, some dirt from the gardens, a pebble which has been liberally dipped in water, a cookbook, a sales and records book from the Bederweir Tavern, a Brief History of Kest (a government-distributed pamphlet), and a small spyglass.

"There ye go, folks. Enjoy." He mutters under his breath. "Buncha damn freaks, every one."