"Stay here," Morlock said to Hrutnefdhu and Hlupnafenglu.
Morlock walked up to the sausage seller and said, "Have you got live coals there?"
"I've got fresh sausages," the seller said, ready to be offended. "Each one contains a certain proportion of real meat!"
"I don't care about that," Morlock said. "But you've got them on a warming grill, and there's fire under the grill."
"Are you hinting that something might happen to my sausage cart?" the seller said suspiciously. "I pay protection to First Wolf of the outliers himself! You'll answer to him if you bother me! And you're bothering me!"
"The First Wolf of the outliers is a female," Morlock pointed out.
"He's right," said an amused spectator. "Better pay up, Chunky."
"Moonless nights," muttered the seller. "All right, what do you and your boys want?"
Morlock looked around and saw that Hrutnefdhu and Hlupnafenglu were at his elbows. The big red werewolf was staring with naked greed at the sausages on the grill.
"I told you to stay over there," Morlock said.
"Couldn't make him," the pale werewolf admitted.
Morlock took the bowl from Hlupnafenglu's hand and tapped him gently on the nose with it. There was a gasp from bystanders, and a crowd began to gather, expecting a fight.
Morlock had only done it to get Hlupnafenglu's attention, and this it had just barely done. The red werewolf looked vaguely in his direction, and Morlock said, "Over there. Wait over there. There is where you wait. Over there. Not here. There." He pointed. He stared at the red werewolf. He pointed. Eventually Hlupnafenglu got a troubled look on his face. He looked at the far side of the market where Morlock was pointing. He looked back at Morlock. He looked back and forth several times. Eventually he gave a last longing glance at the sausages and shambled sadly away. Hrutnefdhu followed at his heels.
"If you give me some coals of fire," said Morlock, turning back to the seller, "I'll give you a copper coin when I get one."
"That means you haven't got one."
"But I'll get one."
"If I don't give you the coals, what will you do?"
"I'll get them from someone else."
"Are you crazy?"
"I don't see why that matters."
The seller threw up his hands and opened the firebox on his cart. He picked up a pair of tongs to pull out some coals.
"Never mind that," said Morlock, and reached in with his right hand to grab a fistful of coals. There were even more gasps in the rapidly accumulating crowd, and someone actually screamed. This was all to Morlock's liking. He dropped the bowl at his feet and started juggling the live coals.
The audience was impressed. Not as impressed as an audience would have been in Narkunden or Onticlass="underline" werewolves did not fear fire any more than the children of Ambrose. But then, werewolves in their night shape do not have fingers and do not juggle. The audience speculated that Morlock was a werewolf who did not change fully to human: he might have wolvish paws, immune to fire. On request, Morlock showed them his hairless palms.
"He probably shaves them," shouted a heckler.
"Like you?" someone else retorted, to much abusive laughter.
Coins started appearing in Morlock's bowl. He threw hooks and doublehooks; he threw double-sidehooks where his hands moved so fast it looked as if he was throwing infinity rings. He kept juggling the coals until the fire was gone. By then the bowl was nearly full of red coins, shining copper and rusting iron.
He took a single copper coin and handed it to the sausage seller.
"Keep it," said the seller, who had sold his entire stock to the crowd that had gathered to watch Morlock's juggling.
"This was our deal," said Morlock, and pressed the coin on him.
"I'm out of sausages and I'm going back to my shop in Apetown," the seller said. "Will you be here this afternoon?"
"I don't know."
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Probably not."
"Look, I'll pay you to be here. We're a team, Chiefl"
"I'm not your chief," said Morlock. He picked up his bowl and turned to the portrait maker, who was telling two uninterested passersby that he was Luyukioronu Longthumbs and they were missing the chance of a lifetime to have their portrait inked by him.
"How much for a drawing in ink?" Morlock asked Luyukioronu, after the passersby had passed by.
"Two pads of copper," said Luyukioronu eagerly. He hadn't done as well with the crowd as the sausage seller.
"I'll give you three pads for the paper, the ink, and the loan of a brush."
"What?" said the would-be artist suspiciously.
Morlock repeated himself.
"I'll do the drawing. Just give me the money," Luyukioronu insisted.
"You want the money, you give me what I asked for."
The crowd, which had shown signs of dispersing, began to thicken again.
Reluctantly, Luyukioronu surrendered the materials.
Morlock made a few trial strokes with the brush and the ink on the boards of the market floor. Then he spun the brush in his hands and thought for a moment. He dipped the brush in the ink and applied the brush to the page in swift decisive strokes. Soon it was a picture of a volcano with a moon-clock in its side, with mists hovering about that half obscured the symbols.
"That's Mount Dhaarnaiarnon," whispered a member of the crowd.
"Is it?" Morlock said. "Would anyone like this drawing? I will give it to them for free."
This sounded too good to be true. But the drawing was a marvel in black-and-white. Slowly, suspiciously, a middle-aged citizen edged forward and silently held out his hand. Morlock gave him the drawing and handed the ink and brush back to the artist.
He waited.
"Ink my portrait," someone said tentatively.
"Paint my mate's portrait," said another.
"Paint Ullywuino!" shouted someone else. "She's my favorite whore!"
"There's too much paint on her already," someone else said.
Morlock held up his hands. "I have nothing to paint with, citizens. Unless you buy materials from this reliable craftsman."
"Hey!" shouted Luyukioronu. "I'm not your stationer! Buy your own stuffl"
Morlock shrugged. "I'm here to make money. I can draw better than you. The crowd won't want your work after they've seen mine."
The artist-werewolf's face worked angrily. He glanced at the drawing, still being held up with wonder by the crowd. He threw down the brush and the bowl of ink and stood up.
"Fine," Luyukioronu shouted. "Take the stuff. I hope the ink poisons you. But you won't get my teeth." He clutched at the few honor-teeth he had at his throat. Morlock saw with interest that his thumbs were indeed long: the tips stretched farther than his index fingers. "You'll have to fight me for those," Luyukioronu continued, "you gray-bagged, flat-faced, ape-fingered son of a never-wolf!"
"Wait!" said Morlock. "Stop!"
Luyukioronu walked stiff-legged away.
The crowd applauded.
Morlock looked around in bemusement. Hrutnefdhu was there in the crowd, and he took pity on his never-wolf friend. "You showed you had more bite as an artist than he did. The stuff is yours now."
"Eh." Morlock grabbed the bowl of coins. "How much is this stuff worth? Less than this?"
"A dozen coppers, perhaps. He probably stole it, you know."
"Maybe he did, but I won't. Go after him. Give him twenty copper coins. Take the rest to Rokhlenu and meet me back here."
The pale werewolf smiled strangely at him, took the bowl, and left.
"Citizens," Morlock said, sitting down by the easel. "What will you?"
He painted. He drew images in ink for four copper coins each. There were some sticks of charcoal tucked away in the artist's kit, and he sold pictures in charcoal for two copper coins each. There was some odd pigment in soft sticks, like chalk mixed with colors and oil. He found this fascinating to work with, but he didn't forget he was there to make money. He charged six copper coins for work in these.