Book One, Chapter Four, Post Eleven

"Well, friends, time is still of the essence. Let's go. " Málean walks to the doorway and stands there for a second. "Which way was it again?"

"Still hoping for a costive preparation of some sort from our learned friend here,” Terrence says, “but you go on. Save a giant scorpion for me."

The apothecary comes over to Terrence with a steaming cup of tea. “Drink it slowly,” he suggests. Then he turns to Málean. “The quarry is outside of town. Follow the signs. If you intend on going now, though, you may get some guff from the city guards.”

It isn’t long before Terrence is looking with some satisfaction at the now empty cup in his hand. "Hah! Nice try, Death! Highwater wins again!" He addresses the apothecary. "It's a bit of a poor show on my part to mention it after the fact, but I'm a bit cash poor at the moment. All my money is tied up in props and wardrobe. I'll do my damnedest to bring you those scorpion juices, though. Or I could offer you a puppet I'm getting quite sick of."

A muffled voice comes from Terrence's jacket, "You wouldn't dare!"