The dwarves entered the city in the early afternoon. The market square, which was surrounded by rows of crooked little houses with thatched rooves, was a riot of colour as brightly dressed womenfolk bustled around the stalls, children played games and mud-caked pigs wandered free. The air was filled with the holler of stallholders, the clatter of pots and pans, the trill of caged birds, the excited shouts of the youngsters and the coarse voices of street salesmen flogging cheap watches.

Drongul sniffed the air appreciatively, dismounted and headed for the baker's stall while Log Head made a beeline for a weasel-faced man in a red bowler hat and yellow waistcoat who was surrounded by a large number of people.

"Roll up, roll up!"

"Test yer strength!"

"What do I do?"

Sly Sid the Showman handed him a long-handled hammer and pointed to a plank of wood on the end of which was strapped a wooden chair bearing an elf who glowered malevolently at them.

"If you can catapult him over the rooves you win,"

"Never been done before and we're desperate to give someone a prize."

"Speak for yourself,"

Log Head beamed and brought the hammer crashing down.

"Wuorrppp!"

The crowd cheered as he flew high above the market place, trailing a plume of smoke.

"What a clever idea to put explosives in his breeches,"

"I didn't,"

It seemed for a moment or two as if the flaming elf would clear the rooves but suddenly there was a whining sound as he spiralled crazily downwards, smoke billowing out of his behind, and crashed head first into a chimney pot. He waggled his legs and everyone heard a muffled yell of,

"Imbecile!"

"He took a dive,"

"Where's my prize?"

"No prize, mate, you're just a weakling,"

Log Head gave a roar and shot out a mighty fist. The showman's head rotated twice then he crashed backwards. Seconds later all was chaos as the market place erupted into a seething mass of whirling fists and kicking feet, Log Head in the thick of it, thoroughly enjoying himself.