"Don't do that!" screamed the little man. He whirled around, molten rock dripping from the spoon in his hand, to glare at Kevan, his bushy red beard bristling with anger.
"I merely asked what idocrase is," Kevan said mildly.
"You didn't have to sneak up on me like that. And any fool knows that idocrase is a hydrous silicate of calcium and aluminum and that you can't bake a decent gneiss without it." His eyes suddenly narrowed as he took in Kevan's size. "You're a mortal," he said.
Kevan nodded. The little man reached behind him, grabbed a pickaxe and came up swinging. Kevan MacGreene leaped to one side only in time.
"Wait a minute," he yelled. "I claim diplomatic immunity."
The dwarf stopped short and glared. "Diplomatic immunity?" he said. "What's that?"
"It means you're not allowed to attack me," said Kevan. "Brian Shanachie sent me here on a diplomatic errand."
It was plain that the dwarf saw no reason for restraining his anger, but he was sufficiently uncertain to hold back. "Brian Shanachie should mind his own business," he growled.
"Now, I'm looking for Alviss...."