Fleck looks from Valdir to Almedh, then back to his drink, then back to Almedh. He tries to judge the stranger, but ends up with mixed opinions. On the one hand, the desertman had helped the mage at first, and knocked Fleck unconscious. On the other hand, there had beem a distinct lack of lethal intent in the blow, and if Almedh had wanted Fleck dead, he would have succeeded. He had also left the party alone since the mage had left, and he tells good stories.
He looks back at Valdir, shrugs noncomitally, and turns back to contemplating his drink, when something seems to occur to him. He sets his drink aside and flops his book open on the table, scribbling out one symbol and replacing it with another, nearly identical. "Of course! The control is from the wings, not the tail. How'd I miss it?" His voice is fast and low, as it always is when he's working. He mutters half in Tradespeak, half in gnomish, a few more moments before he connects two final points in the bizarre diagram, and only then looks up at his companions, returning to the present. "Er. Sorry. Revelation." Without looking, he sets his pen down - directly into his ale. Sheepishly, he shakes it off, returning it to his pocket.