“My name is Khamwas,” the fellow said in a cultured voice that tried to be calm. The peak of his hood must have added several inches to his height, because he was clearly shorter than the caravan master as well as much more slightly built. “I’m a stranger here in your city.”
The manikin silently reappeared on Khamwas’s shoulder. The tiny features were unreadable in the dim light, but the figure’s pose was appre- hensive.
“Did you have a friend in that tavern?” asked the caravan master softly. When his right thumb turned to indicate the wall of the Vulgar Unicorn, the point of the push dagger winked knowingly toward Khamwas’s eyes. There was an ethnic if not familial resemblance be- tween this man and the one who had died in the Vulgar Unicorn.
“I don’t know anyone in this city,” Khamwas said with cautious dig- nity. “I’m a scholar from a far country, and I’ve come to ask a favor here from a man named Setios.”
“Uncle, that’s-” blurted Star, catching herself before Samlor’s free hand could waggle a warning.
“A bird who flies to the nest of another,” chirped the manikin senten- tiously, “will lose a feather.”
“What in hell is that?” asked the caravan master deliberately, pointing at the manikin with his right index finger. The bodkin-bladed push dag- ger paralleled the gesturing finger as if by chance.
The manikin eeped and cowered. Khamwas reached across to his right shoulder with his cupped right hand, as if to shield and stroke the little creature simultaneously.
“He does no harm, sir,” the self-styled scholar replied calmly. “I- when I was younger, you understand-prayed to certain powers for wis- dom. They sent me this little fellow instead. His name is Tjainufi.”