There was a sigh from behind them. The two men jerked around and saw that the ornamental pond was lifting onto one end. The water, which had dampened Samlor’s boot a moment before, did not spill though it hung on edge in the air.
There was a ladder leading down into the opening the pond had cov- ered.
“Collector, you called him,” said the caravan master grimly as he watched the reflection in the vertical sheet of water.
“A good trick,” responded Khamwas, nettled at the hinted contrast of his knowledge against that of the missing Setios.
The Napatan stood and began muttering in earnest concentration to his staff. Samlor assumed the incantation must have some direct connec- tion with their task and their safety.
When the phosphorescent staff floated out of Khamwas’s hands, dip- ping but not quite falling to the ground, the Cirdonian realized that it was merely a trick-a demonstration to prove that Khamwas was no less of a magician than the owner of the house,
It was the sort of boyish silliness that got people killed when things were as tense as they were just now.
Apparently Tjainufi thought the same thing, because he turned and said acidly into the scholar’s ear, “There is a running to which sitting is preferable.”
Star’s hands wavered briefly from the folds of her cloak; Samlor could not be sure whether or not the child mumbled something as well. Flecks of light shot from her fingers. They grew as they shimmered around the room, gaining definition as they lost intensity-jellyfish of pastel light, and one mauve sea urchin, picking its glowing, transparent way spine by spine across a “bottom” two feet above the marble floor.