“But these winter days are so short!” Jarveena cried.
“That is precisely why you must go now. It lacks less than an hour of dawn. Be on your way! No, wait! There’s one thing more.”
“Yes?”-as she turned to obey.
“No need to bring your customary fee. Reserve that for my final on- slaught on your scars. It is enough that you have given me my greatest challenge in a hundred years of weary life, the first of all that holds out hope for me … Begone!”
And she was gone, with further words unspoken on her lips.
All transpired as had been promised. Jarveena spent the morning clos- eted with Melilot, snatched a brief lunch, and in the afternoon went to the wharf where goods that she had purchased with the money he ad- vanced her had been disposed in tidy piles: here, bales of cloth; there, jars of wine and oil; over there again small chests of spice, ingeniously carpentered, that had a resale value of their own when empty. A certain portion being set aside for her, he paid her due commission on the rest. He might at one time have dreamed of cheating her, as he was used to cheating everybody else; her friendship with the powerful magician Enas Yorl prevented that. Besides, there was an additional advantage. It was not done to steal what Jarveena or any other associate of Enas Yorl’s left on the wharf before it was transferred to guarded warehouses. Or not done more than once, at any rate . . .
“Well, that concludes our business for the day!” said the master scribe heartily, handing his compendium and his account scrolls to a boy-in- waiting. “And in good time, what’s more; it isn’t even sunset, quite. Now I’m athirst. Shall we adjourn to yonder ale house and sample their mid- winter brew? Unless, that is, you’re eager to rejoin your man and find him different lodging for tonight-“