“Well?”
“Well what?” Ehomba’s demeanor was as pleasant and placid as ever. “I wish you a safe journey back to the coast. One man traveling alone and making little noise should be able to avoid the attentions of the Brotherhood. Perhaps we will meet again someday.”
“Hoy, not if the fates are kind to me.” The swordsman started to lift himself over the side of the wagon. He had only gone partway when he paused. While he hovered between wagon and ground, the look on his face underwent a slow but profound change.
“Hoyyyy—you think you’re very clever, don’t you, wizard?”
“Clever?” Ehomba considered. “My mother and father thought that I was. Among the herders of my age I am considered tolerably adept.”
Simna let himself down, back into the wagon. He was grinning ferociously. “Master of magic you may be, or you may not, but the day will be long indeed when your kind can outwit Simna ibn Sind!”
The flaccid shape looked puzzled. “I do not follow you, my friend.”
Even as he spoke, the swordsman was disencumbering himself of pack and weapon. “You’re a shrewd fellow, Etjole Ehomba. Far more subtle than most. You almost had me!” He wagged an admonishing finger at the slack outline. “Your language is simple, but you know how to use logic to twist a man’s thoughts. You actually had me convinced there was no treasure! Planted the notion anew in my mind until it seemed to be my own. Well, it won’t work! I’m a little slow, long bruther, but I’m not like other people. When I get a grip on something, I don’t let go until I’ve shaken all the nourishment out of it. You won’t cheat me of my share so easily!” Settling himself at lines and tiller, he prepared to swing the sail around to catch the wind.