“The reason I stopped here in the first place is I wondered if you knew what happened to that tent.”
“What tent, young sahr?”
I had a vague feeling of having had this conversation before.
“The tent that was right there next to your stall.”
“The Pervish restaurant?” The Deveel’s voice was tinged with horror.
“Gleep,” said the dragon.
“Why would you seek such place, young sahr? You seem well-bred and educated.”
“I had a friend who was inside the tent when it vanished.”
“You have a Pervert for a friend?” His voice had lost its friendly tone.
“Well actually… urn … it’s a long story.”
“I can tell you this much, punk. It didn’t disappear, it moved on,” the Deveel snarled, without the accent or politeness he had displayed earlier.
“Moved on?”
“Yeah. It’s a new ordinance we passed. AU places serving Pervish food have to migrate. They cannot be established permanently, or even temporarily at any point in the Bazaar.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Have you ever smelted Pervish food? It’s enough to make a scavenger nauseous. Would you want to man a stall downwind of that for a whole day? In this heat?”
“I see what you mean,” I admitted.
“Either they moved or the Bazaar did, and we have them outnumbered.”
“But what exactly do you mean, move?”
“The tents! All that’s involved is a simple spell or two. Either they constantly move at a slow pace, or they stay in one place for a short period and then scuttle off to a new location, but they all move.”
“How does anyone find one, then, if they keep moving around?”
“That’s easy, just follow your nose.”