If they’re so fond of it, why did they let themselves get sold into slavery? Paithan wondered idly, standing in a line that moved with the speed of a mosslug while human customs officials asked innumerable, inane questions and pawed over the goods of his fellow caravanners. Altercations broke out, generally between humans, who-when caught smuggling-seemed to take the attitude that the law applied to everyone else but them. Elven merchants rarely had any trouble at the borders. They either studiously obeyed the laws or, like Paithan, devised quiet and subtle means to evade them.
At last, one of the officials motioned to him. Paithan and his overseer herded the slaves and the tyros forward.
“What’re you haulin’?” The official stared hard at the baskets.
“Magical toys, sir,” said Paithan, with a charming smile.
The official’s gaze sharpened. “Seems a queer time to be bringing in toys.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Why, the talk of war! Don’t tell me you haven’t heard it?”
“Not a word, sir. Who are you fighting this month? Strethia, perhaps, or Dourglasia?”
“Naw, we wouldn’t waste our arrows on that scum. There’s rumors of giant warriors, coming out of the norinth.”
“Oh, that!” Paithan shrugged gracefully. “I did hear of something of the sort, but I discounted it. You humans are well prepared to face such a challenge, aren’t you?”
“Of course we are,” said the official. Suspecting he was being made the butt of a joke, he stared hard at Paithan.
The elf’s face was smooth as silk and so was his tongue.
‘The children love our magical toys so much. And Saint Thillia’s Day will be coming up soon. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the little tykes, now, would we?” Paithan leaned forward confidentially. “I’ll bet you’re a grandfather, aren’t you? How about letting me go on through without the usual rigamorole?”
“I’m a grandfather all right,” said the official, scowling darkly. “I got ten grandkids, all of ’em under the age of four and they’re all livin’ at my house! Open those baskets.”
Paithan saw that he had made a tactical error. Heaving the sigh of an innocent wrongfully condemned, he shrugged his shoulders and led the way to the first basket. Quintin-all officious, servile politeness-undid the straps. The slaves, standing nearby, were watching with what Paithan noted were expressions of suppressed glee that made the elf extremely uneasy. What the devil were they grinning about? It was almost as if they knew . . .
The customs official lifted the lid of the basket. An array of brightly colored toys sparkled in the sunlight. Casting a sidelong glance at Paithan, the official thrust his hand deep inside.
He withdrew it immediately with a yelp, waving his fingers. “Something bit me!” he accused.
The slaves roared with laughter. The overseer, shocked, began laying about him with his whip, and soon restored order.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir.” Paithan slammed shut the lid of the basket. “It must have been the jack-in-the-boxes. They’re notoriously bad about biting. I really do apologize.”
“You’re giving those fiends to children?” demanded the official, sucking his injured thumb.
“Some parents like a certain amount of aggressive spirit in a toy, sir. Don’t want the little tykes to grow up soft, do we? Uh … sir … I’d be particularly careful with that basket. It’s carrying the dollies.”
The customs official stretched out his hand, hesitated, and thought better of it. “Go on with you then. Get outta here.”
Paithan gave the order to Quintin, who immediately set the slaves to work, hauling at the reins of the tyros. Some of the slaves, despite the fresh lash marks on the skin, were still smirking, and Paithan wondered at the strange human trait that led them to enjoy the sight of another’s suffering.
His bill of lading was hastily inspected and passed. Paithan tucked it in the pocket of his belted traveling coat and, bowing politely to the official, was starting to hurry after his baggage train when he felt a hand on his arm. The elf’s good humor was rapidly evaporating. He felt a throbbing in his temples.
“Yes, sir?” he said, turning, forcing a smile.
The customs official leaned close. “How much for ten of them jacks?”