“You know, that might not be a bad idea,” Kalvin said. “In case I hadn’t mentioned it, Djinger is a pretty peaceful dimension. I won’t be much help to you in a fight.”
I ignored him as the cabbie continued, apparently unable to hear the Djin despite his various devices. Remembering some of the dangers I had faced in my adventures, the idea of hiring someone to guard me just to walk down the street seemed a little ludicrous.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m pretty good at looking out for myself.”
“Suit yourself, it was just a suggestion. Say, you want something to eat? I sell snack packs.”
He used one hand to pick up a box from the seat beside him and shove it in my direction. It was filled with small bags with stuff oozing through the sides.
“Uh . . . not just now, thanks,” I said, trying to fight down the sudden queasiness I felt.
The driver was not to be daunted. He tossed the box back onto the seat and snatched up a booklet. “How about a guidebook, then? I write and print ‘em myself. It’s better’n anything you’ll find on the stands . . . and cheaper, too.”
That might have come in handy, but glancing at it I could see the print was a series of squiggles and hieroglyphics that were meaningless to me. I always travel with a translator pendant to get around the language barrier, but unfortunately its powers don’t extend to the written word.
“I don’t suppose you have a Klahdish translation, do you?”
“Sorry,” he said, tossing the booklet in the same general direction the box had gone. “I’m takin’ a few courses to try to learn some other languages, but Klahdish isn’t one of them. Not enough demand, ya know?”