“You don’t understand. Second Cousin. Never tell her I told you, but mother has a large hairy mole rather high up on her left, uh, bounty. Right on top. That’s why she has stayed covered to the collarbones, always. Now-either she reveals it, or everyone whose opinion she cherishes will sneer at her for being so ridiculously out of style.”
Cusharlain laughed. Strick did not, and Esaria noticed. She took his arm and snugged it to her. Her bodyguard ambled along behind, aware that he was smaller than Strick.
By midaftemoon that quiet man with the accent had leased three rooms, two upstairs over the ground-floor one, and had optioned another. His shop and dwelling were on the street called Straight, between Chokeway and the
Processional and thus not at all far from the Golden Oasis. By the following afternoon, with the help of Cusharlain and an eager Esaria, he had acquired most of the furnishings he needed.
He paid Cusharlain and returned Esaria’s hug.
“I will visit Sly’s tonight and observe the men Ahdio recommends,” he told her cousin. “But as to Harmocohl: no, in advance.”
“Surely I can be trusted by now, Strick. You have a carpet, drapes, some chairs and a desk, and beds. What sort of shop is this to be? What do you plan to do here?”
“Help people,” Strick told him, and after a while Cusharlain went his way, having learned no more. Strick turned to Esaria.
“Esaria: you must get your mother here as soon as you can. I don’t care how many bodyguards she brings. You’ve just got to get her here.”