“Strangely enough, she is called niece rather than dotter, calls me Uncle
Strick, and lives in the room across the corridor. I am helping to relocate the present tenant. My niece learns decent behavior and decent things to do, wears decent clothing, and will I hope become aide and receptionist.”
“I-I-I don’t even know what that means…”
“In the meanwhile, she markets for me and cooks for me.”
“Oh, oh M-Mother Shipri-yes, yes, I will cook for you!”
Strick smiled. “My niece also stops watering this nice carpet with so many tears.”
She smiled. “Oh my lor-Uncle Strick! How did you come by your ability?”
“The power of the Ring of Foogalooganooga, far west of Firaqa, Avenestra.
Wints!”
The door opened and a thin man appeared. He was freshly barbered and shaven, wearing a nice new tunic of Croyite blue. “Sir?”
“Take my niece around to a few places and introduce her, Wints. You and she will be buying some food. At Kalen’s, tell him she is to have a tunic from the same bolt as yours. White broidery at the neck and-umm. Length just above the knees.
Avneh: it is not to be tight!”
“Y-ess, Uncle,” she said, trying not to weep in her joy.
“All right then, be on your way-what’s all that damned noise!” Then, “Easy,
Wints. Don’t be so fast to draw that dagger!” Strick strode to the door and stared at the stairwell. “Frax! What’s all that n-oh. Noble Shafralain. Come in.
My aide and my niece were just leaving. Wints: despite his stride and fiercely determined look, this man and I are friends.”
He gestured. Wide of eye, Wintsenay and Avenestra departed while the silken tunicked nobleman strode into the room that Strick called his “shop.” Shafralain paused to regard the other man, who was most unusually attired. Strick’s calf length tunic of medium blue and oddly, unfashionably matching leggings made him seem less big and yet more imposing, in a different way. A matching skullcap, encompassing most of his head, had replaced the odd leathern cap of the same design.