as he sat, he never saw the generous giver. He had been swallowed by the shadows
once the beggar got his head free of the encumbering woollen.
‘Here, you little lizard, where do you think you’re running to, hah?’
That from the brutish swaggering desert tradesman who grabbed at Hanse as he ran
by. Well, he was not of the city, and did not know who he laid big hand on. Nor
was he likely to aught but hie himself out of Sanctuary, once he returned to
normal – doubtless robbed. Besides, a test really should be made to be sure, and
Hanse poked him.
This was the staff of ensorcelment, all right.
Hurrying on his way, Hanse began to smile.
He had the stick and the murdering thief who had used it on him would not be too
nimble for a long, long time, and the robe he had snitched off a drying line was
in the possession of a beggar who would be needing it in a few months, and Hanse
had his little message from the prince-governor. It avowed – so Hanse was told,
as he did not read – that ‘he you specify shall lend full aid in the endeavour
you specify, provided it is legal in full, in return for your returning another
wand to us’.
Hanse had laughed when he read that last; even a prince had a sense of humour
and could allude to Hanse’s having stolen his Savankh, rod of authority, less
than a month ago. And now Shadowspawn would have the aid of big strong super
legal Tempus in regaining two bags of silver coin from a well up in the
supposedly haunted ruins of Eaglenest. Hanse hoped Prince Kadakithis would
appreciate the humour in that, too: the bagged booty had come from him, as