sharpening his dagger.
“Thank you, Lady,” the big caravan master said, with a bow almost courtly.
“Thank you, Caravan Master.”
“And will you join me in breaking the night’s fasting with this wonderful
repast. Lady?”
“No, Caravan Master,” she said, rising. “For I could not eat without showing you
my face.”
“I understand, Lady. And thank you again.” He made a respectful sign and watched
her glide away, robe’s hem on the ground and cloak whipping in the wind that
blew worse than chilly, to her own tent. After that he assigned a man to pitch
and strike that tent for her. Thus the delegation obtained some result, at that.
At last the cavalcade of humans, beasts, and trade goods reached the tired town
called Sanctuary, and the veiled lady detached her three horses and went her way
into the dusty old “city.” The others saw her no more and soon she was
completely out of their thoughts. Neither the big good-looking guard from
Mrsevada nor Master Eliab ever forgot her, really, but she slipped easily from
their minds, too. The former began flashing his smile and cutting a swath
through the girls of Sanctuary, if not the women. As a matter of fact none of
them had seen her and so never saw her again or knew if they did, for the veiled
lady soon unveiled herself.
In this moribund town of thieves now ruled by weird starey-eyed people or
“people” from oversea and un-succored by “protecting” and “Imperial” Ranke, it
was easy for the veiled lady to employ a lackey for a few coins and a promise or
two. Next she startled and nearly whelmed the poor wight by having him take her