fair head of hair. "Just put it here." She patted the tabletop.
Cheyne hesitated, somewhat surprised. Cheyne wondered why Riolla had invoked the same rule of conduct as Maceo when clearly she was no Fascini, but he set the totem down on the table anyway. The steward picked it up, wiped it off, and handed it to her.
After a few moments of squinting at the glyphs, Riolla had written down six of the seven symbols and their meanings. She tapped the tabletop idly for a few minutes, giving the last glyph her complete concentration. The clocks in the room ticked and hummed in their particular rhythms. Riolla said nothing. Finally, Cheyne shifted uncomfortably in the delicate chair, its flimsy back giving forth a loud, grinding wrench. Riolla looked up at him and smiled mechanically, her answer composed.
Cheyne knew she was lying before she began to speak.
"This last one is the sign of the whirlpool. It is not seen often, for obvious reasons. The family looks to be of no importance either when this was inscribed or, certainly, later. There you have it."
She smiled even wider, waiting for his agreement. When he only looked away, she turned her attention to the totem again, pretending to admire its lines and the workmanship.
"Ah, where exactly did you find this piece, if I may ask?" she pressed gently, professional veneer thinly covering her intense interest.
"I picked it up out on the dunes," Cheyne said, reaching for the totem. Riolla feigned more appreciation and ignored his extended hand.
"Of course. You are a digger, no?" When he winced, her smile became tragic. "Cheyne, I like you. I am sorry I could not tell you that you had a valuable or important piece; I know how hard you people work for the little that you find. But I think I will make your coming to me worth your while. I do not ordinarily do this sort of