Teri McLaren
Claria considered for a moment. "It is closed for caravans. Anyone wishing to transport goods must clear passage with the Schreefa, because she gets a fee. People will not pay the fee now that the road is unsafe. Nobody wishes to brave such danger. The lost caravan was truly a frightful event. Some three hundred traders, at least half of them from Sumifa itself, were lost." She thought further for a moment. "I know of no order concerning citizens, though. But I would not bring it to the Schreefa's attention, even so." A look of pure hatred crossed Claria's face for a brief moment, but she found her composure and tallied their bill.
Og tapped his fingers in an irritating rhythm on the wooden countertop as Cheyne pretended to study the figures, all the while trying of think of something charming and gallant to say regarding the ribbon.
Toying absently with the tiny perfume bottle around her neck, thinking that she had asked too much for the map, Claria held her breath; perhaps Cheyne wouldn't buy it after all. Finally nodding, Cheyne fished around in his pack for the required sum, counted it out into Claria's hand, and rolled the parchment back into a tube. The business was done.
"You dropped this." He handed her the red ribbon. "J thought you might want it back," he said lamely. "And thank you for saving my life."
Claria smiled and took the ribbon from his hand, then tied it around the map. "Fair winds and waters, Cheyne." Cheyne's palm tingled where she had touched it and he felt his cheeks burning. He looked around for Og, but his guide had already breezed through the front door of the shop, leaving him to find his own miserable way once again.
"Ah… thank you. I hope we meet again soon. Perhaps I can call on you when I return." Cheyne bowed quickly to Claria, and then to Vashki, carefully placed the map roll into his pack, and raced after Og,
Claria watched him go, wondering if she would ever see him again. She pulled at the ring on her left hand,
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but it refused to come off. She smiled at the irony. Maceo had just bidden her farewell forever, but his engagement ring truly was stuck.
"Those manners didn't come from the Mercanto. Or even from the Citadel," teased Vashki as Claria found a crowbar and began to pry at the nails of the dusty crate.
"No… especially not the Citadel. But let us not pollute the air with words of Prince Maceo. He can have his well-connected, red-headed paramour and all of her money, money she robs from the pockets of the poor of this miserable city for 'protection' from the mysterious Circle. Who has even seen one of them? It is Riolla's own jackals she is protecting us from. And Maceo is a rank fool if he thinks for one moment she loves him, may she drown in her tears of happiness. She is just trying to improve her fortune. And he just needs her wealth to pay his physicians to cure him of all his imaginary diseases. But he won't need doctors pretty soon-she will kill him before ten days pass, and become queen of Sumifa. A blind man could see what she is up to. But surprise-both will get what they deserve! Ha, I am already over him!" fumed Claria, tears in her eyes as she rocked the crowbar back and forth violently on the crate's top.
"What do you suppose Uncle Kalkuk had saved in this old box?" she grumbled. "He sold everything he ever had at least five times over."
Vashki shrugged her shoulders. She had known Kalkuk since she was a tittle girl, and the only valuables he had were always still someone else's. Perhaps it was the treasure of the Clock-though nobody ever took him seriously, Kalkuk had always said it really belonged to his family. Vashki's heart began to pound as the old crate cover finally, gave way and tore off, sticking to the crowbar. Claria tossed it down and reached into the container, raising a cloud of dust from inside it. Vashki fanned the air for a moment as