ordered by a Fascini who would not believe me when I told him how tasteless the design would become in his extreme size. They have hung uselessly in my shop for two years."
"Not good big." Og frowned, but he tried them on anyway. "Of course, they fit." He grimaced.
"Ten kohli," said Cheyne.
"Deal," said the bootseller.
"He would have taken five," Og wheedled.
Cheyne handed the cobbler his money and they started for Og's drink. Og's furious pace slowed somewhat, his feet unaccustomed to such lavish confinement.
Four streets over, with the raqa shop in sight, another throwing disk sailed silently over Og's head, missing it by a good two feet.
"Riolla must really be angry at you!" cried Og, taking cover in a rug market as the crowd melted instantly from the streets.
"That wasn't meant for me." replied Cheyne, racing down the empty alley where the disk had come from. "Come on, Og."
Og looked mournfully at the raqa shop and dragged his well-shod feet slowly the other way.
When he found Cheyne, the young man had engaged three slowly circling, dark-robed men, their daggers drawn and ready to strike.
"Oh, no…" Og wailed. "This is going to take forever."
A strong hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "Well, come on, then, let's help him!" Claria gasped, her face flushed with the effort from outrunning the thugs. "I'm first in line for him, anyway. This lot isn't going to take my chance at him now," she railed.
"What?" said Og, trying to stall his involvement with the daggers.
"My shop is cinders and my girl has a broken arm." She pointed to Vashki, peeking out from behind a trinket seller's tent. "All I've got in the world now is this."