Chapter thirteen
Of a few falls with Beng DrudojBlack Algon’s marquee was tightly shut and his slaves told me he had gone into the city about important business. There was no sign of Turko. When I mentioned Saenci, the Khibil slave girl, the slaves ran off. Annoyed, I walked around the fairground, spying it out, seeing the bright booths and sideshows and all the gaudy come-ons and money-taking-offs revealed in the pitiless light of the suns. The air dried up the mud. Shortly after the hour of mid the rains would fall down in solid masses of water, and the mud would ooze again into its sticky consistency. I took myself back to the Golden Prychan.
“It is time for ale, Jak the Sturr,” Kimche greeted me. He took me through the wide, sawdust-sanded floor into a back snug. The bamboo-paneled r
