A keihu man sat on a chair in a corner where chairs stood in rows along the walls. It reminded me of a doctor’s waiting room.
He was in that age group where he could no longer be called young but wasn’t middle-aged either. Keihu men tended to go grey quite early, and he had a good supply of white flecked throughout his glossy black hair, especially at his temples.
He rose when we came in and bowed. He was unusually thin for a keihu man. Even the fleshy bits on the tip of his nose did not have enough “meat” to them to form the characteristic keihu grooved nose tip.
I said, “We’re here for the interpreter.”
“That would be me.” In perfect Isla.
He said something in Pengali to Ynggi, whose eyes widened.
Then he continued to me in flawless Coldi, “I guess this is why you brought a Pengali
