The Taleweaver

Late in the evening Arthur and Harbend finally made their way to the gates. From a distance it looked like a small fortress on a low hill, but now the walls loomed over them like a dark giant.

A cold wind had been tearing into them since darkness fell and it was only thanks to their warm clothing they weren't chilled through.

The stone walls seemed impregnable and impossibly high. Climbing the winding road Arthur realized it was far steeper than he first imagined. No trees or cliffs to hide behind and anyone on the walls would be able to spot travelers long before they were close to the gate. Arthur guessed anyone on the walls would be able to do much more than that.

Like pointing something sharp at me. And I'd never even know what happened.

"There at last," Harbend muttered. He turned to his companion and smiled. "During wartime they would have hailed us a long time ago." Accent still peculiar, but his grasp of English far better than Arthur's fledgling attempts at De Vhatic. "We are a bit later than I would have liked," Harbend continued, smiling. Arthur groaned silently at the understatement. "Let us hope they still have rooms for us. Otherwise I guess we shall have to make do with the stables. Well, first we need to find out if they will even open the gate at such a late hour."

This time Arthur groaned loudly. His legs ached from the long ascent and he was ravenously hungry. Horses tired as well -- he'd been more or less forced to pull his disobedient animal the last kilometer. He gave Harbend a sour look and was met by a teasing grin.

Harbend knocked on the gates, still smiling, and within moments they swung open soundlessly, revealing a narrow courtyard and two armed men. They quickly waved the weary travelers through and into the walled space where yet another gate beckoned. They passed the second gate and were inside the walls.

Arthur sighed with relief and noted how much he'd missed being in a town where he didn't have to rely on moonlight or a travelers lamp. A man arrived and Arthur listened to a smattering of words exchanged between Harbend and the groom. After that a few coins changed hands and their horses were led away.

"What about the wagon?" Arthur asked.

"Will be taken care of," Harbend answered. "Now we should concentrate on a hot bath, an evening meal and a warm bed. Enjoy yourself. You have traveled better than I dared hope, so you are entitled to a good time now."

Arthur knew embarrassment then. He was being praised for doing something Harbend probably saw as just another unavoidable part of life as a traveling merchant.

"No, I mean it," Harbend said as if guessing Arthur's thoughts. "Most people from Verd would not be able to handle themselves during a long journey. You told me you live in a city in your world so I expected you to behave like one city born. I am happy to say that you are a fast learner."

"Thank you, I guess," Arthur stammered, uncertain of what to say. He still felt uncomfortable, but something in him very much enjoyed Harbend's acceptance and in the end he just smiled gratefully.

For a while he just stood there, silent, remembering the journey and taking in his surroundings. Stables nearby, to their left, and men talking while grooming their horses. At least he assumed it was their horses. The pungent smell of manure almost welcoming, a reminder they were no longer forced to sleep with the sky as their ceiling. To his right a closed store, its wooden shutters telling him it was very late and that he ought to find a place indoors. Stomach loudly agreeing he caused Harbend to give him an amused look before leading him towards the houses further away.

Most small one and two stories buildings. Having expected a fortress Arthur was not prepared for the mass of wooden houses, some even with thatched roofs. A few of the buildings they passed were erected by simply laying layers of logs on top of each other and sealed with what Arthur thought was moss, but most the work of a proper carpenter, some even displaying large, glassed windows. He noted lamps of the same kind as those used in Verd, only much smaller, and it was all too clear that this was not the bustling city he'd spent his first few weeks in. Neither noise nor smell those of a large city and the narrow streets almost deserted. He slowly understood that the nightlife making Verd strangely familiar to him also made it very unique in this world.

They rounded a corner. Arthur almost knocked over a couple of empty barrels left for the night and Harbend stepped under an archway leading to a closed door. Without knocking he pushed it open and entered. Arthur followed him into a corridor ending in a large room with several rough tables and chairs along three of the walls. The smell of spicy food was strong here and Arthur's mouth watered as his stomach once again loudly complained about dinner being far too late.

The ceiling was awkwardly low and forced him to bend to avoid banging his head on the beams as they made their way further into the room. Less than half the tables occupied. Apparently most of the diners had already finished and gone to sleep. A few heads rose to see the newcomers but no one seemed to recognize him.

Arthur sat down at a table, waiting for Harbend to place their orders.

Even before Harbend was finished talking with the bearded man in the kitchen a serving girl came up to the table with a jug and two glasses. Pretty, with a slightly exotic face Arthur couldn't place, wearing a brown, woolen jacket and a heavy, striped skirt from under which a pair of no nonsense boots protruded. He smiled at her.

"Many great thanks... your services to me welcome," he said to her and shrugged apologetically when she didn't seem to understand. Watching her depart he slowly became aware of the room being far warmer than the night outdoors and he pulled off his heavy coat. He'd just placed it on an empty chair when Harbend returned to the table.

"They have rooms for the night. One for us each, and there is a bath house just behind the kitchen. If you want we can get clean before we eat." Harbend was still pointing at the door next to the kitchen.

Arthur, even though famished, began to realize how dirty he was, tiredly left his chair, grabbed his bag, slung the coat over his shoulders and staggered away in the suggested direction. The stone floor felt very hard to feet almost adjusted to the thought of resting and his hips ached from a long day spent riding and walking.

The bath was heaven.

Harbend smiled at the sight of his friend shoveling food into his mouth. A full season after his arrival he no longer looked like a festival clown. Hair showing a lot of brown beneath the faded blue and a face now belonging to someone in good shape. Most of the fat had gone and muscles were building. Harbend was surprised a man of Arthur's age could trim his body so fast. Some of the lines criss crossing his face were gone but others had come in their stead. There was more determination to be read there now, a stability grown during the journey.

Harbend was more than content with the events leading to him being coerced into bringing such a strange friend along on the journey. Smiling Harbend paid some attention to his own food. The smell of peppers, salt and mutton made him dig his knife into the stew. Only after stilling his worst hunger did he feel how boiled tomatoes and horseradish mixed with local spices added life to the meat.

He leaned back, raised his glass and drank a deep draught of wine. A decent wine, nothing special, but not the awful swill too often served when one left the main roads in Keen.

Looking up he saw traces of soot on the ceiling revealing the presence of a large fireplace hidden around a corner where his eyes couldn't reach. Wherever it was, it evidently saw much use during winter.

Late evening broke into full night and he guessed the innkeeper wanted them to depart for their rooms. They both swallowed the last of their wine, thanked him and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Harbend bade Arthur goodnight and made for his room.

It was small but clean. A narrow bed with a brown, woolen blanket clung to a wall and in the only window he saw his own features reflected in the imperfect glass. The walls were bare apart from a hanger for his lamp and in a corner a small wardrobe hid in the shadows.

He quickly undressed and rather than spend time hanging his clothes in the wardrobe he simply threw them in a disorderly pile on a lonely chair standing beside a worn table. Almost naked he blew out the lamp, fumbled for his bed and lay down on linen sheets. Shortly afterward sleep claimed him.

"Are you sure there have been no travelers from Ri Khi here the last eightday or so?"

"I'm sorry. Can't help you there sir. Only local hunters and a peddler from Erkateren."

Harbend swore silently. So much for that addition. Well, it couldn't be helped. The wagon train was still almost as large as he'd hoped for when he started planning back in Verd. He smiled at the merchant.

"I shall buy one barrel of salt and as much dried meat as you have."

"Sir? That's more than a wagon's worth."

"I have a wagon train coming in two days from now."

"Wagon train, sir?"

"Yes, we are bound for the mountains later. I am reopening the caravan route to Braka."

The small man stared at Harbend as if struck.

"But that's fantastic, sir!"

"Yes, yes, could you spread the word. Over a hundred wagons coming in. A lot of hungry men and women. Horses that needs tending."

"Will do, sir. Most certainly!"

A glimmer of greed suddenly flared in the eyes of the local merchant. It couldn't be helped. They'd need the people here to start preparing to feed and lodge more men and horses than any of them had ever seen in this place. He had to talk with the innkeeper to get to know which houses could take in guests for a few nights, and of course to prepare the residents to take up cooking as a temporary profession for the same time.

"What's that?" Arthur said as they passed a door just before their own inn. It had a sign hanging over it he didn't recognize.

Harbend threw a glance in the direction Arthur pointed. "That is the Taleweaver's Inn."

Arthur was perplexed, trying to remember, and Harbend laughed.

"Yes, you have heard the expression earlier. Remember our last evening in Verd?"

"Yes, but we didn't go to a place with this sign there."

"There is one, but you are right. We did not. I told you about tales and their value."

Now Arthur remembered. "But that's bloody marvelous! Why don't we go in and listen to a tale here then?"

"Because we cannot. It is open only for those in the profession."

"Oh. Wait a minute. Damn it, I'm of that profession." Arthur saw Harbend's expression. "Sorry, minute, measurement of time in English. About the time it takes you to walk a hundred paces." Harbend still wore that look on his face. "What is it?" Arthur asked.

"I know what a minute is, approximately at least, but you are saying you should be allowed into a Taleweaver's Inn. Now that is what I call overconfidence."

Arthur felt resentment rankling in him. "Now my dear Harbend de Garak, merchant superior with your own trading house. I'm Arthur Wallman. I entertain with words of wonder. Whenever one of my shows is displayed back home more people watch it than live on this world. My Golden Secret shows have an audience so large the total number of souls that ever inhabited this planet from times forgotten to today doesn't even come close." The tingling of excitement that usually came just before a performance suddenly crept through him. "Where I come from I'm not just a taleweaver. I'm the taleweaver all rising stars are compared with in the feeble hopes they may ever ascend to my status."

Harbend backed away and Arthur resolutely knocked on the door. It opened and he saw a wrinkled face peering out at him.

"What do you want here?" The question was basic enough to understand even though it had been spoken in De Vhatic.

Arthur turned to Harbend. "I could need some help with translation."

"Forget it," Harbend answered and shook his head. "If you fail to even make yourself understood well enough to be let in then you should not be let in at all. I shall have a meal." He quickly vanished into the doorway to their own inn.

Arthur started to feel stupid. How did he expect to understand anything told even if he was allowed inside? Damn! He'd show Harbend anyway.

"My wish license to enter."

"This ... is open for ... only. You ... not enter."

Arthur considered giving up, but persistence wouldn't allow him.

"I ..." He searched his mind. "I taleweaver by profession. My wish to enter."

The old man in the doorway gave him a look filled with scorn, but he did step aside to give room for Arthur. He entered.

"Now, bold stranger, would you care to explain that obvious lie to me."

Arthur started. The words were in English. No they weren't, only as if they'd been spoken in English, but he somehow knew he was hearing De Vhatic as if it had been his own native language.

"How? Why?"

"You come to our door with a ridiculous claim, and you want to ask questions?" The face split in a smile. "The edict forces me to allow entrance to anyone who claims to carry tales, so come in. Who are you to speak a language I don't know? Not De Vhatic, nor Khi or Kordic. With your face you could have spoken Hirgish, Kastarian or even Vratistaric unlikely as that may be, because you don't look like the son of a hunter of the seas. However, you use none of those tongues, so I must assume you are one of those we call outworlders."

Arthur listened to the convoluted question. "I'm from Earth, yes," he answered after a while. "My name is Arthur Wallman. Before I came here I ran a newscaster with myself as the anchor. Before that I made my living, a very successful living, mind you, talking in front of a camera."

The man looked confused, and for a while Arthur was afraid whatever magic worked this place didn't handle English.

"I understand what you're saying, yet not. The knowledge of concepts cannot be translated to the mind unless grabbed, but that's a violation not to be committed by anyone."

Arthur wasn't sure he'd understood fully, but it made sense that some things he took for granted wouldn't be understandable even if his words for them were.

"I am what you call a taleweaver in my own world." He had to hope the explanation would do. The language magic here was a wondrous thing. Maybe he'd be able to chat with some locals after listening to a story or two.

He remembered something Harbend had said earlier. Damn you! There was a place like this in Verd. A place where he could have made himself understood, but then again, William Anderson had made it quite clear that was exactly what the merchant houses didn't want.

They went further into the building, passing through the narrow corridor Arthur had seen in all inns and entered the actual tavern. A few window slits allowed daylight into the room and he saw there were very few tables. All chairs were aligned in one direction, and he saw what could best be described as a small stage rising slightly from the floor. A fireplace was to the left of him and he guessed it shared the same chimney as the one in his own inn. The stage began just beside it.

They were alone.

"Doesn't seem to be a lot of traffic here," Arthur commented slightly disappointed.

"Rest assured that this room will be full long before nightfall." There was an evil glint to the man's voice, but Arthur decided not make anything out of it. He'd more or less barged his way in here anyway.

"You wouldn't by chance serve meals in here? Being a tavern and all I mean."

"Your meal is ready and will be served shortly."

"Thank you. I guess it'll be a surprise." Arthur smirked. He didn't fancy cold food, but he wouldn't start complaining now.

The man said nothing. He bowed and disappeared, probably to stand watch by the door again, Arthur guessed.

It was a strange place. The tables were more elegant than he'd have suspected from a tavern. The one in the inn where he lived had simpler furniture even though they were of high quality, but he wouldn't have expected less this close to Erkateren. Here he was sitting on chairs as exclusive as anything they were bringing to Braka, leaning his arms on a table in the same style. The walls were bare, but the woodwork was decoration enough.

He sat there admiring the workmanship when he heard a noise and looked up. The same serving girl he'd seen the previous evening came with his food. Sensible thing to share personnel, he thought. She set the large plate on his table and he gaped in disbelief. A T-bone steak made exactly like he wanted stared up at him from its place on the plate, simmering in a spicy sauce. There was no way anyone could have cooked the meal this fast, and he'd never even said anything about what he wanted.

"Master Achnai, a message from the Roadhouse. An outworlder taleweaver will share the joining there."

Trai er Achnai Khar looked up from the scroll he'd just finished.

"You bring marvelous, wonderful news. Tell Escha I'll be at the jump tower as soon as I can walk there."

Trai ran from the room. Outworlder taleweaver, now that was news indeed. He took the steps three at a time and continued into the night. This was going to be a very long night. He'd only planned to finish his scroll before going to sleep when Eri, his seneschal, came with the news, and Erkateren was on the other side of the continent. It would still be light when he arrived there, and he was well aware of the time it took for the body to adjust to such a long travel westwards.

He sat waiting on the jump shield when Escha arrived. Lovely Escha, more than a brother and a friend, gorgeous in his slender strength and unmarred body. Unmarred in difference from Trai who bore the marks of every fiery spell gone astray. He sighed at the sight of his heart mate, his perfect slave and the most powerful of all Jump Khars in Khanati.

Master and slave since ten years, bond brothers for seven and lovers for four, they jumped five times to arrive in Ira, the width of a continent to the west, and Escha only needed a short rest there before casting the spell just a handful ever dared and only he mastered. Trai marveled at the power streaming through them both when Escha unleashed the mighty word that bore them all the way north from Ira to Erkateren unaided by any receiving jump tower.

Arthur noted how people started to arrive. He saw a maddening variety of clothes, but four of the arrivals almost sent him screaming through the door. One resembled a nightmarish carnivorous gorilla, large tusks clearly meant for ripping meat apart, and Arthur was already rising from his seat when he registered that no one else seemed to care. The other three shorter, standing barely a meter in height. Something primitive in Arthur's mind yelled at him to run and hide.

Damn, they're scaring everyone else as well!

Three walking lizards, scales glimmering and each wearing a perpetual grin showing long lines of sharp teeth.

Arthur fought down the ghost in his mind, a ghost helping his ancestors to survive long before they could even grasp the concept of mankind. The sight of sentient reptiles made him want to crawl away never to be noticed by them.

"Such audacity!" a voice behind him hissed.

He turned and saw the giant ape glaring at the lizards. Even though he understood what it had said he also realized it had spoken in a language he'd never heard before.

"Why is that?" he asked in an attempt to bite down on his rising panic.

"Raiders from the west. You're lucky not to have seen them before. They burn and kill. Only good teeth or the gift of tale telling will save you."

So that was it. The naval blockade that made Harbend swear. Arthur groaned at the irony. The very reason making it possible for him to escape returning home was here making him long desperately for the safety of Earth. He shuddered, but curiosity got the better of him.

"But if they are raiders from across the sea, how can they be here now?"

"A very good question, very good indeed. You have raised an issue that needs looking into," the ape answered as if Arthur had revealed an important secret.

He was about to rephrase his question when a surge of air and a soft boom caught his attention. Two men materialized out of thin air on the floor just across the table. They had their backs to him but still sat down on a chair each as if they had known beforehand they would be there.

"What the bloody hell..."

Arthur was cut short. "Escha! By the thousand gods, you never jump inside a building!" A black skinned woman in shirt and skirt, both the color of bone, closed in on the table. Fury shone from her eyes.

"What a darling reception! So fiery yet so to the point," the leftmost backside spoke. Arthur still hadn't seen their faces.

"Are you totally out of your mind? You could have killed us all you idiot!"

"Ah, you're so beautiful when you show your feelings. There has to be certain advantages to living so close to the ocean, so far from the jungle. Darling, you have to send my greetings to your relatives in the trees there."

"You Grank" Arthur heard the word but didn't understand it anyway. "smelling soldier's whore! I'll tear your lungs out of your perfumed body!" A spinning wheel of static charges started to form between her outstretched hands.

"Enough!" The roar silenced the room. Arthur reeled from the pain inside his head. The old man who'd received Arthur stood in the doorway. "You'll not use the gift while in a Taleweaver's Inn, or, by the gods, I'll have your name struck from history and your life's content undone for all generations to come!"

Now that's a way of threatening someone! Arthur had to admire the man.

"You, Trai, stop harassing the woman! You'll not bring your petty war here! If all men were like you there'd be no Khanati today."

Not a single word was spoken for a long while, and the serving girl busied herself with bringing food to the latest newcomers. As always she brought it long before it could humanly have been cooked, but Arthur had already seen something impossible this evening and his sense of wonder was dulled. Only after all had eaten did the visitors start to exchange polite smalltalk with each other, but they were soon interrupted by the old man who climbed the stage beside the fireplace.

"I have sent the calling required by the edict, and tonight is more than a mere storytellers night. More even than the gracing of a traveling tale teller. Today we are visited by no less than a self appointed taleweaver. Unknown to all of us this outworlder comes with the gift to share with us, unknown as of yet, but after he has Woven he shall most assuredly be well known amongst us all."

Arthur smiled despite the insult. If mister senile wanted to play a game then he would get one.

Arrogant bastard! So, no bloody being nice. He'd give them one of his Golden Secret shows. First rate, no cheating. He rose and entered the stage.

Pity I don't have my crew here. Well it can't be helped. I'll just pretend. Cameras four and five, pan in, steady, slow forward and time for the perfect smile. "Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I welcome the rest of you as well." That brought laughter from all but the three lizards. They only stared at him with their cold, hungry eyes. "I am indeed what you call an outworlder, and as such I share my name with others of my kind." By now Arthur knew the story he would tell, and he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again he was once again in the familiar landscape of between, the place he needed to be in whenever he wanted to bring a listener into what he told, and he knew that this would indeed be one of his Golden Secret shows.

"This is a tale from ancient times, but not from the history you know. Long before we came here we learned to treasure the legends from times when maybe things were as here, yet different in many ways. It was a time when the old had to give way to the new. This is the tale of a hero and a king, but it really begins with his father. Now it should be known that Uther Pendragon had fought a long and bloody war."

Arthur spoke, and it was as when he stood before a camera those early years when he still had to prove himself, and as he had done then he climbed into himself, immersed himself in his own words so that he was more a vessel from which they poured rather than actively choosing between them.

He heard mighty Merlin help Uther with his betrayal. He was there, watching a Camelot that had never existed, yet it was real for him. Unseen he walked its great halls listening to secret meetings. He was flying like a falcon disturbed in its hunt by the thunder of two shining men clashing into each other, each carrying a lance one of which broke. He saw the queen torn between love and loyalty, and he knew the moment when love won and gave birth to yet another betrayal. The murder of children haunted him, tore his heart apart, and he was aghast to learn the evil deed had done nothing to prevent what was foretold. Sitting, crying, on the battlefield where the kingdom was broken.

Standing, standing in a room where window slits allowed a gray dawn to enter and bring cold light to replace the fire that had slumped to nothing more than red embers. There was an eerie silence where each breath was a barely audible acclaim to the legend itself. Faces unmoving in a land between worlds, still living out the destiny of the greatest king who had never lived.

He had emptied an entire jug of watered wine without noticing. A little drunk and tired beyond reasoning, he was, like the jug, a vessel spent.

And silence. I can hear them breathing, afraid to break the spell. Like statues.

Arthur staggered towards the door glancing at the faces in front of him. They were all sharing the same expression of awe and a little fear, and he knew he must have put on one of the best shows in his life.

"I have never for thirty years... not since Master de Ghera." It was the old man who had tried to deny him entrance the night before. Only this time he was whispering in a voice suiting him far better than the arrogance only an ignorant man could show.

"I told you I was a taleweaver by profession where I come from," Arthur said, satisfied he'd made a proper impact on his audience. He smiled despite his fatigue, and on weak legs went in search for his bed.

Harbend stared in utter disbelief as wagons arrived through the gates. He hadn't expected the train to arrive for another day and was mildly surprised when the calls went out from the battlements. The creaking train that arrived was not the one he had left. The wagons were those he hoped would join from Ri Khi, and he was still watching them arrive through the gates when darkness finally fell. No planning could have prepared the people here for this. Almost two hundred wagons, and they were still passing through the gates when he was forced to go inside for a meeting with the traders joining the caravan.

"Well met, Lord de Garak."

Harbend looked up. The evening had turned into a bedlam and people were running and yelling, grooms desperately trying to stable all horses and the commander of the fortress occupied in a screaming contest with the master of the caravan about whether or not to let all two hundred wagons stay within the walls. Of course Harbend was made responsible for it all, and a moment earlier he'd been standing with his face in his hands after receiving a verbal beating when he explained that another hundred wagons were to be expected next day.

He gave the stranger a tired look. At least she was speaking Khi with the unmistakable dialect of those living in Ri Khi.

"Well met honored stranger," he answered, politely requesting a name.

"My name is Nakora, of the noble line of the Weinak family. I act as escort captain."

A female soldier. The people in Ri Khi retained none of the high standards in Khi. They must have lost all sense of honor after they left their homeland, but that was to be expected from the descendants of bastards intermingling with impure De Vhatic blood.

What am I thinking? Adapting to some of the more unpleasant sides of my father's values. Had better watch out for those thoughts. Unworthy.

He broke the silence before it became uncomfortable. "Yes, and your reason for addressing me is?"

"I wish to relinquish command of your troops."

"My troops?"

"Two days ago some forty men joined our escort. Their commander, told me they were to meet you here, but that they would be more useful adding to the escort immediately."

What is she talking about? I never agreed to swell the escort. No matter. I'll need all trained men available to protect a caravan three times the planned size. Any available woman as well, he agreed sourly to himself and decided to let that matter drop. "I see. Send them here," he answered as if he'd known in advance.

She bowed and marched away.

Well formed hips. Women definitely should do other things than carry weapons, but he had to admit that an active life obviously had worked wonders on her body. He admired her as she vanished among horses and wagons in search for the escort commander he assumed was waiting somewhere closer to the gates.

Harbend smiled for the first time in hours. Maybe, just maybe this was going to be a very good day. He crossed the open space and stared after Nakora, of the noble line of the Weinak family.

Arthur peered out on the street. Late to bed, late to wake he'd been told as a child.

Not bloody late enough.

He hardly had a chance to step outdoors before he was surrounded by three people. If you're kind enough to include an over two meter tall ape in the concept of people. He guessed he had to, no one else had complained the night before.

"What do you want?" he asked irritably.

No answer. A gigantic, hairy hand pointed at the door to the Taleweaver's inn. A telling gesture, and rather than start asking questions in halting De Vhatic Arthur nodded in agreement and joined the trio. He knocked on the door and didn't have to wait for long before they were allowed in. They chose a table in the tavern close to the stage where Arthur had made his performance.

"So, could you please tell me what you want?" he requested, anticipating the strange feeling of understanding spoken words as if they were native to him.

"We would..."

"I'd be honored..."

"Please, one at a time," Arthur interrupted. "I've had far too little sleep to do multiple conversations."

Silence.

"Oh, well, you first," he continued and nodded at one of the two men.

"Ah, wonderful, such splendid tact displayed by one in distress."

"Get to it!" Arthur growled.

"Yes, indeed, most definitely. I shall lay forth our humble wish immediately."

Arthur sighed. There was far too much embroidering and too little content in the man's speech for his taste.

"Last night's Weave has left us in a state of awe, a recognition of our shortcomings we could only have reached by means of sharing the Weave with a true master of the art. We have come to the decision that we must ask, no, humbly beg you, most wondrous of taleweavers, to accept our presence in your magnificent caravan."

Arthur tried desperately to cut through the flowery flatter and finally came to a conclusion. They wanted to join him because of his previous performance.

Bloody great! Now I'm supposed to bring along a mobile fan club.

"I don't see, how I could stop you," he answered tiredly. "You have to be aware that it's not my caravan. I'm just one partner. Harbend de Garak, wherever the gentleman is at the moment, has to accept you, and he'll request that you pay a fee just like everyone else."

The man bowed deeply and raised both of his hands so that his face was eventually hidden behind wide, brightly colored silk sleeves.

"I thank you, most gracious of men. We shall both proceed to set up a meeting with Lord Garak." They rose and backed away from the table. Deep bows and they headed for the door.

Damn, I've seen both of them, but who are they? Yes, of course, the men who appeared out of nowhere in the tavern and almost caused a fight. He shook his head. Oh well. He had done this to himself after all. Time to pay the consequences. He was about to rise when he remembered he was not alone.

"I'm sorry. And you wanted?" he asked.

"I'll use fewer words. I share their sentiment. I wish to join you, help in any way possible in exchange for an opportunity to learn how to master the art."

Arthur groaned mentally. His troupe of fans was rapidly changing into a menagerie.

"And what would that help be?" he asked, desperately trying to avoid offending something at least twice his own weight.

"I'm a mindwalker."

"Mindwalker?"

"Yes." The monster hesitated so clearly Arthur was able to catch the tone of uncertainty. "I walk with minds."

"Hold on, let's slow down a bit. I'm an outworlder, remember? Explain as if to an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. Treating you like one would be the gravest insult and a breach of honor."

"Thank you." Now what? He wanted to know. "Try to explain this to me as to an outworlder inexperienced in the ways of this world."

"You are an outworlder. There is no denying that."

I'm getting nowhere. He began to rise.

"I'm sorry. I insulted you."

"No you didn't. Please just explain to me."

"I am a Mindwalker. I can bring minds together over great distances. I can make those who do not share a spoken tongue understand each other as if they did."

Arthur brightened. "You mean you can duplicate the magic of this room?"

"Not really, but the part making us able to speak with each other, yes, I can do that."

"Consider yourself hired."

"Hired? I'm no mercenary."

"Now I'm the insulting one. You are more than welcome to join us. In fact I'm greatly honored by your presence." He hoped the last sentence would smooth over whatever bad feelings he'd invoked. Another thought struck him. "Would you mind telling me what you are, apart from being a Mindwalker, that is."

"I usually work as a scout."

"Oh, no I mean what you are."

"Forgive me my slow understanding. I know your kind does not easily see the difference. I'm female."

That was a piece of information he hadn't expected, but it still didn't answer his question. "Eh, no I meant, what do your kind call yourself?"

"Humans, of course."

What the hell? He thought rapidly. Why would she refer to herself as a human? She was... oh, no he was the one in error.

"What do you call our kind?" he asked to confirm his suspicion.

"We have several words for you. Skinless, dwarfs, halfmen, oath breakers and cowards are the most used."

"Now that's... that's just... ," he roared with laughter. "That's hilarious!" he finished when he got his breath back again. "Lovely! So, what do our kind usually call you?"

"Humans."

Arthur peered at her to find out if she was baiting him or not. Then he had an idea.

"Could you please repeat that word again, slowly?"

"H-u-m-a-n."

He listened and tried it himself. "Khraga."

"Yes, that's correct, human," she confirmed.