His questions had been muttered quietly. When a voice behind him responded, it took the visiting minotaur by surprise.

"You should be careful what you ask around here, Boy."

The owner of the voice was a scarred, light brown-furred, weatherworn minotaur with only half a right arm. He carried a heavy sack in the other one and was obviously a dockworker. His snout was long and wrinkled.

"Lost the arm to a shark I killed after my ship went down, Boy," remarked the elder, noting Hecar's glance. "Ended up eating him instead of the other way around." The older minotaur chuckled, then grew serious. "Talking out loud's not good sometimes."

"Just mouthing a few harmless thoughts, Elder." Why was this other so concerned about what he had said?

"Suit yourself." The other peered at him. "Been away for a while have you? Far away?"

"Far enough."

"Come in on a ship?"

He had not, but for some reason Hecar decided to nod. "Long voyage."

"Was it? Probably you had better luck on your voyage than I had on my last, Boy… Which ship was that?"

"Gladiator," Hecar immediately replied, hoping his inquisitive companion did not know that the remains of that particular ship rotted away at the bottom of the sea. He shifted his weight, adding, "I've business to attend to. Elder. May your ancestors guide you."

"And may yours guide you, Boy."

The old minotaur seemed innocent enough, but Hecar did not relax his guard. He had the distinct notion that he had been questioned for some reason. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. He had, after all, spent several days of travel worrying about the rumors and rumblings of the minotaurs who had joined the settlement.

Yet, more than ever, Hecar was certain that something was different in the empire, something that had not yet come to fruition but which held the potential for disaster.