robes. "Here," he said, setting it on the table. "It isn't much, but I'd like tohelp with what little I can afford."

The pouch sat untouched.

"She'll not take charity from cityfolks."

For a moment the diminutive storyteller swelled to twice his normal appearance."Then you give it to her," he hissed, "or give it to those who are supportingher ... or rub it in a fish barrel until it reeks-" He caught himself, suddenlyaware of the curious stares from the neighboring tables. In a flash the humblestoryteller had returned. "Omat, my friend," he said quietly, "you know me. I amno more of the city than I am a fisherman or a soldier. Don't let an old woman'spride stand between her and a few honest coppers. They'll spend as well as anyother when pushed across the board of a fishstall."

Slowly the fisherman picked up the pouch, then locked eyes with Hakiem. "Why?"

The storyteller shrugged. "The tale of the Old Man and the giant crab has paidme well. I would not like the taste of wine bought with that money while hiswoman was without."

Omat nodded and the purse disappeared from view.

It was dusk when Hakiem emerged from the Wine Barrel. Lengthening shadows hidthe decay he had noticed earlier, though it was also true that his outlook hadimproved after his gift had been accepted. On an impulse, the storytellerdecided to walk along the piers before returning to the Maze.

The rich smells of the ocean filled his nostrils and a slight breeze snatched athis robes as he digested Omat's story. The disappearance of the Old Man and hisson was but the latest in a series of unusual occurrences: the war brewing tothe north; the raid on Jubal's estate; and the disappearance and laterreappearance of both Tempus and One-Thumb-all were like the rumble of distantthunder heralding a tempest of monumental proportions.

Omat had said the storm season was months off, but not all storms were forged by