hole known as Sanctuary. Exactly how high or terrible a price the storytellerwas currently unable to puzzle out. (There were still hawks in Sanctuary, thoughnot so easily brought to hand ... and one hawkmaster in particular.) Sharpereyes than Hakiem's would be scrutinizing the effects and long-range implicationsof the new arrivals. Still, it would do him well to keep his ears open and ...

'Hakiem! Here he is! I found him! Hakiem!'

The storyteller groaned inwardly as a brightly bedecked teenager leapt up anddown, flapping his arms to reveal Hakiem's refuge to his comrades. Fame, too,had its price ... and this particular one was named Mikali, a young fop whosemain vocation seemed to be spending his father's wealth on fine clothing. That,and serving as Hakiem's self-proclaimed herald. Though the money from the morefashionable sides of Sanctuary was nice, the storyteller often longed for thedays of anonymity when he'd had to rely on his own wits and skills to peddle hisstories. Perhaps it was for this reason he clung to some of his old haunts inthe Bazaar and the Maze.

'Here he is!' the youth proclaimed to his rapidly assembling audience. 'The onlyman in Sanctuary who didn't run and hide when the Beysib fleet arrived in ourharbours.'

Hakiem cleared his throat noisily. 'Do I know you, young man?'

A rude snicker rippled through the crowd as the youth flushed withembarrassment.

'S ... Surely you remember. It's me, Mikali. Yesterday ...'

'if you know me,' the elder interrupted, 'you also know I don't tell stories topreserve my health, nor do I tolerate gawkers who block the view of payingcustomers.'

'Of course.' Mikali beamed. In a flash he had produced a handkerchief of finesilk. Cupping it in his hands, he began moving through the assemblage,collecting coins. As might be expected, he was loathe to undertake this chore