With that, Hakiem returned his attention to his audience, ignoring Hort'sdiscomfiture. The fact that he had not really wished to start this particularsession was unimportant, as was the fact that service with the leader of theBeysib government-in-exile would undoubtedly be lucrative. Any storyteller, muchless Sanctuary's best storyteller, did not shirk his professional duty in themidst of a tale, however tempting the counter-offer might be.
Gone were the days when he would scuttle off as soon as a few coins were tossedhis way. The old storyteller's pride had grown along with his wealth, and Hakiemwas no more exempt than any other citizen of Sanctuary from the effects of theFace of Chaos.
HIGH MOON by Janet Morris
Just south of Caravan Square and the bridge over the White Foal River, theNisibisi witch had settled in. She had leased the isolated complex - one threestoried 'manor house' and its outbuildings -as much because its grounds extendedto the White Foal's edge (rivers covered a multitude of disposal problems) asfor its proximity to her business interests in the Wideway warehouse districtand its convenience to her caravan master, who must visit the Square at allhours.
The caravan disguised their operations. The drugs they'd smuggled in were nomore pertinent to her purposes than the dilapidated manor at the end of thebridge's south-running cart track or the goods her men bought and stored inWideway's most pilferproof holds, though they lubricated her dealings with thelocals and eased her troubled nights. It was all subterfuge, a web of lies,plausible lesser evils to which she could own if the Rankan army caught her, orthe palace marshal Tempus's Stepsons (mercenary shock troops and 'special