"No thanks."

"Don't you like to hunt?"

"It's a chance, Earl," said the woman before Dumarest could answer. "The two of you would make a good team. You'd sweep the board and gain the trophy. It could yield a nice profit."

"We'd break even, at least," urged Carl. "Buying a place won't be cheap and there'd be the hire of gear if you haven't brought your own. But we could make extra on the bets." To Claire he said, "I like the idea. It would add spice to the game. Try and talk Earl into it."

"Why don't you?"

"Bresaw's waiting. He's got the runs from the previous dozen games and thinks there could be a pattern. See you!"

He left with a lift of a hand, brash, arrogant, intent on his own concerns. Dumarest glanced at the woman at his side, saw the shadow on her face, one which vanished as she smiled.

"A boy," she said. "Carl's nothing but a boy at heart. All he can think of now are the games."

"And you?"

"Work. Furs, pelts, hides. Dealers who will try to cheat. Liars who will claim a match where none exists. Well, that's for tomorrow. Now let's have a drink."

The bar was quiet compared to the casino and Dumarest led the way to a secluded table. A waitress came to take his order, returning with tall goblets filled with lavender wine laced with a drifting mist of silver bubbles. Claire snorted as they stung her nose, sipped, laughed her pleasure as her mouth and throat filled with a familiar pungency.

"Earl! You remembered!"

Lavender, lime, some osteth and a touch of chard. The constituents of a drink they had shared in the snug confines of a cabin during a journey which, for her, had ended too soon.