sing-song speech of Shainsa. I made no answer, gesturing him to be
seated. On Wolf, formal courtesy requires a series of polite _non
sequiturs_, and while a direct question merely borders on rudeness, a
direct answer is the mark of a simpleton.

"A drink?"

"I joined you unasked," he retorted, and summoned the tangle-headed
girl. "Bring us better wine than this swill!"

With that word and gesture I recognized him and my teeth clamped hard on
my lip. This was the loudmouth who had shown fight in the spaceport
cafe, and run away before the dark girl with the sign of Nebran sprawled
on her breast.

But in this poor light he had not recognized me. I moved deliberately
into the full red glow. If he did not know me for the Terran he had
challenged last night in the spaceport cafe, it was unlikely that anyone
else would. He stared at me for some minutes, but in the end he only
shrugged and poured wine from the bottle he had ordered.

Three drinks later I knew that his name was Kyral and that he was a
trader in wire and fine steel tools through the nonhuman towns. And I
had given him the name I had chosen, Rascar.

He asked, "Are you thinking of returning to Shainsa?"

Wary of a trap, I hesitated, but the question seemed harmless, so I only
countered, "Have you been long in the Kharsa?"

"Several weeks."

"Trading?"

"No." He applied himself to the wine again. "I was searching for a
member of my family."

"Did you find him?"

"Her," said Kyral, and ceremoniously spat. "No, I didn't find her. What
is your business in Shainsa?"

I chuckled briefly. "As a matter of fact, I am searching for a member of
my family."

He narrowed his eyelids as if he suspected me of mocking him, but
personal privacy is the most rigid convention of the Dry-towns and such
mockery showed a sensible disregard for prying questions if I did not
choose to answer them. He questioned no further.

"I can use an extra man to handle the loads. Are you good with pack
animals? If so, you are welcome to travel under the protection of my
caravan."

I agreed. Then, reflecting that Juli and Rakhal must, after all, be
known in Shainsa, I asked, "Do you know a trader who calls himself
Sensar?"

He started slightly; I saw his eyes move along my scars. Then reserve,
like a lowered curtain, shut itself over his face, concealing a brief
satisfied glimmer. "No," he lied, and stood up.

"We leave at first daylight. Have your gear ready." He flipped s