Otherwise the ants will eat your flesh when your guides steal your money and leave you.
Synopsis: The group of heroes is visited by that most powerful of all forces, the Home Shopping Channel. However, the person who at first seems to be a gutter rat has several interesting things to sell, and a lot of information to impart.

Hot. It's damned hot. It's hotter than a very hot thing and then some. Mosquitos buzz and whine and dive-bomb unsuspecting flesh, and Antukt City swelters. Another day in paradise.

Miranda, wisely, is doing her best to remain in the shade. It's not working; she's still far, far too warm to be comfortable. This is hardly surprising, of course. Almost everyone is. Well, almost everyone who isn't native to the place, and probably some of them, too.

The group has hired (or had hired for them) several houses, all on stilts. The coolest rooms are those closest to the damp ground, and these are the ones inhabited by most buzzing crawling flying things. And apparently, a swamp gutter-rat, a half-naked little native who pulls himself up to Miranda's eye-level and then freezes in surprise and maybe terror.

Miranda levers herself partway up out of the chair she's slumped into. "Good afternoon," she tells the urchin politely. She doesn't speak Cibolese, unfortunately, but perhaps the sentiment translates.
Miranda pages: What /is/ appropriate dress here?

He gives a sharp-toothed smile, and jabbers in whichever dialect he is using. Then he hauls himself all the way into the room and dumps a bag on the floor.

This is enough to rouse Miranda to actual movement. "What have you there, child, if I may inquire?" she asks, leaning forward and coming out of the chair to stand. Her eyes flick across the bag in search of clues to its contents, and then back to the boy, her expression inquisitive.

He pulls out a carved knife-handle and a small tribal totem of some sort and holds them forth, offering. Making the near-universal sign for cash, he rubs the fingers of his free hand; Prince Benedict would be jealous.

A smile crosses Miranda's face, at this; this is exactly the sort of thing she's familiar with from a previous life. Enough so that she glances reflexively back over her shoulder to make sure there isn't another young urchin prepared to hit her over the head with something. The tribal totem, however, attracts her attention, and she motions for the boy to move it a bit closer, so she can inspect it.

Casually he pushes it across the floor, although he smiles much wider when he too recognises the gesture. There is no fisherman to his bait. He is alone, apparently.

The totem is a stick carved with various scenes of sex and violence, although a ring of metal around the middle of the stick divides the two subjects neatly.

"Artistic," is Miranda's eventual judgment on the piece. "Most remarkably artistic." She produces a small-denomination coin; knocks it lightly against the floor to emphasize that it's real; and spreads her hands apart in the universal, or hopefully universal, sign for 'how many?'

The boy puts his right ring finger against his left index finger, and holds both up for inspection.

Miranda appears dismayed by this assessment. Then again, she is, after all, an actress first and foremost. She searches her pockets for coins, finally coming up with a rather smaller stack of them; somewhere between a third and a half as many as the two fingers would indicate.

Big soulful eyes look at the stack. The boy pats his belly, and looks miserable. he cannot have eaten in days, poor dear.

"Oh, poor thing," Miranda says, sounding, and looking, genuinely heartbroken. "You must be starving! If only I hadn't had to pay so much for my passage!" She assumes he can't understand her, but better safe than sorry. "Well ... I suppose ... it /is/ a lovely piece ..." With considerable reluctance, she checks through her pockets again, and, finally, is able to come up with enough extra coins to reach a bit higher. Perhaps half to two-thirds the initial request, all told.

After considering for some time, the boy strokes the totem and hands it over. He gives another sharkish smile.

Miranda puts on a bright, pleased expression. "Wonderful!" she gushes. "Such a pleasure it will be to have an authentic piece of Cibola to take with me when I return home." She hands over the coins without evident reluctance and affects to beam brightly at the boy.

The boy nods, although his eyes show no understanding. He puts the knife-handle into his bag and points upstairs with a tilt of his head. May he?

"I beg your pardon?" Miranda inquires, affecting uncertainty. "Ah -- you wish to see if anyone upstairs might have interest? Of course, do please be my guest. Let me show you the way, hm?"

The boy stands and struts forward, but he keeps his hands where Miranda can see them, and makes no threatening moves.

Miranda comes to her feet, and makes her way up the stairs, gesturing the boy after her with a bright smile.

The boy keeps his own smile as he follows.

It's close to noon in Antukt City, and hot as hell. The group have settled into hired houses, and it is officially siesta time.

Miranda comes up the steps to the second floor of one house. "Hallo?" she calls, quietly, to see if anyone is awake without waking them up if they are not.

Kincaid has settled into a wicker chair with a hand fan, trying to keep cool. "Hello?" He answers, "Is that you Miranda?"

"It is, my lord," Miranda says, softly. "We have a visitor, it seems," she goes on with good humor. "A child desiring us to purchase items of Cibolan origin. I am not certain if perhaps you might be interested?"

The child, a young boy, babbles hopefully in his dialect.

Kincaid brows go up, "Oh? Well that does sound interesting, Raphaela might like a token or two from Cibola." Glancing to one of his dressed down knights, who is there to assist the Commander, "Bring a chair for the boy, I am curious to hear about these items."

The boy jabbers on, incomprehensible to those who do not understand Cibolese.

Beatrice has arrived.

Kincaid frowns a touch, "Afraid I don't speak your language my young friend." Signaling one of his assistants again, "Bring us something cool to drink please." Lounged in a wicker chair. There is a boy from Cibola and Kincaid's personal assistants which help the blind knight get around.

The boy pulls a couple of items out of his cloth bag and shows them to the knight, even as his chair arrives. A tribal totem carved with scenes of ships and flying men, and a small coiled whip with barbs in the leather.

Kincaid listens to his assistant describe the Cibolan items, "Do me a favor will you. See if Beatrice is in her room and available to translate. Would like to know how much these items will cost and perhaps get a little insight upon the city from our young friend here." The assistant rushes off, while a second pours cool drinks for the Kincaid, Miranda, and the young boy.

The boy drinks water, pointing and babbling as he demands.

It is not hard; she's not back at quarters, but actually on the little way just outside this house, possibly looking for something similar. She's fetched back promptly, blinking a bit as her hat-shaded eyes adjust from hot sun to indoor lighting.

Lighting here is provided by large windows with mosquito netting. The winged devils have formed a union and crossed the line, but at least the netting keeps the birds out.

Promachos is on Beatrice's shoulder, but the sudden dark has the opposite effect and he makes a pleased, swoopy sort of sound.

Beatrice ventures in with a, "Hallo? Ah, Kincaid. Miranda. Excellent."

Kincaid is identifying the item's with his hands. It seems he has taken a shine to the whip, "Whips I think are often times under appreciated and to often used for punishment and the like. In the right hands, its more than just a weopon." Talking in Thari to the boy. "Dame Beatrice, good to hear your voice. We have a guest as you can see. He has come to sell us some of his Cibolan wares."

The boy jabbers on a bit, and looks at Beatrice hopefully, offering a necklace made of animal teeth.

* "The pretty lady will want to wear this to be protected against spirits trying to steal her hair. They have already stolen her friend's hair."

Beatrice lifts her brows a bit at the jabbering. She speaks carefully as the accent is new to her, but answers him.

Beatrice explains in both languages, repreating in Thari, after the Antukti, "Thank you, though I am here to see to this man's needs," she nods to Kincaid, with the word 'needs' being understood here to mean 'provisions' in the other language, "And not my own."

Beatrice wonders of Kincaid, "Are you looking for a kit, or for guides?"

Kincaid considers that and says, "

Kincaid says, "Guides for the city would be nice. Would like to get an idea of the life of its people and we should also see about provisions in case we do take a tour of the surrounding area. But for now I was wondering, how much is the whip and do you see anything Raphaela might like?""

Beatrice says, "Ahh." She speaks to the boy, pointing at the whip, and asking about the whip.

There are various things here. Mostly it is real stuff rather than tourist tat, and there is a genuine shrunken head!

* The boy says, "It's a whip like Coatatl used to capture the spirits of Antukt so it would be safe to be here. It will keep spirits away and hasten good luck."

Beatrice nods sagely at this, and studies the whip as if unsure whether she is really interested. "But," she explains to the boy in his own language, then in Thari, "We will travel beyond Antukt. Will the whip be useful there?"

The boy looks interested for a moment, and then delves into his bag, continuing to talk. He gets about 19.5 to the dozen, as far as words go.

* "The Pretty Lady is brave, but I have a fragment of stone from the road to Cibola City. It has been walked by princes and gods, and washed in blood. But I must have a price before I show it to you."

The boy keeps his hand in his bag, not pulling out whatever treasure he has.

Kincaid sets the whip down on the table and reaches around for his hand fan, "Think I'll take the lot of what he has. The general or Taleyn might appreciate a shrunken head." Sipping on his cool drink.

Beatrice murmurs a translation then, "He has something in the bag he claims is a fragment of stone from the road to Cibola City, walked on by princes and gods, washed in blood. But he would not show it to us without a price. Even odds its a scam, or something they consider important but we do not -- but it could just as easily be something of real interest."

Beatrice adds, "I'll also mention having no idea what 'Cibola City' is mean to be."

Miranda comes back up to one of the entrances to the room, and pauses there, glancing at each of the three with some evident curiousity. She murmurs a quiet, "Good day, my lady; good day once again, my lord. It is Miranda."

Kincaid smiles, "It sounds interesting enough, scam or not. Whats the price? If nothing else, I'll pay to satisfy my curiousity." Fanning himself, "Miranda come take a look at these Cibolan items. There is a whip and even a shrunken head."

Beatrice says, "He won't name a price. He wants you to name one. bad bargaining, of course." She nods a pleased greeting to Miranda. Then she switches back to her Cibolan, to the boy.

* "What is Cibola City that the gods walk there?"

The boy looks perplexed by Beatrice's question, as if unsure how she could be asking it.

Beatrice clarifies something for the boy in his own langauge.

"A ... shrunken head, my lord?" Miranda echoes, sounding somewhat dubious. "Truly this is a place of remarkable customs."

* His reply means, "Cibola City is the Emperor's City."

With many treasures strewn over the floor, it's plain that this boy has more than the usual souvenirs to sell.

* Beatrice says, "It is perhaps by another name that I know it... The Emperor? You must forgive a foreigner's foolishness... I had not known there to be a single emperor of Cibola. Is this an Emperor now living, or one of long ago?"

Beatrice clarifies, then asks some more.

The boy's tone is unsure.

Beatrice no longer seems really interested in the whip, if she ever was, or in the shrunken skull.

* "Perhaps where the pretty lady is from it is polite not to know too much about nobility. Here too it is much the case. The Emperor commands all of the warring lands, and tells them when they may invade each other."

Beatrice is looking at the boy with real, clear interest, then.

The boy picks up a barbed whip and moves it a little away from Miranda.

Beatrice explains, "He says Cibola City is where the emperor dwells -- the emperor who who commands all the warring lands, and tlels them when they may invade each other. I've never heard of such an emperor of Cibola, but perhaps that just reveals my ignorance. Have any of you?" She includes Kincaid's assistants in her question

Miranda crosses over toward where Kincaid is seated. She speaks, once she gets there, more to confirm her position than to actually communicate. "Remarkable ... an emperor? I have not, my lady, though I myself know only a very little of this realm. I suppose it is only logical, that there must be such a person, but I had not considered it previously."

Kincaid says, "Hmm... Cannot say I have." Continuing to fan himself, "Is this related to the stone he has?"

Beatrice is evidently considering her next words very carefully, then speaks to the boy in his own language again.

* Beatrice asks, "Does having a piece of this road make it easier to journey into the heart of Cibola for those not born to it?"

* The boy's tone is definite now. "Having a piece of something so holy will scare away tiny spirits and vampires that will eat your guts."

The boy nods, and does a very good impression of a zombie chewing on a skull, by picking up the shrunken head.

Beatrice lets a wry smile crease her lips and eyes. "It's a real head," she asides to the others, "I am fairly certain. We've a few Cibolan monkey skulls at home that Taleyn decorated that are very like it." Then back to the boy.

* Beatrice asks, "Before we discuss the price for what is in your bag, will you name the price for your whip, for that skull?"

The boy points to the skull and touches two fingers together, one on each hand. Then he points to the whip and touches different fingers; both are prices, in the barter-language of Cibola. Both are at the reasonable end of high, rather than the high end of reasonable.

Miranda muses, "Such an emperor, if indeed this personage exists, might well be thought to have collected much that is worth knowing so far as his realm is concerned, I should think ..." She watches the boy offer prices, but does not betray by expression or remark what she thinks of then.

Beatrice asides, "I think I've sorted out what they mean... I was reading about the empire in various dialects of Cibolan and the word for emperor wasn't a clear translation, being a compound word in one language and a fairly arbitrary sort of 'high chief' in another. If they texts referred to the same thing then I've..." she sorts out the prices the boy is indicating and breaks back into the local dialect, to him.

* Beatrice names two counter-prices: for the whip it is at the high end of reasonable, and for the skull, a slightly lower degree, explaining she might go a step higher (but not to his original price) if the necklace he showed her were thrown in.

Kincaid must have been considering the offer he would make for the prize the boy has tucked away in his bag, "How about this?" Pulling a long knife from his side still in its sheath, "Would this do?"

The boy looks at the knife, and back to Beatrice in puzzlement.

Beatrice says, "Steady on there a bit, Kincaid. We're not up to that bit yet." Then back to Cibolan to the boy, reassuring.

* Beatrice reassures the boy, "He wishes to show you the knife to assess its value to you, but let us settle the whip and the skull, and perhaps the necklace first."

Beatrice asids to Kincaid and Miranda, "We're on prices for the whip and the skull now. Before we name a price for what's in the bag."

* "The necklace is worth many times what the other things re, for one of the teeth is made of stone, and was torn from an eater of plague. It is muchly magical, but will keep fair hair from being stolen."

"Very good, my lady," Miranda says. She does not offer her own commentary on the matter of the prices, although she does glance to Kincaid for a moment before returning her attention to the boy.

The boy is unconvinced, and nods to Miranda as if she makes part of his argument.

Privately, to Miranda, the boy is street-savvy, but probably does not understand the foreign language here, and he seems honest. This is astounding in itself.

Kincaid ahs, "Ah, my apologies." Holding the knife out to his side, one of his assistants, set it on a nearby table.

Beatrice explains to the others, "The necklace is more than the skull or the whip -- Kincaid, ah, better. He claims the stone in it was taken from the eater of plague."

Beatrice seems to be wondering if either of them are interested in it.

Miranda admits, "The story is indeed an intriguing one, my lady, and, if you will excuse my so saying, I believe him to be telling the truth as best he knows it himself."

Kincaid says, "Fitch, get my gold will you? We must pay the boy for his wares." One of the men hands over a small bag of gold. "Now, how much for all three of these items?" Starting to count out the shiny gold coins. "Must say, this lad is somewhat remarkable. Making a living selling such intresting tokens. Where do you think he got them?"

Miranda starts to say something, and then immediately still herself again. She keeps smiling.

The boy carefully does not look at the coins.

* Kincaid is showing off gold as well as smaller coins - the boy is trying not to be embarrassed.

The seller of trinkets turns to Kincaid and claps his hands together in thanks, rather than let Beatrice negotiate further. He has thought about it briefly, and wishes to seal the deal.

Beatrice opens her mouth as if she has no idea what to even *say* to Kincaid. Though she says something in Cibolan.

"I do not think that I could not begin to speculate, my lord," Miranda says, although she could probably begin, continue, and finish speculating. "The selling of pieces of one's homeland's past is something often undertaken by those youthful and with few prospects."

* Beatrice says, "This price includes what is in the bag."

The boy stops, and shakes his head. He puts a protective hand on the bag he brought with him.

Beatrice looks at the boy very seriously now. "Kincaid, put the gold away. For goodness's sake." She sounds aggrivated. Very. "They will not include what is in the bag for that."

Kincaid finishes counting the coins and puts them back in the coin purse. "Well, a job is a job, and we all must eat." Holding out the coin bag, "Will this cover all of the items, not the prize he holds but the other items, whip and all?" Pauses and looks to Beatrice, "This is just for the other items."

Beatrice puts her finger to her temple. "Yes," she murmurs in a low tone, "Yes, it will cover it all. but you've just driven up their price for what is in the bag."

Miranda is unable to keep her surprise entirely off her face. She does manage to express it only through a faint widening of the eyes.

The boy looks to Beatrice for explanation, of course.

Beatrice puts her hand down. Promachos whirrs a bit. She explains in Cibolan.

* Beatrice says, "That is for everything except what is in the bag. Includin g the necklace and," a gesture, "The rest." Of whatever they were showing Kincaid. "Yes?"

Beatrice gestures at the items that were shown to Kincaid while she speaks.

The boy relaxes a little, and pushes the three items along the floor towards Kincaid, then starts taking other things out as well, but he keeps back a cleft stick with an unidentified bone wedged in it, and a fragment of tapestry. There is now only one lump in the bag, and two things he does not want to sell for that price. The rest, he pushes over.

He seems very proud of the tapestry, and the bone-stick he handles with extreme care.

Beatrice studies the tapestry carefully. "Done, Kincaid. The lot is yours, except the bits he's still holding onto. Now I am going to get down to brass tacks for what is in the bag -- please stay out of it?"

The tapestry looks Amberish in style, and shows a fragment of a hunt, with hounds tearing a deer to pieces. It is obviously only part of a larger picture, and less than a foot square.

Beatrice unslings her own pack then, very seriously, and carefully fishes in it for a lumpy oilskin pouch, which she removes, holding it close. Tapping it she says a word to the boy in his language.

Kincaid head cants this way and that, "What did I do?" Poor blind fellow.

The boy looks to Kincaid and gives him the sort of smile reserved for small children and those who cannot see they are being patronised.

Miranda says, with exquisite politeness, "It is possible that the child might perhaps have accepted a somewhat lesser amount, my lord, if you will excuse my saying so."

* Beatrice says, "Fabric." after that, "Perhaps there is a piece you will take for what is in your bag."

Beatrice adds something after her single word.

The boy looks unimpressed, but lets it be known by gesture that he is prepared to look at what Beatrice has to offer.

Those who play the game, and who can see, would know Beatrice is now wearing a firm poker face.

The boy puts his hand up to Beatrice, pausing negotiations, and picks up the bone-on-a-stick to take it to Miranda and show it to her.

Kincaid smiles a little, "Your probably right." Holding out his hand, his cool drink is placed in it, "Suppose everyone needs a break now and then." He says with a smile, "Seems its our young friends day for one."

"Precisely so, my lord," Miranda says, with a smile in her voice to match that on her face. "Your lordship may do business just as you please. Ah, yes? Indeed, it is a lovely piece, and not to be disdained, can we but manage to produce the funds that will be required."

The boy shows Miranda the tiny discoloured barb on the bone, proving that it comes from some strange species. He fakes striking with it and then clutching his throat and dying in agony.

Beatrice watches the boy with the bone-stick and Miranda, taking the time to select a few items from her oilskin pouch in such a way the boy has no hope of seeing what, or how much, is in there.

Kincaid smiles and plays with his new toys, "What is he offering you?"

Miranda says, watching this demonstration, "A sort of weapon, it seems. Perhaps made from the spine of some venomous creature native to this realm?"

Beatrice does wonder of the boy, in his langauge, "What is it?" She's back to just being translator now. This is easy to guess as she repeats the question in Thari.

Kincaid ohs!

* "This," announces the boy, "Is the hooked finger of the son of Tikch, who was flayed only a year ago. He would poison the enemies of his father with it."

More babble from the boy - he seems very proud.

Beatrice repeats in a flat tone, "It is the hooked finger of the son of Tickh," she is careful with the pronunciation, "Who was flayed only a year ago. He wold poison the enemies of his father with it."

Beatrice clarifies, "I would classify this more as 'talisman' than 'weapon.'"

"A sort of implement for torment or for execution, then?" Miranda says.

Beatrice says, "I believe he implies it will poison your enemies, but I could be very much mistaken." Back to Cibolan.

* Beatrice asks, "What does one do with it with regards to one's enemies?"

* "It will allow the lady who was pretty to kill those who stole her hair," says the boy with the perfect simplicity of someone who does not know what murder is. "She is not strong, but she can be cunning."

Kincaid ahs, "Very interesting. And thank you Dame Beatrice for translating all this. Very kind of you."

Beatrice lifts her brows at the boy once more, then explains in a dry tone, "He believes it will allow you to kill those who stole your hair. He believes you are not strong but can be cunning."

Beatrice ventures, "Would it be accurate to say that those who 'stole your hair' area already dead at your hand, Miranda?"

Beatrice murmurs to Kincaid, vaguely amused, "Of course. It is my pleasure."

Miranda keeps amusement from showing on her face or in her voice. "One might say so, my lady. One might more precisely say that the being that did so no longer exists; but that is close enough, I should think."

Kincaid tilts his head to the side, "You lost your hair?" Perplexed for a moment, "Oh... I am sorry." Putting the puzzle together.

Beatrice wonders, "Do you wish to purchase it?" of Miranda.

"It is of no moment, my lord," Miranda says, without evincing any dismay. "It will return soon enough, no doubt ... oh; thank you, my lady, but I do not, I think. Though it is certainly a fearsome weapon, I am sure, and so forth."

Beatrice explains to the boy in Cibolan, then.

That leaves just the tapestry and what may be a worthless lump of rock. The boy struts over to Beatrice to look at the fabric she has on display.

* Beatrice says, "The lady must politely decline; those responsible for the loss of her hair no longer exist, and this is true through her own efforts."

The boy gives Miranda an impressed look, and claps his hands towards her.

Miranda inclines her head in grave acknowledgment.

Beatrice takes out one piece of fabric; it is from shadow somewhere and possibly used to be part of one of Benedict's louder shirts of the Hawaiian variety. This one shows palm trees, a sunset, and parrots.

The boy looks at the pattern, and goes to pick up the tapestry and complain loudly in his own language that he is being offered inferior goods, and that he is put upon, and that people are trying to starve him. Oh, and he has a poor sick grandmother.

Beatrice simply acknowledges this with an eloquent lifing of one brow and shows him the next: a folded piece of plastic sheeting, probably a few feet by a few feet when unfolded.

Beatrice no doubt leaves it to Miranda to explain to Kincaid what is afoot, preferring silence for the moment.

The boy looks at it in puzzlement but shakes his head. Not fabric, seems to be his conclusion.

Kincaid is left in the dark, sipping his drink and fanning himself.

Miranda murmurs, "Her ladyship is negotiating, my lord. She has brought some manner of exotic cloth, which the seller does not desire; and now ... something I am not certain of."

Beatrice dips her head, and seemed to feel this might have gone either way. Her next piece out is very heavily-worked Penglai silk; a bolt of softest spring green worked with gold and orange embroidery depicting suns and birds.

The boy looks that over, and he turns out to be a very good judge of cloth, by the way he acts. He points to the bolt and then the floor, and himself puts the tapestry in a different area. He is indicating by relative position that he is prepared to throw in his extra trade item if Beatrice has more.

Kincaid says, "You know what might be an excellent trade, is a pair of sunglasses. Being so hot and bright, that might be an excellent item to trade him."

"Ah, this is some lovely cloth from Penglai, if I am not very much mistaken," Miranda narrates for Kincaid. "It appears that this may interest him ... why, that seems to me to be a reasonable suggestion, my lord, though I am no expert bargainer."

Beatrice shakes her head. She does not want the tapestry. She points at the bag, with a 'let's see it' sort of gesture.

Kincaid stands up, "Point me in a direction with a little room please" Lacing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles, "Lets see if I can fetch a pair of sunglasses." Concentrating then.

The boy stretches his arms out several times. He wants more cloth than Beatrice has.

Miranda reaches out to take Kincaid's hand, and to direct him gently in a safe direction. "No obstacles present themselves in this direction for, I should say, ten feet perhaps?" she judges. "Walk cautiously, if you will, my lord, and I shall ensure you come to no harm."

Beatrice tap-taps and considers. She unfolds the cloth to reveal how much there is -- it is thin, of course, so this might be more than the boy supposed.

Kincaid has left.

Miranda has left.

The boy shakes his head. "It's good, but it's not fit for Princes. It has a very fine thread, but it is too light."

Beatrice considers, then says, with great reluctance, "Very well." She takes a different piece out of her pouch: Penglai silk again, heavier. This one is a darker green worked with gold and silver suns and moons. It has not yet been made into anything, so there is more of it. "This, then?"

"The both together and the very smooth thing that is not cloth, and I will tell you how I got the stone, so you know."

Beatrice says, "Tell me the tale first, and then we shall see if the plastic sheeting," she indicates the very smooth thing that is not cloth, "Goes in with the lot."

"If you value the story at nothing, then fine. But the stone was cracked by the wheel of a chariot, and replaced in the third Stele of the fourth Cycle, which was the year I was born. My father was a stone-mason whose blood was chosen to make the stone lucky, but not much blood was needed, and as his reward he was given the old slab, and so we sell parts of it. But if you choose to keep it, you must not show it to people who want to buy it until they have, or let a person whose skin is darker than their eyes take it, or let it be put down in the shadow of a baobab tree."

Beatrice tells him very seriously, "I do not value the story at nothing, young man. I wished to know how well to value the story by hearing it. It is often the way in my land for those who would tell tales to do so, and they be paid by what others feel the tales were worth." Then she asks, clearly taking the tale seriously as she places both bolts of cloth and the plastic sheeting before her for the exchange, "What happens if these warnings are not heeded?"

The young man pushes the bag with the lump in it towards Beatrice. "Then the gods will be unhappy, and not heed sacrifices you make, and bad luck will devil you."

Beatrice smiles for him as she takes the bag, and nods for him to take his prizes. She of course opens the bag to find what is within it, now that it is hers.

There is a piece of limestone, worn on one side as if by many feet, and cracked. It is triangular, about as big as Bea's hand when splayed out, and it does look like it could be part of a road. One of the shorted sides has carving on, with moss over it.

Beatrice considers it deeply, puts it back in the bag -- which she seems to assume comes with its contents, and tucks it away on her person. "How may one such as I, with a group of companions from my country, journey inland from here?"

"You would have to go along the road. Going through the jungle will kill you with heat, and it is longer."

Beatrice says, "Be that as it may, we will need guides, yes? Particularly if our destination is not Cibola City."

The boy says confidently, "Your expedition will disappear, and you will all die. You are foreign. But I will be sorry when you do."

Beatrice half smiles, which is all the way genuine, and dips her head, "It is good of you to say so. But where can guides be found, if they are to be found?"

The boy says, "It depends on where you wish to go. The pretty lady will have to say more than she says."

Beatrice admits, "It is not to me to direct our journey in this land -- but I do know we seek a mountain. In which direction are they most likely to be found?"

"To the West, many hundreds of miles."

Beatrice asks, "Is Cibola City in the mountains? And do they extend south or north of the city -- or is it both?"

The boy says, "I only know that the mountains are carved like great pyramids, and that they are thousands in number."

Beatrice considers this deeply and says, "Ah... so the mountains could be anywhere in the jungle, yes?"

The boy says, "The jungle is very big, and swallows armies."

Beatrice nods, as if she were already somewhat familiar with this sad fact. "Still. Suppose I wished a guide to go to the south -- how would I find one?"

The boy says, "You would ask in the marketplace, and take the third or fourth person who presented himself, finding some reason to turn down the others that shows that you know at least something. Otherwise the ants will eat your flesh when your guides steal your money and leave you."

Beatrice nods her head sagely. "I thank you for your advice." And slowly she starts to rise. "It has, " and there is real truth in her words, "Been a pleasure."

"Please tell the man with hair the colour of blood that he is my friend for paying me in gold, and I hope the lady whose hair was stolen has it grow back, and not shorten night by night until it grows inward and strangles her."

Beatrice says, "Indeed, I shall tell them. I believe they will both be gratified to hear it."

The boy gives one last smile, and takes his bone-stick, which he wraps in his tapestry, and pads to the stairs and the lower rooms and then on out.