The shock of being addressed
in their own tongue, instead of the Terran Standard which the Empire has
forced on Wolf, held them silent for a minute. I had learned that long
ago: that speaking in any of the languages of Wolf would give me a
minute's advantage.
But only a minute. Then one of the mob yelled, "We'll go if you give'm
to us! He's no right to Terran sanctuary!"
I walked over to the huddled dwarf, miserably trying to make himself
smaller against the wall. I nudged him with my foot.
"Get up. Who are you?"
The hood fell away from his face as he twitched to his feet. He was
trembling violently. In the shadow of the hood I saw a furred face, a
quivering velvety muzzle, and great soft golden eyes which held
intelligence and terror.
"What have you done? Can't you talk?"
He held out the tray which he had shielded under his cloak, an ordinary
peddler's tray. "Toys. Sell toys. Children. You got'm?"
I shook my head and pushed the creature away, with only a glance at the
array of delicately crafted manikins, tiny animals, prisms and crystal
whirligigs.
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