I
glanced down, without seeming to do so, at the tiny mirror which had
fallen from the recesses of the fur robe. Her name might have been
inscribed on the reverse.
But I left it lying there to be picked up by the children when they
returned, and went back to the wineshop. I had accomplished my first
objective; if you can't be inconspicuous, be so damned conspicuous that
nobody can miss you. And that in itself is a fair concealment. How many
people can accurately describe a street riot?
I was finishing off a bad meal with a stone bottle of worse wine when
the _chak_ came in, disregarding the proprietor, and made straight for
me. He was furred immaculately white. His velvet muzzle was contracted
as if the very smells might soil it, and he kept a dainty paw
outstretched to ward off accidental contact with greasy counters or
tables or tapestries. His fur was scented, and his throat circled with a
collar of embroidered silk. This pampered minion surveyed me with the
innocent malice of an uninvolved nonhuman for merely human intrigues.
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