I crouched in the shadow of a wall, waiting.
My skin itched from the dirty shirtcloak I hadn't changed in days.
Shabbiness is wise in nonhuman parts, and Dry-towners think too much of
water to waste much of it in superfluous washing anyhow. I scratched
unobtrusively and glanced cautiously down the street.
It seemed empty, except for a few sodden derelicts sprawled in
doorways--the Street of the Six Shepherds is a filthy slum--but I made
sure my skean was loose. Charin is not a particularly safe town, even
for Dry-towners, and especially not for Earthmen, at any time.
Even with what Dallisa had told me, the search had been difficult.
Charin is not Shainsa. In Charin, where human and nonhuman live closer
together than anywhere else on the planet, information about such men as
Rakhal can be bought, but the policy is to let the buyer beware. That's
fair enough, because the life of the seller has a way of not being worth
much afterward, either.
A dirty, dust-laden wind was blowing up along the street, heavy with
strange smells.
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