A matter transmitter, a working model--the words triggered memory.
Rakhal was after it.
"And who," I asked slowly, "are you, Lord?"
The green-clad creature hunched thin shoulders again in a ceremonious
gesture. "I am called Evarin. Humble servant of Nebran and yourself," he
added, but there was no humility in his manner. "I am called the
Toymaker."
_Evarin._ That was another name given weight by rumor. A breath of
gossip in a thieves market. A scrawled word on smudged paper. A blank
folder in Terran Intelligence. Another puzzle-piece snapped into
place--_Toymaker_!
The girl on the divan sat up suddenly passing slim hands over her
disheveled hair. "Did I faint, Evarin? I had to fight to get him into
the stone, and the patterns were not set straight in that terminal. You
must send one of the Little Ones to set them to rights. Toymaker, you
are not listening to me."
"Stop chattering, Miellyn," said Evarin indifferently. "You brought him
here, and that is all that matters. You aren't hurt?"
Miellyn pouted and looked ruefully at her bare bruised feet, patted the
wrinkles in her ragged frock with fastidious fingers.
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