A
chorus of jeers from a cluster of _chak_ children and veiled women broke
across me.
I picked myself up, glowered so fiercely at the giggling spectators that
the laughter drained away into silence, and clenched my fists, half
inclined to turn back and bull my way through. Then I subsided. First
round to Rakhal. He had sprung the trap on me, very neatly.
The street was narrow and crooked, winding between doubled rows of
pebble-houses, and full of dark shadows even in the crimson noon. I
walked aimlessly, favoring the arm the guard had crushed. I was no
closer to settling things with Rakhal, and I had slammed at least one
gate behind me.
Why hadn't I had sense enough to walk up and demand to _see_ Race
Cargill? Why hadn't I insisted on a fingerprint check? I could prove my
identity, and Rakhal, using my name in my absence, to those who didn't
know me by sight, couldn't. I could at least have made him try. But he
had maneuvered it very cleverly, so I never had a chance to insist on
proofs.
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