HECTOR BAYES

“What is it, that I could help you with? Good Sir?” The blue-turbaned trader whispered throatily, the watery film of his eyes fastened on the sapphire studded rings on my fingers that had the defined glitter to them that the dozen on his clawed stubs couldn't quite manage.

The trader in the mountain mid-City did not have that many teeth in his head, and I hesitated a moment, before placing my hand gingerly on one of the many heaps of colorfully quilted veils, watching the sparse line of his eyebrows tighten when he realized I was going for the dark-colored silk that had been hidden behind the pile....