"Will you try the lamp of Going-back, Outlander? It brings much joy."
"Perhaps later. Now, I wish wine."
* * * * *
She went away, clapping her hands for a slatternly wench who came
between the sprawled figures with an earthen mug. Stark sat down beside
a table, where his back was to the wall and he could see both the door
and the whole room.
Kala had returned to her own heap of furs by the door, but her basilisk
eyes were alert.
Stark made a pretence of drinking, but his mind was very busy, very
cold.
Perhaps this, in itself, was the trap. Freka was temporarily a beast.
He would fight, and Kala would shriek, and the other dull-eyed brutes
would rise and fight also.
But he would have needed no warning about that--and Delgaun himself had
said there would be trouble.
No. There was something more.
He let his gaze wander over the room. It was large, and there were
other rooms off of it, the openings hung with ragged curtains. Through
the rents, Stark could see others of Kala's customers sprawled under
Shanga-lamps, and some of these had gone so far back from humanity that
they were hideous to behold. But still there was no sign of danger to
himself.
There was only one odd thing. The room nearest to where Freka sat was
empty, and its curtains were only partly drawn.
Stark began to brood on the emptiness of that room.
He beckoned Kala to him. "I will try the lamp," he said. "But I wish
privacy. Have it brought to that room, there."