The other nodded curtly. "The gersal's poison is strong," he said. "But
soon we shall see. May your way be safe." He turned back to his
patient.
Don turned away and went around the curve in the path. Well, maybe the
Korental had been right, he thought. So long as they kept from
bothering others, the clanless ones weren't molested. And they
certainly didn't form any associations that might be embarrassing later
on. He glanced back.
"Hope that guy lives through it," he told himself, "but I'm glad I
don't have to put up with a three-day celebration. Haven't got the
time."
In the distance, he could see the walls and towers of Riandar. The walk
was nearly over now. He stepped his pace up a little, then slowed down
again. There was no sense in coming through the gate all hot and
sweaty, he reminded himself. It would be way out of character.
* * * * *
It was funny, Don thought, that he hadn't remembered this store when
the Korental had described its location. Probably it was the use of the
word "shop." This was a large department store. He'd done some shopping
here at one time or another, himself. He started to go by the front,
then a display in one of the windows attracted his attention. He
paused.
Someone had designed a tasteful array of furniture, set up like a
nobleman's bedroom suite. One could, without too much effort, imagine
himself standing on the enclosed walkway of a palace, facing away from
the inner garden. The furniture, he noted, was of excellent quality. In
fact, when he started refinishing the ranch, maybe he'd come in here.
He glanced at the display floor. The mats were similar in design to
those in his pack.
Suddenly, he remembered his own present status and stepped back, away
from the window. Simple mat makers don't concern themselves with
examining displays that would cost more than they'd make in a lifetime.
This window was strictly for people who could afford large platters of
luxury. He turned away, looking for another, less elaborate entrance.
Down the street, at the corner of the building, he found an
inconspicuous door. A brass plate indicated that this was the
employees' entrance to the Blue Mountain Mercantile Company's offices.
Another plate indicated that the delivery entrance was around the
corner. Don shrugged and went into the door.
He found himself in a narrow hallway. Before him was a stairway, its
lowest step blocked by a light chain. To his right, a man sat in a
small cubby.
"You're in the wrong door," he said expressionlessly. "Deliveries are
received around the corner."
"I know," Don told him. "I'm from the Kor-en. I'd like to see
Korentona."
The man frowned fleetingly. "Tell you," he said casually, "maybe it
would be better if you made your delivery right now. Then you can come
back later on."