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smokehouses to sell, as the approaching summer indicated how much extra was available. The market, while it could not be described as crowded, had at least provided them with what they required.
    As they rode, Piro’s lover and good friend Ibronka observed, “I believe we were recognized.”
    “Do you think so?” asked Piro, with apparent unconcern.
    “It seems likely.”
    “Well, let us hear then: Why do you hold this opinion?”
    “At the far end of the market was the fish-stall.”
    “Yes, I do not dispute this; at the far end was a fish-stall. I saw it. Not only that, but I believe that I smelled it.”
    “Well, I asked the gentleman in this stall to tell me about his fish.”
    “Well, and?”
    “He said they were called kalpa.”
    “And then?”
    “That is all.”
    “I beg your pardon, my dear Ibronka, but I do not understand what you do me the honor to tell me.”
    “He named the fish, and said no more.”
    “Well?”
    “My love, have you ever known a fisherman, or an innkeeper, ora fishmonger, to be content with such a statement? It is impossible. It violates the laws of nature. He is required to explain that kalpa is like, well, a trout only less bony. Or like a longfish but more succulent. Or like a swordfish but not so tough. Or that it has a flavor unlike any other. Or that it is famous throughout the land, but is best from here, or, well, something of the kind.”
    “Yes, I take your point. The fishmonger behaved most unnaturally.”
    “Precisely. For this reason, I believe we were recognized.”
    “Of course, he might recognize us without betraying us.”
    “Yes, that is true.”
    “How much are our heads worth at this moment?”
    “Five hundred imperials for the ‘Blue Fox’ and four hundred for each of his band.”
    “A tolerably round number.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Piro nodded, and, after a moment, said, “Kytraan, Ibronka believes we were recognized.”
    “Indeed? So does Röaana.”
    “Ah. For what reason?”
    “I didn’t ask,” said Kytraan, shrugging.
    “Röaana, why do you believe we were recognized?”
    “The fishmonger failed to boast,” said Röaana laconically.
    “Well,” said Piro, “so we were recognized. Does it matter?”
    “No,” said Ibronka.
    “No,” said Röaana.
    “I think it does not,” ventured Kytraan.
    “Nevertheless,” said Piro, draping his blue half-cloak over his shoulders, and fastening it with with its pearl clip. “It cannot hurt to move on; to find a new place to make our encampment.”
    “With this I agree,” said Ibronka.
    A few more turnings brought them to a particular row of stunted evergreen trees, where they left the road, traveling in a straight line for a little over a mile, after which they crossed a brook, climbed over a low hill, and so came to a place where several tents had been raised and a fire was burning.
    The first one to greet them was Lar, who cried out, “Did you find coriander?”
    “We did indeed, brave Lar; we have an entire pound of it, all fresh.”
    “Oh, my lord! A whole pound? I am beside myself with joy! But I cannot use so much; we must find a way to preserve it.”
    “We will consider the matter,” said Ibronka. “I should imagine a means may be found.”
    Grassfog emerged from a tent, rubbing sleep from his eyes and wearing only breeches. “Was the market successful, my friends?” he said.
    “Yes, except we were recognized.”
    Grassfog shrugged. “We will move south a little. I know some good places.”
    “Splendid,” said Piro.
    Lar took the coriander in its heavy pot and, with Clari’s inexpert but enthusiastic assistance, at once set to cooking, which aroma presently brought Iatha, Ritt, and Belly from their respective tents, stretching and yawning.
    “Well,” said Iatha. “What are you cooking?”
    “In fact,” said Lar, “I cannot entirely answer that question, as I will not know until it is done. But I know that it will involve coriander and several jointed fouls, as well