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changed.
    "Well, Mikel. How would you like to be a Wizard?"
    He nodded to the man, who smiled, took him by his hand and led him out of the building and down to the sun-drenched docks.
    But, that was not right. He remembered the first day he set foot in Lind, the day his new life started, he was at least a year older than when he was captured. It surprised him that even now when he thought he was being most honest with himself there was still something hidden. What was it?

    So long ago. Around his neck still hung a tiny leather pouch. In it was a fragment of the clothes he had worn and a stray piece of kelp from his hiding place that he always kept even though he banished the memories they represented. The only physical remnants he had left from the time before his other life ended.
    He bowed his head, trying to breathe deeply and soothe those old unfinished aches.
    "Son. Are you all right? You don't look so well?" The speaker was a middle aged Bethorese gentleman, well dressed, out to 'take the air' it seemed. Lower Upper Class he would guess. Speaking in a refined accent.
    "I will be fine. In just a moment. Thank you." He spoke naturally.
    "Oh. You're from Lind." The voice suddenly hard. "You better be off before the police come by, they don't take kindly to your type. Best to be away from Bethor if you get my meaning."
    It was a remarkable transformation. The man looked at him in a stiff, rigid stance as if possessed. He knew that demon, he had seen it in the slave market. It was still alive, and now stronger.
    He made his way back to his room. Noticing everything: the uniforms, the slogans, an unnatural orderliness in manner in a haphazard town. This place was dangerous, the less time he spent here the better. He had to find out about the trade routes and get out of the city, return home.

    Next morning he ate breakfast in the tavern quickly and proceeded east towards the Caravanserai: a combination of market, exchange, social gathering and festival. He crossed the bridge from the eastern end of the Island to the southern side of the river. The Caravanserai was a large flat area, a riot of color, sound, music, smells of food, and animals. It was like a huge fair except it was far more serious. Here was a rich selection of things for sale, barter, deals to be done, people to meet. That was his aim, he was looking for a Trader to question about trade routes. Simple, then he could go home. He had been given a name of someone who was knowledgeable and trustworthy. He had to get to the Exchange.

    The Exchange turned out to be a curious 'U' shaped stadium like structure. The central stage area was for food, drink and other amenities, the ‘audience’ was the true highlight. As he looked up from the stage area near the entrance he saw tiers of small tables and stalls and people talking and doing business. The higher the position the more respected. Areas of the stands had a colored flag here and there. He was looking for a yellow flag with a blue wheel symbol on it: the mark of one particular family of Traders. The Trader section, marked by square flags rather than pennants, was in fact very large, taking up most of the space; soon he saw his target, high up.
    Walking up the stairway near the yellow section of the crowd he saw hard inscrutable faces looking him up and down. He had read about arenas and amphitheaters but this was nothing like that; these people were not passive observers. He was the observed. They were evaluating him, catching the slightest clues as to who he was, how wealthy and vulnerable he supposed. He looked up to see where he was going and was confronted by a wall of leather. He was about to collide with a young Trader standing on a higher step. He noticed that the chest had two interesting bumps at eye level. He looked up embarrassed.
    “I’m sorry,” he said as he started to step around her.
    “Mikel Peres, of the Center?” she said with an odd accent. She spoke almost in the manner of Lind and she