The plan had been for the Merryweather to make port at sundown, and to unload cargo (and take on new cargo) under the cover and relative cool of night. That had been the plan, that is, until a fluke storm over the Sea of Himaat forced the airship to take a detour. So, now the ship will be forced to sit in dock until nightfall, when the cargo can be moved without threat of workers expiring under the blistering summer sun of the Himaat. The Captain made the best of it, offering the crew the day's freedom out of his generosity … though privately he was probably cursing every last god and First One for the loss of a full day.

So, given that Willow's last decent shirt had a bandage-strip torn out of the bottom, it was probably high time to do some shopping anyway.

The gray rat almost trips over her own feet as she eyeballs a tent full of jewelry. One of her ears flicks in remembrance of the many chitin bangles she once wore in her past 'life', but those holes had been sealed up when she was changed by the life mages of the Collegia Esoterica. She'd sent Morning-Mist off to shop for raw fabric to use to make some new clothing with, during her few spare moments on the ship (offering to let her keep whatever was left over in change and cloth, in exchange) while Willow herself went shopping for a shirt or two to tide her over until she got a few more new additions. Behind her trails a large cheetah and a much smaller one, neither of which she seems to be paying much attention to beyond occasionally barking orders to hurry up or slow down.

A widely smiling Khatta female with cougar markings leans over the front of her booth, glittering pieces of chitin and stone tinkling and ringing with every movement. "Please to look at my wares? Many a beauteous bauble. Nice enough to even make Skreek look good, yes?"

The large cheetah stumbles so as not to bowl into the Skreek in front of him. He seems to be spending an awful lot of time glancing nervously this way and that ever since he entered Abu Dhabi. And he has more than just his regular cowl over his head – He's wrapped himself up in strips of ragged fabric so as to cover his muzzle (perhaps to shield against sandstorms).

Willow's eyes light up at the trinkets for a moment, until the last bit of the Khatta's statement sinks in. "No thanks; I hear the cheap stuff turns your fur green." She pushes ahead, focusing on clothing – Whitehead might eventually catch onto her true gender if she takes a sudden interest in jewelry after all. Her funds will probably suffer as it is by having to replace her wardrobe (not to mention the few scraps of clothing her slaves lost as well).

"Fine fabric, finest of zolk, and most durable of broadcloth!" cries out a white Khatta vendor who looks past and over Willow as she passes, even though she's the closest person at the moment. And then, a well-to-do Khatta in silken robes bumps into the rat – He glances at her, and doesn't so much as utter a "thousand pardons" as he brushes at his sleeve and turns to walk on.

The little cheetah almost gets stepped on as the Khatta rushes past, but he simply dodges aside, and skips along after the much larger cheetah. He smiles, his ears wiggle, and he looks as if he's having the time of his life … even though he can't have any of the food he smells, or get any of the pretty baubles or nice toys for sale.

Overlooking Willow can manage, or at least her pride can. She moves closer to the booth and jingles her coin purse, making a point of not touching anything. "Hey, I'm looking for some new working shirts… Can your work hold out to airshipman torments and rough washings?"

The white Khatta's eyes linger an instant more on a passing noble-looking Siamese, but it's soon evident that a merchant at heart would rather deal with a Skreek (with coins) at the booth, than a Khatta in the crowd. He adopts a proper Himaatian demeanor, pressing his palms together and dipping a quick head-bow, then spreading them apart in a wide gesture. "Rallah's garb is meant for longevity! Many years – and washed already, so no shrinking!" He pulls up a shirt that is a sort of off-white to beige color, and yanks on the sleeves to demonstrate. "Very strong!"

Peeking into her purse, the rat squeaks out, "How much for something in blue or gray for my size?"

The Khatta turns to a rack, and flips through the hanging jerkins. "Many pardons, but humble Rallah has not blue. But a light gray," he points at such a jerkin, and several like it, "is but six shekels."

Willow pulls out a tenner and a fiver, "I'll buy two browns and a gray if you lower it to five apiece, Gehnoh?"

The Khatta flutters his fingers in dismay, then strokes his twitching whiskers. "But … Rallah's prices are already so low that Rallah is nearly starving his nine children and two wives! Surely the fine and honorable customer could not be so cruel as to steal food from the mouths of Rallah's children? But sixteen shekels, and perhaps their stomachs will not grumble so much."

"Hmmm." The rat strokes her chin, squeezing the coins in her hand. "All right, but before you do, I want to see you do that same sleeve-pulling thing to each of the shirts you give me."

The Khatta clasps his palms together and bows his head again. "You are most merciful." He fingers through the rack, pulling out the gray jerkin, testing it vigorously as before, then he pulls on a brown one … passes it over and selects two more. These he demonstrates as well by grabbing two parts of each sleeve and tugging apart for effect, grunting as if he's straining himself to really try to tear those threads.

A cougar Khatta rushes down the street, nearly plowing into X as he heads past. It's a male, though – not the same as the impolite jewelry merchant from earlier.

"Faking?" Willow signs over her shoulder to the large Savanite, trying to look like she's scratching the back of her neck.

The Savanite's muzzle is largely covered in the rags he got from the ship, but they twitch just a bit in an upward direction. He scratches his left shoulder, where a proper jerkin would have a seam.

The rat folds up the hand holding her coins, shaking her head, "You seem to be going awfully light on the left sleeve. Mind if I give it a tug?"

The Khatta looks surprised. "But … humble Rallah assures you … Aieee!" He suddenly gets a case of the butterfingers, juggling the jerkin in his hands. It falls behind the booth. "Oh, gracious goodness, a thousand pardons from humble Rallah. Rallah has soiled this jerkin, and it is unfit for sale … Ah … " He reaches for the brown jerkin he skipped over the first time. "Will this be pleasing to the good customer in its place?"

Willow's lip quirks up in a grin. "Rallah's your name, is it? Well… I'm sure that the other one will be fine. I mean it's not like I'd do anything insane like paint 'this pile of rags came from Rallah's tent' on the shirt and have my slave run around the market while wearing the thing a few times if the workmanship turned out to be bad or anything like that." Her hand uncurls and she adds a single shekel piece to the mix. "Two browns and a gray then for sixteen. Gehnoh?"

"Gehnoh. The customer drives a hard bargain!" The Khatta pushes the jerkins over to the rat, then quickly palms the coins. "The customer will not regret!"

"So does the merchant," Foxfire adds, folding up the shirts and stuffing them in Burr's arms. "I'm done here; let's see if I can get some herbs while I'm here. Might as well replenish my supplies."

The merchant bows again. "May the First Ones smile upon you, and may you find favor in the eyes of the Emir!"

The little cheetah has taken to chasing a little butterfly-like creature with powdery-looking wings in circles, but the larger cheetah is keeping an eye on him. The little one is good enough not to run too far away – especially when in a strange place.

(And especially after last time.)

Willow just nods and nudges herself onwards through the crowds. She pauses for a moment to buy a one shekel stick of candy which she hands off to Thorn to 'hold' for her, but keeps the same stoic mask across her face as always.

Little cub ears wiggle in response. The powdery insect is forgotten for the time being, and it escapes, making its way off to catch the eye of some other little cub, perhaps.

"Your head's higher above the crowds than mine, Burr. See anyplace that might be selling some pants or medical herbs?" The rat stands on her toes as she tries to peek over the heads of the figures in the crowd for something promising.

As the group walks along, the crowd thins a bit, hinting that the fringe of the marketplace is not far away. Here and there are a few run-down looking stores. Over that way is a long-neglected two-story hotel with a sign that reads "The Purple Rose", though the namesake painted on the sign looks more like a pale dusty blue.

Across the way, looking quite literally as if it has been built into an alleyway, is an assuming-looking little store that has all manners of strange knickknacks visible through the sand-scratched windows. There are several vials and jars full of powders, leaves and sticks, and stoppered flasks of liquids.

Willow shrugs at the hotel; she's got a place to stay tonight already. The store looks promising though, and she aims herself towards it.

The store's sign is so faded as to be illegible … and regardless, it could be in any number of languages and dialects thereof, and perhaps even a few Willow doesn't know. Also seen through the windows are several tables piled with what might charitably be called junk. All of it looks old. Including the proprietor, who opens the front door. "Come in! Come in, be pleasing to! Welcoming to humble store of many things to find, yes?"

The proprietor is a fragile-looking Khatta, great in years, whose mouth occasionally shows a few teeth, as he smiles frequently. "Seeking for many things? Having for many things!"

"Thank you," the rat squeaks, making a point of keeping her hands at her side and in plain sight (just in case someone decides to up and accuse her of pilfering something). "It's nice to get out of the sun for a little bit. I'm a medic on an airship that's passing through and just wanted to replenish a few herbs. Do you carry medicinal herbs? And I'm not talking the recreational type, although if you have a good brand of tobacco I'd be interested in it." She shakes herself out, letting a few grains of dust fall from her fur and clothes.

"Ah," replies the Khatta. "Yes, there be many things here, and herbs and potions as well … but not to be knowing just what they are. You are knowing to recognize good things, yes? Trusting to find for yourself?" He gestures toward the shelf of oddities, some of them with hints of what might have once been labels, long since flaked off. Still, most of the containers are clear or at least translucent, so it should be possible to identify most of them without even having to unstop for a sniff. (But, given the state of things here, it might be wise to do so anyway, just in case!)

The rat tilts an ear downwards as she eyes the shelves. "You don't know what you stock? What kind of shop is this?" She gives one of the jars a light poke.

The jar is full of a dark ruddy liquid, and is well stoppered. Next to it is a flask with a liquid that bubbles, even though there's no sign of a flame under it to keep it heated, and it's not open to the air. "A curio shop, your most humble servant oversees. Many old things, many wonders, many treasures to be found. Ancient things, mysteries … or just nice, pretty things to set on the mantle, yes?"

"Right," Willow mutters, sniffing at the lip of the bottle of dark liquid, hoping to pick up a scent without having to open it. "So where do you get your curios?"

"Ah, many come, many to buy, many to sell, many to trade." The Khatta nods. "And finding many things, your humble servant is, by keeping eyes open for good treasures!"

The scent is very faded, very old … but it has a faint taint of iron or copper to it. Bottled blood – although some would abuse a term and call it 'karnoran' to try to be obscure. Hopefully it's not real Karnoran, though.

The rat shrinks back a little; she definitely has no use for bottled blood. She moves down the shelves and continues her bottle sniffing. "How long have you had your little shop here?"

The Khatta chuckles a wheezing, grating laugh that might be mistaken for choking on a bone. "Many years, more than fingers having to count! But not so old as the First Ones, yes?"

Here is a bottle of Gallisian wine that somehow got put into the mix. Given that it's only half full, it hardly looks like a steal. There is a jar with some crumpled sugarfir leaves in it. Here are some flecks of coolect powder.

Willow's nose wrinkles at the boiling bottle and she gingerly picks it up. "What's this one?"

The Khatta looks at the bottle. "Ah. Many years having for that. Mysterious, is it not? A magical potion, coming from far away." He drums his bony fingers on his chin, then says, "Would be wishing to hear rumor of what potion is being? Most wondrous, but so hard to believing. But telling is as true as being heard!"

The rat keeps the bottle in hand as she moves to a new shelf. "I'll bite. Goodness knows I've seen enough to keep me from being a skeptic about most anything. What is it?"

"A potion is making to one's heart to turn to love!" the Khatta says, nodding his head. "Very rare indeed!" The cat chuckles. "If old Punja having more teeth in head, and more blood in bones, in younger days, maybe to be using it for self, but leaving it for nice lady Skreek like you for finding handsome boy Skreek someday, hmm?"

The large cheetah, meanwhile, is just standing inside the doorway, his hands firmly behind his back, not touching a thing. He has the little cub right by his feet, mimicking his posture … though the smaller cheetah seems far more inclined to do some exploring if given the choice.

"Bleh… now why would I want to – " Willow's voice cuts short. She swallows, remembering the bits of scribbled nonsense she'd piled up in her cabin. The whole thing had practically convinced her that the Korv's poem was a lark since she'd yet to form any actual words, but now… "What did you say your name was?" She turns around slowly; her hand starts to sweat against the glass of the bottle in her grip.

As the Skreek turns around, her eyes fall upon a human skull sitting on a shelf, with a wax candle perched on the crown. Or, that is, it might be a skull with a candle on the top, or just a candle made out to look like a human skull. There are a few folks who seem to have a thing against humans, after all.

"Ah, most forgiving your servant, please for not properly naming? Your servant is Punja of the house of Hekl, purveyor of many findings great things!" The Khatta walks over to a black chest half buried in cloaks and robes, one of which is garishly colored, another gray with stars, and another so full of holes as to be only good for rags. "Maybe liking for things from not Himaat? Here is trunk of many findings. Honored Lapi from Rephidim was lookings for great interest in this, but likings for books instead. Are likings for books?"

The rat presses her empty hand against her throat. For some reason this quaint little shop of oddities has suddenly become a great deal more threatening.

"Burr, take Thorn back to the airship and get the wrapped bundle out from under my bed. Bring it here, I think Mister… Hekl might like to see it." The rat's hand sharply signs the word fast against her chest and her eyes narrow.

Burr seems quite relieved at the order, and turns to the door. He frowns, and wrestles with the latch, rattling the creaky old door.

The Khatta bows his head. "Oh! Many pardons for such trouble with the door! Punja is needing to fixings it, yes? Just a moment, for Punja will be seekings out the oil for the door… " He begins to rummage around in a pile of debris.

Burr frowns deeply, and looks like he's about to body-slam the door … and then thinks the better of it and glances to Willow askance.

"THAT'S… all right." Willow waves a hand. "Actually I think he'll be staying here for now." The rat scans the shelves a bit more closely now, looking for a bottle or jar of black powder.

As soon as it occurs to Willow to look for it, it seems, her eyes alight upon a jar full of black powder, with an ivory stopper fashioned to crudely resemble a horned Khatta's head.

"Oh? Well, Punja will look again when leavings you be – once happy to be findings what you seek, yes?" The Khatta grins again, then goes back over to the chest. "This is beings from great mage of Sylvania. Many strange things." He pops the lid open, revealing a folded black cloak, a black wand with a rusty iron tip in the shape of a star, and a jar with what looks like a hand floating in a greenish liquid. "Many mysteries, yes? Gathered by great hero of Sylvania."

"A Khatta, yes?" Punja smiles again. Or, rather, he never really stops smiling. He just sort of twitches the edge of his mouth to increase the width of the grin for a bit every once in a while for emphasis.

The gray Skreek picks up the black jar with her free hand and holds it out, "This looks interesting just for the bottle shape. It's not as plain as the rest." She tries to smile, figuring that a shop-full of magical items that can do who-knows-what isn't the best of places to make a scene. "What's inside of it? Ashes of someone?"

Was that a glimmer in the Khatta's eye? He closes the trunk. "Ah. That beings powder of Underworld, or so sayings legends. From place insiding of Sinai, yet not of Sinai. Other place, where heart of magic is finding! Legends sayings that ashes from other realms bringing link to there, and grantings of wishes."

Burr swats at Thorn's hand, as he reaches for a jar of candy. He points at the piece Thorn is already carrying.

Burr has a confused expression on his face, as he looks at Thorn.

"I see… " Willow looks back at the two cheetahs. "Do you need to take the cub outside?" ( Probably shouldn't have the kid here anyway, especially the way Burr gets the jitters. )

Burr looks up to Willow, then nods, glancing between the cub and the jar of candy. The cub just looks at the floor, keeping his hands folded together around the piece he's holding for Willow.

The old Khatta looks to the door. "Ah … Here. Punja is helping with door… " He walks over to it, and pops it open. "Ah! See? Is having trouble, but open again. Many sorries for troubling."

"There you go, Burr; now about that package?" Willow repeats the sign across her chest. "If Morning Mist is back, you can leave Thorn with her so he won't break anything when you come back."

The rat peers at the two bottles again, "Now what was that you said about a Khatta wizard in Sylvania?"

Burr nods, scoops Thorn up in his arms so quickly that the cub squeaks in surprise, then sprints out the door. The door slams behind him.

The Khatta watches Burr's exit, then chuckles raspingly to himself. "Ah, but fleetings is the spotty, yes? Ah … yes, havings trunk of Necromancer King from Sylvania. See? Rod of Necromancer King … and robe … and book of knowings, yes? … and jar with Necromancer's hand. Not puttings there himself, of course!"

"He'll be back." The rat peers into the trunk. "I'm not up on Sylvanian legends too much. Who was this Necromancer King?"

"Ah … This Necromancer King beings mage who dally with raisings zombies, in cold forest land. He wagings wars against other Necromancers, and beings strongest of them for time. But he fightings against kings of livings peoples, and slain by mighty black Khatta ruler of small kingdom." He points to the jar. "Was hearings of source of Necromancer King's power. Was in hand! For Necromancer King's power was not only from speakings of spells, but visitings to crazy place of Bosch, and dippings hand into magical pool. Crazy is being, yes?" Punja nods.

"Very crazy," Willow agrees. "And what was the name of the valiant Khatta that defeated him?"

Punja continues, "But black Khatta ruler is knowings of this from vision from gypsy, and is havings to find way to defeat Necromancer King, whose soul is no longer in body, so not beings hurt by sword or arrow. But he choppings off hand, and weakenings Necromancer King, to be dying from wounds lastly." He ponders this a moment, then says, "Ah. Duke Phelix Kurai of firsting one."

( Kurai… the name of that uppity kid in Sylvania. Might be a relative – a distant one. ) "So how did you come to possess the trunk, Punja?" Willow glances at the candle to see if it's a real human skull or just a mock-up. "And do you have any way of keeping track of your inventory here? Like a numbering system?"

"Ah … Punja be buyings it from gypsy, for Duke not wantings these things," the old Khatta says with a smile. The candle, it turns out, is made out of wax. A wonder it hasn't melted in the Himaatian heat, even if there's shade in here. "Ah, countings for Punja?"

"Yeah. Like a number for every item here. Is that how you keep track of things, or is it all just from memory?" Willow sniffs at the black bottle just to confirm that it's the same black substance she smelled from Wyrd's possessions.

It's one and the same scent.

"Ah, but Punja has methods to madness, yes? Your servant is findings many great things. And havings always the same number, for every thing sellings, another is gainings." The Khatta grins.

The rat taps her nose, "So if I were to ask for item number twenty, what would you give me?"

The Khatta laughs that raspy laugh of his again, then says, "Punja is playings to strange game here, yes? But havings something for twenty, yes?" He rummages about, then pulls out a book with a leathery-looking cover. "Havings to gaining soon from curious Lapi from Rephidim. Tradings for old helmet."

"That looks interesting, I do have moments of nothing to do when I'm in the air. A book might just hit the spot. Your numbers don't go up into the thousands, do they?" Willow peers closer at the book.

The book has an odd symbol scrawled on the cover, but no title. It is held shut with a sturdy-looking clasp. "Here. Is havings to key for this book," says the Khatta, showing what looks like an ivory pick. "Is not havings for thousands. Only hundreds havings, or store not big enough for holdings!"

"What kind of book is it? I can handle a few foreign languages, but Standard is still best for normal reading." The rat holds up her two hands, each still clutching a bottle and makes a pointing gesture at the book. "Could you open it up?"

"Ah. Is havings to look closely, for Punja's eyes are not good, yes?" Punja leans over the table, squinting as he fits the ivory key into the lock. The clasp pops open. "There!" The cover is still shut, though, as he stands back.

Willow stands there as though she expects the book to leap up and bite her, but curiosity gets the best of her and she walks up to the table, placing the black bottle next to the book for now. She pokes at the cover with her thumb and gingerly lifts it.

The leather-bound book cracks open, letting a bit of dust spill out and get caught on the wind blowing through the room. The wind? A strong wind blasts through the room, as the front door crashes open, then slams shut again, and papers and other light things get blown about. Punja doesn't seem to be the least bit alarmed. At last, things settle down, and the first page bears the title of "The Sylvanian Heresy," without courtesy of telling the name of the author.

"You know, you have an awful lot of things in here that might make the average fellow on the street rather nervous." The rat licks her thumb and flips a couple of pages. "What made you decide to open up a shop like this in the first place? Or were you just born into the work?"

"Ah, humble Punja is having gift for findings things left untouched by others!" answers the Khatta, smiling as usual.

"Sort of like a sixth sense? Just having a gift to sniff out things with a certain type of mojo, eh?" Willow's eyes fall back on the black bottle.

"Ah, yes! Is like that, yes, for humble Punja." He nods several times. The light coming in through the windows is getting a little dimmer, though it shouldn't be anywhere close to evening yet. A silhouette of a large cheetah comes up to the door. He doesn't appear to be accompanied by a smaller one this time.

"I knew someone like that once. Rather interesting lady." The rat closes the book and picks up the black bottle again. "How much for the bottle of powder and number twenty?"

"Punja is thinking for fifty shekels for powder … and two hundred for the book," answers Punja, as he looks to the door.

The door opens, admitting a nervous looking cheetah, holding a well-bundled something-or-other in his arms, keeping it well away from his body as if it might bite him.

"Would you be interested in a trade? I picked up something in Sylvania that you might be interested in." Willow waves the cheetah over to her.

The cheetah comes over, and hands the bundle to Willow.

"Ah? Tradings for something? Punja woulds be liking to see, yes," answers the Khatta, as he rubs his hands together.

The rat takes up the bundle and carefully unwraps it, a clumsy process since her left hand is still clutching the bubbling potion, but finally in her right hand she's holding a long twisted dagger. The blade looks like it's fashioned from the horn of an animal, more than being made of chitin or metal. She holds it by the hilt and stabs the tip of it into the tabletop. "I found this in Sylvania. What do you make of it, Punja Hekl?"

The Khatta smiles, rubbing his chin. "Maybe for trading for book and jar, you likings to do? But only a one dagger beings. Maybe for the dagger and two tenners having, Gehnoh?"

"Now hold on a moment." Willow licks her lips nervously. "What can you tell me about this dagger?"

Each time that Khatta has smiled, his grin seems to have gotten a little bigger, and now it just seems stretched back just a bit further than should be possible for a Khatta. Not enough to distinctly be wrong, but just enough to … well … to seem wrong.

"Ah, but Punja is not havings been told of it yet, no?" replies the Khatta. "Is for the giver to be tellings of its legends, yes?" He leans against a table, his ears perking up as he looks prepared to listen to the Skreek.

( He wants it too badly, much too badly. But the riddle pointed me here. Stupid Korv. ) "All right then." Willow switches hands with the bottle and the dagger so that the bottle now rests in her right hand and her left is holding onto the hilt of the blade. "My ship lands in Sylvania and I find myself in this quaint little town with nice magic fearing folks. And then I see these people in a pub whispering to each other. Rat's instinct tells me they're up to something, so I eavesdrop. Next thing you know, one of them is trying to recruit a kid up into their numbers, and the other two are doing magic out in the open of everything. The local cop doesn't like it too much and the three scoot." The rat sucks in a breath and continues, "Since the cop was nice enough to me, I followed him to keep him out of trouble, and next thing you know one of the members of this group pops up… claims I'm marked by Dagh somehow and gets ready to stab herself with this thing."

The Khatta licks his lips, nodding. "Most strangings is this!"

"Luckily my slave and I managed to get the knife away from the woman, although her two friends got away." Foxfire's grip on the bubbling bottle tightens just a bit. "I was also told about a fellow by the name of Tyrne Dagh. You wouldn't happen to have anything here relating to him, would you? Or know anything about the crazies I met in town?"

"Ah, but Punja is for humble Khatta, only to be keeping store!" says the Khatta, gesturing to himself. "Not for knowing about these things, yes?"

"Right. It's a funny coincidence, though." Willow pulls the knife out of the countertop. "You get the word 'Tyrne' and jump then back four spaces each in the alphabet and you get 'Punja'. And if you get 'Dagh' and go forward four times with the letters you get 'Hekl'. Amazing, eh?"

The Khatta's grin widens even more. "Amazing!" It hurts to look at him. It's just so … wrong.

There's a rattling noise at the door. Burr appears to be wrestling with the latch again.

"So what does it mean… that I'm marked by Dagh?" Willow hastily closes the book and looks ready to tuck it under her arm. Her right arm touting the potion hangs at her side just in case.

For a moment, it seems as if Willow might lose her balance. Something is odd about the way the floor slants, and the way the edge of it joins the wall … and how the wall joins the ceiling… and another plane … and another … and then it doesn't quite meet the floor again. The angles about the room are all wrong somehow. How big is it in here? How could such a large store fit in such a small alleyway? And why does Burr look like he's further away?

"Maybe it meanings that you are beings more susceptible to Dagh's powers?" offers the old Khatta, as he steps toward Willow but doesn't come any closer.

Willow hugs the book to her chest and staggers back. "Stop it! Whatever you're doing!" Her right arm raises. "Did you go into hiding? Those three in Sylvania talked about you like you were dead."

"Punja is not doings anything. Skreek is just seeings … " The voice changes. "The truth." The Khatta's form blurs.

The smell of brimstone reaches the nose of the Skreek. A human skull glares at her from a nearby shelf, the candle perched on the bony crown burning low, with rivulets of wax running down into empty eyesockets.

"Burn it all! Not another puppy… " Willow shakes her head and tries to focus on the Khatta's form well enough to get a bead on him. "And what truth is that?"

Tables of debris are now altars laden with bones. The torch sconces are now set in stone, not wood. The room is no longer a room … but open air in a landscape with no discernible sky. Willow stands on a rocky precipice laden with unholy artifacts and pieces of some ruined shrine, facing a tall, dark and wickedly handsome Khatta, who very much resembles the image on a certain card Willow saw a few weeks ago.

"The truth," answers Dagh, "is that there is no truth. You simply see a lie for what it is. And that is the beginning."

Or Punja. Or Stranger. Or whatever the blazes this guy is.

The name 'Dagh' to identify this Stranger seems to impress itself upon Willow's mind … but could it just be another illusion? Another 'suggestion'?

"The beginning of what?" Foxfire glares around. "More riddles?"

"The beginning of your own truth," says the Stranger. "The lie of what we call reality … is that it is to be determined by others – by outside forces, whether we call it Nature or God or Law or the First Ones or what-have-you. The 'truth', if such a word be used … is that truth is what you decide it to be. That is, provided that you have the power to make your truth into a new Law, a new God, that others – those who bend to outside forces – will now accept as their own."

"I'll tell you what I see. I see a rat. A bigger rat than I could ever be, and you suggested something I could do with a big rat when I walked into your shop. Well, I think I'll take you up on that suggestion." And with that, Willow lets the bottle fly from her hand towards the Khatta.

The bottle seems to turn slowly as it hurtles through the air, giving Willow ample time to keep speaking. "If you tell a lie enough times, you can make people believe in it as the truth… even the liar himself. But a lie is a lie. There's a lot I don't believe in, and a lot I don't understand… but you boyo take the Creen's egg on this one. Well, I want no part in it! I've fallen once to a pirate like you and I won't do it again!"

The glass shatters against a wooden wall.

The vision fades, leaving the rat staring at broken glass and liquid staining a wooden wall in an Abu Dhabian alleyway. Debris and garbage is strewn about on the ground, occasionally stirred about by the breeze.

The scent of smoke and brimstone lingers in the Skreek's nose before fading away entirely.

"Guh." The rat pants, hugging the book to her chest. She looks around, pinches her brow in thought and then checks at the items in her arms.

The book is still there, quite real. As for the dagger … it seems to have gotten off somewhere.

A cheetah comes running down the alleyway toward the Skreek. The ragged bandages covering his face have come free, but he doesn't seem to be overly concerned about his pathetic attempt at a disguise.

The rat winces, "Blast it all… Burr! BURR! Where are you?" She spins around on her heel only to come eye to eye with the Savanite. "What just happened?!?"

The cheetah gasps for breath, then … pats the rat on both shoulders several times, as if to make sure she's solid and real.

Willow seems to be in no mood for the Savanite's self-assurances (even if they're probably quite legitimate) and sharply slaps the slave's hands away. "I'll ask you again. What. Just. Happened?"

The cheetah just stares at Willow for a moment, then shakes his head from side to side and lifts his shoulders in a pathetic shrug.

"Burr. I was in a shop holding that knife we picked up in Sylvania. Next thing I know I'm throwing a bottle at an alley wall and I'd like to know how I got here. Since you were standing a few yards behind me, I'd assume you'd be the best person to get a reply." The rat digs her blunt claws into the cover of the book. "I know you're probably happy to get rid of that Bromthen sticker, and personally so am I… but I'm not too keen on the fact that it's probably the next item number twenty. So what did you see, and do you have any idea how I ended up here?"

The cheetah starts waving his hands about, in a mixture of sloppy Savanite sign and pantomime. He mimics Punja's posture, then traces his fingers from the edges of his mouth up to his ears, and shudders. He points at himself, then Willow, then holds both hands parallel to each other, and pulls them apart. Then, he seems to be pantomiming forming a box with his hands, then twisting it apart. Next, he makes signs that say, "Big, ugly," and pantomimes socking himself on the jaw, then rubs it, wincing for real. He points at himself, points at the street, points at the ground beneath his feet and at Willow … and shrugs again.

Foxfire rubs her temples. "All right. I have another question then. Remember what I told you the puppy looked like… Is that what you saw?"

The cheetah nods his head in the affirmative very enthusiastically, frowning severely.

He then wipes his brow and points at the ground several times.

"It went into the ground?" Willow asks.

The cheetah shakes his head, then pantomimes socking himself in the jaw again (though this time not actually connecting), shakes his head, points at himself, points at the ground, and makes a sweeping gesture with his hands, as he looks at the alleyway, and then points at the street.

"It beat you up and knocked you out, stuffed us both here and then just walked away?" Willow squints at the cheetah's face, looking for any bruises or lumps.

Actually, there's no sign of any damage at all – aside from an X-shaped scar across his muzzle, naturally.

The cheetah nods, frowning. He makes the hand-sign for, "Sorry. I stupid again, huh?"

"Burr, you're not scratched. Maybe it made you see yourself getting beaten up." The rat presses the book towards the cheetah. "I'll take it out on you later. For now, just hold onto this while I check to see if Dagh… er… Punja left us any presents. Maybe some of that black powder at the very least." She pats her pockets down and starts to sniff around the alley.

The Skreek's nose does well. The little jar of black powder – ivory plug and all – is lying on the ground, apparently having been dropped there at some point in the confusion.

There are also a few traces of it scattered about here and there in the dirt and trash.

Biting her lip, Willow takes the jar and tucks it into her vest. "Let's go back to the ship, Burr. My head hurts and I think I need to clear my mind a bit."

Burr nods, and follows Willow, keeping his head low.

The rat steps out of the alley and tries to place her location. She looks around for the shop or that hotel across from it.

The hotel is right across the street, just as wretched looking as it was before. And the alleyway is right here. The shop, however, seems to be missing.

( I didn't hallucinate it. I wouldn't have the book and the bottle. ) Willow shakes her head and heads towards the Merryweather. "Punja didn't kill us. He could have, but he didn't." She quickens her pace a bit. "And to be completely honest, that makes me more nervous. I feel like I'm being fattened up before they put me on the block."

The cheetah just nods.

Willow says nothing during her walk home, although she makes several stops to buy a fat pouch of tobacco, several herbs, ointments, and oils for her supplies on the ship and her personal stash… and then she buys a rather large bag of dried Dromodon meat, a five shekel bag of candy and a small cloth Khatta from a vendor. Once these purchases are made, she wordlessly heads the rest of the way to The Merryweather.

The Merryweather is still where it ought to be, with several crewmen lounging about in the shade, trying to keep cool, as the sun slowly continues its downward trek to the horizon. Nobody bothers to ask Willow how her day was … could be the heat, could be the look on her face.

The rat stomps up the gangplank and heads straight for her berth in the crew quarters. She pauses to push the toy and bag of candy into Burr's hands. "Your punishment is that you get to keep Thorn from eating all of this at once." Without waiting for any type of response, she wrenches the book out of the slave's arms and heads into her room to read the new acquisition. ( Some 'score' this turned out to be. )

As soon as she's alone in her room, Willow takes a moment to scrub her face in her washbasin, as well as her hands. She glares balefully at her face in the shard of mirror glued to the wall (if it was hanging there by a nail, it would probably fall as soon as the ship hit rough air) before lying in her bed with the book in her lap. Slowly she begins to read…