Maltor closed the small gate to the kitchen gardens behind him, leaving Teldin and Gomja standing on a quiet side street well away from the front entrance to the Great Library. The lane was narrow and crooked, lined by courtyard walls occasionally pierced by windows and doors. Somewhere children kicked a ball around the dusty alley, their voices reaching the strange pair by the gate. Carefully looking up and down the small lane, Teldin reassured himself that none of Vandoorm's men was watching.

"Just where are we going, sir?" Gomja asked. The giff purposely included himself in the question.

Teldin prepared to deny the giff's inplied request, then paused, remembering Gomja's performance of the previous night. When the giff could have deserted and left Teldin to Vandoorm, he had not. Instead the creature had taken a chance. "We… are going to Mount Nevermind."

"Where is that, sir? Someplace called Sancrist, didn't the fat one say?" A pleased grin already began to play across Gomja's face.

"Sancrist lies west of here, over the ocean – or so I'm told," Teldin explained. "It's where a good deal of the Whitestone army came from."

As they walked, they reached a small well at an alcove, and Teldin stared down at the still water. It had been weeks since he had seen his reflection. Looking at it now, the farmer saw that his sun-bleached brown hair had grown longer and was wild and unruly. Dirt smudged his face and two weeks ' worth of stubble covered his chin. His good looks were almost obscured by grime. "I've heard it by report. Never been there myself," Teldin added absentmindedly as he rubbed at the dirt on his chin.

"And Mount Nevermind?" Gomja scooped up a dipperful of water and slurped at it noisily. Liquid dribbled out of the corners of his mouth.

Teldin stopped his preening. "A gnome hole, apparently, judging from what the Aesthetic said. I've never heard of it. Of course, I never met any gnomes during the war – they mostly kept to themselves, manning the catapults out along the bay."

Gomja gulped down his water. "I've heard they travel among the stars. My sire – I mean, father – once told me 'Never sign on a gnome ship.' Their captains are supposed to be mad and their ships -" Gomja paused for a moment, at a loss of words – "are unique." He grimaced at the thought then, drying his mouth, seemed to wipe the expression from his face.

"It doesn't sound as if you'll have much of a choice, and neither will I," Teldin pointed out. "It's the gnomes or nothing."

"Yes, sir," Gomja answered glumly.

Taking the lead again, Teldin continued toward toward the main street. The children at their game still shouted loudly behind him. "Here's our plan. First, we get away from here. After all, Vandoorm's smart enough to look around back. Next, we get a room, because I want to get cleaned up." Teldin ticked each point off on his fingers. "Third, we go to Sancrist." The farmer paused at that point. "If I remember rightly, folks got there during the war either by flying or by sailing. Wouldn't know any dragons would you?" the human sarcastically asked.

"Oh, no, sir," Gomja answered earnestly. The giff's face was solemn.

Teldin winced at the alien’s earnest naivete. “Then I guess we sail,” he allowed through chuckles. “To the waterfront, then.” Teldin pointed forward, then suddenly stopped just as they reached the street. “Gomja, make sure that blanket is wrapped tightly around you. We’ve already made things too easy for Vandoorm.”

“I wish I didn’t have to, sir. It’s hot and itchy.” Gomja moaned. There was a touch of a whine in his voice.

“Too bad. It’s an order,” Teldin answered sternly. “Like I said, we’ve already made things too easy for Vandoorm."

“How so, sir?” Gomja asked, his voice muffled as he pulled the cloth well over his face.

“Well, first we didn’t exactly make it a secret that we were coming to Palanthas to see Astinus. And then I let you parade around the streets instead of keeping you out of sight. A blind child could have found us! From now on we can’t afford the risk of trusting anyone-no matter how well we know them.”

“I don’t know anyone here, sir,” Gomja pointed out.

Teldin ignored the comment and stepped back to look at his partner. “Pull your sleeves down-try to cover your hands as much as possible,” he ordered, tugging things into place. The dark, rough cloth completely concealed Gomja’s features. Once again the giff had been transformed into a gigantic, hulking specter of doom. “It was made for you,” Teldin snidely commented, unable to resist.

“Let’s hurry, sir.” A gigantic sneeze shook the fabric. “It’s hot, and it itches my nose,” complained the voice inside.

“To the waterfront, then,” Teldin said cheerily. “An inn and a ship, in that order. And if all else fails, we can become street comedians!”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” muttered Gomja from deep inside his cowl.

Teldin plopped onto the bed in their room. The hostler of the Golden Dory had been wary of letting his place to such a strange pair. Teldin’s eastern accent easily marked him as a stranger to Palanthas, and the cloaked giff hadn’t made matters any easier. Still, Teldin doubted the innkeeper would have given them a room at all if he had seen Gomja uncovered. As it was, it took some hard bargaining, along with a few well-timed growls from the giff, to secure lodgings. Only the farmer’s assurances and a little extra steel soothed the man’s fears.

Up in the room, the human thought and planned while the giff shrugged his way out of his cloak. With a whooping gasp, like a swimmer breaking the surface, Gomja cast the tentlike mantle into a corner. “Thank the Great Captain!” he cried, glad to be out of his confinement. Gomja carefully unbuckled his sword, then sat on the floor with a resounding thud. “What next sir?”

Teldin looked up, roused from his thoughts. Fingers poised before his lips, he considered their choices. "A bath and a shave, then I’m off to find a ship.” Gomjas mouth opened, ready with an offer to come along, but Teldin cut him off. “You’re staying here. It’ll be easier that way. I’ll arrange for the innkeeper to bring up a meal. Stay in the room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir” Gomja answered sullenly, his eyes downcast. “But I should go with you-I’m your bodyguard.”

“Since when?” Teldin countered firmly as he pulled off his boots. He did not want an answer, so he continued before the giff could give one. “And if you answer the door, make sure you’re covered up. We don’t want to give some poor servant a fright.” Teldin opened the door and stepped into the hall barefooted. He stuck his head back in the room and added, “Now, I’m going to see about hot baths.”

Later, a clean-shaven and scrubbed Teldin sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. A laundress had even managed to get some of the grime out of his clothes, though his pants were still damp as a result. Going to the table, the farmer studied his reflection in the water basin. Teldin looked unchanged, except for haggard circles under his eyes and a few singes and bruises, as if none of his adventures had ever occurred. He was back, once again, to his handsome self. The farmer finished dressing, then paused and mentally adjusted the cloak, reducing it again to a small collar. Teldin had heard of cursed treasures that plagued their owners and could not be lost or removed. If the cloak was cursed, at least it was accommodating.

“I really should go with you, sir,” protested Gomja for the umpteenth time.

Teldin only shook his head. “You’re too obvious. I’ll have to be on the watch for Vandoorm.” The giff only frowned. “Look, Gomja, if I’m alone, I can avoid him, but you’ll stand out like a torch in the night. Even with the cloak there aren’t many people as tall or as broad as you.