Camara Tal came up on deck, and she looked very angry. She had nothing on but a robe, which had been hastily tied at the waist and left most of her bosom bare. "Renoit!" she thundered, in a voice so loud they probably heard it on the other side of the city. "Get in front of me right now, you fat sneak, or I'll nail you to the mast!"

"Whatever is your problem, Mistress Tal?" Renoit asked smoothly as he approached.

"You are!" she snapped. "If you don't give me back my clothes right now, you'll find yourself living out a life so horrible that beggars will give you money!"

"A costume, I left one for you, Mistress Tal."

"That wasn't a costume, that was a handkerchief!" she blasted at the round circus master, her face turning an ugly red. "I am not here to play for you, mainlander! If you don't give me back my proper clothes, I'll fix it so you won't have a need to wear yours!"

He had no idea what she meant by that, but it certainly turned Renoit pale. He gaped at her for a second, then hurriedly turned and chattered out a quick command in Shacean to one of his aides. Tarrin knew just enough Shacean to realize that he sent the younger man off to get Camara Tal's clothes.

"Strange that a woman who shows so much skin isn't willing to show a little more," Allia mused in Selani to Tarrin.

"I think it's the principle of the matter, sister," he replied. "From the way it sounds, Renoit didn't give her a choice."

Allia chuckled quietly. "Is it just me, or does Camara Tal seem to go around in a perpetual state of annoyance?"

"It's not you, Allia," Tarrin answered.

"I think she needs to get bedded. That would take that edge right off of her."

"Probably, but she's not receptive. From what I've managed to piece together, an Amazon wouldn't bed a non-Amazon. They think it thins their bloodline."

"It probably does. She's larger than most human men. Amazons are a very burly strain of human."

"True."

Phandebrass came up with Dolanna and Dar, and Tarrin had to stifle a silent laugh. The mage was wearing a white robe, upon which was embroidered numberous mystical symbols, suns, stars, crescent moons, and other strange icons. The long, pointy hat he wore on his head, a narrow cone of red, clashed with his grayish-white hair, and made him look sallow and unhealthy. Phandebrass' age was something of a mystery to Tarrin, a man with the hair of an old man yet with a youthful face, but the hat made him look more silly than old. The hat as well was decorated with what Tarrin guessed were mystical symbols. Dar and Dolanna wore simple robes much akin to what they wore in the Tower, simple garb of a pleasing blue. The blue didn't look good with Dar's dark coloring, but the young man's charismatic handsomeness overcame that. Dolanna, on the other hand, looked absolutely radiant in her blue robe, with a white sash tied around her slim waist, and it reminded him how beautiful the slim, slight Sorceress really was.

"That will never do," Sarraya said disdainfully as she flitted up to the two Sorcerers, looking at Dar with a critical eye. She motioned at him, and his blue robe suddenly turned a very soft shade of brown, a color that much better blended with his dark skin and black hair. Dar looked down at himself curiously, holding out his robe to inspect its new color. "Much better," the sprite said with a grin, then she flitted over to Allia and landed on the shoulder that Tarrin wasn't occupying. "You should be wearing a little bow, Tarrin," the Faerie jibed at him with a grin and a sly wink.

"How would you like to wear a necklace of your own guts, Sarraya?" Tarrin retorted with an ugly look.

"Touchy touchy," she teased with a laugh. "Where are the mage's little dragons? I figured they'd be part of this demonstration."

"They're probably around," Tarrin replied.

"I hope the fat man knows where we're going," Sarraya said.

"An official-looking person came on board right after we lowered the plank," Allia told her. "I think he told Renoit where we are going."

"It's good to know someone knows where we're going," Sarraya smiled.

Renoit clapped his hands up on the steering deck to get everyone's attention. "Alright, we will start in a moment, yes!" he boomed. "Remember, energy and smiles, my friends! We are here to entertain, so let us entertain!"

"I thought he was here to get rich," Sarraya grinned.

"To some, money is only what supports one while they seek their heart's desire, Sarraya," Allia noted soberly. "Renoit may be a businessman, but look at him. He enjoys what he does. For him, it is the greatest thing that people will pay for him to do what he loves to do." She crossed her arms. "I think Renoit enjoys making people smile. There is a great heart beneath that layer of fat."

"Can't argue with that," Sarraya ceded.

"At least you said one intelligent thing so far today," Tarrin noted dryly.

Sarraya leaned back so Allia's neck wasn't in the way, then stuck her tongue out at the Were-cat with all the indignancy she could put behind it.

"You'd better fade out," Tarrin warned. "I don't think we should give ourselves away."

"At least you said something smart," she returned with a wink, then her form faded from view as she enacted her natural magical ability to turn invisible.

Tarrin looked out at the warehouses as the wind changed, carrying the smell beyond them onto the docks, and the smell of the largest city in the world was realized. In reality, Dala Yar Arak didn't smell as bad as some cities, but the press of so many people in one place was unmistakable in the smell of the city. The overpowering smell of people permeated everything, seeped down into the very cobblestones, covered every finger of ever wall. Layered over that singular smell were the smells of human living, waste and excrement, the rats and insects that found a living with humans, the smell of dust and animal dung, the smell of that sand-colored stone. The air was tinged by the salty smell of the sea, and the smell of dead fish that always invaded cities that made a living from fishing was present, but in no way as predominant as it was in other port cities.

And so they began. After filing off the ship and forming up, the circus was on the move. Pipers and musicians heralded their approach as they marched down the street. And there was energy. Dancers swayed along the street as the crowds formed at the sides, catching the eyes of dark-robed, turban-wearing men, acrobats tumbled and somersaulted to the cadence of the pipes, and the rest of them marched along behind them, doing their best to catch the interest of the onlookers. Some, however, didn't look very happy. Allia moved along with a calm, almost arrogant expression, letting the Arakites stare at her and gasp and point as she went by. Camara Tal, who was right behind the Selani, got no fewer points and whispered comments, for Tarrin doubted they had ever seen an Amazon before. To his surprise, some of the spectators threw small coins in their direction, which were adeptly scooped up by the acrobats as they performed in front and to the sides of the main party. And in front of it all was Renoit, the megaphone in his hand, barking to the crowd in an enthusiastic voice. He spoke the West's common language, Sulasian, but Tarrin didn't doubt that many people in the crowd could understand it. An Arakite that wanted to do business in the West had better understand Sulasian. Tarrin looked at the spectators, and saw immediately the fundamental difference between Arakite society and the West.

They stood with the Arakites. Men and women wearing old clothes, sometimes ragged, wearing steel cuffs on their wrists or around their necks. That was how a slave was identified. Most were swarthy-skinned themselves, but some of them had the fair hair or skin of a Westerner, or even a curious yellowish skin and very narrow eyes and coal-black hair that absolutely had to be Easterners. Many of the older ones had wrinkles and lines around those collars or cuffs, a sign of the many years they had been there, and some of them had scars from when they were put on, when a red-hot steel rivet was hammered into the steel cuff or manacle, burning the skin of the slave as it heated the metal it then secured. Because there was no way to easily take a cuff or collar off, it made it easy to find runaway slaves. And if that didn't work, the scars they left behind marked them forever. He could see them, with their hopeless eyes, staring on in a kind of sad reverie, seeking to lose themselves in the moment that the joy of the circus might provide them. Tarrin didn't really care about them, but his own memories of what it was like to be a slave gave him a fury-tinged compassion for those poor souls, doomed to a lifetime of servitude. He remembered what it was like to have no control, no choice. The manacles he wore on his wrists reminded him of that every day, reminded him so he never put himself in a position to have it happen again.