And something else vaguely bothered him. A vision intruded upon his thoughts, annoying but persistent—the vision of a girl's face, lovely and golden....
V
He entered the shop, and was startled to see a Rajec emerge from behind a counter piled high with silks and fineries. The black was tall, elderly, a bit stooped, with a nervous twitch at the side of his face.
"Ah, sir, welcome to the humble shop of Thurlo. May I assist you in a selection? Some of these rare laces from Io, perhaps—or these exquisite candelabra? Over a thousand years old, sir, yet they have found their mysterious way here from the Deimian Temple of the Ancients."
Ketrik smiled a little, picked up the candelabra and set it down. "A fake. And so are you, Aarnto. I recognize you now."
"But not at first," Aarnto grinned. "I think my disguise will do. Not as thorough as yours, of course," he added.
"Where is Jal Thurlo?"
"Back there preparing the evening meal." Aarnto's finely chiselled nose wrinkled appreciatively. "And a welcome repast it will be, after our miserable desert fare!"
Thurlo had not spared his talents, and the meal proved to be excellent. Ketrik ate appreciatively but in silence. Thurlo hardly touched the food, seemed perturbed over something. Only Aarnto was his old self—more than that! His crisp manner, which Ketrik had noticed earlier in the day, was gone; he now seemed happy and almost jovial, as he kept up a running conversation. He told of haggling with one of the customers over a set of Venusian tapestries, finally getting twice the expected price.