Other people had begun to gather in the dockside square, both men and women, idle, curious, and cruel.
"My name is Marah," Carey said. "I left the Wells of Tamboina with a price on my head for murder." The Wells were far enough away that he need not fear a fellow-tribesman rising to dispute his story. "Does anybody here want to collect it?"
The people watched him. The torch-flames blew in the dry wind, scattering the light across their upturned faces. Carey began to be afraid.
Close beside him Arrin whispered, "Will you be recognized?"
"No." He had been here three times with Dryland bands but it was hardly likely that anyone would remember one specific tribesman out of the numbers that floated through.
"Then stand steady," Arrin said.
He stood. The people watched him, whispering and smiling among themselves. Then the man in the yellow kilt said,
"Earthman or Drylander, I don't like your face."
The crowd laughed, and a forward movement began. Carey could hear the sweet small chiming of the bells the women wore. He gripped the axe and told Arrin to get away from him. "If you know where Derech's gone, go after him. I'll hold them as long as I can."