Benjin shrugged lazily. "Tomorrow, next week, next month—who knows? We have plenty of stones on hand. There is no hurry for the next trip. You can take a vacation now, while we sell these."
"No," Herndon said. "I want to leave immediately."
Oversk frowned at him. "Is there some reason for the urgency?"
"I don't want to stay on Borlaam just now," Herndon said. "There's no need for me to explain further. It pleases me to make another trip to Vyapore."
"He's eager," Benjin said. "It's a good sign."
"Mardlin was eager at first too," Oversk remarked balefully.
Herndon was out of his seat and at the nobleman's throat in an instant. His needler grazed the skin of Oversk's adam's-apple.
"If you intend by that comparison to imply—"
Benjin tugged at Herndon's arm, "Sit down, rogue, and relax. The Heitman is tired tonight, and the words slipped out. We trust you. Put the needler away."
Reluctantly Herndon lowered the weapon. Oversk, white-faced despite his tan, fingered his throat where Herndon's weapon had touched it, but said nothing. Herndon regretted his hasty action, and decided not to demand an apology. Oversk still could be useful to him.