Origination & Destination
"You know, of course, where this man is from?" Habib asked of me.
"The man?" I asked. It is always enjoyable to answer the verbose with a polite, if short reply. I am beginning to understand Mathor's mien, the longer I know him.
"Yes, yes. He with the history about his countenance. He with hair the color the shifting sands at dawn near the Oasis of Nine Wells. He that weaves the words of worlds and speaks the stories of..." he rambled, until I interrupted.
"Phineahas?" I confirmed.
"Indeed, the Fish-Mongering Story-Teller. The flame-crested traveller. The jaunting journeyman of..." he started again.
"...I believe I know the fellow," I interrupted again.
"Surely, then, you know his accent, however adroitly he enunciates in the accent of everyman?" he questioned.
"Of course," I nodded. "I have known for some time. A mere nothing. What of it?"
"Habib of Tor simply wondered if Szol of the Poets, the esteemed playwright and peddler of prostitutes, the People's Magistrate of the glory of glories that is Mighty Ar, the conquesting giant of the East, knew he had in his midst the..." he started in the third person, then looked around conspiratorially before leaning closer to whisper the last, "offspring of the infamous Isle."
"You mean Cos, right?" I confirmed.
"Indeed," he nodded, his verbosity finally waning.
"Salen of Cos was once in the employ of Samsara," I reminded him. "And a good friend."
"If you have no cause for concern," he started. "perhaps we can discuss matters of a more, delectable nature."
"You wish to peddle your dates, Habib of Tor?" I asked, knowing this was not the case. Dates were, at best, sustinence. Topics of delectation were nearly always centered around softer, more vulnerable stock. Female slaves, to be exact.
"I do not wish to peddle, but to purchase. Whether the currency is dates, finely woven rugs of the inimitable craftsmen of Tor, cardammon, candy, cosmetics or coin, such trivialities can surely be settled after the initial question has been positively or negatively confirmed," he nodded.
"I assume it is the Sixth Girl on the chain that has piqued the interest of Habib," I questioned.
"In a manner of speaking, for all intents and purposes, yes, the interest of Habib has been piqued by the girl known as Six, the foot-licking, ankle-nipping, she-sleen situated at the terminal end of your coffle of delights," he elaborated.
Habib enjoyed elaborating. I think by now Mathor would have punched him, but I had infinitely more patience than Mathor and, too, I liked Habib. One learns to treasure the friends one acquires. Punching them in the face is generally a poor way to foster a healthy relationship.
"In a manner of speaking?" I inquired.
"I have been asked to acquire such a female," he confided. "but to determine first hand if she has certain, suitable attributes."
"The Six Girl, I have no doubt, has shown herself worthy of your buyer," I answered.
"The codes of my Caste forbid me to enlighten you to just how worthy," he replied, "but the bond of our friendship makes it impossible not to fully disclose her true worth."
"I know precisely what she is worth," I assured him.
"That makes the transaction somewhat simpler," he said.
"When does Habib of Tor depart for Lara?" I asked.
"It is with the heaviest of hearts that Habib of Tor will enjoy the company of the noble Poet Szol for only two days further," he answered.
"I will have your answer, then, in two days time," I smiled.
"The man?" I asked. It is always enjoyable to answer the verbose with a polite, if short reply. I am beginning to understand Mathor's mien, the longer I know him.
"Yes, yes. He with the history about his countenance. He with hair the color the shifting sands at dawn near the Oasis of Nine Wells. He that weaves the words of worlds and speaks the stories of..." he rambled, until I interrupted.
"Phineahas?" I confirmed.
"Indeed, the Fish-Mongering Story-Teller. The flame-crested traveller. The jaunting journeyman of..." he started again.
"...I believe I know the fellow," I interrupted again.
"Surely, then, you know his accent, however adroitly he enunciates in the accent of everyman?" he questioned.
"Of course," I nodded. "I have known for some time. A mere nothing. What of it?"
"Habib of Tor simply wondered if Szol of the Poets, the esteemed playwright and peddler of prostitutes, the People's Magistrate of the glory of glories that is Mighty Ar, the conquesting giant of the East, knew he had in his midst the..." he started in the third person, then looked around conspiratorially before leaning closer to whisper the last, "offspring of the infamous Isle."
"You mean Cos, right?" I confirmed.
"Indeed," he nodded, his verbosity finally waning.
"Salen of Cos was once in the employ of Samsara," I reminded him. "And a good friend."
"If you have no cause for concern," he started. "perhaps we can discuss matters of a more, delectable nature."
"You wish to peddle your dates, Habib of Tor?" I asked, knowing this was not the case. Dates were, at best, sustinence. Topics of delectation were nearly always centered around softer, more vulnerable stock. Female slaves, to be exact.
"I do not wish to peddle, but to purchase. Whether the currency is dates, finely woven rugs of the inimitable craftsmen of Tor, cardammon, candy, cosmetics or coin, such trivialities can surely be settled after the initial question has been positively or negatively confirmed," he nodded.
"I assume it is the Sixth Girl on the chain that has piqued the interest of Habib," I questioned.
"In a manner of speaking, for all intents and purposes, yes, the interest of Habib has been piqued by the girl known as Six, the foot-licking, ankle-nipping, she-sleen situated at the terminal end of your coffle of delights," he elaborated.
Habib enjoyed elaborating. I think by now Mathor would have punched him, but I had infinitely more patience than Mathor and, too, I liked Habib. One learns to treasure the friends one acquires. Punching them in the face is generally a poor way to foster a healthy relationship.
"In a manner of speaking?" I inquired.
"I have been asked to acquire such a female," he confided. "but to determine first hand if she has certain, suitable attributes."
"The Six Girl, I have no doubt, has shown herself worthy of your buyer," I answered.
"The codes of my Caste forbid me to enlighten you to just how worthy," he replied, "but the bond of our friendship makes it impossible not to fully disclose her true worth."
"I know precisely what she is worth," I assured him.
"That makes the transaction somewhat simpler," he said.
"When does Habib of Tor depart for Lara?" I asked.
"It is with the heaviest of hearts that Habib of Tor will enjoy the company of the noble Poet Szol for only two days further," he answered.
"I will have your answer, then, in two days time," I smiled.
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