Late in the evening Arthur and Harbend finally made their way to the gates. From a distance it looked like a small fortress on a low hill, but now the walls loomed over them like a dark giant.

A cold wind had been tearing into them since darkness fell and it was only thanks to their warm clothing they weren't chilled through.

The stone walls seemed impregnable and impossibly high. Climbing the winding road Arthur realized it was far steeper than he first imagined. No trees or cliffs to hide behind and anyone on the walls would be able to spot travelers long before they were close to the gate. Arthur guessed anyone on the walls would be able to do much more than that.

Like pointing something sharp at me. And I'd never even know what happened.

"There at last," Harbend muttered. He turned to his companion and smiled. "During wartime they would have hailed us a long time ago." Accent still peculiar, but his grasp of English far better than Arthur's fledgling attempts at De Vhatic. "We are a bit later than I would have liked," Harbend continued, smiling. Arthur groaned silently at the understatement. "Let us hope they still have rooms for us. Otherwise I guess we shall have to make do with the stables. Well, first we need to find out if they will even open the gate at such a late hour."

This time Arthur groaned loudly. His legs ached from the long ascent and he was ravenously hungry. Horses tired as well -- he'd been more or less forced to pull his disobedient animal the last kilometer. He gave Harbend a sour look and was met by a teasing grin.

Harbend knocked on the gates, still smiling, and within moments they swung open soundlessly, revealing a narrow courtyard and two armed men. They quickly waved the weary travelers through and into the walled space where yet another gate beckoned. They passed the second gate and were inside the walls.

Arthur sighed with relief and noted how much he'd missed being in a town where he didn't have to rely on moonlight or a travelers lamp. A man arrived and Arthur listened to a smattering of words exchanged between Harbend and the groom. After that a few coins changed hands and their horses were led away.

"What about the wagon?" Arthur asked.

"Will be taken care of," Harbend answered. "Now we should concentrate on a hot bath, an evening meal and a warm bed. Enjoy yourself. You have traveled better than I dared hope, so you are entitled to a good time now."

Arthur knew embarrassment then. He was being praised for doing something Harbend probably saw as just another unavoidable part of life as a traveling merchant.

"No, I mean it," Harbend said as if guessing Arthur's thoughts. "Most people from Verd would not be able to handle themselves during a long journey. You told me you live in a city in your world so I expected you to behave like one city born. I am happy to say that you are a fast learner."

"Thank you, I guess," Arthur stammered, uncertain of what to say. He still felt uncomfortable, but something in him very much enjoyed Harbend's acceptance and in the end he just smiled gratefully.

For a while he just stood there, silent, remembering the journey and taking in his surroundings. Stables nearby, to their left, and men talking while grooming their horses. At least he assumed it was their horses. The pungent smell of manure almost welcoming, a reminder they were no longer forced to sleep with the sky as their ceiling. To his right a closed store, its wooden shutters telling him it was very late and that he ought to find a place indoors. Stomach loudly agreeing he caused Harbend to give him an amused look before leading him towards the houses further away.

Most small one and two stories buildings. Having expected a fortress Arthur was not prepared for the mass of wooden houses, some even with thatched roofs. A few of the buildings they passed were erected by simply laying layers of logs on top of each other and sealed with what Arthur thought was moss, but most the work of a proper carpenter, some even displaying large, glassed windows. He noted lamps of the same kind as those used in Verd, only much smaller, and it was all too clear that this was not the bustling city he'd spent his first few weeks in. Neither noise nor smell those of a large city and the narrow streets almost deserted. He slowly understood that the nightlife making Verd strangely familiar to him also made it very unique in this world.

They rounded a corner. Arthur almost knocked over a couple of empty barrels left for the night and Harbend stepped under an archway leading to a closed door. Without knocking he pushed it open and entered. Arthur followed him into a corridor ending in a large room with several rough tables and chairs along three of the walls. The smell of spicy food was strong here and Arthur's mouth watered as his stomach once again loudly complained about dinner being far too late.

The ceiling was awkwardly low and forced him to bend to avoid banging his head on the beams as they made their way further into the room. Less than half the tables occupied. Apparently most of the diners had already finished and gone to sleep. A few heads rose to see the newcomers but no one seemed to recognize him.

Arthur sat down at a table, waiting for Harbend to place their orders.

Even before Harbend was finished talking with the bearded man in the kitchen a serving girl came up to the table with a jug and two glasses. Pretty, with a slightly exotic face Arthur couldn't place, wearing a brown, woolen jacket and a heavy, striped skirt from under which a pair of no nonsense boots protruded. He smiled at her.

"Many great thanks... your services to me welcome," he said to her and shrugged apologetically when she didn't seem to understand. Watching her depart he slowly became aware of the room being far warmer than the night outdoors and he pulled off his heavy coat. He'd just placed it on an empty chair when Harbend returned to the table.

"They have rooms for the night. One for us each, and there is a bath house just behind the kitchen. If you want we can get clean before we eat." Harbend was still pointing at the door next to the kitchen.

Arthur, even though famished, began to realize how dirty he was, tiredly left his chair, grabbed his bag, slung the coat over his shoulders and staggered away in the suggested direction. The stone floor felt very hard to feet almost adjusted to the thought of resting and his hips ached from a long day spent riding and walking.

The bath was heaven.

***

Harbend smiled at the sight of his friend shoveling food into his mouth. A full season after his arrival he no longer looked like a festival clown. Hair showing a lot of brown beneath the faded blue and a face now belonging to someone in good shape. Most of the fat had gone and muscles were building. Harbend was surprised a man of Arthur's age could trim his body so fast. Some of the lines criss crossing his face were gone but others had come in their stead. There was more determination to be read there now, a stability grown during the journey.

Harbend was more than content with the events leading to him being coerced into bringing such a strange friend along on the journey. Smiling Harbend paid some attention to his own food. The smell of peppers, salt and mutton made him dig his knife into the stew. Only after stilling his worst hunger did he feel how boiled tomatoes and horseradish mixed with local spices added life to the meat.

He leaned back, raised his glass and drank a deep draught of wine. A decent wine, nothing special, but not the awful swill too often served when one left the main roads in Keen.

Looking up he saw traces of soot on the ceiling revealing the presence of a large fireplace hidden around a corner where his eyes couldn't reach. Wherever it was, it evidently saw much use during winter.

Late evening broke into full night and he guessed the innkeeper wanted them to depart for their rooms. They both swallowed the last of their wine, thanked him and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Harbend bade Arthur goodnight and made for his room.

It was small but clean. A narrow bed with a brown, woolen blanket clung to a wall and in the only window he saw his own features reflected in the imperfect glass. The walls were bare apart from a hanger for his lamp and in a corner a small wardrobe hid in the shadows.

He quickly undressed and rather than spend time hanging his clothes in the wardrobe he simply threw them in a disorderly pile on a lonely chair standing beside a worn table. Almost naked he blew out the lamp, fumbled for his bed and lay down on linen sheets. Shortly afterward sleep claimed him.

***

"Are you sure there have been no travelers from Ri Khi here the last eightday or so?"

"I'm sorry. Can't help you there sir. Only local hunters and a peddler from Erkateren."

Harbend swore silently. So much for that addition. Well, it couldn't be helped. The wagon train was still almost as large as he'd hoped for when he started planning back in Verd. He smiled at the merchant.

"I shall buy one barrel of salt and as much dried meat as you have."

"Sir? That's more than a wagon's worth."

"I have a wagon train coming in two days from now."

"Wagon train, sir?"

"Yes, we are bound for the mountains later. I am reopening the caravan route to Braka."

The small man stared at Harbend as if struck.

"But that's fantastic, sir!"

"Yes, yes, could you spread the word. Over a hundred wagons coming in. A lot of hungry men and women. Horses that needs tending."

"Will do, sir. Most certainly!"

A glimmer of greed suddenly flared in the eyes of the local merchant. It couldn't be helped. They'd need the people here to start preparing to feed and lodge more men and horses than any of them had ever seen in this place. He had to talk with the innkeeper to get to know which houses could take in guests for a few nights, and of course to prepare the residents to take up cooking as a temporary profession for the same time.

***

"What's that?" Arthur said as they passed a door just before their own inn. It had a sign hanging over it he didn't recognize.

Harbend threw a glance in the direction Arthur pointed. "That is the Taleweaver's Inn."

Arthur was perplexed, trying to remember, and Harbend laughed.

"Yes, you have heard the expression earlier. Remember our last evening in Verd?"

"Yes, but we didn't go to a place with this sign there."

"There is one, but you are right. We did not. I told you about tales and their value."

Now Arthur remembered. "But that's bloody marvelous! Why don't we go in and listen to a tale here then?"

"Because we cannot. It is open only for those in the profession."

"Oh. Wait a minute. Damn it, I'm of that profession." Arthur saw Harbend's expression. "Sorry, minute, measurement of time in English. About the time it takes you to walk a hundred paces." Harbend still wore that look on his face. "What is it?" Arthur asked.

"I know what a minute is, approximately at least, but you are saying you should be allowed into a Taleweaver's Inn. Now that is what I call overconfidence."

Arthur felt resentment rankling in him. "Now my dear Harbend de Garak, merchant superior with your own trading house. I'm Arthur Wallman. I entertain with words of wonder. Whenever one of my shows is displayed back home more people watch it than live on this world. My Golden Secret shows have an audience so large the total number of souls that ever inhabited this planet from times forgotten to today doesn't even come close." The tingling of excitement that usually came just before a performance suddenly crept through him. "Where I come from I'm not just a taleweaver. I'm the taleweaver all rising stars are compared with in the feeble hopes they may ever ascend to my status."

Harbend backed away and Arthur resolutely knocked on the door. It opened and he saw a wrinkled face peering out at him.

"What do you want here?" The question was basic enough to understand even though it had been spoken in De Vhatic.

Arthur turned to Harbend. "I could need some help with translation."

"Forget it," Harbend answered and shook his head. "If you fail to even make yourself understood well enough to be let in then you should not be let in at all. I shall have a meal." He quickly vanished into the doorway to their own inn.

Arthur started to feel stupid. How did he expect to understand anything told even if he was allowed inside? Damn! He'd show Harbend anyway.

"My wish license to enter."

"This ... is open for ... only. You ... not enter."

Arthur considered giving up, but persistence wouldn't allow him.

"I ..." He searched his mind. "I taleweaver by profession. My wish to enter."

The old man in the doorway gave him a look filled with scorn, but he did step aside to give room for Arthur. He entered.

"Now, bold stranger, would you care to explain that obvious lie to me."

Arthur started. The words were in English. No they weren't, only as if they'd been spoken in English, but he somehow knew he was hearing De Vhatic as if it had been his own native language.

"How? Why?"

"You come to our door with a ridiculous claim, and you want to ask questions?" The face split in a smile. "The edict forces me to allow entrance to anyone who claims to carry tales, so come in. Who are you to speak a language I don't know? Not De Vhatic, nor Khi or Kordic. With your face you could have spoken Hirgish, Kastarian or even Vratistaric unlikely as that may be, because you don't look like the son of a hunter of the seas. However, you use none of those tongues, so I must assume you are one of those we call outworlders."

Arthur listened to the convoluted question. "I'm from Earth, yes," he answered after a while. "My name is Arthur Wallman. Before I came here I ran a newscaster with myself as the anchor. Before that I made my living, a very successful living, mind you, talking in front of a camera."

The man looked confused, and for a while Arthur was afraid whatever magic worked this place didn't handle English.

"I understand what you're saying, yet not. The knowledge of concepts cannot be translated to the mind unless grabbed, but that's a violation not to be committed by anyone."

Arthur wasn't sure he'd understood fully, but it made sense that some things he took for granted wouldn't be understandable even if his words for them were.

"I am what you call a taleweaver in my own world." He had to hope the explanation would do. The language magic here was a wondrous thing. Maybe he'd be able to chat with some locals after listening to a story or two.

He remembered something Harbend had said earlier. Damn you! There was a place like this in Verd. A place where he could have made himself understood, but then again, William Anderson had made it quite clear that was exactly what the merchant houses didn't want.

They went further into the building, passing through the narrow corridor Arthur had seen in all inns and entered the actual tavern. A few window slits allowed daylight into the room and he saw there were very few tables. All chairs were aligned in one direction, and he saw what could best be described as a small stage rising slightly from the floor. A fireplace was to the left of him and he guessed it shared the same chimney as the one in his own inn. The stage began just beside it.

They were alone.

"Doesn't seem to be a lot of traffic here," Arthur commented slightly disappointed.

"Rest assured that this room will be full long before nightfall." There was an evil glint to the man's voice, but Arthur decided not make anything out of it. He'd more or less barged his way in here anyway.

"You wouldn't by chance serve meals in here? Being a tavern and all I mean."

"Your meal is ready and will be served shortly."

"Thank you. I guess it'll be a surprise." Arthur smirked. He didn't fancy cold food, but he wouldn't start complaining now.

The man said nothing. He bowed and disappeared, probably to stand watch by the door again, Arthur guessed.

It was a strange place. The tables were more elegant than he'd have suspected from a tavern. The one in the inn where he lived had simpler furniture even though they were of high quality, but he wouldn't have expected less this close to Erkateren. Here he was sitting on chairs as exclusive as anything they were bringing to Braka, leaning his arms on a table in the same style. The walls were bare, but the woodwork was decoration enough.

He sat there admiring the workmanship when he heard a noise and looked up. The same serving girl he'd seen the previous evening came with his food. Sensible thing to share personnel, he thought. She set the large plate on his table and he gaped in disbelief. A T-bone steak made exactly like he wanted stared up at him from its place on the plate, simmering in a spicy sauce. There was no way anyone could have cooked the meal this fast, and he'd never even said anything about what he wanted.