Arthur stretched his arms and legs like a satisfied child and burped rudely. He was sitting in a tree house, one of several in The Tree, his favourite, very exclusive, very expensive and absolutely marvellous restaurant in Verd.

He fondly remembered the restaurant from the first time he'd been here. After that he'd made it an almost daily routine dining here, but that was half a year or an eternity earlier.

Arthur was enjoying a gorgeous wine; rounded, full bodied and without any sharpness at all. The food had, as he'd fervently hoped when he ordered it, been exquisite and the company was one he never seemed to tire of—and he had had plenty of time doing so sharing cramped rooms and more often an even more cramped wagon with the man since early autumn.

Harbend was in short nothing like the businessmen Arthur had met during his years behind and in front of a camera back on Earth. Not that Harbend wasn't a businessman, quite the opposite, but he had none of the tired arrogance of the too rich to enjoy their wealth that flocked around the money Arthur generated. It had been more like a game the already successful had to participate in rather than a real competition—well with one ghastly exception. At least Arthur suspected Christina Ulfsdotir to be behind the murder of his wife and two children. He had never been able to prove it. Had fled from it all rather than try to prove it, Arthur corrected himself with a guilty grin.

Harbend proved to be a good friend, even though they didn't always agree with each other and sometimes made their decisions from a very different moral and ethic viewpoint.

Arthur toasted his friend again. They were both getting a little bit drunk, he more so than Harbend, but then he had his med kit available should he need to sober up immediately for one reason or another. Harbend didn't have that benefit.

Arthur studied the face in front of him. Stubbled in a way that didn't agree with the strangely Asian features and topped by an unruly hair that should, if Arthur recalled correctly, be gathered in a knot to one side and otherwise mostly be shaved. Harbend was younger than Arthur, which showed, yet old enough to be to be middle aged, something that didn't show. Somehow, though, Arthur suspected him of having experienced more during his life, with the possible exception of tragedy perhaps, but then that wasn't a kind of experience Arthur cared to see any friend carry around.

Still, life back on Earth, or anywhere else in the parts of the Terran Federation he had visited for that matter, in general seemed simpler, more prepared and orderly. The only exciting event concerning all of humanity Arthur could recall was the finding of the Gate fourteen years earlier, and Otherworld behind it. Otherworld with secrets of magic and legend, and most of those legends only rumours carefully filtered through the official channels on both sides of the Gate. Now he was a part, a very small part, of those legends, and the reality he had seen was both more complex and at the same time more mundane than what he'd been left to believe. Hell, he'd even made holo shows about what was to be expected once Otherworld was finally opened for tourism.

Arthur frowned, drawing a questioning look from Harbend, and swallowed a sip of wine. The memories made it taste bleak, as if he didn't want to make it justice any longer.

"Harbend," Arthur began, "what will happen now when I'm a taleweaver?"

Harbend stared back across the table. The difference in height between the men wasn't as accentuated when they were sitting down. "I do not know. The Weave is a part of you." Harbend grinned, looking very much like a younger man than he was. "Your problem, or opportunity, not mine."

"And your problem is more personal in nature, I guess," Arthur countered mischievously. "Or have you forgotten her?"

Harbend had the decency to blush, but the blush soon turned into a satisfied grin. The boyish smile was contagious, and Arthur joined a silent laughter that for a time banished his tired thoughts.

They finished their meal in silence, both men leaving the wine in favour of clear water, and it wasn't until they rose and left the restaurant Arthur spoke the question that had been lingering in his mind.

"We can't leave Verd, can we?"

Harbend's face gave away that he was mulling over the question carefully before he voiced his answer. "We can. I honestly believe we can, but not until we have done the duty others would have placed on us." He gazed over the garden, eyes more thoughtful than sad, even though his voice had carried a tired quality that would have been easy to mistake for sadness by anyone who hadn't shared the time they had spent together.

"People who deserve to know what has happened, and those who would demand to know?" Arthur asked when they entered the garden surrounding the restaurant.

"Yes, I think that is about right," Harbend answered.

"But how could we tell when we haven't even told each other all about it?"

Harbend winced at first. So, I was right about that, Arthur noted for himself and grimaced. "I was going to," Harbend started, but Arthur interrupted him.

"Please, don't. Whatever you truly believed I needed to know you have already told me. I think our friendship can stand a tweaked version of events or two."

"Thank you." A silent reply, but filled with genuine relief nonetheless.

Arthur waited for Harbend to leave the garden and closed the gate behind them after he entered the side walk as well.

"You know that when we are interrogated..." Harbend started to protest, but Arthur continued without pausing to listen. "... we need to tell them stories conforming to each other enough to keep us out of a second interrogation."

Harbend looked unhappy. "I do not like it."

"I know, and I agree," Arthur said. Then he smiled. "Damn it, there are things I don't want to share with you, but we need to fill each other in and agree on one version." He shot his friend a grin before continuing. "It'll take close to half a year before the caravan returns, and by then I hope I'm far enough away from here it won't matter any longer."

Harbend shivered in the afternoon cool. "When the truth is known here we need to be away," he agreed. He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. It was, Arthur noticed, the same, rugged one he'd worn during warmer days. In as much as any winter day on the Sea of Grass could ever be called warm.

Arthur shrugged. He'd made a living of distributing half lies mixed with stunning truths all over Federation controlled space. A very good living at that.

***

Mairild de Felder, minister of culture and spy master of Keen, waited for the servants to leave before she turned to her guest.

"Admiral Radovic, please be seated."

"After you, Madame."

She nodded and pulled out a chair for herself before he had a chance to offer it to her. The outworlder was polite as always, sometimes a bit too much so for her taste.

"Admiral," she said after they were both seated and both had a small sip of the watered wine the servants had left on a tray together with some dried fruit. "I would want you to know that the taleweaver is back with Master de Garak."

Admiral Radovic frowned. "That's excellent news, but I assume that by giving Arthur Wallman a title like that you still consider him an, ah, permanent guest of yours."

Mairild smiled back. "Prisoner? No, not at all. He's free to return to your world." She dropped the smile and mustered her haughtiest voice. "You, however, are not free to force him to."

She watched the admiral, Rear Admiral Erwin Radovic and outworlder diplomatic envoy, force a smile to his face. "There's no need any longer," he said with an uncertainty that for once matched his years. How did one so young rise so high in rank where he belonged? "It's too late anyway. He's already done the harm we wanted to prevent."

Mairild licked her lips. "He hasn't done any harm to us," she said, careful not to anger Erwin too much. She had got her message through anyway.

Erwin shook his head in disagreement. "He has. In ways you don't know. For the sake of protocol, though, you have my promise we'll not attempt to capture him again."

She sighed and raised her glass to get a few moments to think. With this problem solved they'd need to continue rebuilding the relations between Keen and the outworlders. She didn't know how much power the man facing her had, but she did know he represented a government with enough power at their disposal to have massacred a full regiment of imperial cavalry ten years earlier. That was, as far as she could recall, the one single major mistake blackening the career of her colleague and Minister of War, Olvar de Saiden. Mistake or not, how did you coerce that kind of power to increase the amount of metal sold in Verd? Metal that was desperately needed by a nation starved by naval blockade for four years.

"We're willing to allow you to land more of the sky ships you use, even to the degree of granting you more land," she said knowing fully well she was resorting to bribes.

"Why, thank you." There was genuine surprise in Erwin's eyes now. He raised his own glass in a toast, something she'd learned he usually only did when he was embarrassed, or grateful. That had to mean the outworlders wanted the increased traffic almost as much as Keen did. She smirked. As much as the ruling body of Keen wanted. Most of the population wouldn't care. Not any longer when the novelty of outworlders had worn off somewhat and sightings of them were still rare enough not to cause consternation among those living outside the capital.

That would change, she knew, when the outworlders were commonplace, and with that change there would be new fears. There were always new fears.

Mairild turned her attention back to her guest. He had been watching her. Young maybe, but definitely not stupid. He's wondering what I'm thinking, what I want from him, what I fear of him. She shrugged, as much in apology for not being a perfect hostess as to banish the concerns she had.

"Oh, my, I see your glass is almost empty. Please, let me remedy that." Aw, what a stupid thing to say. If I keep this up he'll start believing I'm flirting with him, and he's younger than my youngest. She blushed a little at the unwanted thought.

"Madame, thank you," Erwin answered. "Ah, that's enough," he said as she filled his glass. "I am, you know, authorized to disclose some information, especially now when Arthur Wallman is, if you excuse my expression, running rampant giving his view of what we are and what we want to anyone who's willing to listen."

Mairild sat up straighter. So, there was going to be a gift in return for the promised land? "You have my attention."

"It's come to my knowledge that you are constructing rail roads of your own. We could help you with rail cars that don't require the burning of wood."

"Thank you," she said nonplussed, "but why would you want to do that?"

"We have some concerns about environmental matters." When it was clear she hadn't fully understood what he mean Erwin continued, "We have our own history of mistakes. The steam engine I assume that you plan to copy was never meant to be put to use in any large scale."

Mairild grinned despite her attempts not to. She'd known the engineers going through the machine would be seen of course, but the artillery commanders wanted the knowledge for other reason than to propel wagons on a rail. Olvar himself had said they desperately needed a weapon that could throw missiles far enough to protect their harbours from the raiders.

"I'll think about this offer of yours," she said. "We all will," she added.

"Please do. And, by the way, you do understand that I will report the return of one of our citizens to my superiors?"

"I never doubted that," Mairild admitted with a laugh. "It's been a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he said and rose acknowledging that the meeting was at an end.

She rose as well, and they shook hands; another of the peculiar customs the outworlders had.

Erwin bowed, wheeled and marched out of the room. He was definitely a military man, she thought when she had her chair and table for herself again.

***

Harbend had guessed that questions would be asked. He'd even expected to see more than his fair share of guests, but a delegation from the Council of Twelve waiting in his small office when he returned home was beyond his wildest imagination. Or nightmare, he added grimly after he'd recovered somewhat from the sight of liveried servants, four imperial guards in their yellow and black and two high ranking officials from the council in expensive silks glistering as if alive in yellow and red.

Harbend reached for the key in his pocket, uncertain if he'd locked the door on his way out, but the glittering stone set in its handle was still a bright yellow rather than the dull grey telling him the door was unlocked.

"How?" he asked into the air and pointed to the door he'd just left behind him to make his question clear.

A smug smile but no answer was the only reaction he received.

"Would you mind answering why you are in my office, which I locked before going out?" Harbend asked, feeling surprise slowly give way to irritation.

"Answering questions are not our department. You're called to attend a meeting with Mairild de Felder within the day. We expect to see you there at dusk."

Harbend's colour rose. "Now you..." A hard stare from one of the guards brought his words to a halt. He was very recently made a full trading house, but he still hadn't brought the proof of his value to a gathering. He could still lose his standing, and the council wasn't anything he wanted to aggravate, no matter his status among the merchants in Keen. "I will be there," Harbend said when the silence threatened to stretch too long.

"Good, and bring the outworlder with you."

Harbend could only stare in bewilderment as they all marched out of his office.

What do I do now? What do they want, he wondered as he closed the door. He'd done nothing to warrant the interest of the ruling body in Keen. He couldn't imagine anything they would be interested in, at least nothing they could know of, but that was an impossibility unless the very council ruling a nation where magic was banned itself made use of the gift.

That was a distracting thought if any.

Harbend shrugged off his discomfort and started to rummage through the contents of the shelves in his small kitchen in search of some tea, remembered the horror he had brewed the day before and gave up in disgust. Nothing decent to drink and yet a sour taste in his mouth as if he'd indeed been taking a mouthful of cheap wine.

Harbend swallowed, but the taste refused to go away, and with a feeling of defeat he made his way to the door and went out. He locked the door behind him and swore silently between his teeth. The small sense of security the office had always given him was gone with the knowledge that there were people who could make their way into it without his knowing. It was a little bit like being duped, but with a lingering feeling of uncertainty bordering on fear clinging to him in a way a trade gone sour never did. He felt, he realized as he rounded a corner, helpless. Staring down the street he noticed in dismay how each and every stranger he met suddenly loomed like an unknown threat, and he avoided meeting their eyes as he walked.

It was later, how much later Harbend didn't know, that he halted, and not until he looked up did he recognize the entrance to Two Worlds. Maybe his legs had given him the direction his mind refused to yield. He waited for the doors to open and entered. Now he had a goal, and he resolutely climbed the stairs, passed a corridor and knocked on Arthur's door. There was no response for a while, and Harbend started to worry if Arthur had already left for his daily excursions in the city. Then the door opened and Arthur peered out at him.

Harbend bowed slightly and received a raised brow at the formality.

"Welcome Harbend. I'm sorry. Is it that late already?"

Harbend frowned. "No, no you are not late," he answered remembering that he was the one who usually picked Arthur up for their meal at The Tree. "I am here on a different errand."

"Please come in." Arthur backed away from the door and let Harbend inside. "I was afraid I had overslept." He smiled sheepishly. "As if I had a time to keep anyway."

Harbend smiled as well. A grimmer smile. "You do. We both do."

"What's happened?" There was worry in Arthur's face now, and concern.

Gods, I bring bad news and scare my friend at the same time, Harbend thought. He waved an apology to Arthur and remembered the expression from Khi probably was unfamiliar to the outworlder. "I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you."

"Harbend, I'm not upset, but you look like darkness come alive. What is it?"

The friendly outburst shook Harbend back to reality. "I have... we have been called to the Council of Twelve."

"I don't understand," Arthur said giving Harbend a nonplussed stare. "Why would the city council want to meet with us?"

The misunderstanding brought the first laugh from Harbend for a long time. "Council of Twelve, Arthur, not city council."

"I don't... oh... oh!"

"Yes. They want us there by dusk, or at least one of them."

Arthur stared at Harbend, a crooked grin spreading over his face. "And being late is not an option, I guess?"

"Being late is not an option," Harbend confirmed.

Arthur spat a few words in English, and it took Harbend a few moments to recall that the sexual activities mentioned were strong profanities where Arthur came from. "My thoughts exactly," Harbend said, which brought yet another stream of curses from Arthur.