Still under Kendyl's spell, Skylar went to his bed chamber. He removed his satchel and threw it along with himself onto his bed. He fumbled through the satchel, drew out a physics book and vainly attempted to study it.

"You should learn to be more cautious," said a deep voice from behind. Skylar jerked his head around. A figure in an old gray cloak stood facing him, his face hidden within the hood.

"Uncle!" Skylar exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Lasseter pulled back the hood, revealing his stern gaze. "I could have been anyone wearing a cloak. You didn't even know I was here. What if―" he began, but then broke off. "You must to be more cautious."

Skylar furrowed his brow. "Cautious of what? Men in hooded cloaks?"

His uncle ignored the question.

"I need your help procuring some supplies. Can you spare me some of your time this afternoon?"

"Anything to get out of studying," said Skylar.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to study later."

Despite his uncle's bewildering admonition to be more cautious, there was nothing unusual about his request for help with the supplies. His uncle bought everything in bulk, so that his trips to the stores and depots near the Gorge would be as infrequent as possible. Skylar often went along to help load the myriad of boxes, bags, and crates into his uncle's sand rover.

"She was pretty," his uncle said as he navigated the rover along the winding paths of the Gorge.

Skylar looked at him with surprise. Had Lasseter seen him walking with Kendyl?

"Who?" said Skylar, attempting to sound innocent.

"Who?" echoed his uncle. "That little red-head who plastered that ridiculous smile on your face. I saw you two talking. Doubtless she was the reason for your inattentiveness when you entered the cave."

"Her name's Kendyl," said Skylar, fighting back the smile. "She's just a friend," he hastily added.

"Well, congratulations on your new friend. Just see that she doesn't distract you too much."

Distract me from what? wondered Skylar.

They soon arrived at the mouth of the Gorge, where most of the commerce of Kaladra took place. On the surface, it looked much like the rest of the Gorge. Many of the shops' proprietors operated their businesses from small caves. Some of the newer shops were in stand-alone buildings on the floor of the Gorge. These were constructed of mud bricks or sandstone.

Skylar stepped out of the sand rover onto the hot sandstone floor of the Gorge and squinted in the blaring midafternoon sun toward the direction of the granary. His uncle was a man of order; he always stopped at the granary first for two bushels of wheat, one of legumes―whatever was in the storehouse. Next, he visited the fruiteria, where he would ask in vain for fresh fruit. The shopkeeper always responded the same: "Fresh fruit? That's tough to come by, Lasseter. What small amount I get sells so quickly...you'll be the first one I notify next time I get any." It was a lie, of course. The shopkeeper had more important clientele he reserved it for. The usual boxes of dried fruits would have to suffice. Skylar had never tasted anything like what his uncle was hoping for. When or how his uncle had, he did not know.

Next, Lloyd's Dried Meats for ten kilos of dried sausages and several blocks of cured cheese.

Skylar knew the routine by heart.

He was surprised, then, when his uncle started walking in the opposite direction on the granary.

"This way," his uncle called, "to the outfitter's."

"The outfitters? What do you need from there?"

"Clothes," his uncle replied.

They entered the small but tidy cave-shop and were quickly attended by its eager shopkeeper. The man was dressed as neatly as his shop and smiled amiably at the pair. Despite the smile, Skylar noted the appraising glance he gave his uncle. Skylar suddenly felt uncomfortable standing next to his uncle, so oddly garbed in his long cloak and hood.

Why doesn't he at least put his hood back? Skylar thought in agitation. Perhaps, then, people wouldn't think him so strange.

Despite his uncle's appearance, the shopkeeper maintained his façade of cordiality.

"How may I assist you two gentlemen?" he asked, bowing slightly.

"I would like to purchase a cloak," replied Skylar's uncle.

The shopkeeper's smile vanished for an instant, but promptly returned accompanied by, "Why, yes! Yes of course. Nothing like a new cloak to keep one protected from those harsh Haladrian sand storms. I've never been caught in one myself, but I've heard stories... Anyway, I'm afraid we don't keep cloaks in stock. However, I can have one tailored for you. Shall I fetch my measuring tape?"

The shopkeeper was halfway to the back of his shop before Lasseter had a chance to respond. And Skylar doubted if the shopkeeper would have listened had his uncle declined. Within a quarter of a minute the shopkeeper was buzzing around Skylar's uncle, taking measurements in rapid succession.

"Will you be wanting this cloak in lightweight millim cloth?" the shopkeeper asked as he continued taking notes and measurements. "It's very comfortable―even in our hottest weather.

"The cloak is not for me," said Lasseter.

The shopkeeper looked up with a questioning expression which he quickly replaced with his obsequious smile. "Yes, of course. You already have a cloak," he said. "Ah, for whom will the cloak be made?"

"For my nephew," said Lasseter, indicating Skylar with his hand.

This completely took Skylar by surprise. What did he need a cloak for? He didn't want a cloak. There was no way he was going to start dressing like his uncle.

"Yes, of course. For the boy," said the shopkeeper, immediately setting to work at taking Skylar's measurements.

In a moment when the shopkeeper was looking away, Skylar stole an imploring glance at his uncle. Lasseter only nodded. Skylar bit his lip to keep from saying anything that would disrespect his uncle.

"The cloak will be made of paqua hair," instructed Lasseter.

The shopkeeper paused and looked questioningly at Lasseter. This time the smile did not return. "Paqua hair, you say?"

"Paqua hair."

"Yes, of course, of course," he said, sounding a bit exhausted. "We are very low on paqua hair as we have little use for it. Usually just for someone journeying to another part of the empire where the climate's colder. I imagine I can collect enough for this young man's cloak. Yes, indeed."

"There we are," he added, finishing up the measurements. "I can have the cloak ready in three days' time. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?"

Skylar closed his eyes and prayed the answer would be no.

"An oilskin," replied his uncle.

Skylar thought he could hear the shocked expression on the shopkeeper's face.

What in the universe does he need an oilskin for?

"An oilskin, you say?" said the shopkeeper with a halting laugh. "Indeed, an oilskin..." He furrowed his brow and wrung his hands nervously. "For the boy?"

"Yes," said Lasseter.

Skylar's groaned inside.

"Of course, of course," said the shopkeeper. "How very nice―an oilskin for the boy. Of course. Must be prepared. You never know, it could rain on this big dust ball of a planet one day. Good to be prepared.

"I'm afraid I don't carry any oilskins. Not very popular around here, you know." He chuckled briefly. "Yes, well I'm sure I can make one in, shall we say, five days' time? Two days after the cloak. I'll need time to treat the cloth, you know. Got to be done right."

"I suppose that'll have to do," said Lasseter.

Soon after Skylar and his uncle stepped out of the outfitter's shop and into the heat of the afternoon. A hundred questions burned on Skylar's tongue. But he dared not ask until they were out of earshot from the outfitter. Lasseter led Skylar along one of the many paths that ran in switchbacks up the face of the Gorge.

"Uncle," Skylar said when he thought it was safe, "why do I need a cloak and an oilskin? It's too hot for a cloak, and it never rains on Haladras. Meteorologists claim it's impossible."

"Is it now?" replied his uncle. "Science does not control the weather, Skylar."

"So you think it's going to rain?"

"I did not say that."

"Then why would I need an oilskin?"

His uncle took several more paces before replying.

"You will understand soon enough. I only hope it will not be too soon."

This last comment he only muttered as if speaking to himself.

Skylar yearned to ask more questions. But he knew from experience that he would get nothing more from his uncle. While these questions and riddles churned in Skylar's head, his uncle led them on in silence. Shortly after, he turned and entered another shop.

They found themselves in a dimly lit cave. It was not the sort of shop Skylar had ever seen before. Tight rows of dingy shelves filled most of the limited floor space. The shelves, which looked as though they might crumble into dust at any moment, were cluttered with a strange array of glass phials, flasks, and beakers. The glassware held bubbling liquids of putrid green, or gelatinous substances of crimson red and sulfuric yellow. Some contained dune beetles, orange salamandra, or other creatures unknown to Skylar, all floating lifelessly in sallow liquids. A foul odor permeated the dusty air.

Skylar plugged his nose and tried to stifle a cough. Reluctantly, he followed his uncle deeper into the gloomy shop, where they found a rickety old counter, covered with bones and jars of live gigapedes. A small stone plaque, leaning against a stuffed desert rat, occupied one corner of the counter. It read, Mansyl Magorik―Apothecary Extraordinaire.

Skylar wondered what was so extraordinary about him. Whoever he was, there was certainly no sign of him anywhere.

"Does anyone even run the shop anymore?" said Skylar.

Suddenly a figure popped up from behind the counter. Skylar started and took an involuntary step backwards.

"Oh, yes. Someone does," exclaimed the wizened old man. "Mansyl Magorik, at your service."

"I hope I didn't frighten the boy," he went on, chuckling faintly. "Would you like a candy, my boy?"

The ancient man produced a glass jar from under the counter. Skylar could not even begin to guess its contents. It looked less edible than the dead insects on his shelves. Skylar forced a smile.

"No, thank you," he said.

The apothecary chuckled again and returned the glass jar to its spot under the counter.

"Well, then," he said, turning his attention to Lasseter. "What can I do for you today?"

The apothecary seemed undisturbed by Lasseter's unusual garb. Perhaps because he was used to being surrounded by strange things.

"I'm looking for limbreath," said Lasseter.

The old apothecary's gleeful manner immediately vanished. One twiggy eyebrow raised, the slits of gray eyes narrowed, he stared long and intently at Lasseter. He seemed to be trying to penetrate into Lasseter's soul. After a considerable silence, he said, "few have ever heard of limbreath. Even fewer understand its virtues."

He nodded his head slowly. "Yes, I have limbreath."

The apothecary shuffled out from behind the counter, and around Skylar and his uncle. Just behind them the old man mounted an old stool and began delicately parting a cluster of bottles on the top shelf. The resulting aperture was just large enough for his hand to pass through. The old man reached in a trembling hand. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, which now gripped a small wooden coffer.

Closing the aperture in the bottles, the apothecary dismounted the stool, and returned to his place behind the counter, all the while coddling the coffer as though it held a priceless treasure.

"Here it is," said the little man, placing the old coffer upon the counter. "Limbreath."

With perfect solemnity, he produced a key from around his neck and unlocked the coffer. From within the box he delicately withdrew a single dried flower, diminutive in size and gray with age. It bore little resemblance to the few flowers which somehow defied the harsh climate on Haladras. The apothecary plucked a few lifeless petals and returned the remainder of the flower to the coffer. The petals he gently placed into a small capeskin pouch. Then, with evident reluctance the apothecary handed the pouch to Lasseter.

"There is no charge," said the old man. "It is a gift. I cannot see your eyes to read them, but I believe you will use it wisely. That is payment enough for me."

Lasseter thanked the apothecary, and assured him he would use it wisely.

Then Skylar and Lasseter left the shop.

"What is it?" asked Skylar, once they had walked a few paces. "What do you need it for? What are its virtues, which seemed such a secret?"

"It is a medicine―of sorts," said Lasseter.

"Medicine? Are you sick?"

"No. And I pray we shall not have need of it."

The limbreath was not the last of the strange provisions Skylar and his uncle procured that afternoon. Skylar kept expecting his uncle to purchase his usual goods, but he never did. They bought a few lengths of cord, some paqua hair blankets, a few waterskin flasks, dried biscuits, cured cheese, and a few other miscellaneous items. The last purchase was the only typical one.

Skylar and his uncle stopped to purchase some teryleum. This did not at first surprise Skylar. His uncle would buy several barrels of teryleum about once a year. Why his uncle always needed so much, he did not know. It was more than enough to power his sand rover for a whole year. Skylar had never cared much to ask about it. And after all the strange items his uncle had just purchased, this one was least on his mind.

The trip back to Skylar's home seemed to pass quickly. Skylar's curiosity had only increased since they set out on their strange outing. What was his uncle planning to do with all these supplies? Why was he being so secretive? Why did he want Skylar to have a cloak and oilskin?

Skylar tried to make sense of it all, but he simply couldn't―unless his uncle really was going mad. But that didn't make sense to him either. That his uncle was eccentric he had no doubt. But crazy? Impossible. He was far too intelligent for that.

Lasseter brought the sand rover to a halt at the base of the Gorge's wall, just below Skylar's cave.

"Do you remember my warning?" Lasseter suddenly asked, interrupting Skylar's thought.

Skylar hesitated. "Be cautious?"

"Yes. But about the insects...you must stay clear of them."

"But Uncle, they haven't been spotted on Haladras..."

"I told you, they will come. You must avoid them."

His tone was grave, filled with the same foreboding as the first night he spoke of them.

"I will," promised Skylar. He began to get out of the sand rover when Lasseter stopped him.

"Should you happen upon any, this might help you to get away," said Lasseter as he reached for something from under his seat. What he pulled out made Skylar gape in astonishment.

"My jetwing!" he shouted, as he took the coveted flying device from Lasseter and examined it. Except for a few new scratches, it looked in perfect condition. "How did you...did you fix this?"

"I know a mechanic in Duhavi. He owed me a favor."

Skylar didn't know what to say; he never expected to see his jetwing in one piece again.

"Thank you," he finally stammered.

His uncle nodded. "I trust you'll be more careful from now on."

Saying goodbye, Skylar hopped out of the sand rover and ran up the sloped pathway toward his home, thinking nothing of his uncle's warnings.