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“Where you going, stranger?” the native asked, resting his arms on the top of the booth.

“Katund,” Clarey said. The other looked puzzled. “It is a village near Zrig.”

“That a fact?” The native bit his little finger. “You look like a city feller to me.”

“That is correct,” Clarey said patiently. “I come from Qytet. It is a place of some size.” He waited a decent interval before collapsing his smile.

“Now, why would a smart-looking young fellow like you want to go to a place like this Katund, eh?”

Clarey started to shrug, then remembered that was not a Damorlant gesture. “I have received employment there.”

“I should think you’d be able to do better’n that.” The native nibbled at his thumb. “What did you say you worked at?”

“I didn’t. I am a librarian.”

The native turned away and began to rinse his utensils. “In that case, I guess Katund’s as good a place as any.”

Surely, Clarey thought, even a Damorlant would at this point rise up and smite the food merchant with one of his own platters. Then he forgot his anger in apprehension. What in the name of whatever gods they worshipped on this planet could a librarian possibly be?