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“Maybe he’s runnin’ away,” the ancient sibilated. “When I was a boy, there was a feller from the city came here; turned out to be a thief.” All three stared at Clarey.

“I—I replied to an advertisement in the Dordonec District Bulletin,” he said carefully. “I wished for a position that was peaceful and quiet. I am recovering from an overset of the nervous system.”

The oldest one said, “That’d account for it right enough.”

Clarey gritted his teeth and beamed at them.

“Typical idiot smile,” the ancient whispered. “Noticed it myself right off, but I didn’t like to say.”

“Is it right to have a librarian that isn’t all there?” the proprietor of the Furbush asked. “Foreigner, too. I mean to say—the young ones use him more’n most.”

“We’ve got to take what we can get,” the biggest native said. “Katund’s funds are running mighty low.”

“What can you expect when you ballot yourself a salary raise every year?” the old one whistled. The other two made animal noises. Clarey must not jump; he must learn to laugh like a turshi if he hoped to be the life of any Damorlant party.