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That first time, he was five hours late, and Blynn was a nervous wreck. “I was afraid you’d been killed or discovered or God knows,” he babbled, practically embracing Clarey in a fervency of relief. “I was afraid—”

“Come, come, Colonel,” Clarey interrupted, striding past him, “you know how inefficient Damorlant transport is, and I had to make two chain connections.”

“Of course,” the colonel said, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. “Of course. And you must be dead tired. Sit down; let me take your cloak—”

“How about the servants?” Clarey asked.

“This is their weekend off.” Blynn pulled himself together. “Really, my dear fellow, I’ve been in this business longer than you. I know what precautions to take.”

“Never can be too careful.”

“I see you’ve got yourself another cloak,” the colonel said as he hung it in the guest snap. “Very handsome. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, several people on the chains wanted to know where I’d got it.”

“Where did you get it?” asked Blynn, feeling the material. “Might go well as an export.”