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As a resident of the inn, Clarey told Colonel Blynn, he’d found that he was expected to join the men in the bar parlor every evening, where they’d drink and exchange appropriate stories. But he’d choked on the squfur and was insufficiently familiar with the local mores to be able to appreciate the stories, let alone tell any. He’d concentrated on smiling and agreeing with whatever anybody said, with the result that the others began to agree with Piq that he was a bit cracked. “They were, for the most part, polite enough to me, but I could sense the gulf. I was a stranger, a city man, and probably a bit of a lunatic.”

A few of the younger ones hadn’t even been polite. “They used to insult me obliquely,” Clarey went on, “and whisper things I only half-heard. I pretended I didn’t hear at all. I stood them drinks and told them what a lovely place Katund was, so much cleaner and prettier and friendlier than the city. That just seemed to confirm their impression that I was an idiot.”

He stopped, took a sip of tea, and continued, “The females were friendly enough, though. Every time they came into the library they’d always stop for a chat. And they were very hospitable—invited me to outdoor luncheons, temple gatherings, things like that. Embelsira—she’s the chief librarian—got quite annoyed because she said they made so much noise when they all gathered round my desk.”