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hat sort of information are you looking for in particular?" A shadow passes over his face. "Any word of unusual trade going on, especially in weapons or cloth. Any word of invasion from the south. In particular, we're worried about agents from the southern clans finding sympathizers among some of the city's older, more tradition-bound families." Jamir contemplates the rock garden for a long moment. "Don't endanger yourself in any of this information-gathering, either. If it's a bad situation, get out and get word to us. We can send in someone who's volunteered for more dangerous duty." Yasmaili tosses her head. "If I get in beyond what I can handle, I will be sure to call for help." She doesn't sound like she thinks this is too likely, but the truth is that she isn't think about it at all. Instead she is running down in her mind a list of all the contacts she has in or amoung the older families. She had danced at a few naming day ceremonies for eldest sons. Those were prime contracts, for the money was good, and although the proud new parents (and the grandparents too, often as not) tended to be unusually picky about things like costuming color and modest demeanor, well that in and of itself was an advantage as far as she was concerned. But the naming day cerimonies seemed to be becoming less and less common here, only the most conservative families still held them, and mostly the call for dancers was for weddings. Mentally she grimaced. She was less fond of the weddings, but they were far better venue for poking and prying, and besides, they were far more common. In fact, she was certain she had heard rumors of wedding preparations the last time she had paused to join a gossiping cluster of womanfolk at on of the public wells. Mehuna would know, she thought, thinking of the plump dark-eyed dancer who was one of her favorite dancing companions. Mehuna was always too busy dealing out gossip to ask Yasmaili prying questions about her past. She was also trying to build a big enough dowery to make her an acceptable daughter-in-law to a certain jeweler, who had a very handsome son. If there was a wedding in the offing, she would know of it. As for trade in cloth and weapons, well the merchant's quarter was not unknown to her. Her plans for the future were not limited to dancing and magery, and she had been long keeping a keen eye on the comings and goings of the desert traders, so that when she finally had sufficient hoarded up to invest, she would be able to invest it wisely. She turns her attention back to Jamir, dipping fluidly and respectfully. "May we meet again by clear water." He nods just as respectfully. "Indeed." She then recreates the illusion of an old woman, stooping her shoulders, and shuffling toward the door. Chahraz's deep chuckle follows her out the door. This had certainly been an eventful day, and the evening wasn't even over yet. First she would try finding Mehuna, and then she'd head down to the coffee shop by the west market, and see if she could scent any unsual dealings. Or she could spend some time with that rascal Emif. He wouldn't know anything about cloth or weapons, but it often seemed that there wasn't a camel that came or left the City of Tears, but that he knew it, and it's ancestry, and its probabable destination--and at ten seasons Emif was already a strutting cock, eager to impress a pretty lady. All it would take would be a few innocent sounding dropped words. Yasmaili's almond eyes sparkle as she considers the challenge she has just been given. This might even be fun.
Back: Yasmaili's Prologue 9 Sun image provided by Clipart Castle.
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