It was very late by the time he made his way out of the city gate, but the township and its peoples were still mostly awake. There was very little to do once the sun went down, but the breaking of the desert heat was always celebrated and the people gathered in squares and makeshift pubs to gamble and gossip. Dogs barked and cats ran past Thorin’s feet after mice that had somehow followed his northern brethren across the desert. The night smelled of sweat and sand and of the peculiar liquors the Jadori brewed, which had quickly become popular among the hopeless folk of the township. As always, the nighttime sky was desert perfect. Clear and endless, it twinkled with stars.
Gilwyn had told Thorin exactly where to find the house of Paxon. Because the house was on the southern end of the township, he needed no horse to make his way there. Instead he went on foot, confident that he would be safe among the populace. Many of them were northerners like himself, after all, and like him they were trapped in a place they didn’t want to be. Though they clamoured to get into Grimhold and he clamoured to get out, they had much in common, and Thorin pitied them for that. As he moved through the crowded streets, still jammed with vendors, he ignored the stares and gestures of those he passed, not wanting to speak to anyone. He sought only the new Seekers from Liiria, and they only because they had fresh news. Thorin was hungry for news. Anything, any small morsel they could toss him, would be devoured.
The smell of Ganjeese cooking filled the air as Thorin made his way to the south quarter. It was the Ganjeese who had built the township years ago, content to live outside the Jadori wall and build their own peaceful trading post in the shadow of their Jadori neighbours. When the Seekers had started coming, the Ganjeese had made room for them. They were all cut off from the world now, kept from returning across the desert by the bloodthirsty Aztar, and the Ganjeese seemed to accept this with the usual grace of their ilk. In the south quarter, there were far more Ganjeese than northerners. Their homes were better, too. Built with permanence in mind, they were not the hastily constructed shacks the Seekers had thrown up. Being in the south quarter was like being in a corner of Ganjor itself, full of music and exotic smells and dotted with tiled minarets. Thorin took a deep breath as he walked through the narrow avenues, happy to be in the company of real people, away from the stifling air of Grimhold. As he made his way to the house where Paxon was now settled, he stopped at one of the nighttime stalls and bought bread-wrapped sausage from one of the vendors, paying for it with a worn-out coin. The dark-skinned merchant looked at him peculiarly, unsure whether or not to take the money from the baron. Thorin smiled and turned away before he could refuse. Holding the food tightly in his single hand, he stuffed it into his mouth as he walked. Though his mind raced with his mission to find Paxon, he was determined to enjoy his brief freedom.
He went on through the avenue, unhassled, until at last he found the bank of homes Gilwyn had told him about. A row of small, pretty houses of Ganjeese architecture greeted him with oblong windows and shingles of bright red clay. As he entered the street, he saw a man and a child seated on the ground outside one of the homes. The man had a book in his hand. The child — a girl — wore an enraptured expression. For Thorin, it took only a moment to recognise their Liirian garb. There were others in the street as well, men and women, but all of these had the swarthy skin of desert folk. Only the man with the book and his fresh-faced charge were northerners. The sight of them struck Thorin hard. He paused, staring at them as he wiped his greasy hand on his hip. Gilwyn had described Paxon as a grey-haired man of middle age, and this fellow fit that sketch perfectly. There was a weak smile on his face as he read to the girl, ignoring everyone else around him. Baron Glass did not go unnoticed, however. A woman chatting with some friends caught his eye and pointed. Thorin held up his hand to silence her, and she fell quiet. But it was the quiet that finally nabbed Paxon’s attention. He looked up from his storybook and glanced at Baron Glass, his eyes going from mildly annoyed to astonished in an instant.
Thorin looked around. He saw no other northerners. With a slight smile he stepped forward. ‘I am looking for a man named Paxon,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that he lives here. Might you be he?’
The man nodded. The little girl looked equally astonished.
‘I’m Paxon,’ he said. He kept the storybook opened in his lap. ‘You’re a Liirian. You’re Baron Glass.’
‘I’m afraid I have that ugly distinction, yes,’ said Thorin. He could feel the eyes of the gathering Ganjeese on him. The growing crowd made him uncomfortable. He took another step toward Paxon, smiling down at the girl and noticing her twisted leg. He said to her, ‘You’re Melini, aren’t you? Gilwyn Toms told me about you.’
The girl seemed too frightened to answer. Before she uttered a word a woman came out of the house, stopping at once when she saw Thorin. This was Melini’s mother, guessed Thorin, the one named Calith. According to Gilwyn, they were sharing this house along with a family of Ganjeese.
‘I’m not here with any special news, good or bad,’ said Thorin quickly. ‘I just want to talk. To you, Paxon, if that would be all right.’
Paxon looked both excited and confused. ‘Did the one called Minikin send you? We’ve been waiting. .’
‘No,’ said Thorin. ‘I came on my own to speak to you. I have questions, about Liiria.’
A dashed expression washed Paxon’s face. He slowly closed the book and shook his head. ‘The knight Lukien said the mistress would speak to us,’ he muttered. ‘We have been waiting days for word. Still nothing, you say?’
‘You must have word, Baron Glass,’ said the woman Calith. She went to her daughter Melini and rested a hand on the girl’s head. ‘Please, tell us something. Anything.’
Thorin knew he should have expected the reaction, but was unprepared for it. He stammered an apology. ‘No, I’m sorry. I really came of my own accord.’ He looked at Paxon. ‘I have no news for you, nor influence with Minikin. But I would be grateful for your time. Like you, I’m a Liirian who’s trapped here.’
‘Trapped?’ The term surprised Paxon. ‘You live in Mount Believer, sir. You are blessed.’
‘You know the woman Minikin, the one Lukien told us about,’ said Calith. ‘What has she said of our petition?’
‘No one knows the workings of Minikin’s mind, especially not I,’ replied Thorin. ‘It’s true, I do live in Grimhold, but I have no sway over who is allowed in and who is not, nor has Minikin told me anything about you. It was the boy, Gilwyn Toms, who told me where to find you.’
Paxon dropped the book to the dirt and rose to his feet. ‘Then the Bronze Knight has lied to us,’ he said angrily. ‘He said that Minikin would speak to us, but she has not. He said that things would be explained, but we are left here deaf and blind. And now you come to ask questions of us? I know you, Baron Glass. I am old enough to remember you. I did not believe you were alive until I came here.’ He gestured to the many Ganjeese surrounding them. ‘These people told me it was true, that you were still alive. When I heard that — and when I saw the Bronze Knight Lukien — I thought you would help us.’
Paxon’s words stung Thorin, but he did not show it. He kept his features hard as he replied, ‘I would still have words with you, though you think me a scoundrel. Will you let me ask my questions, Paxon? Or shall I go now and leave you here?’
It seemed to take great effort for Paxon to make his decision. He looked around at his dark-skinned hosts, then at Calith. Finally he replied, ‘We’ll talk, but not here. Walk with me. I know a place.’
Calith hurried him a cautioning glance. ‘No, Paxon, don’t bury yourself in drink again.’
‘It’s the only thing that helps, Calith,’ said Paxon. ‘Finish the story for Melini, then put her to bed.’ He sighed and walked toward Thorin. ‘Come with me, Baron Glass.’