Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [75]
“This seems to be an unusually cultivated clustering of humans,” the big cat commented. “One even remarked on how handsome and imposing was I.”
“Evidently all their intelligence has gone into design.” Hands on hips, Simna stood in the center of the street surveying their surroundings. A middle-aged man on horseback came trotting past and barely glanced in their direction. While the swordsman admired his flowing green cape, Ehomba noted with interest the schematics of the leather and brass tack, and Ahlitah lowered his gaze and growled deep in his throat at the nearness of so much easy meat. Luckily for the rider’s ride, his mount did not meet the big cat’s eyes.
“We need to find some sort of general trading house or store where we can replenish our supplies.” Reaching around to pat his pack, Simna grinned affably. “One thing about gold: Not much hurts it. Not even seawater.”
“I thought your purse was drained.” Ehomba eyed his friend uncertainly.
The swordsman was not in the least embarrassed. “I didn’t tell you everything, Etjole. I was keeping some in reserve, for myself. But”—he shrugged resignedly—“where I go so goes my belly, and right now it’s more empty than my purse. I imagine it’s the same with you.”
Ehomba gestured diffidently. “I can go a long time without food.”
“Hoy, but why should you?” Simna put a comradely arm around the tall man’s shoulders. “Take food when and where you can, says I. By the look of this place, whatever we purchase here will be fresh and of good quality. Who knows what the next port of call may bring? To a general store for victuals and then, onward to Hamacassar!”
Ehomba followed his friend across the street. “Why Simna, you sound almost enthusiastic.”
The swordsman responded to the observation with a hearty smile. “It’s my way of concealing desperate impatience. But I’m not really worried, because I know that the treasure that lies at the end of this quest will be well worth all the time and effort and hardships.”
Ehomba thought of Roileé the witch dog’s prediction, which echoed Rael the Beautiful’s prediction. “I hope so, friend Simna.”
Citizens gave them directions to a high-ceilinged establishment several blocks distant. Immediately upon entering it, Simna knew they had been guided to the right place. Larger goods were stacked in the center of the wooden-plank floor, while on either side shelves and compartments filled with smaller articles rose to a height of nearly two stories. Like bees probing flowers for honey, young boys on rolling ladders slid back and forth along these walls, picking out requested items in response to sharply barked orders from busy attendants below. At the far end of the single long room was a small bar fronting a handful of tables and chairs at which habitual denizens of the store’s depths sat chatting, drinking, and smoking.
Polite customers made room for the travelers to pass. Or perhaps they were simply getting out of the litah’s way. As it always did in the presence of so many humans, the big cat kept its massive head down and eyes mostly averted. This premeditated posture of specious submission went a long way toward alleviating the concerns of old men, and women with young children in tow.
While Simna shopped, Ehomba pestered the clerks with question after question. So much of what he saw on the shelves was new and wonderful to him. There were small mechanical devices of intricate design, and brightly dyed fabrics and household items. Much of the prepackaged food was outside his experience, and an exasperated Simna was obliged on repeated occasions to explain the nature of foreign imports and exoticisms.
When they had accomplished what they had come for, and finalized their purchases, a dour Simna held the last of the Chlengguu gold in one hand and counted