Sitting cross-legged on a
cushion near the door was Nema, juggling something in her hands. It
looked like a cluster of colored threads, partly woven into a rather
garish pattern. On a raised bench between two windows sat the old figure
of Sather Karf, resting his chin on hands that held a staff and staring
at Dave intently.
Dave stopped as the door closed behind him. Sather Karf nodded, as if
satisfied, and Nema tied a complex knot in the threads, then paused
silently.
Sather Karf looked far less well than when Dave had last seen him. He
seemed older and more shriveled, and there was a querulous, pinched
expression in place of the firmness and almost nobility Dave had come to
expect. His old eyes bored into the younger man, and he nodded. His
voice had a faint quaver now. "All right. You're not much to look at,
but you're the best we could find in the Ways we can reach. Come here,
Dave Hanson."
The command was still there, however petty the man seemed now. Dave
started to phrase some protest, when he found his legs taking him
forward to stop in front of Sather Karf, like some clockwork man whose
lever has been pushed. He stood in front of the raised bench, noticing
that the spot had been chosen to highlight him in the sunset light from
the windows. He listened while the old man talked.
Sather Karf began without preamble, stating things in a dry voice as if
reading off a list of obvious facts.
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