“The King sent us down the road to your village,” Quon said, “to tell you about him and his pleasures. He’s a gracious king, and in his kindness he causes his sun to shine and rain to fall on all men.”

The woman spat on the ground. “Kindness? The burning sun is kindness? The soaking rain is kindness? I see no kindness.”

“There is much you don’t see,” Quon said. “But I can tell you firsthand the King offers you eyes to see. He did it for me.”

“Are you calling me blind?”

The big woman stepped forward suddenly and slapped Quon’s face so hard she knocked him to the ground. The crowd laughed. I started to restrain her, but Shad put his hand on my shoulder and stepped forward, arms outstretched, urgency in his voice. “We don’t want to fight. We’re just beggars telling other beggars where to find food.”

“Now you call us beggars,” an elegant woman said, handling the fine fabric of her dress. “Are these the clothes of a beggar?”

“Self-righteous bigots,” said Fistface. “That’s what you are, all of you.”

“Isn’t it possible,” Quon said, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, “that the truly self-righteous are those who imagine they don’t need the righteousness of the Chasm-crosser, that their own righteousness is enough?”

“Now you call us self-righteous?”

In unison, like a basketball crowd jeering the free-throw shooter, they waved their arms, then put their hands over their ears.

For just a moment I saw through a hole in the air great warriors clashing in combat. One stood in front of Quon, his sword raised in defense. Two comrades stood at his side, but dozens of shark-eyed warriors charged at them, wielding swords and battle-axes.

“No more!” shouted Fistface.

“Shut up!” screamed the muscular woman.

Fistface shoved Shad to the ground. Someone kicked him, then others did the same. I ran to Shad, put my body over his, taking the kicks in my side. A boot hit my face, and my vision blurred. But even from the ground I saw through the hole in the air—the warrior in front of Quon looked up as if listening to a voice from above. Then with a pained expression, he lowered his sword.

Everywhere people were throwing things and yelling. In the midst of the riot someone shouted, “Let your king save you now!”

Frenzied men and women grabbed Malaiki and Victoria, but I managed to snatch them and pull them outside the circle. While everyone watched Fistface move toward Quon, I hurried the women beneath two adjoining willows on the edge of our camp.

“Stay put,” I pleaded.

I ran back to see a dozen men encircling Quon.

Before I realized what was happening, Fistface, his shark eyes showing, raised a stone and threw it at Quon. It hit him in the shoulder and deflected off to his ear.