"I don't think we're going to get much sleep tonight," he observed. "Mining towns aren't like farm villages," Silk pointed out. "Farmers feel the need for decorum - even when they're drunk. Miners tend on the whole to be somewhat rowdier."

Belgarath shrugged. "They'll quiet down in a bit. Most of them will be unconscious long before midnight." He turned to Silk. "As soon as the shops open up in the morning, I want you to get us some different clothing - used, preferably. If we look like gold hunters, nobody's going to pay very much attention to us. Get a pick handle and a couple of rock hammers. We'll tie them to the outside of the pack on our spare horse for show."

"I get the feeling you've done this before."

"From time to time. It's a useful disguise. Gold hunters are crazy to begin with, so people aren't surprised if they show up in strange places." The old man laughed shortly. "I even found gold once - a vein as thick as your arm."

Silk's face grew immediately intent. "Where?"

Belgarath shrugged. "Off that way somewhere," he replied with a vague gesture. "I forget exactly."

"Belgarath," Silk objected with a note of anguish in his voice.

"Don't get sidetracked," Belgarath told him. "Let's get some sleep. I want to be out of here as early as possible tomorrow morning."

The overcast which had lingered for weeks cleared off during the night; when Garion awoke, the new-risen sun streamed golden through the dirty window. Belgarath was seated at the rough table on the far side of the room, studying a parchment map, and Silk had already left.

"I thought for a while that you were going to sleep past noon," the old man said as Garion sat up and stretched.

"I had trouble getting to sleep last night," Garion replied. "It was a little noisy downstairs."

"Nadraks are like that."

A sudden thought occurred to Garion. "What do you think Aunt Pol is doing just now?" he asked.

"Sleeping, probably."

"Not this late."

"It's much earlier where she is."

"I don't follow that."

"Riva's fifteen hundred leagues west of here," Belgarath explained. "The sun won't get that far for several hours yet."

Garion blinked. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted.

"I didn't think you had."

The door opened, and Silk came in, carrying several bundles and wearing an outraged expression. He threw his bundles down and stamped to the window, muttering curses under his breath.

"What's got you so worked up?" Belgarath asked mildly.

"Would you look at this?" Silk waved a piece of parchment at the old man.

"What's the problem?" Belgarath took the parchment and read it. "That whole business was settled years ago," Silk declared in an irntated voice. "What are these things doing, still being circulated?"

"The description is colorful," Belgarath noted.

"Did you see that?" Silk sounded mortally offended. He turned to Garion. "Do I look like a weasel to you?"