Farther along the riverside a couple of transport boats nudged against the stone quay, their decks piled with cages of differing types and sizes. Ramus could smell the animals from here, and not all of the smells were familiar. Sheebok was the strongest—the rich, pungent stench of shit and fear from a species that seemed to know it was bred only for eating. But there were other, wilder scents, and he debated whether or not to investigate. The trade in exotic food was increasing as the Age of Expansion pushed the borders of civilization ever southward, and he had commented to Nomi that some people were too greedy to consider the dangers of what they were bringing back. She had laughed at him, of course. A goat from here is the same as a goat from there, she'd said. But he had reminded her of her own voyages to Ventgoria, and what she had seen there, and her expression had clouded for a few beats before she waved his concerns away.

He had heard of ravens, existing far to the south, that stole dreams. Pecked holes in skulls while their victims were asleep. Bring a few mating pairs of those things to Long Marrakash and—

“Ramus!”

He blinked, looked at the wooden bridge and saw Nomi standing there. A tall, slender man stood behind her, head bowed. She beckoned Ramus over.

“Ramus, this is Ten.”

Ramus nodded at the tall man. “First name, last or one in between?”

“Only name,” Ten said.

Ramus held out his hands and, after a brief pause, the man grasped them in his own. “Good travels,” Ramus said.

Ten smiled, a hint of mockery behind the leathery mask of his face.

“Let's eat!” Nomi said. “I'm starving. I hear they caught a cloud of river plumes last night. Shall we?”

Nomi went first and, after an awkward moment, Ten followed. Ramus came last, using the time it took them to reach Naru May's to examine the man.

He really was a wanderer. Ramus had been doubtful last night, but the man's true nature was obvious. The mix of clothes, the skin leathered by the sun and elements, the neutral accent—although Ramus thought he'd detected a twang of the Pavissia Steppes somewhere in there. Ten also exuded the vague superiority projected by every wanderer when they visited a settlement, especially one as large as Long Marrakash. The feeling was often well earned; the average wanderer had seen more than most Noreelans.