"Take him outside, Ce'Nedra," Polgara instructed. "He's dripping mud on our clean floor. Garion, there's a washtub in the lean-to. Put it in the dooryard and fill it." She smiled at Geran's mother. "It's about time for him to have a bath anyway. For some reason, little boys always seem to need bathing. Garion used to get dirty even while he was asleep."

On one perfect evening, Garion joined Belgarath just outside the cottage door. "You seem a bit pensive, Grandfather. What's the problem?"

“I’ve been thinking about living arrangements. Poledra's going to be moving back into my tower with me."

"So?"

"We're probably going to become involved in a decade or so of cleaning and hanging window curtains. How can a man took out at the world with window curtains in his way?"

"Maybe she won't make such an issue of it. Back on Perivor, she said that wolves aren't as compulsively tidy as birds are."

"She lied, Garion. Believe me, she lied."

The guests rode up a few days later. Despite the fact that it was almost summer now, Yarblek still wore his shabby felt overcoat, his shaggy fur hat, and a disconsolate expression. Vella, the overwhelmingly sensual Nadrak dancer, wore her usual tight-fitting black leather.

"What are you up to, Yarblek?" Belgarath asked Silk's partner.

"This wasn't my idea, Belgarath. Vella insisted."

"All right," Vella said in a commanding voice, "I haven't got all day. Let's get on with this. Get everybody out of the house. I want witnesses to this."

"What exactly are we witnessing, Vella?" Ce'Nedra asked the dark-haired girl.

"Yarblek's going to sell me."

"Vella!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed, outraged. "That's revolting“

"Oh, bother that," Vella snapped. Bother was not precisely the word Vella used. She looked around. "Are we all here?"

"That's everybody," Belgarath told her.

"Good." She slid down from her saddle and sat cross-legged on the grass. "Let's get down to business. You Beldin, or Feldegast, or whatever you want to call yourself one time back in Mallorea, you said you wanted to buy me. Were you serious?"

Beldin blinked. "Well " he floundered. "I suppose I was, sort of."

"I want a yes or a no, Beldin," she said crisply.

"All right then, yes. You're not a bad-looking wench, and you curse and swear rather prettily."

"Good. What are you prepared to offer for me?"

Beldin choked, his face going suddenly red.

"Don't dawdle, Beldin," she told him. "We haven't got all day for this. Make Yarblek an offer."

“Are you serious?" Yarblek exclaimed.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. How much are you willing to pay for me, Beldin?"

"Vella," Yarblek protested, "this is absolute nonsense."

"Shut up, Yarblek. Well, Beldin? How much?"

"Everything I own," he replied, his eyes filled with a kind of wonder.

"That's a little unspecific. Give me a number. We can't haggle without a number,"