“You’ve had the free use of my home all morning. I’ll not apologize for reclaiming a bit of it.” I pulled my left arm out from under the hide-covered box, relieved to find the limb intact, and I tried to disengage my head from a pile of colorful woven goods. I scarcely had time to glimpse the flat silver light of desert noonday before a wad of coarse gray linen hit me in the face. “Put this on.” The woman was not at all in good humor. Her command was easier spoken than obeyed, as first I had to untangle myself from the unending folds of the garment, and one of my hands seemed to be firmly attached somewhere else. And even beyond these difficulties, my head ached so ferociously I could scarcely see. Someone released the immovable hand by untying the ropes that bound it. A similar activity in the region of my ankles told me they had been tied, too—a disconcerting discovery. “Sorry for the bindings. We said you were W‘Assani’s new slave who had misbehaved.” Malver’s dark face swam in a blur of sunlight and gray cloth.
