He knew that he could not go on much longer, that he had to find a place to rest. The crowning irony was that by Kammian standards he was rich. The coins he had picked up so casually amounted to a small fortune; and yet he had no notion of how to find an inn or even a flophouse. He did not even know whether Kamm had such things.He needed a place to rest, but he also had to contrive a new disguise that he could wear with confidence. After the fiasco in the mart, every black-caped priest in Northpor would be on the lookout for the perfumer who had profaned the holy circle. He had to find the uniform of a different occupation, preferably one that he could perform; and as far as he knew, on the entire world of Kamm there wasn’t any.Peering through a window, he saw, in the warehouse’s dimly moonlit interior, a bin filled with something that might have been clothing. The building’s door was multiply hinged and secured with a crude wood lock. Reminding himself that noise didn’t matter, Darzek pounded the tough wood with a rock and failed to dent it.
