“Lovely,”
Raven quips, “And what, I wonder, passes for currency here.”
“I
doubt there is much in the way of trade here,” the guide replies,
“I doubt there is much of anything at all.”
The
nearest stall, or at least what remains of it, begins to shake and
wobble, looking like it's going to collapse. A page from an oversize
book that might be acting as a door falls away. A very dishevelled
old man, barely dressed in filthy rags, coughs and crawls out to
totter to his feet. He looks about him, confusion hanging from his
shoulders, not seeming to notice Raven or his companion for several
moments. When he does, he quivers with shock for a second, then
speaks.
“Do
you,” he says, “Do... do you... you... do you know who I am?”
