craftsman's apprentices.
There is yet the master smith, and those who bring the weapon to you.
No, friend, if you want this prince of swords, you must expect to pay
for it. One does not--" He paused. Lanko was sheathing the weapon, his
whole bearing expressing unwilling relinquishment.

Musa slowed his speech. "Still," he said softly, "I am closing out my
eastern stock, after all. Suppose we make it eight hundred fifty?"

"Did you say two hundred fifty?" Lanko held the sheathed sword up,
turning to the light to inspect the leather work.

The bargaining went on. Outside, the crowds in the street thinned, as
the populace started for their evening meals. The sword was inspected
and re-inspected. It slid out of its sheath and back again. Finally,
Musa sighed.

"Well, all right. Make it five hundred, and I'll go to dinner with you."
He shook his head in a nearly perfect imitation of despair. "May the
wineshop do better than I did."

* * * * *

"Housewife, this is Watchdog. Over."

The man at the workbench looked around. Then, he laid his tools aside,
and picked up a small microphone.

"This is Housewife," he announced.

"Coming in."

The worker clipped the microphone to his jacket, and crossed the room to
a small panel. He threw a switch, looked briefly at a viewscreen, then
snapped another switch.

"Screen's down," he reported. "Come on in, Lanko."

An opening appeared in the wall, to show a fleeting view of a bleak
landscape. Bare rocks jutted from the ice, kept clear of snow by the
shrieking wind. Extreme cold crept into the room, then a man swept in
and the wall resumed its solidity behind him.

He stood for an instant, glancing around, then shrugged off a light robe
and started shedding equipment.

"Hi, Pal," he was greeted. "How are things down Karth way?"

"Nothing exceptional." Lanko shrugged. "This area's getting so peaceful
it's monotonous." He unsnapped his accumulator and crossed to the power
generator.

"No wars, or rumors of wars," he continued. "The town's getting
moral--very moral, and it's developing into a major center of commerce
in the process." He kicked off his sandals, wriggled out of the baggy
native trousers, and tossed his shirt on top of them.

"No more shakedowns. Tax system's working the way it was originally
intended to, and the merchants are flocking in."

He walked toward the wall, flicking a hand out. An opening appeared, and
he ducked t