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nervous giggles.
I confess that I had briefly worried that one of my bags might not make it all
the way back with me, or that something would disappear from one of them, and
so felt quite utterly mortified when, in my room, after checking the bags were
all there, I opened them up and discovered that not only did they contain
everything I'd bought, several of them held more: little home-made sweets and
savouries wrapped in carefully folded greaseproof paper and tied with ribbon,
and tiny artificial flowers made from wire and cut silk.
The weather early the next morning was appalling: a furious snowstorm whirled
outside my triple glazing. I could hear it through the glass, through the
stone walls. I had mixed feelings about this sort of weather. It would make
getting around difficult but on the other hand it might hold off the Prince
for another day or two. At least it hadn't stopped the palace generator from
working. Electric power: hot water and a working hair-dryer. I treated
myself to my second shower in twelve hours, lost myself within the comforting
hum of the hair-dryer, then hesitated when it came to dressing. Western or
ethnic?
I chose Western, so pulled on the dungarees, seriously pocketed jacket and
fake Timbies, and plonked the
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complicated hat upon my head. As an afterthought, just before I left the
room, I stuck one of the little wire and silk flowers in the velcro fastening
of one of the jacket's pockets.
By the time I was squeaking through the snow in the main courtyard the weather
had abated somewhat;
the wind had dropped and only a few flakes were falling, though the mass of
cloud above the valley looked low and dark and heavy with more snow.
Children met me at the gates again, appearing from every direction. To my
shame, I realised I had no idea if they were the. same ones as yesterday or
not. It was time to stop treating them as a mass, I
guessed. I hunkered down and smiled and started trying to find out names.
'Me, Kathryn,' I said, pointing at myself. 'Kath-rin.'
They giggled and looked down and snorted and shuffled their feet. Eventually
I worked out what I hoped were a few of their names and got them to understand
I wanted to go to the Heavenly Luck Tea House. I
tied a few pointy hats on properly and wiped a couple of snotty noses with a
paper handkerchief.
I stood up, took two of the offered chubby little hands and we tramped
downhill through the snow.
'Ms Telman. Hi. Josh Levitsen.'
'How do you do.' We shook hands. Mr Levitsen was not what I'd been expecting
at all. He was young
though his tan skin was deeply lined he was full-bearded, blond, and wore a
slightly grubby fawn parka with a matted fur hood lining, and a pair of
leather-sided circular mountaineering glasses with surfaces like oil on water.
'Fine. Just fine. You having breakfast? I've got tea here for both of us.'
The Heavenly Luck Tea House was within a skyed penalty shot of the football
field/airstrip, with a view over that and the snow-filled valley. It was warm
and steamy and full of people, mostly
Thulahnese. Polished wood was everywhere and the floorboards creaked like a
swamp full of demented frogs.
'What do you recommend?'
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'Rikur saraut, champe and thuuk.'
'What's that?'
'Corn pancakes they keep syrup behind the counter just for me and my guests
porridge and thick noodle soup; kampa spicy if you like.'
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'Perhaps a very little of each. I'm not terribly hungry.'
He nodded, waved one arm and shouted the order. He poured us both some strong
tea into cups with no handles but little ceramic tops. We exchanged a few
pleasantries and agreed to use first names before he sat forward and lowered
his voice a little. 'Just to let you know, Kate, I used to be with the
Company.'
'The CIA?' I asked quietly.
He grinned. 'Yeah, but now I'm with the Business.' He lowered his glasses to
wink.
'I see.' This had, of course, been mentioned in the CD-ROM Tommy Cholongai had
given me: Mr
Levitsen wasn't actually an employee of ours, but we did pay him quite a lot
of money and he had a vague idea that we were interested in the place for more
than the odd diplomatic passport.
'You let me know if I can be of any help.' He spread his arms wide. 'I am at
your disposal, Kate. I have a lot of contacts. Smoke?' He pulled a little
painted tin from one pocket of the grubby parka and took out a slim
hand-rolled cigarette.
'No, thank you.'
'Mind if I do?'
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