Chapter Four
It was his youth and wasted vigour that made the vision of Timof Vak more disturbing, Tasha decided.
Vak, of a more affluent background than his Order-mate Artemo, lived in a small but sumptuously fitted-up house about ten minutes’ walk from the harbour and Artemo’s cottage. He’d been engaged in the fur trade, just starting out in the business but already successful. Several specimens of his wares lay strewn about his house: a large, velvet-brown fur covering a wide window-seat, and another of black tints cast over the tall-backed chair in which the man himself sat.
They’d arrived to find the house locked up. Vak must have had a servant or two to look after him, but no one was home; Tasha had at length been given leave to practice her lock-picking skills upon Vak’s stout fr
