No matter where Adam looked, all he could see was coloured folk. Everyone, from the children to the children, wore something bright and vibrant. It was either their efit, or a scarf, a sash around their waist, or even a strip of cloth tied to a finger.

  It wasn’t just the people which were full of colour, but the buildings too, each painted with spshes, and sometimes more, of any colour imaginable. Adam saw different kinds of reds, and if he had a girlfriend she would have certainly mentioned how it wasn’t red, but scarlet, and that over there was crimson and such.

  East Port, with its various districts, boundaries formed by the various als, was an atta his sight. Any time he saerson without colour, they were either street urs, or the guards, who wore more muted colours.

  “East Port is known for its colours,” Jurot replied.

  “You know, it makes seo me that Sir Vonda’s an artist,” Adam said. His eyes tio s the area was they stepped over the various bridges, heading through the small districts.

  As they tinued, he also spotted a rge number of those who weren’t Aldish, mostly those who he assumed were Aswadian, Half Elves, Devilkin, Noskan, and even Dwarves.

  Adam noted children carrying packs made of wood, which were full of all manner of items as they followed adults. ‘This pce sure works them hard while young.’

  They found themselves at a rge road with stalls oher side as far as the eye could see.

  “Market Road,” Timothy said, gng around the area. “If you want to buy anything, you find it here. If you ’t, Dock Road will surely have it.”

  As they passed by the stalls, Adam could see that the pce truly did have everything, or at least, everything Adam could think of. From ons, to books, to musical instruments. However, he found that many of the stalls sold cloths of all manner of colours, with some merts selling only a siype of colour.

  “Yellow Turban!” Timothy shouted towards a Devilkin with deep red skin, wearing a yellow turban. Adam noted he was also wearing scale mail, and carried a scimitar at his side, but had no bde, only a hilt dangling at the man’s side.

  “Timothy,” Yellow Turban replied. “Have you e for your cloth?”

  “Not yet. I came because a familiar face appeared.” He turned and motioo Sir Vonda. “It’s Sir Vonda of Life’s Rose.”

  “Eh? Sir Vonda? It is you?” the old man opened his arms and approached Sir Vonda, taking her hands in his own. “Noor blesses me, for you have returned.”

  “It’s good to see you, Yellow Turban,” she said, squeezing his hands. “How fares Kalid?”

  “The foolish boy, son of a cat, is always sleeping!” Yellow Turban shouted over his shoulder.

  A boy, no older than seven, sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at his father with the most indignant look Adam had ever seen, before he spat out a response iongue.

  Jaygak gasped, and Dunes shook his head, as if not believing what the boy had said.

  “What are you doing still sleeping when mister Timothy is here?” Yellow Turban asked.

  The boy hopped onto his feet, spshing some water from a nearby basin onto his face, before he slicked back his hair, which fell to his shoulders, araightened his clothing, which was a creamy yellow.

  “Hoi hoi hoi,” the boy said, sauntering up to the guard. “Mister Timothy only o pay me nine copper but he pays a silver. So handsome, so generous.” He csped his hands together, before pulling his colr up, waiting expetly.

  Timothy raised a brow at the boy, but flicked him a silver, which the boy easily caught, slipping it into the robe. “There is o be so shy, mister Timothy. You tell this Kalid where you o go, what o be carried, and Kalid will take it there. You done in one hour? Kalid do it in fifty nine minute, no problem, as Noor wills it.”

  “You little bastara,” Yellow Turban said, tugging him by his ear gently. “e, say thank you to Sir Vonda, or I will buy a cat for you to eat.”

  “Sir Vonda?” the boy asked, trying to search through his brain. “Ah! Sir Vonda! Hoi hoi hoi, you are as beautiful as father has said.”

  “Son of a cat, that is not Sir Vonda,” Yellow Turban, turned his son to look from Kitool to Sir Vonda.

  “Hoi, even more beautiful,” Kalid said, g his hands together, before kissing his bunched up fingers and pointing them out towards Sir Vonda. “For you, Sir Vonda, I carry only for one copper today.”

  Yellow Turban pihe boy’s cheek. “Go get a roll of Salifi gold, or I will not cook the cat before I feed it to you, bastara.”

  “Does bastara mean bastard?” Adam whispered to Jurot.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s with all the cat business?” Adam asked.

  “His hates cats.”

  “Uandable.”

  The boy grabbed a roll of cloth, hoisting it over his shoulder as he held it with one hand, the roll slightly rger than himself, but he ba with ease. “For you, Sir Vonda, I sell this cloth half price.”

  “Half price? Half price, your mother. Sir Vonda save your life and you say half price? Sir Vonda, for you? Free. You will take it, because only Salifi gold is good enough for you.”

  “For you, Sir Vonda,” Kalid began, holding his hand out towards her, before looking at his father disapprovingly. “We give two rolls.”

  “Two rolls, your mother, you think I am made of gold when you sleep all day?” Yellow Turban pihe boy’s cheek again. “Bastara, wait until we go bad your mother hears of this.”

  “I try for you, Sir Vonda, but you see this son of cat? Save my life and only one free roll? What I do?” The boy shrugged his shoulders, as if there was nothing to be done.

  Adam leaned in to Jurot. “Jurot, why is this kid so much fuhan me?”

  “That’s not hard to do,” Jaygak said. “Yellow Turban, from the Golde?”

  “We are from everywhere now,” Yellow Turban said. “We e from Golde, Red Desert, all pces.”

  Jaygak removed her helmet, before she nodded her head, and spoke to Yellow Turban iongue.

  Yellow Turban cpped his hands together, before tugging his son by his shoulder, fixing his hair by ruining it and then sweeping it back. He said something to Jaygak.

  “I don’t think I do that,” Jaygak replied, smiling. “I’m sure he is very capable, but I think his tongue is too wicked even for me.”

  Yellow Turban smiled, before stroking his son’s head. “Yes, he is my son.” He grabbed the boy’s cheeks, and wiped his face tenderly. “You follow mister Timothy, and e back right away.”

  “I’ll bring him back as soon as I’m doimothy assured.

  The older Devilkin pced a yellow turban on his son’s head, and made sure the boy was carrying the silver disc at his side, and his dagger. He kissed the boy’s forehead, before allowing him to carry the cloth away.

  “Sir Vonda, make sure you e back,” Yellow Turban said. “I will have all the gold cloth you need. You like yellow instead? I give you yellow. You want e? I think about it. Red? No. No red. Do I look like Red Turban? No, I am Yellow Turban, yes?”

  “I will,” Sir Vonda replied, bowing her head.

  Timothy tinued leading the way, heading towards the Adventurer’s Guild. Kalid sauntered after him, his eyes sing across the area around them. Sometimes he’d motion his hands as though to direct traffid other times he’d sigh and shake his head, grumbling to himself, and if he saw something toious, he’d sp his forehead.

  “Why do they call him Yellow Turban?” Adam asked.

  “Because he is Yellow Turban,” Jurot replied.

  “Is that some kind of title?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Adam waited. “What is a Yellow Turban then?”

  “They e from Aswadasad, and from the nds of the federacy. There was a time when they revolted against a Shen of old, The Turban Rebellions. They were eventually forced away, save the Yellow Turbans aurbans. The Red Turbans fled away to the Red Desert for safety, though some split off further. The Yellow Turbans remained in the Golde, and mao appease the Shen.”

  “How did they mahat?”

  “They stood in lines of tens, and slit their own throats line by line, until the Shen ahem to stop, and he fave them,” Jurot expined.

  Adam’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Oh.”

  “Later, they made a name for themselves otlefield, though they eventually became traders. Yellow Turban is the title of a Great Elder, but each goes by Yellow Turban. He must be Yellow Turban of the West, since he does business i Port.”

  “Right, because we’re west of Aswadasad?” Adam asked, trying to build a map within his head.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s with his sword?”

  “It is the Windsabre,” Jurot whispered, as though speaking of an a legend. “It is passed down from Yellow Turban to Yellow Turban. It holds a Greater entment, and forms a bde of wind when willed forth.”

  “These Yellow Turban guys are cool,” Adam said, looking at the boy who shook his head at a nearby woman, earing yellows which did not pliment her plexion, in the boy’s opinion.

  “Yes,” Jurot replied. “They are.”

  “Is Yellow Turban strong?”

  “Yes.”

  “How strong?”

  “A Grandmaster at least.”

  Adam whistled. “Damn. They’re stronger and fuhahat’s nht, Jurot. It’s nht at all.”

  “It is life, Adam.”

  We meet my favourite np 7/7. 7 is one of my favourite numbers. This must be Fate.