Sunset of Lantonne by Jim Galford

listening to him. The sharp staccato to his words made Ilarra wonder where he hailed from. It vaguely reminded her of the gypsy accent, but it was more precise in its pattern. “You are the only one—aside from myself, of course—not looking for a new profession or home.”
    Glaring over her notebook, Ilarra answered coolly, “I am looking for work. You don’t know me, sir. Please talk to someone else.”
    The robed man laughed and leaned back against the side of the wagon, pulling back his hood to reveal that he was a middle-aged human with a completely shaved head and black tattoos near his eyes, running down into his cheeks. The style was unlike any Ilarra had seen before and set her on-edge, despite his welcoming smile. The tribal people that occasionally raided her home also had a fondness for tattoos, though she could see that these were very different and this man seemed hardly the sort to wear animal hides.
    “You lie, though I do not hold it against you.” His eyes drifted over her, before darting to another passenger who started to interject something. The other man closed his mouth quickly. “Humor me for a moment, girl. There is little else to amuse myself with on this trip than guessing at the purposes of others or gambling with the gypsies, which will make me a poor man all too quickly. This helps pass the time.”
    “Then continue talking to yourself,” Ilarra snapped, rolling up the pile of parchments and tying them off with a thin leather cord. She looked around for Raeln but could not see him on either side of the wagon, where he normally could be found loping along. “My reason for traveling is no concern of yours.”
    “I did not say I was concerned.”
    The man leaned out a window on his side of the wagon, blocking the view of an older man who had been staring blankly at the horizon. Smirking, the robed man looked back at Ilarra.
    “You travel wearing dirty clothing, like the rest of us,” he noted, gesturing toward her long dress, which she had bought specifically for the journey. “However, yours is sewn with cloth made from the vegetation we passed a week or so ago…that indicates you lived in that area, rather than merely passing through. The seams are done well for this region, indicating a skilled seamstress did the work. I would hazard that you come from wealth and wish to hide that.”
    An old woman opened her eyes and glanced over at Ilarra as though evaluating her outfit to confirm that man’s guesses. It was all Ilarra could do to ignore the woman as she self-consciously smoothed the simple dress, wishing she had found something more plain for the journey. Her father had warned her to dress as much like the plains farmers as possible to help avoid thieves, but she had clearly not been careful enough.
    “The parchment you scribble on is a ram skin, rather than the cheaper and more common sheep’s skin used in these parts,” he continued, smiling a bit more as Ilarra covered the parchment with her hand. “Given the ink stains around your nails you have attempted to hide, I would hazard that you are going to Lantonne to study, rather than to find work.”
    “Who are you?” Ilarra demanded, wondering if she needed to call out for Raeln. This man was beginning to really make her nervous, and with the other passengers starting to pay attention, she might need the help getting away from him. Still, she had no desire to see Raeln beat the man to a bloody pulp just yet.
    “The rest of us brought food and water, as well as some clothing and a few possessions,” the robed man added, ignoring her. “You brought books and very little in the way of supplies. That indicates either poverty, which I’ve already ruled out, or the anticipation of a place to stay. I stand by my guess.”
    Ilarra did not know his place of origin, but it was certainly an uncivilized one, if he were so willing to pry into the matters of others. The tattoos, in particular, made her wonder where he might have