“Anything you want of me,” the seeress says without any other greeting, her eyes flashing, “must be amply paid for. My name is Zlata, which means gold, and you must pay me only in that.”
That immediately angers me, because I want lots from her. Who does she think wanders around the Sheet-lands carrying bags of treasure?
“The only gold I have,” I say, “is a bracelet.”
“I know,” she says.
“It is my most prized possession. It was given to me by my grandfather.”
“For this moment,” she says.
It is difficult to argue with someone who sees all things, so I slip off the bracelet and hand it over. She studies it close and then sniffs the inside, sticking her tongue out to taste it there.
“Now I own a piece of you,” she tells me. “You will do well to remember this.”
I’m beginning to think we
