Chapter Thirteen

The day before the lessons were to begin, they removed all the furniture and paintings from the parlor and rolled up the carpet. Since the appointed day was hot, Terefar helped Wishbone mix wine with cool water. Then the wathara disappeared upstairs, presumably to hide under his bed. A pile of towels lay upon one old chair. Sir's mane was braided, and he wore the oldest clothes he had to hand.

The knock on the front door arrived exactly on time. Sir stood and straightened his clothes. Wishbone answered the door. He bowed to Ah Jiniráo, led the shih-aan to the parlor, then backed into a corner and pretended to be invisible. The visitor set down a bag on the floor.

"Anshan," said Ah Jiniráo, and gave an abbreviated bow of a sort that Wishbone had never seen before. Unlike all previous visits, Ah Jiniráo was serious and composed, with no hint of malice about him.

"Enshan," said Sir. He crossed his arms over his chest, bowed from the waist, and stayed there.

"Rise. Let me see your hands."

Sir held out both hands, palms up, and extended his claws. Ah Jiniráo squeezed each fingertip in turn, locking the claw in place while he examined it. Wishbone squinted until he could see that the claws had been filed to the quick. Ah Jiniráo finished with Sir's hands, and they both pulled off their boots and stripped to the waist.

Wishbone blinked. Of course there...