Spring Ball 2006 2

"That's impressive," Weft said seriously. "If the authorities had the resources to manage everybody like that, it would really help to protect them."

"I think it was mainly a way to get some money out of people. And maybe, er, chicanery."

"A license to lock your door?" repeated Suitov, who'd just caught up with the conversation. "But that's impossible to police. Didn't the rulers have better things to do with their time?"

"Maybe they're more efficient than your backwoods principalities," Weft smirked.

"Efficient enough that they have lots of spare time to tell people how to tie their shoes and enforce it by a clerical decree?"

"The sheet bend was proven to be heretical," scowled Weft.

"What about a cat's-paw?"

"I do knot know what you're talking about."

Ter crouched a bit as he made his entrance. The alternative would involve mortal combat with a particularly boisterous grapevine. He wasn't sure he'd end up on the winning side.

He had green eyes, two legs and the (mostly) standard epidermis for the area. As if this wasn't enough disguise, he wore a mask. It was scaly, chinese and draconic. It was also full helmet, projecting muzzle, whiskery and somewhat cumbersome. Hence the save against the grape vine.

He was sad. There were many things he missed, and his horde was first among them. But he had caught the last half of the conversation.

"Why not have a license for a door itself? Wouldn't that be easier to police?" The voice was slightly hollow. The helm gave it more echo than a mere modulated sound wave was qualified to handle.

"The proof of license was a seal stamped into the metal of the lock, or a small metal plate attached to the door on the inside, to prevent theft, if there were no metal parts on the outside of the door. Not that difficult to check."

She smiled and nodded a greeting at the newcomer, wondering if his voice was natural or some kind of trick.

Festal scales! The draconic mask definitely put Suitov's understated effort in the shade, if we'll pardon the pun.

"Now that's a sensible idea," Weft said. If Ter'd been yanking his string, he was completely oblivious to it. "Nice headpiece. Mind if I ask who made it?"

Ter rotated his arms in sort of a shrug. Sharp popping sounds emitted from the involved joints

"Random market. I made the mistake of looking at it and the vendor chased me until I bought it. I didn't want to interfere with the functioning of his niche."

"Then it kinda hit me that the area had apparently had a vendor population explosion, resulting in a dire need of pruning. So he was supper, along with several of his fellows."

"I got my money back." The man in the iron dragon mask managed to look a little embarrassed, whilst stepping back a bit.