the placement of the jewelry Raistlin, who cared nothing about the matter and would have just as soon seen the

jewelry on the roof as anyplace else, managed to escape by pretending he hadn't heard the dwarf's bellow.

He made his way through the fairgrounds, watched the activity with interest. Shutters were coming down,

handcarts were being wheeled to the proper locations. The smells of bacon and fresh bread filled the air. The grounds

were quiet, compared to the noise and confusion expected later in the day. Vendors called out to wish each other

luck, or gathered together to share food and stories, or bartered for each other's work.

The vendors had only been here a day, and already they had formed their own community, complete with leaders,

gossip, and scandals, bound together by the feeling of camaraderie, an "us against them" mentality. "Them" meant

the customers, who were spoken of in the most disparaging terms and who would later be met with gracious smiles

and servile attitudes.

Raistlin viewed this little world with amused cynicism until he came to the booth of one of the bakers. A young

woman was arranging fresh, hot muffins in a basket. Their spicy cinnamon smell made a pleasant accompaniment to

the smell of wood smoke from the brick ovens and tempted Raistlin to walk over and ask the price. He was fumbling

for his few remaining pennies, wondering if he had enough, when the young woman smiled at him and shook her

head.

"Put your money away, sir. You're one of us."

The muffin warmed his hands as he walked; the taste of apples and cinnamon burst on his tongue. It was

undoubtedly the best muffin he had ever eaten, and he decided that being part of the small community was very

pleasant, even if it all was a bit odd.

The streets of Haven were beginning to waken. Small children came bursting out of doors, squealing with

excitement that they were going to go to the fair. Their harassed mothers darted out to retrieve them and wash their

grimy faces. The town guard walked about with an important air, mindful of strangers visiting Haven and determined

to impress.

Raistlin kept a watch out for any of the blue -robed priests of Belzor. When he saw some in the distance, he

ducked hastily into the next block to avoid them. It was unlikely that any would have recognized him as the shabbily

clad peasant from the night before, but he dared not take the chance. He had considered putting on the same

disguise today, but reflected thathe

would have to explain the reason for the disguise to Lemuel, something he did not want to do if it could be

avoided. The meek little man would most certainly try to dissuade Raistlin from going through with his plan.

Raistlin did not feel equal to hearing any more arguments. He'd heard them all already from himself.

The sun's rays were melting the frost on the leaves in the street when Raistlin reached Lemuel's house. The

house was quiet, and though this was not unusual for the reclusive mage, Raistlin realized uneasily that it

was still very early in the morning. Lemuel might still be asleep.

Raistlin prowled about outside the house for several moments, not liking to wake the mage, but not liking

the idea of leaving, of wasting all this time and energy. He walked around to the back of the house, hoping he

could see inside one of the near windows. He was pleased and relieved to hear noises coming from the garden.

Finding a protruding brick in the lower portion of the garden wall, Raistlin set his foot upon it and hoisted

himself up.

"Excuse me, sir. Lemuel," he called out softly, trying not to startle the nervous man.

He failed. Lemuel dropped his trowel and stared about him in consternation. "Who ... who said that?" he

demanded in a quavering voice.

"It's me, sir ... Raistlin." He was conscious of his undignified position, clinging precariously to the wall,

holding on with both hands.

After a moment's search, Lemuel saw his guest and greeted Raistlin most cordially, greetings which were

cut short by Raistlin's foot slipping from the brick, causing him to disappear from the mage's sight with a

startling abruptness. Lemuel opened the garden gate and invited Raistlin to enter, asking him anxiously as he

did so if he'd seen any snakes near the house.

"No, sir," Raistlin answered, smiling. He had grown to like the nervous, fussy little man. Part of his

motivation for proceeding with his plan -the unselfish part of his motives-was the determination that Lemuel

should stay with his beloved garden. "The priests are down at the fairgrounds, finding new converts. So long