Someone had designed a tasteful array of furniture, set up like a nobleman's bedroom suite. One could, without too much effort, imagine himself standing on the enclosed walkway of a palace, facing away from the inner garden. The furniture, he noted, was of excellent quality. In fact, when he started refinishing the ranch, maybe he'd come in here. He glanced at the display floor. The mats were similar in design to those in his pack. Suddenly, he remembered his own present status and stepped back, away from the window. Simple mat makers don't concern themselves with examining displays that would cost more than they'd make in a lifetime. This window was strictly for people who could afford large platters of luxury. He turned away, looking for another, less elaborate entrance. Down the street, at the corner of the building, he found an inconspicuous door. A brass plate indicated that this was the employees' entrance to the Blue Mountain Mercantile Company's offices. Another plate indicated that the delivery entrance was around the corner. Don shrugged and went into the door. He found himself in a narrow hallway. Before him was a stairway, its lowest step blocked by a light chain. To his right, a man sat in a small cubby. "You're in the wrong door," he said expressionlessly. "Deliveries are received around the corner." "I know," Don told him. "I'm from the Kor-en. I'd like to see Korentona." The man frowned fleetingly. "Tell you," he said casually, "maybe it would be better if you made your delivery right now. Then you can come back later on." Don examined him for a moment. "You mean something is----" "That's right." The man nodded. "Go around to the receiving room. Drop your pack, and come back--say in about an hour." He glanced upward as footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Oh, oh," he added softly. "Keep quiet and let me handle this." A heavy-set man came down the stairs. He looked sharply at Don, taking in his appearance and the details of his pack. "What's this, Mora?" he demanded. The timekeeper shrugged casually. "Just some porter," he said negligently. "Can't read too well, I guess. Got in the wrong door. I was telling him where to drop his pack." "Oh?" The other looked at Don more closely. "Looks like another load of those mats from the Morek. Look, Fellow, you wouldn't be from one of those clans, would you now?" Don shook his head. "I am Kalo," he said, "of the mountains. I have no clan. I make mats. And twice a year I come here to Riandar to sell them." "Been here before?" "I have been in Riandar many times." "That's not what I mean. Have you been here--to this store--before?" Don shook his head. "Not to this store, no. But they told me the Blue Mountain was paying better than some others. I thought I'd try----" [Illustration] "Yeah," the other said coldly. "Sure. Now, suppose we take a little walk, you and I? Some people down the street would like to talk to you."