Like the waif, he spoke Shainsan, and spoke it with a better accent than any nonhuman I had ever known--so well that I looked again to be certain. I wasn't too dazed to answer in the same tongue, but I couldn't keep back a spate of questions: "What happened? Who are you? What is this place?" The nonhuman waited, crossing his hands--quite passable hands, if you didn't look too closely at what should have been nails--and bent forward in a sketchy gesture. "Do not blame Miellyn. She acted under orders. It was imperative you be brought here tonight, and we had reason to believe you might ignore an ordinary summons. You were clever at evading our surveillance, for a time. But there would not be two Dry-towners in Charin tonight who would dare the Ghost Wind. Your reputation does you justice, Rakhal Sensar." _Rakhal Sensar!_ Once again Rakhal! Shaken, I pulled a rag from my pocket and wiped blood from my mouth. I'd figured out, in Shainsa, why the mistake was logical. And here in Charin I'd been hanging around in Rakhal's old haunts, covering his old trails. Once again, mistaken identity was natural. Natural or not, I wasn't going to deny it. If these were Rakhal's enemies, my real identity should be kept as an ace in reserve which might--just might--get me out alive again. If they were his friends ... well, I could only hope that no one who knew him well by sight would walk in on me. "We knew," the nonhuman continued, "that if you remained where you were, the _Terranan_ Cargill would have made his arrest. We know about your quarrel with Cargill, among other things, but we did not consider it necessary that you should fall into his hands at present." I was puzzled. "I still don't understand. Exactly where am I?" "This is the mastershrine of Nebran." _Nebran!_ The stray pieces of the puzzle suddenly jolted into place. Kyral had warned me, not knowing he was doing it. I hastily imitated the gesture Kyral had made, gabbling a few words of an archaic charm. Like every Earthman who's lived on Wolf more than a tourist season, I'd seen faces go blank and impassive at mention of the Toad God. Rumor made his spies omnipresent, his priests omniscient, his anger all-powerful. I had believed about a tenth of what I had heard, or less. The Terran Empire has little to say to planetary religions, and Nebran's cult is a remarkably obscure one, despite the street-shrines on every corner. Now I was in his mastershrine, and the device which had brought me here was beyond doubt a working model of a matter transmitter. A matter transmitter, a working model--the words triggered memory. Rakhal was after it. "And who," I asked slowly, "are you, Lord?" The green-clad creature hunched thin shoulders again in a ceremonious gesture. "I am called Evarin. Humble servant of Nebran and yourself," he added, but there was no humility in his manner. "I am called the Toymaker."