A/N: Heylo again! Yes I'm back and hopefully better than before. Haven't written for some time although seeing how long there was in between the last couple of chapters this is actually quite soon. It's the next chapter that kinda worries me, as I don't actually know much about Onua so any handy factoids would be great. And of course a large thank-you to all my lovely reviewers. Oh and how do you centre things on fanfiction.net it is driving me nuts. Love A/N's now. Will talk inanely at the beginning of every following chapter I fear. Quite like this chapter although nothing really happens. Hope you do to J

Chapter 6: Numair Salmalin

Street life did not agree with him. He'd decided this on his first night in Corus but now with two weeks of experience behind him Numair felt he could now modify that statement slightly. Street life really did not agree with him.

The twinkle in his eye had long since faded; the fine clothes he had stolen before the wedding had been sold off early on to pay for his meals to be replaced with far humbler ones and now the man whom many in Carthak believed a peacock was a mess.

"Alright, now which pot is the bean under?"

Quickly the little girl pointed at the pot furthest on the left. "Are you sure?" She nodded and his heart sank. To be quite honest he had no idea which pot the stupid bean was under but from experience he knew that his few customers usually did. With low expectations he lifted up the tiny pot to be rewarded with the sight of a tiny green bean winking at him in the noon sun. The child beamed and he handed her money back to her, accompanied by another grubby copper coin.

"Do you want to play again?" he asked hoping she wouldn't. Logically the spectator had a one in three chance of winning at the game, how they managed to follow the pots progress under his flashing hands he would never understand and yet the game seemed to loose him money rather than gain it. He watched her face screw up in thought. Please don't play again, he prayed.

Solemnly she shook her head and his face fell in practised disappointment. "That's a shame. Come back tomorrow kitten."

She smiled shyly and ran off shouting over her shoulder, "bye Noomar."

"Bye kitten," he called after her.

Two weeks he'd been here, two bloody weeks and already he was a wreck. Dismally he delved into one of his dirty pockets and drew out what remained of the money he had sold his clothes for. Three copper coins gleamed up at him from his grime-encrusted palm. He would not eat tonight. Nor ever again it seemed unless business improved.

And it never will, he thought gloomily. On escaping from Carthak it had struck him that he possessed no practical skills at all. Being able to turn stones into bread was all very impressive but not at all useful, as the bread was completely inedible and would probably leave him ill for the next month. There was nothing he was actually any good at except magic and fear had stopped him using that as well. Ozorne would be looking for him; he was probably already here either personally or represented by some grovelling minion like Staghorn, the last thing he needed was to light up a giant beacon proclaiming his presence by using his gift. Fortunately Numair Salmalin no longer looked anything like Arram Draper. Arram had been cheerful, charming and powerful mage; Numair was a bedraggled tramp who would sleep on the floor tonight and probably for the rest of his life. Every morning he woke, forgetting where he was and every morning as he remembered he asked the same question: is it worth living like this? Every morning he decided it wasn't but continued to trudge on anyway, some small flame of hope still burned inside him. Things would change.

Perhaps he would even become good at this confounded game.

"Is anyone allowed to play?" a woman's pleasant voice asked.

Numair looked up and smiled Arram's trademark debonair smile as his heart dropped. "Of course ma'am. I would never make any money if I allowed myself to turn away beautiful young women merely on principal." She smiled and the man next to her wrapped a protective arm around her waist and asked dubiously, "is it actually possible to win this thing?"

"It has been known to happen."

Still smiling a smile he didn't feel he continued with the show. "Alright, watch the cup with the bean in it."

"I'm watching," the Lioness replied.

"OK, keep watching." As he let his hands wander through the now familiar routine he allowed his mind to wander as well. What in Mithros' name was Alanna the Lioness doing down here in the slums of Corus? Her vivid red hair was now black and her eyes blue but there was no mistaking the violet gift burning inside her. Still pretending he was focusing on the game his gaze flickered to the man next to her who was also unmistakably the Baron of Pirate's Swoop. Where they out looking for him? He felt panic grip him; its icy fingers closing round his heart. They couldn't be. He was just being overly arrogant again.

His hands stopped. "Where is the bean?" he declared as if he cared about nothing in the world more than the location of this single bean.

"Under that one," Alanna pointed at the middle one.

"Are you sure?"

She wavered. He beamed. Nobody had ever been unsure before, perhaps he was finally getting better at this thing. Then again perhaps she had merely been concentrating on something else, perhaps on the identity of the man who moved the bean rather than the bean itself.

"For heaven's sake it's this one," the baron said lifting up the one to his right.

There was nothing beneath it.

The shock on his face was so real and outraged Numair almost laughed. Just to check he lifted up the middle pot; the bean winked up at him.

He grinned wryly. "Well done milady." Grudgingly he pushed one of his three coppers across the table towards them. Laughing the Lioness took it. "Thank you. You're very honest."

"As am I," George was smiling too now. "I lost fair and square. I believe this is yours." A sparkling new silver coin slid across the bench towards him. Numair almost dropped it in surprise. To Arram silver was nothing, to Numair it meant an extra week of existence, perhaps even a bed tonight. "Thank you," he managed as the two turned and moved away.

"Don't mention it," the baron grinned back over his shoulder.

They were almost out of the end of the alley now. Black sparkles formed around his hand as his gift welcomed him back like an old friend. It was only small magic, hopefully not something that would be detected back to him but even with the danger it promised he could not resist using his gift this time. With a final quick movement he released the listening charm and watched it move, invisible to every one else down the street to hover over the heads of his most recent customers.

"What about him? He had the gift," the baron's voice asked. A jolt of fear ran down his spine and he almost with drew the spell there and then but in his moment of hesitation Alanna had answered.

"Its possible I admit but I don't think Jon'll appreciate us dragging every second rate sorcerer we find here down to the castle just because they might be this Master Draper."

"Perhaps you're right."

"I'm always right."

"Alright dear."

"You're getting really good at that."

"I know. The trick is not to mean it. Time to go back I think, there are too many people who know me here."

"No desire to return to that life then?"

"None what so ever. It's nice to know nobody's gonna jump out from behind a house wielding a sharp weapon, trying to take your place."

"Oh George," the Lioness answered mischievously. "You know I'd protect you."

"Touching," the former king of the thieves answered dryly. "Let's just leave the capture of this man to Ozorne's mages. This is pointless. We don't even know what he looks like, we could've passed him twice and not recognised him."

Their voices faded with the spell and he was left alone again. Oddly he found he wasn't petrified with fear, it was vaguely reassuring to know he wasn't just being paranoid. No doubt Tristan would be here soon but he was, Numair reflected, an incompetent fool. They would not find him here. Tonight he would rent a room at the Dancing Dove and sleep on a real bed for the first time in too long and he would eat tomorrow. Things were definitely looking up.

And perhaps he thought hopefully, he would even get better at this stupid game.