The new apparel sat comfortably on Kei as he walked the road toward Redweed.

He looked over the dark-blue hooded jacket and the black leg-wear, both of flexible beast hide — near enough to leather, on Earth. The arm-gloves ran up under the sleeves to his elbows and hid the red patterns on his arms, and they were so light he half forgot he had them on.

He missed shoes. But he looked down at the beast-shaped paws he walked on now and let the thought go — shoes would be misery on feet like these, and there were no shoes on the Black Earth anyway, not for clawed Rakshasa paws.

He kept his hood up, his face out of view. But the expensive clothing pulled the eyes of the commoner Rakshasa heading back to Redweed from the capital.

That did not trouble him. His plan wanted him noticed — just not *recognized*, not by wayfarers who had seen his face at the awakening. So he moved fast, faster than any of them could get a good look at him.

He came to another dome of the merchant guild and went in. A utility shop.

The first two floors were for commoners, the upper floors for nobility — the basic order of these shops, and he had it by now, so he went straight up to the second floor. His expensive clothes and his easy confidence carried him past the guards without a challenge, and when he dropped his hood the licorice-black skin and beige-white hair settled the matter for them — a noble, plainly. Commoners were light grey.

A salesgirl came to help him, and he took the help gladly. An hour on, he had bought fifteen sigloi’s worth. When the bill came, he ran the same play — Markus, of House Tsakani, send it to the estate — and the caretakers obliged with the forced smiles of people who knew better than to argue.

He hooded himself again on the way out. And the moment he was on the street he changed his apparel — into a cheap brown garb, face still hidden — and strolled on toward the next shop, the poor clothes carrying him smoothly among the commoners, who took him for one of their own and lost all interest.

He reached the next dome. Another utility shop. Before going in, he stepped around behind it, out of the wayfarers’ sight, and changed again — a red, expensive-looking set this time, and he shifted his hair from beige-white to pitch black. Then he went in, and instead of climbing to the second floor, he walked to the counter and named himself Markus of House Tsakani.

Out again, hood up, drawing the commoners’ eyes once more with the fine clothes.

The last dome on the road was a little larger than the rest. A weapon shop, run jointly by the merchant guild and the militia fraternity. He changed again at a quiet spot behind it — back into the blue apparel, hair back to its beige-white — and went in with his hood down.

He went up to the second floor, where an old male Rakshasa welcomed him and offered help, and he took it, and began going over the higher-tier weapons. He went up to the third floor too, looking for the thing that suited him.

He found nothing that did. So he made a request — an absurd one, by the look on the caretaker’s face, and it was refused on the spot.

But he pressed it, and pressed it, and in the end it was granted, and he left the shop having paid six sigloi in hard coin.

The moment he was gone, the caretaker and the old man checked the currency, testing it for the real thing.

It was real. And they laughed until their cheeks ached, relieved and delighted, certain they had just served an eccentric — a rich fool with more coin than sense.

Because Kei had made them take apart five Tier-5 weapons, and had bought only certain pieces out of each — and paid the full price of all five for the parts.