Zhavi's right ear -- closest to Flit -- turned his way. But she was looking the other way, into the shadowed depths of the alley. She scuffed the toe of her shoe against a broken, rotting piece of wood. "Who'd buy it?" Her tone was scornful. "He should be here soon. He's a ragpicker, Keto'to is, an' he only sets up at night. Proper Keeper, even in a city like this." Her scorn was for the daytrippers, and the stranglehold they had over regular business hours. "He sells an' trades, an' it ain't all th'sorts o'things what pass 'twixt hands, fancy?"
