Muttering loudly, his language fowl, Crasp reseated himself and began holding a conference with those sitting near to him.
With a smile, Doc turned to Finli, and was about to say something when he noticed the old Merchant’s expression.
Not taking his eyes off Crasp for a moment, Finli said, for the benefit of Doc and those sitting near to them, ‘My friends, would you do me the courtesy of looking about the hall, with an eye to the possible presence of the fellow who attempted to have Malina sign the false document she was presented with?’ Finli’s face was expressionless, but every line of his body seemed poised.
Doc took a good look around, but saw no sign of any tall, middle-aged man in robes. There was only the gallery with its tiers of seats, filled for the most part with Merchants, the Thane at his table at floor level, with his aides seated to either side, a group of young boys, pages, who stood behind them, the podium which stood empty, and the guards standing before the front and back entrances to the Hall.
‘We see nothing out of the ordinary,’ one of Finli’s contemporaries said quietly, voicing Doc’s observation. ‘Why do you ask?’