Nothing. For so long, she had been grasping at straws. What would her father say? Her brothers? This chase was foolish, unimaginably foolish, and yet chase she did. And this time she had come so close… Appollonia snapped back into reality as a woman filled up her cup of coffee. She looked down at the cup and sighed. One of the most unfortunate things about cities was that no one ever asked before filling up a customer's coffee. They didn't stop and wonder if the customer had, just minutes before, spent countless minutes creating a precise, perfectly balanced mix of sugar, cream, and coffee. Instead, they dumped a whole mess of plain, black coffee right into the equilibrium. Once again Appollonia lowered her long, pale face directly above the now steaming cup and, sugar in one hand, cream in the other, began the process all over.
* * * * * * * *
A long, drawn out sip sent tea swirling down the throat of the gaudily-dressed transient. Within seconds, eyelids snapped open and tea was sprayed out onto the ground. Hideous. The last time a cup of tea tasted so bad, it was fate's passionately unpalatable way of informing the traveler that a grave mistake had been made. Experience had taught the highly spiritual itinerant that fate was not patient, nor was it indirect in its messages. It was time to go. The fastening of a small sack signaled the end of the blonde wayfarer's packing, though considering the few, small possessions of the psychic, the endeavor had not been that laborious. Not long after, two slippered feet were marching down the cobblestone street toward the nearest place that would take a person somewhere new and exciting.
* * * * * * * *
"Umm, 'scuse me, miss… Would you, by any chance, know the best way to get to Niumea?" Appollonia asked the waitress when she came around again.
"Yeah, the best way is by caravan. But you have to have your own caravan, and they're not cheap," The woman said while refilling coffee at another table. When she neared, Appollonia snatched her cup up to protect it from further violation. What a tiresome woman. Of course the best way to get to Niumea would be by caravan. What would the alternative be? Walking? Appollonia sighed again. She smiled, a look not suited to her and somewhat frightening to those forced to bear witness.
"Hmmm, I'm sorry… I didn't ask you the right question. D'you know which caravan is the best to get to Niumea? I'm looking for a fast one, the price doesn't matter very much." At this the woman's face lit up.
"Yeah! I dunno his name, but his caravan is famous it moves so fast. He used to only take cars with five legs or more! Just give me a second, let me… Hey! Thalia! Help me out, who is it that runs the fast caravan?" The waitress stepped away for a moment, still refilling the cups of nearby, unsuspecting customers.
"I don't remember, but I know who you're talking about. Really nice guy, he stops by here sometimes after he finishes a route. Tall, blondish hair… Pretty skinny, all he ever orders is coffee with whiskey… Do you think you could go by that?" The young woman asked. Once more, Appollonia sighed. She left the coffee sitting on the table.
The crowd gathered around the caravan cars would have made it difficult to see, but thanks to her height she had a fairly unobstructed view of the subjects of the gathering. Her eyes settled upon a tall, blonde man, most probably skinny beneath his clothes. It had to be him. She inched forward, retrieving a small, silk purse from somewhere in the depths of her coat and holding it in her hand. "Umm… good day…" The woman said, barely shorter than the man. "You see, I'm looking for a caravan. A fast one, in particular, to get me to Niumea. I've been told you're the man I need. Err-not you, per say, but your caravan… You run it, of course, so I suppose I'll need both, and… uh…" These words, she would soon come to discover, were meant for the tall, thin, blonde man at the other end of the caravan display, located behind his car haggling with a customer, and not Nestor Kokinos. But, of course, she would not discover this until it was too late.
* * * * * * * *
Slowly, a crowd came into view. The rather unfriendly street vender had indeed pointed Sindri in the right direction. But there were so many cars! Which to choose? Eyes shut tight, a skinny hand reached into the bag and felt around until- It reappeared with a small bone clutched between the thumb and forefinger. The psychic smiled at the bone and dropped it back into the sack, the nearest caravan coming into focus. Before it stood a tall, lanky man and an uncharacteristically tall woman with a pink face staring at the ground. Perhaps best to come back later. The caravan didn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon. There might even be time for another reading before the caravan left… Though Sindri couldn't very well go back to the square, considering the previous events of the week. Gingerly, fingers traced along the swollen, bruised cheekbone mostly concealed by wavy, white-blonde hair. So, off to a new part of town! The best place would probably be deep in the city, the lower class area, where people all seemed so eager for fame and fortune. Few ever found it, and if they did, it only made their sorrows and ailments worse. How shocked Sindri was to discover that everyone else in the world was obsessed with wealth and power! It was disheartening, but the more troubles encountered on the journey to enlightenment, the sweeter the first sip from the cup of harmony and peace.
Cobblestone quickly turned to dirt or wooden planks, and clean, well-dressed tourists quickly turned to people in patched, shabby clothing with the occasional smear of dirt along a cheek . Children wearing rucksacks and no shoes darted about screaming and laughing, mangy dogs chasing closely behind. The street widened, and situated along the sides were vendors, mendicants, and entertainers of all walks of life. Directly next to a bakery emitting explicitly delicious smells was an open space big enough for Sindri to set up at. The clairvoyant wandered around for a moment, dusting off a glimmering, vibrant, multicolored mystic robe and clipping golden hoops onto small earlobes. A large, rectangular plank of wood set on top of a crate made an acceptable makeshift table, and Sindri eased down against the wall on one side of the table. The crisp, colorful cards were spread out along the surface and the bones pushed into a little pile next to them. For added effect, the wandering fortune-teller sucked in a deep breath and began humming a song learned from a gypsy from a land far away from Anaitis.
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