"Eight," the Balladeer answers without hesitation or calculation. "It would be nine, but one of them's always avoided me..."

He's an odd figure, that one. The Balladeer has truly never spoken with him, though they've glanced at each other in passing. Something about him makes the Balladeer's skin crawl; perhaps it goes both ways. In all this time, he's never attempted to approach either. The most time he ever spent near the man was right before he came here - but that doesn't bear dwelling on.

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I knew all their timelines already. It's for them that I have this perception at all. There just wasn't much left to say to each other." Thoughtfully, he leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, watching a nearby fountain burble. "I don't think I realized until I got here that I did like talking to people."