The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (59 page)

He sent Sambar to the front counter while he and Aram scalped, bled, and dismembered the remaining corpses. Once the bodies and the proper additives were mixed into the scalding water to his satisfaction he told Aram, "When you get time, take those barrels of tallow across the alley to Reh Shing the Soapmaker. It's time I started my rounds."

Chollandar scratched the back of his neck. For a moment it itched like someone was staring at him.

He always began his trading at Shamara's Wig Shop. In her youth
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Shamara had been striking. Her present beauty was of a different sort, a warmth that radiated from her sweet soul. They dickered for a bit,

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Shamara fingering the scalps for quality and texture. At last they settled upon three silver bits, eight coppers, and a kiss.

"The things I do for business," Shamara laughed before pressing her lips beneath his moustache. There was no lustful passion there, but there was something undefinable. "Enough. You make me feel like a girl, and

I've survived that nonsense already."

He whistled a happy tune all the way to Marc's Weapons Shop. Most of Marc's goods were shoddy, but so were the weapons Cholly sold him. The really good stuff he sold separately. Some special blades he kept for himself. Even so, he sometimes ran across an interesting piece in Marc's

stock.

Cholly regularly had lunch with Furtwan Coinpinch while Hazen, Furtwan's nephew, watched the shop and kept an eye on the gluemaker's wagon. Today they decided on beef, so they found themselves a quiet
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table at the Man in Motley, where a joint was always skewered to the

carving board.

"Anything interesting happen last night?" Furtwan asked between

swallows of True Brew.

Cholly did not answer right away. He felt the feeling return that he was being watched. By whom and for what reason he had no idea. He

scratched his neck again.

No one seemed to be looking in his direction, but he knew damned well someone was spying on him. The itch was stronger. He slid his right hand under the table, pretending to scratch his bare calf. He assured himself the extra knife was in place in his boot. Good.

The two men gossiped spiritedly for an hour. When Cholly left the shop the itch returned. If anything, it was stronger. The most unsettling part was that he could spot no sign of anyone following him, yet he knew they were there. But who? And why?

He missed the friendly greetings he used to get from Ganner, Lalo's son who was slain by the mobs in the False Plague riots. He had enjoyed
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the brief chats they used to have. Instead of Ganner it was Herwick himself who met him at the door. The jeweler still wore the symbolic torn collar and black armband of mourning.

"Good to see you, Cholly. Are you here to buy or sell? I believe Ineedra has a birthday coming up. Next week maybe?"

"Next Eshday. The trouble is she still hasn't given me a hint what she wants like she usually does, or else for once she's been so subtle I missed

it."

"You can't go wrong with good jewelry. I've got some nice new pieces.

Take a look. I could make you such a deal . . -"

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"Not today, I've got a few days yet in case she drops a hint. In the meantime 1 did bring you a few trinkets to examine."

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He fished a folded square of cloth from his tunic. Unfolding it upon the counter, he displayed a jumble of glittering ornaments. Most were cheap junk, worth a copper or two apiece. A few were good quality paste and worth a bit more. Two pins were set in real gold and sparkling gem stones. Finally there was a solid gold pendant covered with strange mark ings.

"Where did you get this? I've never seen this type of workmanship before. Most unusual. And raw gold! I can't read it; it isn't Rankan or Ilsigi. It isn't Beysib—I've had too many Fisheyes in here not to recog nize it when I see it. If it was older I might guess it might be Enlibaran."

"Now that I've had a good look at it, I think I'll keep it for the time being. It's sort of interesting. Can you think of anybody who might be able to tell me what it says?"

"Try Synab. If anyone can tell you, he can."

His next stop was Synab's artifact and curio shop just down the street. The daub of blue paint smeared on the door meant the pwner was paying protection to someone. Cholly himself had never paid anyone for "pro tection" and he vowed he never would. A bell jingled when he entered.

The white-haired man in green linen said, "I haven't seen you lately. I trust you have something of interest for me?"
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"Maybe. I found this medallion in this morning's goods. Can you decipher the writing?"

The little man's bushy eyebrows raised. His sallow face turned ashen. His gnarled hands trembled, dropping the bauble onto the counter as if it had suddenly become hot.

After a moment he said, "Do me a favor, Cholly. Go. Get that thing out of here. Please."

"Why? Mother Bey's balls, man, at least tell me what's wrong."

"I guess I owe you that much. I can't read it, but I've seen enough relics to recognize it. There is one word here I do know: the name Theba."

"Isn't she some sort of death goddess?"

"Yes. Anything connected with her has to mean trouble. If I were you, I'd get rid of it as quickly as I could."

Cholly thanked him and left.

His unseen stalker was still there. The tingle was so strong it was becoming painful. Hopefully whoever it was would not make his move
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until after Cholly reached Renn, his banker.

Renn was one of the few men in Sanctuary he completely trusted. Due to the armed men at the door and some less obvious defenses, no one had

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ever robbed Renn's bank and lived to reach the door. Thieves had gotten the message and stayed away.

The gluemaker deposited most of his cash and got a receipt, keeping out enough to pay the boys, take Ineedra out to a nice dinner, and enough left over to go to the games at Land's End and have a few coppers to bet. Compared to what he had been carrying it was spare change. Unfortunately his tracker didn't seem interested in money.

Upon his return to the Street of Money the feeling intensified. Damn!

He wished whoever it was would make his move. This cat-and-mouse ploy was making him angry. Maybe he could shake them up a bit.

He turned Enkidu and Eshi onto Olive Branch, sped down to Saddlers and turned left, leaping off the wagon as soon as he thought his pursuer could not see him for a moment. He stepped through the doorway of a tack shop and waited.

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Two thugs came running around the comer. One was of average size;

the other was short and round, like a beer keg with legs. They were trotting to keep the wagon in sight.

For a middle-aged fat man in a ring-mailed vest, he moved quietly. And quickly. Any sound made by his soft-soled knee boots was masked by the din of street noises: beggars asking alms, shopkeepers and custom ers haggling, the clop of horseshoes on cobblestones, children shouting and playing.

The shorter man was lagging a few steps behind his partner, panting. He never heard anything suspicious.

The taller man glanced over his shoulder in time to see the barrel-man topple from the flat of Cholly's axe. Before he could break away a large hand extending from a wax-boiled vambrace had grabbed a handful of his tunic and slammed him against a brick wall, driving the air from his lungs. His head bounced against the bricks, painfully but not far. He became acutely aware of the axe haft pressed against his throat when he struggled to inhale. A melon-sized knee pressing into his stones also caught his attention

Cholly's normally merry hazel eyes were narrow slits of cold green. His voice was calm, even, almost a whisper.

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"Why are you following me?"

"I wasn't. (Cough)"

Cholly towered his knee slightly, then snapped it upward. "Don't lie to me or you'll sing soprano. Let's start again. You were about to tell me why you followed me."

Tears filled the tall man's eyes. "I swear I wasn't following you."

He would've screamed when the knee drove into his crotch if it weren't for the wooden haft flattening his gullet.

"Let's try again, shall we? I ask you a question, you answer it. Hon estly. For the last time, why were you tailing me?"

"All right," he whimpered. "We was paid a silver bit apiece to rob you." Tears rolled down his dirty unshaven cheeks.

"Fool. If it was money you wanted you would have jumped me before I reached my banker. You didn't make your move, although you've been chasing me all afternoon. So what are you after that is worth dying for?"

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"The medallion."

"What makes it so valuable?" Cholly demanded.

"Don't know. He didn't tell us. He just paid us to get it."

"Who paid you?"

"He didn't give us a name. He was dressed in magician's robes."

"What did he look like?"

"Silver hair—"

The knife just missed Cholly's ear before burying itself in the tall man's eye. Blood and clear liquid gushed out of the wound. The dying man jerked once and went limp. Cholly released his hold. The body slid down the wall, the stubby knife handle still protruding from the eye socket.

The barrel-man was just vanishing into an alley.

"I should've hit him harder," the gluemaker muttered.

He gave a shrill whistle and Enkidu and Eshi backed up. Business was business. He loaded the dead man into his wagon and covered him with canvas. No one thought it unusual for him to be picking up somebody
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this early. There were accident victims all the time. It was common practice to mind one's own business.

Babbo shifted his weight from foot to foot while wringing his un washed hands. His gaze never left the floor. The room was cool, but the hireling's stained homespun tunic was damp with sweat.

"What in the Shadowed One's name are you saying? How could he get away? There were two of you! Both armed! Do you mean to tell me two of the best muggers in the Maze were bested by a bald old shopkeeper?" Marype raged.

"He was good," Babbo said defensively. "Dorien was one of the best men I knew in a brawl. When I came to—I never heard him coming before he busted my head—he had poor Dorien pinned against the wall with an axe handle and a knee pushing Dor's balls up to his belly button. Believe me, the man is good. How do you think he got that old? Only way I could shut Dor up was to spike 'im."

"Why didn't you knife the gluemaker instead?"

"Look, I didn't have a lot of time, you know? I wasn't in no shape to tangle with the man. Maybe I just throwed amongst 'em and ran. Be 318 UNEASY ALLIANCES

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sides, you're the magician; why didn't you do something? Turn fatso into something?"

"As long as he has the amulet, magic doesn't work on him. Why else would I hire you two bunglers?"

"Big hotshot magician," Babbo retorted. "You can't do the job with your spells, so you hire us. Then you got the balls to come down on me

'cause I didn't get him neither. Far as I'm concerned you can go diddle yourself. See ya around. Cotton-top," he snorted, his fear replaced by contempt.

It was crowded in the stands Lowan Vigeles had built at his Land's End estate and the stone benches were uncomfortable. The spectators had already swilled down enough Red Gold to be rowdy. Zandulas and Cholly were hooting and hollering with the rest. The early rounds had been condemned criminals pitted against each other. Not much skill there; mostly brute strength. Chollandar preferred the chariot races.

He was picking them well. The fourth race had just ended, and for the third time he was collecting his winnings. Zandulas, who was zero for four, got to his feet with a sour grin.

"I'm getting a brew before the final heat. Want one?"

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"No thanks, Zan. Want me to place any bets for you?"

"Neh. Oh all right. If I'm not back in time, just put two coppers on whoever you pick."

Cholly's favorite driver was Borak. Behind his three chestnut geldings Borak's long oily whip moved like a living creature, while he used the bladed wheel hubs better than most men wield a sword.

The other drivers in today's final race were Magyar driving whites, Atticus with dappled grays, and Crispen with a second team of whites. No second-raters there.

Everywhere were shouts of "Six coppers on Atticus," "Two on Mag yar," "Four on Atticus," "Eight on Crispen,"

Caught up in the betting, Cholly shouted, "Two silver on Borak!"

"Take 'em all. I'll cover the balance," Zandulas whispered, returning.

"I'd have taken Atticus, but then I haven't been right all afternoon and you're on a hot streak. I just hope it holds."