The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (77 page)

Shadowspawn and Throde, wall-climbers both, had to work together:

although Ahdio was mighty big, they got him up the side of the building.

Linza was the best thing that had happened to Tarkle in years. He could never understand why he wasn't more popular, among people of both sexes. Oh, no one had ever told him he was handsome or cute either, but what were looks after all when a man was bigger than big and could handle anybody, anybody at all, and really did try to be likable? He had bought beer, ale, even wine for more than one girl and a couple of women, but somehow or another before That Time of Night came around he had somehow or another alienated them and they somehow or other abandoned him to go home alone. Tonight he counted himself really lucky. Oh, true, Linza's eyebrows met in the middle about like those of that bastard Hanse, and under those brows—or that brow—one
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of Linza's eyes looked ahead and one sort of looked off to the side, and her nose wasn't so good (but only when looked at from the side) and she sure wasn't fussy about washing her hair either, or doing much of any thing with it. And he wasn't too crazy about her voice. But after all what were those; just imperfections. The point was that she had a really good body and was willing to share it with Tarkle. That was what counted, after all.

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Besides, she had run out of any kind of wherewithal whatever and didn't have anyplace to stay tonight.

So, holding her close as they climbed the stairs and sort of letting his hand slide up under that big soft bosom of hers so that he could feel the restless pendulum's warmth on the edge and back of his hand, he es corted her to his place and up the three flights to his room. They didn't talk much, but Tarkle wasn't too good at talking anyhow and by now Linza was lurching quite a bit from all those mugs of beer he'd bought her at the Vulgar Unicorn. This was a wonderful night, he thought, as he steered her leftward at the top of the steps, and it was going to be even wonderfuller. Plenty of bed-bouncing tonight! He was about to drown—

happily—in big soft restless pendulums'

He knew Linza would like his room. Tarkle was big enough so he
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didn't have to worry about anything even in this neighborhood, but the fact that his room was on the fourth floor would make her feel safer. He had a pretty good chair and one not quite as good, and two rugs, and that nice piece of wood on the wall, and a good big window—with curtains, even—and a good large, padded sleeping pallet, and a table and even a washbowl. All that luxury was in addition to the two beer barrels he had stolen and cut in half, so that one made a lamp table and the other a nice seat or footrest or whatever it was a person might need. His clothing and the few valuables he kept here were in the big heavy press standing in the far comer.

"Ah, locked up tight," he said, and Linza with her arm around him squeezed his waist and made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle and a hiccup, and Tarkle congratulated himself on his good fortune and again counted himself really lucky to have her here with him.

He got the door unlocked and, with a sweeping gesture, pushed it open and swung his arm wide in welcome,

Linza started into the moonlit room, and shivered against him. "Quite a breeze comin' in that window," she said. "You ought to have curtains—

hey! Is this a joke er somethin'?"

Tarkle was staring into his room. His whole stomach felt as if it had sunk into his crotch but a great big lump had come up in his throat and despite the draft from the curtainless, open window he was hot, hot,
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prickly and sweaty in the armpits.

His room was empty.

No curtains. No rugs or cut-down beer kegs. No table and no chairs. No sleeping pallet. No piece of wood nicely mounted on the wall. No lamp and no washbowl. This was impossible; he'd had to plead and bully the aid of two other strong men to wrestle the big tall and very heavy clothespress up here and into his room, and even it was gone!

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It simply was not possible. He was staring into a bare room without even a scrap of string. It looked larger, empty this way; and so lonely, so pitifully bare, so clean; and as a matter of fact even the floor seemed to have been swept clean.

One article, one of all his worldly possessions save what he wore and carried, remained. A pair of winter leggings lay neatly arranged on the floor with the bottoms of the legs pointed neatly toward the doorway where he stood. The legs were well apart; the leggings had been sliced all the way in half right up the middle, right up the crotch.

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It just wasn't possible, Tarkle thought, just as his knees buckled.

They celebrated relatively quietly in the back room of Sly's Place, whoever Sly was or had been. Audio's wife Jodeera was not happy with some of what she heard from him and the other two jovial triumphants;

she muttered, "Boys, just big overgrown boys," now and then, and gave her husband dark looks. Others were directed at that bad influence named Hanse and called Shadowspawn. Yet now and again she had to laugh along with this trio of night-stalkers who couldn't stop talking about what they had done tonight

"Like to ha' killed all three of us," Ahdio laughed, slapping his belly and reaching over to pour another mug of his better beer.

"Well, I told you we should have moved the clothespress when we first got there and weren't already tired," Shadowspawn said, and Throde chuckled.

"Should have seen it," Ahdio said. "You should have seen it!"

"The gods know I've heard enough about it," Jodeera said.

"Not enough," he said, and laughed anew. "Never enough!"

"I druther see the look on that bullying shithead's face," Throde said,
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staring wistfully into his severalth beer.

"Like to killed all three of us," Ahdio said, "boosting and pulling and grunting that huge press out the window and up onto the roof! These two were pushing and grunting and cursing and I was dragging and sweating and grunting—and cursing, pulling it up with the ropes . . . That damned press is bigger'n I am."

"You could have hurt yourself," Jodeera said.

"Arrr, m'gal, your husband's big enough to handle a little moving job for a friend," Ahdiovizun said, shaking as his voice rose into another laugh.

It kept rising, and Ahdio kept shaking, and the tailless cat named Sweetboy scuttled with a sulky look as the big man nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

"Besides, I had that dry-tack glue on my feet," he said. "The stuff

416 STEALERS' SKY

Hanse got from Cholly. It made it easy for me to go up that wall—almost as well and easily as these two wall-climbers." He beamed at his em ployee and his friend the cat burglar. "Come on back, Sweetboy. Here,
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I'll pour you a tot."

"But what if someone had seen you?" Jodeera asked.

"Some—who d'you think might've seen us?"

"Someone walking along the street—" she said, and broke off to glance at Hanse, who had snorted.

"We was down in Downwind." Throde said. "Up a wall above an alley. TVobody walks down alleys in Downwind, day or night!"

"Oh," she said. "I've never been . . . well. A mean trick on a mean man," she said, and again she could not hold back a smile. "D'you think Tarkle will ever find his things?"

"How?" Throde said. "Nobody but Shadowspawn 'n' me could get up on that roof to see all that stuff!"

Despite the impolite noises Sweetboy was making lapping beer out of his bowl, they all looked at Hanse, who had been nursing one mug of beer for a long, long while. He was not laughing, or even smiling, and he spoke to his mug.

"So much for Tarkle," he said grimly. "Now for that swine Marype."

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Audio's face went serious. "It's time I told you something Throde heard that little piece of excrement Hakky say the other night."

Hanse turned his dark-eyed gaze on Throde.

"Somebody was talking about you seeming to drop out of sight again," Throde told him, "and Hakky told him—quietly, grinning—that Tarkle told him Amoli had hired him to get rid of you, and even told him how to go about it."

Ahdio snorted. "He said that she said that he said that I said that she

c__"

"Who's Amoli?" Jodeera broke in, and Ahdio had to laugh.

"Not someone you'd be likely to know, sweetheart. She's the propri etor of a whorehouse called the Lily Garden."

The homely woman blinked. She looked at Hanse. "But why—what ever have you done to offend a ho'house madam, Hanse?"

But Shadowspawn was staring at Throde. His face registered astonish ment, or perhaps it was revelation. Whatever it was, his eyes showed that he had gone back inside himself, where he was deep in cerebration, and
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calculation, and machination.

Abruptly he rose and left. The other three stared at the doorway through which he had departed their company. Ahdio gave his head a shake.

"And good night to you too, Hanse," he muttered.

Hanse returned to his room long enough to don his padded vest, col lect a delighted Notable, and, once they were outside, wait without pa tience while the cat relieved himself. He was walking away before Nota ble was satisfied with his ritual sniffing of his urine. The cat snapped his tail to attention and hurried after him, making a complaining noise.

"Be quiet, Notable," Hanse muttered. "We're on business."

Notable replied with a small burbling sound from the throat. It became a hissy noise while he bristled at the dark-cloaked figure that moved toward them just as they stepped out onto the street. When Notable bristled he became about twice as big as he was, which was large enough to frighten big dogs and bigger humans. Yet the smallish approacher took no note, but moved almost stiffly toward Hanse with fixed purpose. Shadowspawn saw, too, and although he made no sound a knife appeared in his left fist too fast for him to have drawn it. But he had.
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"Hanse," Mignureal said in an intense tone. "Hanse!"

"Easy, Notable! Jileel—what are you doing here at this time of ni—" Hanse's nape bristled and he broke off.

He had heard Mignue's voice, and knew it was Jileel, and yet he had heard more, too: it was that strange voice he had heard from Mignue, on a few occasions. Always when he was off on business; always when she had no idea as to his intent, much less his goal. He stepped leftward so that she had to turn. That way a bit of light from a window up the street showed him her eyes. Yes, and that eerie feeling enveloped him. Her eyes were all fixed and starey, really looking as if she weren't at home in there.

^Hanse—be sure to take that knife with the silver blade."

Hanse shivered. 0 Father Us! Jileel had it too, then! The S'danzo See ing ability. And it was as it manifested itself in her older sister, rather than in their murdered mother and indeed any other S'danzo Hanse knew or knew about; Jilee! and Mignue didn't have to be given anything, didn't have to try to See. They just did.

His voice a little shaky, he was putting away his knife as he said or started to say, "I have it—" and another, taller figure in a cloak came up, and the cloak's hood was up, and this one had two others behind it/him/

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her, and the sticker was right back in Shadowspawn's hand.

"My hands are in plain sight and you will not need the knife, young man. Do please calm that huge dog as well."

"Termagant!" Hanse said.

"Termagant?" Jileel said in a more normal voice, although it sounded weak. She was reeling, and the tall woman swung an arm around her.

"Mrrrraowww ..."

"A cat?!"

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"No. Notable: Easy. No danger." And to the much respected Old Woman of the S'danzo: "What are you doing here?"

At the same time Jileel was saying, "What are we doing here?"

The tall older woman tore her gaze away from the astonishing cat. "I think this wants an explanation, young man."

"His name is Hanse. What are you doing here, Hanse?"

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"I have a name, old woman. My name is Hanse."

Blinking in surprise and some confusion if not quite revelation, the Termagant looked down at the girl. "No, Jileel, that is the wrong ques tion. What are you doing here?"

"Uhh ... out ... walking with you? I feel a little funny . . ."

"Termagant," Shadowspawn said in a quiet and decisive voice that commanded the gaze of all eyes. "Those are your bodyguards?"

She seemed to grow taller. "Escorts."

He nodded. "Uh-huh. Jileel, you just had a fainting spell. Take it easy, but step over there with the escorts while I have a few words with the Termagant. Careful, now."

The confused Jileel allowed herself to be eased away by one of the two tall cloaks, while Shadowspawn never took his black-eyed gaze off the senior S'danzo.

"Is this where you live, Hanse?"