Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 (17 page)

go straight to Myrtis and complain. But he did none of those He treated her like fragile glass, like the musicians below m the saloon treated their instruments And soon enough she was learning, under his hands, why the other girls went to work smiling each evening. She learned enough so that, when the moment came for her skirts to come off, she was forgetful of everything what he must soon find out, how disappointment and disgust would oversweep him, even of what form his wrath might take.

And then it happened Shepherd sat back on her bed, his diaphragm with its line of dark hair quivering, and said, "Take that off" His voice

was very harsh "Put it on the table Now'"

"It9" She was breathless, her voice a fear-constncted squeak How could she take off her virginity9 How could he even see it9 He'd just this

moment glimpsed her unclothed form

Then she followed the big man's pointing finger, and relief flooded her The silver tube was what he meant The sea-gift, the one Memcat had advised her to keep "This9" she said with fake aplomb. "I always wear it"

"Not with me, you don't." He rose up, off the bed, and she saw his body start to change Chest heaving, she blurted, "Please, don't go I'll take it off"

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Hands on hips, he waited until she had. Then he took her in his arms and, his lips against her breast, said, "The rest of it, I can handle. Just

trust me, lamb."

And somehow, she whispered to him, "But I don't know . . . I've never ... I don't have anything to offer you, no tricks, no skill—"

"You have something none of those others could offer, lamb," he replied in a rumble that made her legs weak. "Something only you can give. And for it, I'm going to give you a lesson in love as has never been

taught in Sanctuary."

And then she knew that Shepherd knew, somehow, and that he wasn't going to be angry no matter if she bled all night. What she didn't know, until he tapped her on the mouth with a reddened finger, was that it didn't have to hurt to become a woman.

Anymore than she'd known anything about the joys of womanhood that lay beyond her body's barrier, all of which the man called Shepherd showed her before, while she dozed, he slipped away, leaving a piece of gold upon her pillow.

"Wake up, wake up!" said Merricat, shaking Shawme's shoulder. Behind Merricat, Randal hovered in the doorway, with Myrtis beside her. And Myrtis was wringing her veiny hands, saying, ", . . this is highly irregular, mage, and the least you can do for me, since I allowed it, is make our weather-control spell your first priority."

"Later, Madame," said Randal. "Now leave us, if you please." Shawme was rubbing her eyes and stretching widely, still unaware that there was a man in the open doorway behind Merricat.

"Merri!" Shawme smiled with delight. "What are you doing here?

Never mind, I've got so much to tell—" Shawme saw Randal and stopped speaking. She pulled her coverlet up around her neck and hunched in her bed.

"Shawme, this is important," Merricat said quickly in a low voice.

"That's Randal the mage. He wants to talk to you. About thai." Merricat pointed to the silver tube on the table beside Shawme's bed.

"That?" Puzzlement crossed Shawme's face. "It doesn't matter. Thank you for the mandrake, Merricat. Thank Dika. I had the most wonderful—" Randal crossed the room in quick strides. "Pardon the intrusion, miss, but did you—?" Randal stopped and looked at Merricat imploringly.

"Shawme," Merricat demanded, leaning over the other girl stiff-armed and reaching for something glinting gold on the pillow with her other hand. "Does this mean what I think?" She fingered the gold soldat.

"Oh, yes, and it was wonderful! I can't tell you how wond—" RED LIGHT, LOVE LIGHT

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Merricat's face fell; she blinked back tears. If it hadn't happened yet, Randal had promised that he'd sponsor Shawme for Mageguild apprenticeship, to get her out of Aphrodisia House. Now . . . Merricat turned an imploring face to Randal. "Too late," she whispered.

"I thought it might be," said Randal, and Merricat saw Shawme's eyes dart from face to face as the others spoke. "Shawme, if you will cede this

instrument," he ignored the coin that Merricat held, and tapped the table

on which the silver tube rested, "to the Mageguild, you'll have my undying gratitude, enough money to move out of here into your own house, and favors to be claimed from Merricat and myself whenever you need them-Such favors as a mage can grant."

"What? Why? I—"

Merricat sat back, beaming now, looking fondly upon her friend, who was saved after all by the fine auspices of Randal, the most wonderful mage who ever lived.

Randal replied, "It's too long to explain. I have an affinity for wasps, let's say. So does Merricat. This washed up on the beach, I was told?" The mage stood over her, beginning to voice his questions. Shawme nodded and answered every one, while Merricat held her friend's hand, until Randal asked, "And will you tell me who you went with tonight? Who came up here with you, and what happened then?" Shawme's jaw set. Her eyes seemed to go cold. She said, "You want the pea-shooter, take it. My client didn't like it anyway."

"And your client . . . ?" Randal blushed and Merricat thrilled with love. "Did he, ah, was there blood spilled here tonight?" Randal pressed.

"What is this?" Shawme demanded, bolt upright now. "You told him, Merricat! How could you? It was our secret. Get out of—"

"Shawme, I had to; it's important. Did it happen, the spilling of blood?" Merricat's grip tightened on Shawme as the other girl tried to shake it off.

"Of course it did, and it was wonderful!" Shawme's anger blazed.

"Now get out of here, Merricat. I'm never going to forgive you for this. My business, bitch, is with this here mage, not the lies of you." Merricat stood up uncertainly, head hanging. Randal put a comforting hand on her arm, a reassuring touch that told Merricat she'd done the right thing, no matter what Shawme thought.

Randal stepped forward then, saying to both girls, "Shawme, Merricat, friends are too few to fall out over something like this. Shawme, Merricat

was brave and tireless in your behalf-Merricat, your friend needs your understanding. Blood shed in this way, right now in Sanctuary, is important. All of what I've promised you, Shawme, is still yours—money, favors for the asking—even if you won't answer me. But as a favor to me, 306 UNEASY ALLIANCES

we need to know if the man who gave you this coin is anyone we know, whether he's friendly or inimical to us."

Shawme blinked like a startled alleycat. Merricat was afraid her friend would ask Randal just who the mage meant by "we," but Shawme didn't. She didn't say anything at all. She threw back the coverlet hiding her nakedness and vaulted from the bed. There, on the linen, was proof of the

act, and of Shawme's boldness.

Merricat's friend reached languorously for her robe, head high, a proud look on her face. And Merricat was beginning to think it must have been Zip who'd come to Shawme and made her a woman when the Ratfall girl said, "He calls himself the Shepherd, or something like that,"

and, shrugging into her robe, snatched the gold coin from Merricat's fingers. "He gave me this, and more." Her eyes burned. Merricat got up from the bed and backed right into Randal, her own body feeling wooden and numb. Peering into the mage's face desperately, Merricat strove for comfort and found none.

Randal shook his head infinitesimally as Shawme flounced by, announcing her intention of "going back downstairs, where there's food and drink for celebration."

Left alone in the courtesan's room. Randal said only, "Shepherd, by the Writ." He sighed deeply. "The only good in this came from you, Merricat. And will have to come from you, henceforth. You must help your friend, even if she doesn't understand anything about why you're doing it. And you'll need all your powers, as well as my help. Are you up

to it?"

Powers. Merricat had no powers, but Randal did. And Shawme needed her. The blood spilled tonight was spilled in sacrifice, an Ilsigi rite

that Shawme hadn't understood, but was now inextricably bound up in. And in a way, it was all Merricat's fault.

She saw Randal pick up the silver tube and fondle it, then look back at her and offer his arm.

She'd done something right. "Of course I'll help Shawme. Even if I didn't want to, an apprentice always obeys the Adept who is her instructor. Have no fear, dear Mage. I shall do whatever you say." And she took Randal's offered arm and let him escort her out of the Aphrodisia House and back to the Mageguild, where she belonged.

C S. Williams

The Serpentine is a partially cobbled street that zigzags its way like a snake through the Maze. At one end stands the sleaziest, skungiest, most disreputable dive in all of Sanctuary: Sly's Place. Since Sly's death several

years ago no one knows who owns the place, but it is run by a huge man in a mailed vest. His name is Ahdio. His origin is questionable, but in this

neighborhood so is everyone else's,

To the right of Sly's Place is a dark, narrow, dirty, uninviting lane known as Odd Dirt's Dodge. Nobody lives there, or will admit they do. The wider street to the left of Sly's is the Street of Tanners. The stench

there on a hot day can make even a Downwinder nauseous. Three blocks down Tanners is the location of Zandulas's Tannery. Zandulas is a friendly enough fellow, if he would ever bathe. Zandulas's supplies Chollandar's Glue Shop next door. The proprietor, called Cholly by his friends, makes the finest glues and pastes in town. He

uses only the best ingredients: tree sap, inedible fish, hooves and unusable

hides, flour, acids and other compounds from the chemists, and people. Each night in Thieves' World people meet violent ends. Some die by accident, others by "accident," others by design. Most are left where they

lie or dropped in some dark alley. Many of them have led useless lives and belong to a social class deemed worthless. No matter what his life had been, in death no man is worthless to the gluemaker. Under license from the Governor he and an apprentice go out with a wagon every morning and pick up the remains from the previous night's mayhem as a social service. Cholly will not, however, pick up a corpse that has apparently died of disease. Those he leaves for the Charnel House wagon. 308 UNEASY ALLIANCES

For a substantial fee he also makes house calls.

The bodies are stripped and dismembered and the goods sorted. Scalps go to a wigmaker, clothes and leather goods and weapons to used goods dealers in those items, gold teeth and jewelry to jewelers. The rendered tallow is ladled off and sold to a soapmaker. The bones are dried and used to help fuel the fires under the great iron pots. Yet all these are bonuses, for the primary product is glue. Nothing is ever wasted at Chollandar's.

Cholly awoke from an elbow nudged into his amply padded ribs. He grumbled and rolled over, snuggling deeper beneath the woolen blanket. The elbow returned with greater force.

"Get up. It's time you left for work."

"Yes, Pet," he groaned.

A small tortoise-shell calico named Crumpet was sitting on his hip, purring loudly. She was a smearing of orange and black with a white chin, feet, and belly. The gluemaker often called her—lovingly—the ugliest cat in Sanctuary. He picked her up and gently placed her at the foot of the bed before crawling out from beneath the coversHe pulled on a faded black tunic and belted it with his weapons belt. On the belt were a dagger, an Ilbarsi knife, and the axe he used for dismembering corpses and chopping firewood. Onto bare legs he drew soft-soled knee boots. A knife was sheathed in the top of the right one. Finally he wriggled into his vest, heavy leather covered with iron rings,

and slid his wax-boiled vambraces onto his forearms. He did all of this in

the dark so Ineedra could go back to sleep. He kissed her and went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Oh, all right, nuisance," he gently chided the cat nibbing against his leg and purring. "You know, most cats have to find their own food.'*

He fed the puss some chopped meat and fixed himself a thick slice of hard sausage and a wedge of cheese between two pieces of black bread. He washed it down with watered wine. Crumpet finished eating before he did and began preening herself, ignoring him with that aloofness only felines are capable of.

It was a miserable morning. Usually Cholly took his time to walk to the shop, but not in this downpour. The cobblestones were slippery and unpaved streets were slimy bogs. Twice he had to backtrack and take a different street. At least his greased boots and oilcloth cloak kept him relatively dry.

He opened the big brass lock and replaced the key in his pouch. The front portion of the shop consisted of row upon row of shelves full of clay

jars, each jar marked with a symbol that told him what compound the

pot contained. At the rear, in front of a curtained doorway, stood a large

wooden counter.

He slapped his hand onto the counter and was answered by a yelp.

"Aram, get up. It's time to get started. Go wake up Sambar." A tall, lanky youth of perhaps sixteen years crawled sleepily out from beneath the counter, yawning widely. He stood and stretched, scratched, and ran one hand through a shaggy mop of blond curls.

"Morning, master," he yawned.

Aram went through the curtained doorway and crossed the brick floor of the rendering room with its four huge iron pots, firewood and dry bones in the rack, and shelves and bins of ingredients. On one side was a

butcher's beam and a water pump. A second curtained door, wider than the first, opened onto the stable.

Enkidu and Eshi, two grays with hooves the size of dinner plates, were in their stalls. In one comer of Enkidu's stall a pudgy boy witli olive skin

snored beneath a coarse wool blanket"Get up, Lazybones. Old Baldpate's here. Rise and shine," Aram announced, giving the fourteen-year-old a kick.

"Already?" Sambar stood and shook the straw from his blanket, folded it, and hung it across the stall divider. Satisfied, he brushed the straw