The Dead of Winter- - Thieves World 07 (9 page)

"Uh," he said, and splashed his thick-soled walking buskin. "Damn."

"All right," a voice snarled in an obvious attempt both to sound dangerous and to disguise itself, "let's have yer purse, bigun." The pressure remained at Ahdio's side.

"I'll give you this," Ahdio said without turning, "you're light on your feet and may amount to a real thief someday. But I think you have me confused with someone else-I'm Ahdio."

"Ah-Ahdi-"

"Probably couldn't recognize me in the dark, here. You know: Ahdiovizun, the great big mean and cantankerous proprietor of Sly's Place, who always wears ..."

"A mailcoat!" the snarler snarled loudly, and the pressure of his knifepoint instantly left Ahdiovizun's person. The would-be thief was not nearly as quiet departing in haste as he had been at stalking.

Ahdio let go a goodly sigh and restored his clothing. Having deliberately given the thief opportunity to escape unseen, he turned slowly and paced out of the Maze's public convenience. He felt around at his rearward side with a big hand that had gone a bit sweaty.

Good. The little idiot didn't prick my vest. Hate to start leaking goose feathers. Glad he was too scared and stupid to run a test by leaning on that sticker ... what sort of glutton for punishment would I have to be to wear my mailcoat all day, just walkin' around town?

Still, he would not claim even to himself not to be unnerved. With the whole town gettin' to be as dangerous as the Maze, maybe I should!

He wiped wet hands on his leggings, and considered dropping in at the Vulg for a short one. No, he'd just stay away from that place; it was no trick to spot the two Beysibs, so very casually hanging about across the "street," keeping an eye on a dive to which Ahdio felt Sly's was eminently superior. Doubtless a PFLSer or two would be about, too, keeping an eye or four on the Stare-Eyes. He'd just head on home and drink his own, with Sweetboy for company. He followed the Serpentine on down and around onto Tanner. With a casual wave at the enormous (and teetotal-ing) bodyguard of Alamanthis, the physician located conveniently across the street from Sly's and prospering accordingly, Ahdio went around back. He whacked the door a couple of times while he whistled a few notes, to avoid a misunderstanding with Sweetboy, and slipped the first of two keys into the smaller lock. Then the other one, and he entered. He dropped the big bar across the door behind him.

"Hey, you mangy furbag, daddy's home!"

"Mrarr," Sweetboy said in what was almost a travesty of a cat's customary sound, and meandered over. Ahdio stood still long enough to let the black, mange-free animal sinuously whack its left flank against his buskin and pace back and forth a few times, rubbing, getting rid of some excess fur while saying Hello Good To See You My Bowl's Empty.

"Just had a bit of a scare, Sweetboy. Let's have a drink." Sweetboy made a profoundly enthusiastic remark and lost all dignity in industriously rubbing both Ahdio's legs while the big man lighted an oil-lamp. Moving to a table on which rested a small keg, he twisted out the bung: This was good Maeder's brew he had re-bunged last night after close of business. He had done a good job of it, too, he saw when he poured: Head foamed up high and rich. Ahdio bent and gave himself a white mustache to keep it from flowing over, then set it aside while he drew another cup.

Watching, Sweetboy reared up to clap both paws to the table-leg and stretch, meanwhile purring loud enough to vibrate the table.

"Uh-huh. Soon's the head settles down. True beer-lovers know you need to raise the foam and wait for it to lapse, Sweetboy ole Tige. Remember that." The cat, jet with an odd strawberry-or heart-shaped white patch on its face and one white paw, made an urgent remark.

Picking up the first cup, Ahdio squatted to the floor beside a cut-down mug of wide diameter, with a handle. "Wait," he said, in a particular voice, and poured Red Gold into the cat's bowl. Sweetboy waited, staring, saying nothing but expressing his impatience with a lashing of the stub of his tail. That sight was disconcerting to everyone but Ahdio. Any cat expressed itself or at least acknowledged noises or its name with movements of its tail, often merely the tip. A tailless cat, if not a cripple, was at least the equivalent of a human with a severe lisp. Sweetboy, however, seemed unaware of his lack and expressively moved what he had. He even managed to make it obvious when he was not just moving the thumb-length stub, but lashing it. Now he peered at his bowl under a thigh the thickness of a trim man's waist. It moved, straightened.

"Drink up, Tige," Ahdio said, and turned to his own mug. By the time he lifted it to his lips, his beer-loving cat was sounding more canine than feline in its enthusiastic lapping. Hip against the table and one elbow on the keg, Ahdio quaffed his beer while watching Sweetboy put away his. The big man's face wore an indulgent smile. It faded, and he sighed.

The hard part was the disappearance of Sweetboy's former companion and fellow watch-cat. Notable. Both Ahdio and Sweetboy missed the big red cat. First Hanse had popped in late one afternoon and just had to borrow him; then, even while Ahdio was trying to explain that Notable was a one-man cat, the damned traitor had come in all high-tailed and started in rubbing Shadowspawn as if the cocky thief were his favoritest person in the whole world. So off went large watch-cat with smallish thief, and into the governor's palace and out. And Hanse had brought Notable back, too, bragging on his loyalty and valor-and loud voice. That was right before Hanse had left town, in a hurry. Apparently he had taken with him the eldest daughter of the murdered S'danzo, Moon-flower. Next morning, Notable was gone, too. Just short of frantic, Ahdio searched and asked; put out the word. Notable was gone without a trace. At least it was hard to imagine such a fighter's having been snatched and used to fill someone's hungry belly. Ahdio swallowed hard, then turned up his mug.

"I hope he's with Hanse," he muttered, lowering the emptied cup, and Sweetboy gave his abbreviated tail a twitch in acknowledgment. "But if he is and they ever come back to Sanctuary, I'm going to pin back all four of their ears!" With another sigh, Ahdio decided to have another before he fixed himself something to eat and joined Throde in preparing to open up for tonight's business in the lowest dive in Sanctuary. He had no idea that it would be one of the very most eventful nights ever.

He was just finishing his early dinner-he'd snack while he worked and enjoy a late supper while counting tonight's take-when he heard Throde at the door. He hurried to lift the bar and let in his lean and wiry assistant. The youth entered, thump-clump thump-clump. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was known to some as Throde the Gimp, and now and again a customer tried calling "Hey Gimp!" or "Gimpy-over here" when he wanted service. Throde, with more encouragement from Ahdio than mere approval, did not respond in any way. (He did respond to calls of "Boy" or "Waiter" or "Hey you!") If a newcomer chose to take offense and become surly despite being advised by a fellow patron of Throde's name and humanity, Ahdio was always ready to prevent any violence on his assistant. Sometimes they even came back, those he graphically warned and cooled by throwing out.

Enveloped in big brown cloak from crown to instep, the youth leaned his staff against the wall; a shade under an inch and a half in diameter, the inflexible rod was six feet long, five inches longer than its owner.

"'Lo, Ahdio. Hey, Sweetboy."

He unclasped and twisted out of the hairy cloak that looked nigh big enough for Ahdio, except in length. As usual, Throde's brown hair came out of the cloak's hood mussed in six or nine directions. He carried the garment over to hook it on one of the pegs just inside the door, on (he wall opposite the eight or so untapped tuns of beer. He turned back to Ahdio, left hand pushing his hair up off his forehead above the left eye in a gesture Ahdio had seen a thousand times or more. His smooth face was long and bony, and his lean body gave that appearance. Ahdio knew that was a bit deceptive; wiry and rangy, Throde had good musculature. Even his bad leg looked strong, though Ahdio had seen his helper only once without leggings, even back in high summer. He introduced Throde as his cousin's son, from Twand. Ahdiovizun was not from Twand. Neither was Throde.

"Ah. New tunic?"

Throde blinked and little twitches in his face hinted at a smile. He looked down at the garment, which was medium green with a wave-imitating border at neck and hem, in dark brown. Ahdio recognized that gesture, too; Throde wasn't studying the tunic, he was ducking his head. The lad was shy, and just a shade more gregarious than his walking stick.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good for you. Good-looking tunic, too. Going to have to think about a new belt for that one, to do it justice. Buy it in the Bazaar?" Throde shook his head. "Country Market. Bought it off a woman who made it for her son."

"Oh," Ahdio said, and as usual tried to force his helper into something approaching conversation. "Didn't he like it? Sure doesn't look worn."

"Was a present for him. Never been worn." Throde was looking at the cat, which had assumed a ridiculous sitting position with one hind leg straight up while it licked its genitals. "You'll go blind, Sweetboy."

"Lucky you," Ahdio said, and kept trying: "Bet you got a good price on it. Her boy didn't like it?"

"Never saw it. Took a fever on the first cold night. He died."

"Oh. Listen, I was a little nervous about you when you left last night. No trouble going home?"

Throde shook his head. "I better get set up."

"No trouble at all? Didn't see those three meanheads?" Shaking his head, Throde went through the door into the taproom-the inn proper. Ahdio sighed.

"Sure nice to have company," he muttered, and Sweet-boy looked up and belched. Ahdio gave him a look. "Here! Cats do not belch, Tige. Maybe you should consider giving up strong drink."

The final word brought the cat to attention, and to its mug. It peered within as if myopic, looked pointedly up at its human, twitched its stub and said "Mraw?"

"No," Ahdio said, and Sweetboy showed him an affronted look before it slithered in between a couple of barrels to sulk.

Accommodatingly, Ahdio let those tuns sit and picked up another to carry into the other room. He handled it as if it weighed about half what it weighed. Throde was arranging benches and stools, squatting to rearrange the sliver of wood that for three months had "temporarily" steadied the table with the bad leg.

"Maybe tonight we ought to turn that damned table up and slap a nail up through that hunk of wood into the leg," Ahdio said, his voice only a little strained. He set the barrel down behind the bar, without banging it. "Not thisun," Throde said. "The wood'd split out."

"Uh," Ahdio said, thinking about last night's trouble. The arising of trouble in Sly's Place was hardly noteworthy. Patrons who came to push and shove or worse either settled down, or helped clean up and pay for damage, or were told not to come back. Now and again Ahdio relented. But when sharp steel flashed he moved in fast with a glove and a club. Both were armored. Such things happened, and usually he stopped it without a blow and before someone got stuck. Not always. What he would not tolerate was yellers and plain bullies. That big one last night had been both. Ahdio warned him. Others warned him. Eventually Ahdio had felt compelled to pick up the big drunken troublemaker by the nape, just the way he'd have picked up a kitten. In sudden silence from patrons once again impressed by his strength, he carried the loosely wriggling fellow over to the door and deposited him outside, without roughness. He returned to applause and upraised mugs, smiling a little and never glancing back; he knew that if the ejected one came back in behind him, other patrons would call a warning. Two men, however, stood staring in manner unfriendly. Ahdio stopped and returned the gaze.

"You boys his buddies?"

"Right."

"Yes. Narvy didn't mean no harm."

"Probably not," Ahdio said equably. "Just drank too much, too fast and wouldn't take anything to eat. You boys want a sausage and a beer, or you think you ought to help him ... Narvy ... home?"

The two of them stared at him in silence, mean-faced, and the taverner stared back with his usual open, large-eyed expression. After a time they looked at each other. The handsome one shrugged. The balding one shrugged. They sat down again.

"Couple of sausages and beers coming up," Ahdio said, and that was that. Still, he had worried that they or perhaps all three might decide to take out their mad on Throde, and Ahdio warned the youth, who walked home every night alone. They had made it well known that he carried no money but did bear a big stick. On the other hand, he needed that staff because he had a gimped leg. Now his employer was more than glad that his apprehension had been for nothing. He was heading back to the storeroom when he heard the banging sound back there. Sweetboy didn't make banging sounds, particularly when he was napping. That was when it hit Ahdio that he and Throde had both forgotten to replace the bar across the outer door. Some godless motherless meanhead had just walked in for sure, he thought, already racing that way. He was bulling through the door when he heard the screams: two. A man's, and a cat's. Not just any cat's. It was Sweetboy's war-cry. He had never achieved the volume of Notable, but he could sure raise hell, nape-hair and heartbeats. The pair of yowling sounds were followed by a much louder banging than the first. And a yell that was positively a shriek.

From the doorway Ahdio glimpsed it all at once. The balding man and his big ejected pal Narvy, from last night, were in the act of removing a barrel marked with the hoofprint of a goat branded in black; the scream-trailing black streak was a watch-cat earning its keep. The cat landed acrouch on the barrel between them, having in passing opened the balding man's sleeve without even trying. It hissed, whipping its stub back and forth, and uncoiled to hit Narvy's big chest. Narvy's friend yelled when he felt his arm hit; when he saw the demonic apparition appear as if by ghastly sorcery right on the barrel he was so happily stealing, he let go his end.