Read Online 03. Gods at the Well of Souls by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online

perhaps had trees and forests into which he could disappear. If no one met him,  it would make sense to go right, then left, keeping to the alleyways but off the  trail. That would take him into the hex and away from any sort of activity. The  trail had only ten or so meters in the open before it went into a thin alley  between two tall, smelly structures. It did have to cross a few broader streets,  some with loading docks on either side and a set of rails going down the  center-he had to watch his step in order not to get a hoof caught in the gap.  But the trail mainly kept to the back alleys and side streets until it reached  the one warehouse where things went on after dark that were probably unknown to  those who worked in the area during the day. 
     
    He hadn't seen Campos, there or anywhere else, since the first couple of runs  right at the beginning. Apparently she was satisfied enough by her first visits  and didn't need to see much more. It didn't matter, anyway. Some things of an  emotional nature had not been excised, and one of those, now that the drug had  no more hold, might well cause him to impale a certain person on his horn no  matter what the cost to himself and any future he might have, no matter how  bleak. That might well be worth it. 
     
    I'll bet Mavra spends at least a little bit each day regretting she didn't  listen to us and kill the little turd or at least leave him to the mercies of  the People. 
     
    He ate and slept most of the day, waking up occasionally but not for long and  mostly to eat some more. It seemed like no time before the shadows fell and  night came upon the Well World. 
     
    He went close to the boundary but didn't yet cross. He wanted all the sounds to  vanish into the distance first. 
     
    Maybe this is it, he thought anxiously. Maybe nobody will show this time. But somebody did. No Cloptan except someone expecting him would ever go through  that barrier in this direction, not unless it was on one of the main roads. The  spider bitches would just love a little duck. 
     
    He recognized the little man by his scent. The Cloptan was a decent sort as  handlers went, not too bright and very loyal but not cruel to the mules, either.  He looked like some bastard relative of Gladstone Gander, except that he wore  pants. 
     
    "Ah, it's you, is it?" the man, whose name was Banam commented, although it  sounded like nothing but deep melodic rumblings to Lori. "Well, you can come  along now. It's a holiday here tomorrow and everybody's taken off early, anyway.  I'll just get my pushcart and follow you in as usual." 
     
    Lori was used to people speaking to him when he couldn't understand a word. In a  way, he was even more cut off than a real horse, since even real horses could  pick up a few common sounds or terms. It was the worst part of it all, an utter  loneliness that came from having no way to truly communicate with anyone except,  of course, the absent Campos. 
     
    There was a pronounced difference in air pressure when he penetrated the  boundary and also a marked rise in humidity. He couldn't tell much about the  temperature, though, except that Banam wore only a light jacket, so it probably  wasn't very cold. That was another tiling Lori seemed to have lost; he wasn't  very aware of, or very sensitive to, temperatures of any sort. Early on, Clopta  had been cold enough for him to see people's breaths, but he'd barely felt a  thing. 
     
    His hooves clattered against the paved street, echoing off the close-in walls.  He'd been a bit annoyed that they hadn't shoed him, since there was always the  danger of a split hoof, but now he was glad of it. There wouldn't be any  blacksmiths able to provide the service if he cut out. 
     
    "Your design's been a big hit with the bosses, I hear," Banam commented  chattily, never knowing if he could be understood or not and really not caring  all that much either way. "I watched you