should question him anyway. Suspend his vitals over
a hot griddle and we'll soon learn what the millers are up to." The word millers was spoken with an enemy's contempt.
Jack was beginning
to realize what he had chanced upon. Snapping back his jaw, he jerked it
quickly forward and bit the pudgy-handed man squarely on the thumb. Free from
the man's grip for an instant, Jack cried, "I'm not a miller! I'm one of
you. I'm a baker."
Three
It seemed a lot
darker in Bren tonight than any other night Nabber could remember. Not that he
was scared of the dark, of course. It was just a little worrying, that was all.
Swift had once said, "Some nights just aren't right for pocketing,
" and this was most definitely one of those.
Nabber was weaving
his way through the south side of the city, about a league east of Cravin's
townhouse. He'd been skirting around the hideout all day, hoping to muster
enough courage to face Tawl. He knew the knight would give him a lashing, the
worst kind, too-a verbal one. After all he deserved it, sending Bodger and
Grift round with the password, getting Lord Maybor nearly killed. Why, all he
needed to do to top it all off would be to bring the duke's blackhelms to the
door!
Nabber spat in
self-disgust. Swift would have revoked his pocketing privileges and cast him
out on the street for less.
Oh, he knew he had
to go back--and in fact had pocketed more than enough gold to ensure a welcome
returnbut the thought of seeing disapproval or, even worse, disappointment, on
Tawl's noble face kept his feet from making their move. He still kept an eye on
the hideout, though. Just to make sure that everyone was safe and no guards had
turned up to take Tawl and Melli away. He wouldn't be able to live with himself
if that had happened in his absence. Scratching his chin to aid reflection,
Nabber carefully considered such an occurrence. Well, he might be able to live
with himself after all-but he'd be sorely ashamed.
Slap! Thump! Tap!
For the fast time
Nabber's brain registered what his ears already knew: someone had stepped from
the alleyway and was following him. Someone with a bad leg and a stick. To test
the man out, Nabber made a point of crossing the cobbled road.
Slap! Thump! Tap!
The man followed
suit. Now, looking like a penniless, scrawny low-life as he did, Nabber didn't
think old Bad Leg's intention was to rob him. Which left only two other
possibilities: Bad Leg was either a tunic-lifter, or one of Baralis' spies.
Either way, Nabber knew it was time to move on.
Remaining as calm
as Swift had taught him, he began to walk a little faster. Bad Leg matched him
step for mismatched step. He walked real fast for a man with a stick. Nabber's
eyes searched out likely doors and alleyways. He was beginning to feel a little
afraid.
Slap! Thump!
Tap!
Bad Leg was
gaining on him. The sound of his lurching footsteps sent a shiver down Nabber's
spine. There was no one on the streets to watch them pass. Straight ahead lay a
series of archways where the poultry sellers sold their birds by day. Nabber
knew this area well: swan and peacock sellers were famous for their loose
coinage. To the right was Duck's End, a short alleyway that most people
believed finished in a dead end. Nabber knew differently. A small drainage
tunnel led under the wall. If he hadn't grown too much in the past three weeks,
he should be able to squeeze through it. Old Bad Leg wouldn't stand a chance.
Nabber feinted to
the left, then waited until the last possible moment before cutting a sharp
right.
Slap! Thump!
Tap!
There was no
fooling Bad Leg.
Duck's End was a
dark spot in an already dark night. A trickle of sweat slid along Nabber's
temple and then down his cheek. It's just getting a little hot around here, he
told himself, wiping his face with his sleeve. Bad Leg was only a shadow behind
him now. Nabber picked up his pace. The ground was always wet in alleyways
regardless of the rain, and Nabber's shoes squelched with every step. The
a hot griddle and we'll soon learn what the millers are up to." The word millers was spoken with an enemy's contempt.
Jack was beginning
to realize what he had chanced upon. Snapping back his jaw, he jerked it
quickly forward and bit the pudgy-handed man squarely on the thumb. Free from
the man's grip for an instant, Jack cried, "I'm not a miller! I'm one of
you. I'm a baker."
Three
It seemed a lot
darker in Bren tonight than any other night Nabber could remember. Not that he
was scared of the dark, of course. It was just a little worrying, that was all.
Swift had once said, "Some nights just aren't right for pocketing,
" and this was most definitely one of those.
Nabber was weaving
his way through the south side of the city, about a league east of Cravin's
townhouse. He'd been skirting around the hideout all day, hoping to muster
enough courage to face Tawl. He knew the knight would give him a lashing, the
worst kind, too-a verbal one. After all he deserved it, sending Bodger and
Grift round with the password, getting Lord Maybor nearly killed. Why, all he
needed to do to top it all off would be to bring the duke's blackhelms to the
door!
Nabber spat in
self-disgust. Swift would have revoked his pocketing privileges and cast him
out on the street for less.
Oh, he knew he had
to go back--and in fact had pocketed more than enough gold to ensure a welcome
returnbut the thought of seeing disapproval or, even worse, disappointment, on
Tawl's noble face kept his feet from making their move. He still kept an eye on
the hideout, though. Just to make sure that everyone was safe and no guards had
turned up to take Tawl and Melli away. He wouldn't be able to live with himself
if that had happened in his absence. Scratching his chin to aid reflection,
Nabber carefully considered such an occurrence. Well, he might be able to live
with himself after all-but he'd be sorely ashamed.
Slap! Thump! Tap!
For the fast time
Nabber's brain registered what his ears already knew: someone had stepped from
the alleyway and was following him. Someone with a bad leg and a stick. To test
the man out, Nabber made a point of crossing the cobbled road.
Slap! Thump! Tap!
The man followed
suit. Now, looking like a penniless, scrawny low-life as he did, Nabber didn't
think old Bad Leg's intention was to rob him. Which left only two other
possibilities: Bad Leg was either a tunic-lifter, or one of Baralis' spies.
Either way, Nabber knew it was time to move on.
Remaining as calm
as Swift had taught him, he began to walk a little faster. Bad Leg matched him
step for mismatched step. He walked real fast for a man with a stick. Nabber's
eyes searched out likely doors and alleyways. He was beginning to feel a little
afraid.
Slap! Thump!
Tap!
Bad Leg was
gaining on him. The sound of his lurching footsteps sent a shiver down Nabber's
spine. There was no one on the streets to watch them pass. Straight ahead lay a
series of archways where the poultry sellers sold their birds by day. Nabber
knew this area well: swan and peacock sellers were famous for their loose
coinage. To the right was Duck's End, a short alleyway that most people
believed finished in a dead end. Nabber knew differently. A small drainage
tunnel led under the wall. If he hadn't grown too much in the past three weeks,
he should be able to squeeze through it. Old Bad Leg wouldn't stand a chance.
Nabber feinted to
the left, then waited until the last possible moment before cutting a sharp
right.
Slap! Thump!
Tap!
There was no
fooling Bad Leg.
Duck's End was a
dark spot in an already dark night. A trickle of sweat slid along Nabber's
temple and then down his cheek. It's just getting a little hot around here, he
told himself, wiping his face with his sleeve. Bad Leg was only a shadow behind
him now. Nabber picked up his pace. The ground was always wet in alleyways
regardless of the rain, and Nabber's shoes squelched with every step. The
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