Read Online Runner by William C. Dietz - Free Book Online

immediate needs. No, the disguise was intended to fool whoever had invaded the Market Street Inn, and if rumors could be believed, not only murdered four people but broken into her room. Or what would have been her room had the sensitive not checked into another hostelry an hour before.
    Now she was killing time, waiting for the shuttle to arrive, with every intention of being aboard the ship when it lifted off. She still planned to find a refuge in the country, but on some other planet, a long ways from Anafa. Norr gave an involuntary jerk as someone touched her arm—and whirled to confront a liveried footman rather than the assassin she had imagined. His distaste for her was apparent in both the frown he wore and an air of stiff formality. “My mistress would like to engage your services. Please follow me.”
    Norr swore silently, but knew she should accept the commission, if only to protect her disguise. She reached out to take possession of the footman’s arm. “Why, thank you, deary,” the sensitive cackled suggestively. “I’d be happy to follow a strapping young man such as yourself!”
    The footman shuddered as the crone’s grubby fingers made contact with his immaculate sleeve, allowed the fortune teller to transfer some of her weight to his arm, and escorted Norr through the crowd. It was a relatively short journey to the point where a fabric-draped litter rested on fold-down legs. Incense wafted out of small braziers mounted at either end of the conveyance, thereby making the air fit to smell for the individual closeted within. Four litter bearers, each armed with identical wooden cudgels,kept onlookers at a distance. Norr couldn’t see through the gauzy material that guarded the occupant’s privacy, but there was no denying the femininity of the voice that came from inside. It was light, musical, and a little girlish. “Good afternoon . . . Thank you for coming.”
    Norr felt a moment of envy, a fleeting desire to live the girl’s life rather than her own, but that was quickly superseded by a sense of deep sorrow. “You are welcome, deary,” the sensitive replied soothingly. “Why do I feel such a deep sense of sadness around you? Like an emptiness that cannot be filled. A lover’s spat perhaps?”
    There was a pause followed by the sudden rustle of fabric as curtains parted. The face that appeared in the gap between them was perfectly symmetrical, but too pale to be entirely healthy and framed by a fall of luxuriant black hair. Norr found herself looking into two almond-shaped eyes, both of which were protected by long lashes, and shiny with pent-up tears. “No,” the young woman replied emphatically. “There is no lover. Nor is there likely to be, not since the accident.” So saying the girl pulled a coverlet aside to reveal that most of her right leg was missing. The stump was neatly bandaged and wrapped with a lavender ribbon. “Can one such as myself ever find happiness?” the woman inquired desperately. “Or should I forsake all hope?”
    Norr felt that the answer was, “Yes,” that there was very little possibility of the sort of idealized romance the girl had long dreamed of, but “saw” another possibility for her client. One that could generate even greater happiness in the long run. “There is a young man, who though not as comely as some, loves you deeply. He’s not the stuff of dreams, deary, but your disability has in no way reduced his ardor, and he needs that which you would bring into his life. For while you are comfortable with people, he is not,and while the arts are second nature to you, he struggles to master them.”
    The girl frowned, registered a look of utter surprise, and said, “Lars? Do you mean Lars? ”
    â€œI know not his name,” Norr answered, “but only that which lies in his heart.”
    â€œThank you!” the girl