Read Online Storm Season- - Thieves World 04 by Robert Asprin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Asprin
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Literary Criticism, Epic, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy
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she was, or might become so, and at others most coldly sane. Humor occurred to her, a private laughter, with this gift so obviously proffered, this-bribe. Animal she was not. She knew always what she did. She moved closer and her fingers touched his arm while she wove a circle round him like some magic rite. She came full circle and looked up at him, for he was tall. "Who were you?" she asked.
"Haught is my name," he said, all but a whisper, she was that close, and he managed then to look past her.
"And were you born a slave?"
"I was a dancer in Garonne."
"Debt?"
"Yes," he said, and never looked at her the while. She had, she thought, guessed wrong.
"But not," she said, "Caronnese."
There was silence.
"Northern," she said.
He said nothing. The sweat ran on his face. He never moved: could not, while she willed; but never tried: she would have felt a trial of her hold.
"They question you, don't they, about me?-each time. And what do you tell them?"
"There's nothing to tell them, is there?"
"I doubt that they are kind. Are they? Do you love them, these masters of yours?
Do you know what you're really for?"
A flush stained his face. "No," she said sombrely, answering her own question.
"Or you'd run, even knowing what you'd pay." She touched him as she might some fine marble, and there was such hunger, such desire for something so fine-it hurt.
"This time," she said after measuring that thought, "I take the gift. . . but I do with it what I like. My back door, Haught, is on the river, a great convenience to me; and bodies often don't surface, do they? Not before the sea. So they won't expect to find you ... So just keep going, do you hear? Serves them right. Go somewhere. I set you free."
"You can't-"
"Go back to them if you like. But I wouldn't, if I were you. This message doesn't need an answer. Don't you reckon what that means? I'd keep running, Haught-no, here." She went to the closet and picked clothing, a fine blue cloak many visitors left such remembrances behind. There were cloaks, and boots, and shirts-all manner of such things. She threw it at him; went to the table and wrote a message. "Take this back to them if you dare. Can you read?"
"No," he said.
She chuckled. "It says you're free." She took a purse from the table (another relic) and gave that into his hand. "Stay in Sanctuary if you choose. Or go. Take my word. They might kill you-but they might not. Not if they read that note. Do as you please and get out of here."
"They'll find me," he protested.
"Trust the note," she said, "or use the back door and the bridge." She waved her hand. He hesitated one way and the other, went toward the front and then fled for the back, for the riverside. She laughed aloud, watching his flight from her doorway, watched him run, run down the riverside until the dark swallowed him.
But after the laughter was dead she read the message they had sent her a second time and burned it in the lamp, letting the ashes fall and scorch an amber silk, carelessly.
So Vashanka's faction went on wanting her services, and offered three times the gold. She cared nothing for that at present, having all she cared to have. She cared not to be more conspicuous, no, not if they offered her a palace for her services. And they could.
How would that be, she wondered, and how long till neighbors rebelled at the steady disappearances? She could buy slaves... but enter the Prince's court, but live openly-?
The thought amused, the way irony might. She could herself become Jubal, in a trade that would well suit her needs. A pity she had already taken hireBut the irony of it palled and the bitterness stayed. Perhaps the Vashanka lovers suspected what they did. Perhaps they had some inkling of her motives or the need-and so they sent the likes of Haught, a messenger they expected to have had thus silenced on the first visit, then to supply her with more and more; or a lure they dragged past her with cynical cruelty, to ascertain how much
"Haught is my name," he said, all but a whisper, she was that close, and he managed then to look past her.
"And were you born a slave?"
"I was a dancer in Garonne."
"Debt?"
"Yes," he said, and never looked at her the while. She had, she thought, guessed wrong.
"But not," she said, "Caronnese."
There was silence.
"Northern," she said.
He said nothing. The sweat ran on his face. He never moved: could not, while she willed; but never tried: she would have felt a trial of her hold.
"They question you, don't they, about me?-each time. And what do you tell them?"
"There's nothing to tell them, is there?"
"I doubt that they are kind. Are they? Do you love them, these masters of yours?
Do you know what you're really for?"
A flush stained his face. "No," she said sombrely, answering her own question.
"Or you'd run, even knowing what you'd pay." She touched him as she might some fine marble, and there was such hunger, such desire for something so fine-it hurt.
"This time," she said after measuring that thought, "I take the gift. . . but I do with it what I like. My back door, Haught, is on the river, a great convenience to me; and bodies often don't surface, do they? Not before the sea. So they won't expect to find you ... So just keep going, do you hear? Serves them right. Go somewhere. I set you free."
"You can't-"
"Go back to them if you like. But I wouldn't, if I were you. This message doesn't need an answer. Don't you reckon what that means? I'd keep running, Haught-no, here." She went to the closet and picked clothing, a fine blue cloak many visitors left such remembrances behind. There were cloaks, and boots, and shirts-all manner of such things. She threw it at him; went to the table and wrote a message. "Take this back to them if you dare. Can you read?"
"No," he said.
She chuckled. "It says you're free." She took a purse from the table (another relic) and gave that into his hand. "Stay in Sanctuary if you choose. Or go. Take my word. They might kill you-but they might not. Not if they read that note. Do as you please and get out of here."
"They'll find me," he protested.
"Trust the note," she said, "or use the back door and the bridge." She waved her hand. He hesitated one way and the other, went toward the front and then fled for the back, for the riverside. She laughed aloud, watching his flight from her doorway, watched him run, run down the riverside until the dark swallowed him.
But after the laughter was dead she read the message they had sent her a second time and burned it in the lamp, letting the ashes fall and scorch an amber silk, carelessly.
So Vashanka's faction went on wanting her services, and offered three times the gold. She cared nothing for that at present, having all she cared to have. She cared not to be more conspicuous, no, not if they offered her a palace for her services. And they could.
How would that be, she wondered, and how long till neighbors rebelled at the steady disappearances? She could buy slaves... but enter the Prince's court, but live openly-?
The thought amused, the way irony might. She could herself become Jubal, in a trade that would well suit her needs. A pity she had already taken hireBut the irony of it palled and the bitterness stayed. Perhaps the Vashanka lovers suspected what they did. Perhaps they had some inkling of her motives or the need-and so they sent the likes of Haught, a messenger they expected to have had thus silenced on the first visit, then to supply her with more and more; or a lure they dragged past her with cynical cruelty, to ascertain how much
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