Read Online The Long Hunt: Mageworlds #5 by Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald
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to Faral in Trade-talk—the Maraghaite pidgin of Galcenian and the Forest Speech. *I love it.*
Blossom paid no attention. She started up the ladder, climbing briskly for a woman of her years who had just spent half an hour wading through chilly, ankle-deep water. At the top, she knocked on the trapdoor with the butt of her hand torch, waited a few seconds, then knocked again. It wasn’t long before Faral heard a heavy sliding sound, like a piece of furniture being shoved aside. A crack of bright yellow light appeared among the shadows overhead.
“Come on,” said Blossom as the trapdoor opened the rest of the way. She climbed through the opening and vanished from sight. With a shrug, Faral started up after her.
The glyphs on the desktop had stabilized. Miza wasn’t certain what they portended, and she suspected that Huool didn’t know either.
The Roti clicked his beak and ruffed up his neck feathers. “Disturbing. If I did not know better, I would swear—”
A sharp rapping noise interrupted him. Miza stared about, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. Huool’s hearing was keener than hers: by the time the rapping came a second time, he was shoving at a stack of crates in the far corner. Miza left her desk and went to help him.
Together they shifted the boxes away from a section of tiled flooring that appeared, at first glance, to be no different from all the rest. On closer inspection, Miza spotted the hair-thin lines that marked off a hidden door. Huool bent and pressed a taloned finger against what looked like—but obviously wasn’t—a flawed spot in the tiles, and the trapdoor lifted and turned.
A nasty, sewer-reek odor billowed out of the opening, followed by a reed-thin, grey-haired woman in white shirt, black trousers, and a proper Ophelan-style apron and cap. The shirt and apron were mud-stained and streaked with rust.
“Huool, you old pirate,” the woman said. “Are you glad to see me?”
Huool chittered with amusement. “Speaking as one pirate to another, Gentlelady, I certainly am. What can I do for you today?”
“Got a couple of lads here with me that need to get off-planet fast.”
As she spoke, a dark-haired young man stuck his head up above the flooring, paused for a moment, then clambered the rest of the way out. A moment later another youth followed, this one taller than the first and as fair as the other was dark, with long yellow hair tied back from a lean, intelligent face. Both of the young men, like the woman, were smeared with sewer muck and rust—though Miza suspected that given a chance to wash themselves and change their dirt-stained jackets and trousers for less bedraggled clothing, they would clean up to something entirely presentable.
Huool chittered again. “I see you won the bidding.”
“We didn’t even know there was an auction going on,” the woman said. “Not until the bill collectors showed up, anyhow. Three, maybe more, from the Green Sun gang.”
“Not cheap talent,” Huool said. “But … it appears … not terribly talented talent. Or perhaps merely outclassed.”
“It’s good to learn we haven’t lost our touch,” said the woman modestly. She turned to the pair of young men. “Who knew that the two of you would be coming to the shop?”
The fair one shrugged. The gesture had a casual grace to it that Miza thought might be Khesatan; his voice, when he spoke, confirmed her suspicions. “Since we hadn’t planned on it beforehand … no one, I suppose.”
“No.” The other youth shook his head, frowning. He had a solid look to him that Miza approved of, and his manner was free of airs and affectations. She couldn’t place his accent at all as he said to his fellow, “We didn’t plan on Gentlelady Blossom’s tea shop, true enough. But you spent half the morning asking for directions to that music store right across the square. Thalban’s, or whatever it was called. And it came recommended.”
The woman called Blossom
Blossom paid no attention. She started up the ladder, climbing briskly for a woman of her years who had just spent half an hour wading through chilly, ankle-deep water. At the top, she knocked on the trapdoor with the butt of her hand torch, waited a few seconds, then knocked again. It wasn’t long before Faral heard a heavy sliding sound, like a piece of furniture being shoved aside. A crack of bright yellow light appeared among the shadows overhead.
“Come on,” said Blossom as the trapdoor opened the rest of the way. She climbed through the opening and vanished from sight. With a shrug, Faral started up after her.
The glyphs on the desktop had stabilized. Miza wasn’t certain what they portended, and she suspected that Huool didn’t know either.
The Roti clicked his beak and ruffed up his neck feathers. “Disturbing. If I did not know better, I would swear—”
A sharp rapping noise interrupted him. Miza stared about, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. Huool’s hearing was keener than hers: by the time the rapping came a second time, he was shoving at a stack of crates in the far corner. Miza left her desk and went to help him.
Together they shifted the boxes away from a section of tiled flooring that appeared, at first glance, to be no different from all the rest. On closer inspection, Miza spotted the hair-thin lines that marked off a hidden door. Huool bent and pressed a taloned finger against what looked like—but obviously wasn’t—a flawed spot in the tiles, and the trapdoor lifted and turned.
A nasty, sewer-reek odor billowed out of the opening, followed by a reed-thin, grey-haired woman in white shirt, black trousers, and a proper Ophelan-style apron and cap. The shirt and apron were mud-stained and streaked with rust.
“Huool, you old pirate,” the woman said. “Are you glad to see me?”
Huool chittered with amusement. “Speaking as one pirate to another, Gentlelady, I certainly am. What can I do for you today?”
“Got a couple of lads here with me that need to get off-planet fast.”
As she spoke, a dark-haired young man stuck his head up above the flooring, paused for a moment, then clambered the rest of the way out. A moment later another youth followed, this one taller than the first and as fair as the other was dark, with long yellow hair tied back from a lean, intelligent face. Both of the young men, like the woman, were smeared with sewer muck and rust—though Miza suspected that given a chance to wash themselves and change their dirt-stained jackets and trousers for less bedraggled clothing, they would clean up to something entirely presentable.
Huool chittered again. “I see you won the bidding.”
“We didn’t even know there was an auction going on,” the woman said. “Not until the bill collectors showed up, anyhow. Three, maybe more, from the Green Sun gang.”
“Not cheap talent,” Huool said. “But … it appears … not terribly talented talent. Or perhaps merely outclassed.”
“It’s good to learn we haven’t lost our touch,” said the woman modestly. She turned to the pair of young men. “Who knew that the two of you would be coming to the shop?”
The fair one shrugged. The gesture had a casual grace to it that Miza thought might be Khesatan; his voice, when he spoke, confirmed her suspicions. “Since we hadn’t planned on it beforehand … no one, I suppose.”
“No.” The other youth shook his head, frowning. He had a solid look to him that Miza approved of, and his manner was free of airs and affectations. She couldn’t place his accent at all as he said to his fellow, “We didn’t plan on Gentlelady Blossom’s tea shop, true enough. But you spent half the morning asking for directions to that music store right across the square. Thalban’s, or whatever it was called. And it came recommended.”
The woman called Blossom
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