Read Online Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 by Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Short Stories, Fantasy Fiction; American, Fantasy - General, Fantastic fiction, Science fiction; American, Fantastic fiction; American
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and stolen and he locked 'er up and called the watch." The guardsman looked doubtful a second, then: "Woman looks Rankan, sir, and old Gorthis says she's a thief named Moria who lived in the Peres house, and we got a
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warrant out on her. The corporal don't know. We got a lot of warrants. But she talks uptown."
"Moria. Out ofPeres." Crit drew in a deep breath, all at once awake in this slow and nuisanceful morning. He slid down and threw the gray's reins at the guardsman as he ducked under the horse's neck and put his head into the jeweler's shop.
The damn place looked like the city jail, it had so many bars. And in the clutches of a trio of guardsmen was a blonde and distraught young woman, answering questions, shaking her head furiously, no, no, and no.
"Hey," he yelled, interrupting it all. The woman looked at him, and gods, it was for certain Moria, who had hosted the whole Sacred Band at the truce-feast in the Peres house.
Before it ended up a pile of blackened sticks and tumbled stone.
"Moria?" he asked. And listened to the whole thing over again, from the jeweler Gorthis shouting in one ear, the guard corporal shouting at Gorthis to shut up, the woman sobbing and shouting that she was innocent, that Gorthis was a crook who wanted her gold, which was hers, and Gorthis her enemy who had lured her here with promises of help.
"Gold might be hers," Crit said slowly. "Ease up a little. Let's just all
be calm, can we? Ma'am, I think you and the gold and Gorthis here better plan to spend the morning uptown and get this straightened out. They say there's a warrant out on you-I don't know about that. I know I've got a few questions. Where are you staying?" The woman's face might have been a waxen mask. An honest woman might have answered. There would not have been that desperate dart of the eyes, like something trapped. Crit had had a lot of experience, judging reactions like that. He pulled out his kit and rolled himself a smoke,
giving her time to answer, if she would. Then, finally, lighting the smoke
from the lamp by the door.
"Well, sergeant, I think you might as well take the whole damn mess uptown. You can have Gorthis. Woman goes to my office. Gold goes to your captain and it damn well better stay accounted for. Hear?"
"Yessir," the sergeant said, and Crit nodded, puffed on his smoke to calm his nerves and walked as far as the door. He had a rare impulse to chivalry, and turned back to the sergeant.
"Don'1 take her through the streets like that. Put a wrap on her and don't bruise her up any, all right?"
"Yessir."
He walked out, collected his horse and climbed up, riding out through the crowd, paying no attention to the shouted questions and the ohhhs and ahhhs and the rumors flying thick and fast. Up the street, then,
THE BEST OF FRIENDS 255
where the last few shyer onlookers stood gawking, and around the corner. A man fled his path. There was one with reason to avoid him. He was halfway moved to find out why, but the streets were slick and there was enough commotion hereabouts. The chance of overtaking the man was nil, without risk to the gray, and he was not about to take the chance. Dawn, and there were still some of the night-skulkers out, pickpockets, for sure, who worked their best in circumstances like the press and commotion back there. Not his business, that. Not a soldier's business at all. He rode on his way, down the mostly deserted street, at a walk, already back to the problem of the head tax. And was halfway startled when a cloaked man came out of the alley and looked up at him and ran over to him. "Officer—officer—my son, f'godssakes, my son, they stabbed my son—"
"Who?" He reined in the gray, which was as like to take a piece out of the man as not. "How many of them?" The whole, damn district watch was tied down back around the corner, and a purse-cutting that went to murder was the way of things in this damn town.
"Come on!" the man cried, running back for
UNEASY ALLIANCES
254
warrant out on her. The corporal don't know. We got a lot of warrants. But she talks uptown."
"Moria. Out ofPeres." Crit drew in a deep breath, all at once awake in this slow and nuisanceful morning. He slid down and threw the gray's reins at the guardsman as he ducked under the horse's neck and put his head into the jeweler's shop.
The damn place looked like the city jail, it had so many bars. And in the clutches of a trio of guardsmen was a blonde and distraught young woman, answering questions, shaking her head furiously, no, no, and no.
"Hey," he yelled, interrupting it all. The woman looked at him, and gods, it was for certain Moria, who had hosted the whole Sacred Band at the truce-feast in the Peres house.
Before it ended up a pile of blackened sticks and tumbled stone.
"Moria?" he asked. And listened to the whole thing over again, from the jeweler Gorthis shouting in one ear, the guard corporal shouting at Gorthis to shut up, the woman sobbing and shouting that she was innocent, that Gorthis was a crook who wanted her gold, which was hers, and Gorthis her enemy who had lured her here with promises of help.
"Gold might be hers," Crit said slowly. "Ease up a little. Let's just all
be calm, can we? Ma'am, I think you and the gold and Gorthis here better plan to spend the morning uptown and get this straightened out. They say there's a warrant out on you-I don't know about that. I know I've got a few questions. Where are you staying?" The woman's face might have been a waxen mask. An honest woman might have answered. There would not have been that desperate dart of the eyes, like something trapped. Crit had had a lot of experience, judging reactions like that. He pulled out his kit and rolled himself a smoke,
giving her time to answer, if she would. Then, finally, lighting the smoke
from the lamp by the door.
"Well, sergeant, I think you might as well take the whole damn mess uptown. You can have Gorthis. Woman goes to my office. Gold goes to your captain and it damn well better stay accounted for. Hear?"
"Yessir," the sergeant said, and Crit nodded, puffed on his smoke to calm his nerves and walked as far as the door. He had a rare impulse to chivalry, and turned back to the sergeant.
"Don'1 take her through the streets like that. Put a wrap on her and don't bruise her up any, all right?"
"Yessir."
He walked out, collected his horse and climbed up, riding out through the crowd, paying no attention to the shouted questions and the ohhhs and ahhhs and the rumors flying thick and fast. Up the street, then,
THE BEST OF FRIENDS 255
where the last few shyer onlookers stood gawking, and around the corner. A man fled his path. There was one with reason to avoid him. He was halfway moved to find out why, but the streets were slick and there was enough commotion hereabouts. The chance of overtaking the man was nil, without risk to the gray, and he was not about to take the chance. Dawn, and there were still some of the night-skulkers out, pickpockets, for sure, who worked their best in circumstances like the press and commotion back there. Not his business, that. Not a soldier's business at all. He rode on his way, down the mostly deserted street, at a walk, already back to the problem of the head tax. And was halfway startled when a cloaked man came out of the alley and looked up at him and ran over to him. "Officer—officer—my son, f'godssakes, my son, they stabbed my son—"
"Who?" He reined in the gray, which was as like to take a piece out of the man as not. "How many of them?" The whole, damn district watch was tied down back around the corner, and a purse-cutting that went to murder was the way of things in this damn town.
"Come on!" the man cried, running back for
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