landlord picked up the silver dhem and bit it. Well, that was fair comment on the wicked ways of the world.
The two Fristles stopped playing dice, and went out.
The three apims pushed away from the bar. They looked nothing special, although two wore their hair colored and tortured into the fashionable towser cut — I say fashionable... that towser-cut had been fashionable in Ruathytu, capital of Hamal, some seasons ago. No doubt the style had just reached this outpost. The three of them wore tunics and trousers cut short and ragged to the knee, mostly of greens and browns. They carried knives and cudgels. Their faces — well, now, as I glanced at their faces I realized that not all the people of Tuscursmot were friendly to the wandering stranger in their midst.
The trouble was, I had Ashti to look after. And she’d as lief walk down and start to talk to these three bully boys.
So, I tried to handle the affair as though it wasn’t happening. All these snaggly-toothed, leering-mouth three had done was stand up away from the bar. And the diffs, the Ochs and the Fristles had left. I put my back to them, with my ears flapping, I dare say, to listen for them, and looked hard at the landlord. He was a Khibil.
“Landlord,” I said.
“I am called Palando the Berry.”
“Palando the Berry. Can you direct me to the house of Scauro Pompino ti Tuscursmot? You know, Pompino the Iarvin.”
The Khibil landlord said straight into my face: “Duck!”
He had no need to warn me. The sound of the footfalls on the floor, the way in which tunics rustled when arms are lifted, the sound of a wheeze on an indrawn breath, all these betraying things told me what the three tearaways were trying to do.
I not only ducked, I went sideways, turned around and looked at the situation.
The cudgel smashed onto the counter, the fellow with the towser cut in green and yellow quite unable to halt his blow. I kicked him twixt wind and water and before he fell down screeching I hit the other one with the orange and vermilion towser cut in the ear. That happened to be nearest. The third fellow swung his cudgel and I swayed away and knocked him down inside his blow. The three of them lay on the floor like three little fishes, stranded, gasping and wheezing. It was all not very clever, a trifle messy — the last one sprayed blood from his nose everywhere — and of no real credit to anyone. I should have spoken up first.
With that feeling strong on me, I said: “I crave your pardon, Palando the Berry. There is blood on your floor.”
“Rogoglopher!” the landlord bellowed at the top of his voice. Moments later the chief Rapa looked in.
“Yes, master?”
“Heave these outside, Rogoglopher. They met more than they bargained for this time.”
“My pleasure,” said the Rapa, and bellowed for his mates to give him a hand. I sensed undercurrents of local conflicts and politics here. Maybe these were just locals, terrorizing their local tavern. Maybe they were more. I did not care; it was of no concern of mine.
“Pompino?” I said.
“Aye. You know him?”
“Yes.” My voice sharpened. “Ashti. Stop playing with that blood. You’ll get it all over your dress. And it’s hard work to get blood out.”
The landlord leaned forward and looked over the counter.
“Rogoglopher!” he bellowed.
The Rapa came back from dumping senseless bodies.
“Yes, master?”
“Get that floor scrubbed out.”
“Yes, master.”
The Khibil landlord brushed his whiskers. “I keep a clean house here, in the Swod’s Revenge.”
“Aye, Palando the Berry. Pompino—”
“Oh, aye, Pompino. He is away at the moment.”
I compressed my lips.
“Just tell me where away lies his house. That is all I ask.”
“It’s no good going there. There are only his wife and twins—”
“Two sets of twins, I believe.”
“That is right. I see you do know him, then.”
“Look, Palando. If you are trying to protect Pompino — forget it. He is a friend. If
The two Fristles stopped playing dice, and went out.
The three apims pushed away from the bar. They looked nothing special, although two wore their hair colored and tortured into the fashionable towser cut — I say fashionable... that towser-cut had been fashionable in Ruathytu, capital of Hamal, some seasons ago. No doubt the style had just reached this outpost. The three of them wore tunics and trousers cut short and ragged to the knee, mostly of greens and browns. They carried knives and cudgels. Their faces — well, now, as I glanced at their faces I realized that not all the people of Tuscursmot were friendly to the wandering stranger in their midst.
The trouble was, I had Ashti to look after. And she’d as lief walk down and start to talk to these three bully boys.
So, I tried to handle the affair as though it wasn’t happening. All these snaggly-toothed, leering-mouth three had done was stand up away from the bar. And the diffs, the Ochs and the Fristles had left. I put my back to them, with my ears flapping, I dare say, to listen for them, and looked hard at the landlord. He was a Khibil.
“Landlord,” I said.
“I am called Palando the Berry.”
“Palando the Berry. Can you direct me to the house of Scauro Pompino ti Tuscursmot? You know, Pompino the Iarvin.”
The Khibil landlord said straight into my face: “Duck!”
He had no need to warn me. The sound of the footfalls on the floor, the way in which tunics rustled when arms are lifted, the sound of a wheeze on an indrawn breath, all these betraying things told me what the three tearaways were trying to do.
I not only ducked, I went sideways, turned around and looked at the situation.
The cudgel smashed onto the counter, the fellow with the towser cut in green and yellow quite unable to halt his blow. I kicked him twixt wind and water and before he fell down screeching I hit the other one with the orange and vermilion towser cut in the ear. That happened to be nearest. The third fellow swung his cudgel and I swayed away and knocked him down inside his blow. The three of them lay on the floor like three little fishes, stranded, gasping and wheezing. It was all not very clever, a trifle messy — the last one sprayed blood from his nose everywhere — and of no real credit to anyone. I should have spoken up first.
With that feeling strong on me, I said: “I crave your pardon, Palando the Berry. There is blood on your floor.”
“Rogoglopher!” the landlord bellowed at the top of his voice. Moments later the chief Rapa looked in.
“Yes, master?”
“Heave these outside, Rogoglopher. They met more than they bargained for this time.”
“My pleasure,” said the Rapa, and bellowed for his mates to give him a hand. I sensed undercurrents of local conflicts and politics here. Maybe these were just locals, terrorizing their local tavern. Maybe they were more. I did not care; it was of no concern of mine.
“Pompino?” I said.
“Aye. You know him?”
“Yes.” My voice sharpened. “Ashti. Stop playing with that blood. You’ll get it all over your dress. And it’s hard work to get blood out.”
The landlord leaned forward and looked over the counter.
“Rogoglopher!” he bellowed.
The Rapa came back from dumping senseless bodies.
“Yes, master?”
“Get that floor scrubbed out.”
“Yes, master.”
The Khibil landlord brushed his whiskers. “I keep a clean house here, in the Swod’s Revenge.”
“Aye, Palando the Berry. Pompino—”
“Oh, aye, Pompino. He is away at the moment.”
I compressed my lips.
“Just tell me where away lies his house. That is all I ask.”
“It’s no good going there. There are only his wife and twins—”
“Two sets of twins, I believe.”
“That is right. I see you do know him, then.”
“Look, Palando. If you are trying to protect Pompino — forget it. He is a friend. If
Similar Books
