expert on cow dung. Now I see that you are secretly a philosopher.”
“What I am does not matter. Unlock the enclosure and let our companion go.”
“The exceptional cat is my property. I already have three potential buyers bidding against one another for the rights to it. Their agitation as they frantically drive up the price is wonderful to behold. Naturally you must understand I could not give him back to you now.” He gestured with the lamp, making the only source of real light in the room dance according to his whim. “Why so much concern over the fate of a mere animal? So it speaks the language of men. A good horse is more valuable, and I have yet to encounter one that can speak even a single word.”
“Do not be so quick to judge value until you have talked to the horse,” the herdsman replied calmly. “I was not so concerned for the litah as you think. In fact, as my friend can attest, I would have left him to his fate but for one thing.”
Bin Grue was listening intently. “What one thing?”
In the uneasy shadows Ehomba’s dark eyes might have glittered ever so slightly with a light that was not a reflection of the trader’s lamp. “You tried to have us killed.”
Bin Grue did his best to shrug off the accusation. “That was Moleshohn’s doing.”
“Some men are easier to take the measure of than others. The All-Knowing would not have taken that step without your direction, or at least your approval.”
“I deny having given it, and having denied it, I offer my apology if you insist on believing otherwise.” He smiled broadly, encouragingly. “Come now, herdsman. Why should we let something that reeks mightily and sprays indiscriminately come between us? Allow me to bribe you. I will cut you a fair piece of the action. Why not? There will be plenty to satisfy all. Consent with me, and I promise that you both will leave Lybondai with new clothing, sturdy mounts, and money in your pockets. What say you?”
“I say—that these clothes suit me fine, and that I will not shake the hand of one who acceded in trying to have me murdered.” Behind him, Simna’s fingers flew over iron as the agitated swordsman tried to work faster. But the bloated padlock was proving as obstinate as a teenage daughter refused permission to attend the annual Fair of Crisola the Procreant.
On the trader’s shoulder, the watchrat crouched low, digging its tiny claws into the material of bin Grue’s sleeping gown. The merchant’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry to hear that, lover of sheep dags. It means that I will be forced to finish what the helpful but lamentably ineffectual Moleshohn was unable to do.” Extending his left arm, he opened his fingers to show what he was holding.
Ehomba eyed it emotionlessly. Behind him, Simna ibn Sind looked up from his so far futile efforts. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Initially wary, he quickly now found himself more perplexed than fearful.
It was another box.
IV
W hat are you going to do with that?” The swordsman’s tone reflected his uncertainty and confusion. “Tavern us to death?”
A second thin, humorless smile split the trader’s no-nonsense visage. His jaws worked redundantly, grinding on an invisible cigar. “Did you think I had only one box, night thief? I have a box full of boxes. Not all are home to the benign.” Casually, as if utterly indifferent to the consequences of his action, he tossed the box in their direction. Ehomba took a step back as it struck the floor between them.
And began, exactly as the portable tavern bin Grue had brought to light previously before them, to unfold.
No mirrors flashed the light of delectation from behind a bar attended by indulgent countermen. No lithe-limbed maids danced between tables bearing pitchers and goblets of imported libations. There was no cadre of good-natured celebrants to welcome the travelers into their company.
That did not mean that the box was empty.
As the box continued to
“What I am does not matter. Unlock the enclosure and let our companion go.”
“The exceptional cat is my property. I already have three potential buyers bidding against one another for the rights to it. Their agitation as they frantically drive up the price is wonderful to behold. Naturally you must understand I could not give him back to you now.” He gestured with the lamp, making the only source of real light in the room dance according to his whim. “Why so much concern over the fate of a mere animal? So it speaks the language of men. A good horse is more valuable, and I have yet to encounter one that can speak even a single word.”
“Do not be so quick to judge value until you have talked to the horse,” the herdsman replied calmly. “I was not so concerned for the litah as you think. In fact, as my friend can attest, I would have left him to his fate but for one thing.”
Bin Grue was listening intently. “What one thing?”
In the uneasy shadows Ehomba’s dark eyes might have glittered ever so slightly with a light that was not a reflection of the trader’s lamp. “You tried to have us killed.”
Bin Grue did his best to shrug off the accusation. “That was Moleshohn’s doing.”
“Some men are easier to take the measure of than others. The All-Knowing would not have taken that step without your direction, or at least your approval.”
“I deny having given it, and having denied it, I offer my apology if you insist on believing otherwise.” He smiled broadly, encouragingly. “Come now, herdsman. Why should we let something that reeks mightily and sprays indiscriminately come between us? Allow me to bribe you. I will cut you a fair piece of the action. Why not? There will be plenty to satisfy all. Consent with me, and I promise that you both will leave Lybondai with new clothing, sturdy mounts, and money in your pockets. What say you?”
“I say—that these clothes suit me fine, and that I will not shake the hand of one who acceded in trying to have me murdered.” Behind him, Simna’s fingers flew over iron as the agitated swordsman tried to work faster. But the bloated padlock was proving as obstinate as a teenage daughter refused permission to attend the annual Fair of Crisola the Procreant.
On the trader’s shoulder, the watchrat crouched low, digging its tiny claws into the material of bin Grue’s sleeping gown. The merchant’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry to hear that, lover of sheep dags. It means that I will be forced to finish what the helpful but lamentably ineffectual Moleshohn was unable to do.” Extending his left arm, he opened his fingers to show what he was holding.
Ehomba eyed it emotionlessly. Behind him, Simna ibn Sind looked up from his so far futile efforts. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Initially wary, he quickly now found himself more perplexed than fearful.
It was another box.
IV
W hat are you going to do with that?” The swordsman’s tone reflected his uncertainty and confusion. “Tavern us to death?”
A second thin, humorless smile split the trader’s no-nonsense visage. His jaws worked redundantly, grinding on an invisible cigar. “Did you think I had only one box, night thief? I have a box full of boxes. Not all are home to the benign.” Casually, as if utterly indifferent to the consequences of his action, he tossed the box in their direction. Ehomba took a step back as it struck the floor between them.
And began, exactly as the portable tavern bin Grue had brought to light previously before them, to unfold.
No mirrors flashed the light of delectation from behind a bar attended by indulgent countermen. No lithe-limbed maids danced between tables bearing pitchers and goblets of imported libations. There was no cadre of good-natured celebrants to welcome the travelers into their company.
That did not mean that the box was empty.
As the box continued to
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