Wagers of Sin: Time Scout II by Robert Asprin, Linda Evans Page B
Authors: Robert Asprin, Linda Evans
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and went from it had to come through somehow, as they were not spirits from the underworld, but flesh-and-blood men and women. And since Lupus-superstitious though he might be-did not believe in outright magic, he would find that way through. All he had to do was follow the next group more closely.
And once through.. .
Lupus Mortiferus, the "Wolf of Death" of Rome's great Circus, smiled cruelly in the starlight. "Soon," he promised the thief. "Soon, your belly will meet my blade. I think you will find little enough stomach for my revenge-but my steel will find more than enough of your stomach."
Laughing darkly at his own joke, Lupus Mortiferus strode away into the night.
Gate days always packed in the customers at the Down Time Bar & Grill. With the Porta Romae cycling, Marcus had all he could handle keeping up with drink tabs and calling sandwich orders to Molly. The clink of glassware and the smell of alcohol permeated the dim-lit interior as thickly as the roar of voices, some of them bragging about what they'd done/seen/heard downtime and others drowning whatever it was that had shaken them to the core and yet others denying that anything at all was bothering them.
All in all, it was a pretty normal gate day. Marcus delivered a tray full of drinks to a table where Kit Carson and Malcolm Moore were sharing tall tales with Rachel Eisenstein. The time terminal's physician wasn't taken in by either man, but she was clearly having a good time pretending to believe the world's most famous time scout and La-La Land's most experienced freelance time guide. Marcus smiled, warmed more by their welcoming smiles than their more-than-generous tips, then moved on to the back room, shimmying skillfully between pool players intent on their games, to a corner where Goldie Morran was deeply involved in a high-stakes poker match with Brian Hendrickson.
Marcus knew that look in Goldie's eyes. He held in a shiver. She must be losing-heavily. Brian Hendrickson's face gave away nothing, but the pile of money on his side of the table was a good bit larger than the pile on Goldie's. Several interested onlookers watched silently. Goldie (who somehow reminded Marcus unpleasantly of a certain haughty patrician lady a former master had visited on carefully arranged assignations), glanced from her hand to meet Brian's steady regard. Her lip curled slightly, sure of him. "Call."
Hendrickson showed his cards.
Goldie Morran swore in a manner Marcus still found shocking. More money traveled to the librarian's side of the table.
"Your drinks," Marcus said quietly, placing them carefully to one side of cards, money, and outthrust elbows.
Out in the main room, a familiar voice sang out, "Hey, Marcus! Where are you?"
Skeeter Jackson was back in town. He hid a pleased grin.
Marcus quietly collected empty glasses from the poker table, noted the lack of a tip from Goldie and the modest tip from the librarian, then hurried out and found his friend beaming at the entire roomful of patrons.
"Drinks," he announced elaborately, "are on the house. A round for everyone on me!"
Marcus gaped. "Skeeter? That is ... that will be very expensive!" His friend never had that kind of money. And the Down Time was crowded tonight.
"Yep! I scored big for a change. Really big!" His grin all but lit up the dark room. Then he produced a wallet full of money. "For the drinks!"
"You won the bets?"
Skeeter laughed. "Did I ever! Serve 'em up, Marcus." He winked and handed Marcus a heavy pouch, whispering, "Thanks. That's for your help." Then he sauntered over to a table, where he found himself the center of much attention, most of it from tourists. The pouch Skeeter had given him was very heavy. Marcus began to tremble. When he opened the drawstrings, the number-and color-of the coins inside made his head swim. There must be ... He couldn't see properly to count the money. But if it wasn't enough to pay off his debt, it was close. Very, very close. His vision
And once through.. .
Lupus Mortiferus, the "Wolf of Death" of Rome's great Circus, smiled cruelly in the starlight. "Soon," he promised the thief. "Soon, your belly will meet my blade. I think you will find little enough stomach for my revenge-but my steel will find more than enough of your stomach."
Laughing darkly at his own joke, Lupus Mortiferus strode away into the night.
Gate days always packed in the customers at the Down Time Bar & Grill. With the Porta Romae cycling, Marcus had all he could handle keeping up with drink tabs and calling sandwich orders to Molly. The clink of glassware and the smell of alcohol permeated the dim-lit interior as thickly as the roar of voices, some of them bragging about what they'd done/seen/heard downtime and others drowning whatever it was that had shaken them to the core and yet others denying that anything at all was bothering them.
All in all, it was a pretty normal gate day. Marcus delivered a tray full of drinks to a table where Kit Carson and Malcolm Moore were sharing tall tales with Rachel Eisenstein. The time terminal's physician wasn't taken in by either man, but she was clearly having a good time pretending to believe the world's most famous time scout and La-La Land's most experienced freelance time guide. Marcus smiled, warmed more by their welcoming smiles than their more-than-generous tips, then moved on to the back room, shimmying skillfully between pool players intent on their games, to a corner where Goldie Morran was deeply involved in a high-stakes poker match with Brian Hendrickson.
Marcus knew that look in Goldie's eyes. He held in a shiver. She must be losing-heavily. Brian Hendrickson's face gave away nothing, but the pile of money on his side of the table was a good bit larger than the pile on Goldie's. Several interested onlookers watched silently. Goldie (who somehow reminded Marcus unpleasantly of a certain haughty patrician lady a former master had visited on carefully arranged assignations), glanced from her hand to meet Brian's steady regard. Her lip curled slightly, sure of him. "Call."
Hendrickson showed his cards.
Goldie Morran swore in a manner Marcus still found shocking. More money traveled to the librarian's side of the table.
"Your drinks," Marcus said quietly, placing them carefully to one side of cards, money, and outthrust elbows.
Out in the main room, a familiar voice sang out, "Hey, Marcus! Where are you?"
Skeeter Jackson was back in town. He hid a pleased grin.
Marcus quietly collected empty glasses from the poker table, noted the lack of a tip from Goldie and the modest tip from the librarian, then hurried out and found his friend beaming at the entire roomful of patrons.
"Drinks," he announced elaborately, "are on the house. A round for everyone on me!"
Marcus gaped. "Skeeter? That is ... that will be very expensive!" His friend never had that kind of money. And the Down Time was crowded tonight.
"Yep! I scored big for a change. Really big!" His grin all but lit up the dark room. Then he produced a wallet full of money. "For the drinks!"
"You won the bets?"
Skeeter laughed. "Did I ever! Serve 'em up, Marcus." He winked and handed Marcus a heavy pouch, whispering, "Thanks. That's for your help." Then he sauntered over to a table, where he found himself the center of much attention, most of it from tourists. The pouch Skeeter had given him was very heavy. Marcus began to tremble. When he opened the drawstrings, the number-and color-of the coins inside made his head swim. There must be ... He couldn't see properly to count the money. But if it wasn't enough to pay off his debt, it was close. Very, very close. His vision
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