toasting the day-but today there was nothing. Save for Therin, there weren't even any of Pinch's gang. 'Hell-riders, did they-'
Therin didn't need the rest of the question. 'It was the patriarch's catchpoles. Came in here like apprentices to a cry of 'Clubs.' Set to bust up the place looking for you and the little fellow.' He stooped and slid the long knife back into its boot sheath.
'Damn Cleedis and his spies! Sprite-Heels-where is he?'
'Up here' was the muffled answer. Pinch looked up in time to see a small stream of dust fall from the roof beams, and then Sprite was dangling by his awkward little arms.
Therin nodded up with a grin but made no move to help. 'Slipped out of sight and got himself up there.' He purposely raised his voice for Sprite to hear. 'Can't imagine how a runt like him managed it, though.'
'I heard that!' the halfling shrieked.
They both ignored him. 'And Maeve?'
'Right here, my dear Pinch,' cooed a voice at Pinch's ear. The old rogue could feel her warm, ale-scented breath on his cheek, but she was nowhere to be seen.
'Got meself invisible as soon as trouble come through the door. Just in case.' Vanishing was Brown Maeve's first reaction to most danger.
'Well, make yourself whole, woman.' Pinch addressed the air where he thought she stood. 'And you up there, get yourself down. We're leaving town.' He strode through the near-deserted hall toward the upstairs.
'Leaving?' There was a loud thud as Sprite dropped to the floor. Halflings, it seemed, did not land like cats. 'None too soon, I think.'
A bottle on the Piss Pot's bar suddenly upended and burbled a healthy swig. 'Oy, Maeve-you'll be paying for that!' snapped Algaroz as he came through the door from the back kitchens.
Caught with the snappings, the frumpy sorceress flickered into existence. 'It's a going-away drink,' she chided. 'Old Pinch wants us to leave town.'
'And none too soon, if the officers keep ruining my trade-'
'Leave, just cause we had a little trouble with the constables? Things were looking good here. I say we stay.' Therin marked his objections by leaning significantly against the front door. With his big muscles and rope-scarred neck, he made an imposing obstacle.
'Fine for you to say when they haven't made you, moon-man!' Sprite snapped.
Therin reddened at the name 'moon-man.' It was an old insult for his kind, one that reminded him of the suspicion he'd always faced as a Gur.
From the stairs, Pinch cut it off before the pair went to their blades. 'Settle it later!' Pinch shouted from the stairs. 'Listen, you bastards. It's not because the catch-poles showed, but that they showed unnatural fast- and they knew whom they were looking for. Don't that strike you as queer, either of you?' He spat toward the spittoon, getting the flavor of treachery out of his mouth. 'It was Cleedis's doing. He's got a job he wants me to do, and he's tipped the temple to make me do it.'
'So we're running then?' Therin asked archly.
Damn the man's pride, Pinch thought to himself. 'Of course we are. And if we're lucky, Cleedis will follow- and then, Therin, I'll let you take care of him.'
He didn't like it. The game he thought he knew was getting out of control. First Cleedis's manipulations, and now he had to satisfy Therin's honor. Pinch didn't like any of it. 'Satisfied?' he snarled when Therin didn't reply quickly.
'I'll go,' Therin replied with a face like the losing dog in a challenge.
'Good then. You've all got a little time to get your things. It'll be a trip to the country until things settle down in the city.' The man didn't wait see if anyone questioned his orders but went up to gather his own few clothes.
An hour later he was making his way through the midday streets, accompanied by a puffing Maeve and a scowling Therin. Darting in and out among them, like a planet orbiting its greater sun, was a small, heavily cloaked figure. It was only when the cold winter brushed up the edge of the creature's hem that a man could even notice a pair of curly-haired feet underneath.
'Take the Waterside Road; the guards ain't so choosy there,' suggested Therin, their Gur. In their shiftless lives, the Gurs were masters for knowing the little ways in and out of the city. They were a group always ready to pack and leave on a moment's notice. Pinch idly speculated that Therin's newly tasted stability had made him reluctant to leave.
They followed his advice and hurried past the public docks and the fishmonger's market, where rats challenged cats for the choicest fish entrails. Just before the city gatehouse, they broke from the main avenue and wove through the side lanes until they reached a smaller, almost forlorn gate. Two indolent guards protected the old gate and all within its walls. Pinch recognized it as the Old Trade Gate, named before commerce dictated building something more.
Sure enough, the guards were lax here. In fact, the only thing that animated the bored pair was the size of the bribe they'd get from the group. After being driven down to only four gold each-business was slow for them-the two watchmen stepped aside and let the party through unquestioned.
Outside the walls, the road threaded through a jumble of shacks that had once been thriving inns when the trade route had passed this way. Now, with the merchants using the New Road, only a few struggling hostels survived here. Nonetheless, the group did not slow its pace. This close to Elturel was still too close. Pinch wanted them farther away.
At last they reached the breakwater of the city's expansion, a largish creek that separated city from countryside. The sluggish water was spanned by a claptrap wooden bridge that looked unsteady and probably was. Across the way, a horse grazed while its rider lounged in the midday sun of winter. As best they could tell, he sported no livery of the temple or the distinctive black-and-red armor of the Hellriders. Satisfied that all was clear, Pinch led them across.
It's too easy, chided the rogue's inner voice. Cleedis won't give up, and then what will I do?
Pinch had been avoiding the question because he didn't have an answer. Well, we can fend for ourselves, he firmly decided, without interference from any others.
In this, Pinch was wrong.
They had barely set foot on the other bank when the true nature of the rider was revealed. It was Cleedis, and before Pinch could react, the old warrior had gotten unsteadily to his feet.
'What kept you so long, Janol?' the foreigner casually asked. Before anyone could answer, a ring of bodyguards, all pointing crossbows, stepped from the gloomy bushes. 'I expected you much sooner.'
'Cleedis, you borsholder,' Pinch snarled.
Sprite elbowed the old rogue's knee. 'Don't provoke him. He may want you, but there weren't a thing said about the rest of us.' Pinch's three companions froze with indecision, uncertain if Cleedis's invitation was extended to them or if they were unnecessary in the foreign chamberlain's eyes.
'Aye, play it out Pinch,' Therin warned.
To the relief of the others, their leader slowly nodded-whether to them or Cleedis, it didn't matter. 'It seems, Cleedis,' the thief said in his most politic tone, 'that maybe we should travel with you. Elturel was getting stale.'
The old swordsman looked at Pinch's three companions and then at the determination in the rogue's eyes. The chamberlain's face was a mask as he calculated how his charge's compatriots changed the rules of the game. Finally, he turned and hobbled away. 'Well and good. Daros, bring horses for them all. The rest of you, watch them close. We've found whom we came for; it's home for Ankhapur.'
3
