A Gathering Of Stones

12

“Felsrawg Lawdrawn.” The small wiry woman in boy’s tights and tunic glanced at him, went with quick nervous steps about the room, whipping back draperies, opening doors to see what lay behind them, stopping to touch the bars on the window. She was a narrow sword of a woman, tensile and darting, filled with energy, with anger at the world; she looked like she’d *ive off sparks if you touched her. When she finished her inspection, she perched on a small backless chair, hands resting lightly on her thighs, her sleeves loose about her wrists, the knives she wore on her forearms not visible but ready if she needed them. Her tights were black and white, the stripes spiraling about her legs down to soft boots of dark crimson. There was a matching glove on her left hand; the nails of her right hand were painted green. Her tunic was divided into squares, black, red and white in a dizzying spiral; she wore a loinskirt of leather strips dyed a bright green, studded with black iron and silver. Her hair was black with silver stripes; it was pulled tightly up and bound at the crown with a green thong, the fall coiled into black and silver corkscrews that trembled past her shoulders. She had small ears that sat tight against her head pierced along the rim; she wore six black studs on the left side, six silver studs on the right. She had a lean and angular face, a wide mouth whose corners turned down. She was young, not more than twenty, and she could have been pretty if she’d wanted that, but she refused it with every breath she took. “Who’re you?” she said; her voice was hoarse like an old singer’s might be after fifty years in cabarets.

“Lazul.”

‘That doesn’t tell me a whole helluva lot.”

“I doubt you need telling much, being the one that Poo the Boob brought in to put a knife in me and take the talisman soon as we get clear of the city.”

“At least you’re not a fathead like him.”

“There’s only one of him, gods be blessed for that. He said you’re a thief. How good are you?”

“You mean if I got caught, I couldn’t be worth much.” Her face was taut with an anger only just under control. “Him. He set his thumb on me. Arfon.” She shrugged. “I was a whore when I was eight, killed my pimp when 1 was ten and got rid of his ghost before it squealed.” She laughed when he raised his brows, mildly surprised that she would tell him something like that. “I’d just say you lie and they’d believe me, I’m Arsuider, you’re outsider. Think about it, toop.” Another shrug. “Since then my life’s been mine, I have not been cheated or caught. I trust myself and no one else. I am good, Lazul. It took a god to get me. And I don’t know shit about this business, except that blinbaw Pawbool told me I was to do what you said and when you got what they wanted, to get it off you and bring it to him.”

“Wait till the others get here, I don’t want to go through this more than once.”

“Others? What others?”

“Two.”

She got to her feet, began pacing about the room; there was too much fury in her to let her rest a moment.

“Simms Nadaw.” The second thief had a spiky thatch of coppery hair and the translucent too-pallid skin some redheads were cursed with; the pink/purple flush of his face clashed awkwardly with that orange/red hair. His tunic and tights were a mix of reds and pinkish oranges in assorted plaids and stripes, his glove and boots were a bright brown of surpassing awfulness. He was such a disaster, so wrong, you looked away from him in embarrassment, remembering the ensemble while you forgot his face.

Amber eyes sleepy under fat eyelids, he produced an amiable grin, nodded without grace in answer to Danny’s greeting and ambled over to sit in the single armchair.

Felsrawg stopped in front of him. “You, huh?”

Simms blinked at her. “Me, yeh.”

She examined his outfit, shuddered. “I’ve seen you in bad, but that’s the worst.”

He grinned again, his eyes almost disappearing into the crease between upper and lower lids; he seemed barely intelligent enough to know which end of a shovel to dig with. try. Arfon?”

She shuddered again. “Yeh. You?”

“You think the ‘staffel got me?” He had a light tenor voice that made sleepy laughter of the words.

“No.”

“Sh’d hope not.”

She swung round to face Danny Blue who was watching this, bland-faced but amused, planted her fists on her hips. “Well?”

“There’s one to come yet.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. She’s supposed to be a courtesan of some kind. Knows silk. Poo the Boob said one of you knows silk. Which?”

She jerked a thumb at Simms. “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you.”

Danny folded his arms, leaned against the wall. “Oh, I think so; he’s a very clever man, isn’t he.”

“So are you, if you see that.” She stood stone-still for a moment, her eyes narrowed, her head thrusting forward; she looked like a poison lizard poised to strike. Then she relaxed and perched on the edge of the backless chair where she’d been sitting before. “Maybe we’ll get out of this alive.”