our protection money. That allows us to stay here. Then we find a piece of
unoccupied tunnel. There are hundreds of them honeycombing this hillside. We set
up temporary housekeeping and lie low until the councilman has a chance to
forget what happened to him.
"Of course, he may buy Nilanthos' explanation, but I wouldn't put it past his
type to check out any citizen's reports for that night. That's where we could
have trouble, remember. We'll wait here a couple of weeks until it all turns to
memory-mush. Then we can safely leave."
At his look of distress, Mudge said, "Don't look so ill, mate. Crikey, 'tis only
for a couple o' weeks." He grinned. "Lynchbany cops 'ave mem'ries as brief as
their courage. But it do behoove us t' stay out o' sight o' casual travelers for
a while. None save the completely daft are likely t' come within leagues o' this
spot."
Jon-Tom focused on well-used swords and knives. "I can't imagine why not," he
said drily, trying to hold his breath.
As it turned out they did not utilize Thieves' Hall for two weeks. It was less
than a day before Jon-Tom made his mistake. It didn't seem like a mistake at the
time, and afterward he was too confused to be sorry.
There was a game. It was common in Lynchbany and well known among those who
preyed upon the townsfolk. It involved the use of triangular dice and a circle.
There were no hidden complexities.
A good student like Jon-Tom had no trouble picking it up, after a few hours of
careful study. He was still a mite hesitant about actually participating, but
Talea was off somewhere chatting with friends and Mudge had simply disappeared.
Left on his own and mentally exhausted, he was both bored and irritable. A
little game playing would be good for him.
Clothahump's purse still contained a few tiny copperpieces, the remnants of the
Mudge-directed spending spree that had enriched several of Lynchbany's
merchants. Cutting an impressive figure in his flashing green cape, Jon-Tom
leaned on his club-staff and studied one of the several continuous games before
finally deciding to join.
The particular game he'd selected seemed to be the largest. With the greater
number of participants he would have more opportunities between throws to study
the play. No one objeeted to or commented on his joining. It was simply a matter
of taking the place of a distraught lynx when the latter ran out of money and
dropped out.
Through no particular skill (the fickleness of dice being everywhere constant)
he did quite well. Dutifully, he concentrated on doing still better. So intent
on the game did he become that he failed to notice that he was drawing something
of a crowd of onlookers.
Players angrily left and were replaced by eager newcomers, full of fresh spirit
and fresh cash. There were always nine or ten throwers seated or squatting
around the circle.
The rock was cold against his backside, even through the leather pants. Not
quite as chilled were the well-traveled coins beginning to stack up in front of
him. For the first time in a long while he was not only relaxed but enjoying
himself.
Much to the delight of the crowd, which always pulls for a big winner, he hit
two nines in a row. Mutterings of magic came from a few of the other players.
They remained mere mutterings. An aged bat named Swal hung himself from the
overhead lamps. From there he could watch all the players. His opinion was well
respected, Jon-Tom could tell, and his knowledge of magic extensive though he
was no wizard himself. Very poor basketball players can make very fine coaches.
Swal had a detailed knowledge of magic though he couldn't work any himself.
Nevertheless, one of the other players tried to turn the tide in his own favor,
attempting to magic the dice before his turn to throw came up. Neither Jon-Tom
nor any of the other players or onlookers caught the unnatural vibration, but
the outraged Swal noticed it immediately.
"He muttered it softly, but I tasted the end of it," Swal explained to the
crowd.
At that point Jon-Tom had a sampling of thieves' justice in a world where normal
justice was not known for its temperance. A group of angry spectators hauled the
screaming, protesting gopher out of sight. This was followed by a brief pause,
then a single nerve-twisting screech. Wiping their paws and looking grimly
satisfied, the vigilantes soon returned.
Another member of the game was throwing, and Jon-Tom had time to turn and ask an
onlooker what had happened.
The tall rabbit leaned low on his shoulder. "Swal say that one mutter it softly.
You no cheat in Thieves' Hall. Like cheat you brother, you know? I expect they
make punishment fit the crime." Jon-Tom continued to stare questioningly up at
the other.
The rabbit shrugged. "Since he whisper the formula, others probably cut out his
tongue. If he done divinations with his hands, they would have cut them off.
Same for eye, and so on."
"Isn't that kind of extreme? It's only a friendly game."
Oddly milky pink eyes looked down at him. "This an extreme business we all in,
man. You know that. Difficult enough to get by without having to cope with
cheating courts and sly lawyers. We can't stand backstabbingers among own
family. Fair punishments like that," and he jerked a thumb back toward the
region of the scream, "make sure fairness good sense. You stay healthy, hear;
that one was lucky. What line you in?"
"Sorry... my dice," Jon-Tom said quickly.
The game continued. Sometimes he lost, more often he won. Now the continued
absence of Talea and Mudge was making him nervous. He wondered if he dare take
his winnings and drop out. Might not one of the game's big losers have a friend
or associate in the crowd, ready to stick a small knife in Jon-Tom's back or
accuse him of magic in order to protect his friend or boss?
But the tall rabbit remained close by, reassuring and urging him on. That was
only natural, since he was betting along with Jon-Tom's rolls. Yet Jon-Tom's
thoughts kept returning to that horrible scream, kept imagining the knife coming
down, the blood spurting....
Swal the bat kept his post. Occasionally he would shift his perch on the hanging
lamps or tug at the green-feathered cap secured by a strap to his head. His eyes
roved steadily over the players.
There were no more cries of cheating. The pile of coins in front of Jon-Tom
continued its steady growth.
Then there was an unexpected pause in the action. A very sleek, lupine figure
stumbled into the playing circle. The players scrambled to protect their coins
from uncertain feet. She seemed outraged and embarrassed, a condition not helped
by the catcalls and hoots from the male and female spectators. The bitch replied
to the insinuations with a rustle of petticoats and some choice execrations of
her own.
Jon-Tom looked to his rabbit friend for an explanation.
"Sorry, man. I wasn't paying attention. But I think I see what's going on. See
that fox over there?" He pointed to a tired but well-dressed thrower seated
across the circle. Only two or three small silver coins lay on the stone in
front of him.
"He out of money I see, but he want to stay in. You know the type. So he bet the
girl."
Jon-Tom frowned. "Is she a slave?"
That prompted a mildly angry response. "What you think we are here, barbarians?
Only the Plated Folk keep slaves. No, most likely he gotten her to agree to
temporary contract." The rabbit winked. "Most likely a couple of nights or so."
"She doesn't look very willing," said Jon-Tom critically.