but he was as heavy as she and far faster. Eventually she just stood there,
glaring at him.
"Be reasonable, luv. We barely slipped out of there without 'avin' to cut
anyone. We can't go back in. Anger's no substitute for another sword. Even if we
did get back in clear and free we're just guessin' as to who's responsible. We
can't be sure it's Mossul or 'is friends."
The glare softened to a look of resignation. "You're right, otter. As usual."
She slumped down on the mossy earth and leaned back against a fence rail. "So
much, then, for 'honor among thieves.' "
"I'm sorry." Jon-Tom sat down next to her. "It was my fault. If it means
anything, I'll be happy to pay you back for the cart." He jiggled the clinking
hem of his cape meaningfully.
"Don't be ridiculous. I stole it. You needn't worry about paying back what you
don't owe."
They considered their situation. "We could buy someone else's cart," he
suggested.
Mudge looked doubtful. "Good transportation's dearer to a thief than any amount
o' money. We could buy such in town, but not 'ere."
"Well then, why don't we steal some of these?"
"Now that's not a bad idea, mate. You're startin' to adapt. Save for one little
complication." He looked to his right. At first Jon-Tom saw nothing. Then he
noticed the little knot of figures that had appeared outside the Hall entrance.
Puffs of smoke rose from the small crowd, and he could see an occasional glance
in their direction.
"But they don't know which cart or steeds are ours," Jon-Tom protested. "If we
acted like we knew what we were doing, they couldn't tell we were up to
anything."
Mudge smiled slightly. "On the other 'and, we don't know that we might not pick
on one o' their mounts. A single shout could bring the whole o' Thieves' 'All
out on us."
"A pox on this!" said Talea abruptly, springing to her feet. "So we walk, but
we're going back to see this wizard of yours. He's bound to put us up for a few
days. Might even be safer than the Hall. And we can even pay him." She indicated
Jon-Tom's winnings.
"Now 'old on a minim, luv." Mudge looked worried. "If we return there so soon,
I'll 'ave t' admit I've run into some difficulties in educatin' this lad."
"Difficulties!" Jon-Tom laughed aloud. "You've already managed to involve me in
a local tavern brawl, a police matter, and you," he looked at Talea, "in a
mugging and robbery. Two robberies. I suppose I have to count in the cart and
team, now."
"Count it any way you like, Jon-Tom." She gestured to the west. "But we can't go
to town just yet, and we can't use the hall. I'm not about to strike off into
the forest toward somewhere distant like Fife-over or Timswitty. Besides, they
cooperate with the Lynchbany cops."
"Be that as it may," said Mudge, folding his arms, "I'm not goin' back t'
Clothahump's. The old bugger's too unpredictable for my comfort."
"Suit yourself." She looked up at Jon-Tom. "I think you know the way. You afraid
of Clothahump, too?"
"You bet your ass I am," he replied promptly, "but I don't think he's the
vengeful type, and I can't think of anything else to do."
She gestured expansively. "After you, Jon-Tom."
He turned and started out of the corral, heading south and hoping his sense of
direction wasn't too badly distorted by the time they'd spent riding the night.
Mudge hesitated until they were nearly out of sight. Then he dropped a few
choice words to the indifferent lizards and sprinted anxiously after the
retreating humans....
IX
Thieves' Hall was southeast of Lynchbany Towne. They had to cross the local
roads carefully, for according to Talea you never knew when you might encounter
a police patrol out for bandits. They also had to take time to hunt and gather
food.
It was three days of hard walking before some of the forest started to look
familiar to Mudge. They were standing by the side of a muddy, narrow road when
Jon-Tom noticed the large sack that had been caught in the crook of a pair of
boulders. There was the sparkle of sunlight on metal.
"Your eyes are good, Jon-Tom," said Talea admiringly, as they fell on the sack
like three jackals on the half-gnawed carcass of a zebra.
The sack was full of trade goods. Glass beads, some semiprecious gems that might
have been garnets or tourmalines, and some scrolls. Talea threw the latter
angrily aside as they searched the sack for other valuables. There were more
scrolls, some clothing, and several musical instruments. Jon-Tom picked up a set
of pipes attached to a curved gourd, puffed experimentally at the mouth
openings.
"Hell." Talea sat back against the rocks. She picked up the empty sack and threw
it over her shoulder. "Double hell. Even when we find some lucky, it turns out
to be deceptive."
Mudge was inspecting the jewelry. "These might fetch two or three golds from a
fair fence."
"How delightful," Talea said sarcastically. "You just whistle up a fair fence
and we'll have a go at it." The otter let out a long, sharp whistle no human
could duplicate, then shrugged.
"Never know till you try." He tucked the jewelry into the pouch at his waist,
caught Talea eyeing him. "You don't trust me t' share out." He pouted.
"No, but it's not worth fighting over." She was rubbing her left calf. "My feet
hurt."
Jon-Tom had set down the gourd flute and picked up the largest of the three
instruments. This one had six strings running in a curve across a heart-shaped
resonator. Three triangular openings were cut into the box. At the top of the
curved wires were tuning knobs. Near the base of the heartbox resonator was a
set of six smaller metal strings, a miniature of the larger, upper set. Twelve
strings altogether.
He considered the arrangement thoughtfully. Let's see, the smaller set wouldn't
be much good exeept for plucking the more delicate, higher notes. So the larger
sextet is probably strummed. Except for the extra set of tiny strings it looked
something like a plastic guitar left too long in an oven.
Talea had picked up one of the flute-things. She tried to blow a tune, produced
only a few sour notes that faded quickly, and tossed it away. The second was
apparently more to her liking. She finished testing it, slipped it into her
belt, and started off back into the forest. Mudge followed, but Jon-Tom,
absorbed in the peculiar guitar, hung behind.
Eventually she paused, turned to face him, and waited until he caught up with
them. "What's holding you back, larklegs?" He smiled as though he hadn't heard
her, turned his attention back to the instrument. A few notes from the small
strings filled the air.
"That's a duar. Don't tell me you can play that?"
"Actually, the lad 'as made claims to bein' somethin' of a musician." Mudge
studied Jon-Tom's obvious interest hopefully. "You always 'ave said that you
sounded better with instrumental accompaniment, mate."
"I know. I remember." Jon-Tom ran his fingers over the upper-level strings. The
sound was much softer than he was used to. Almost lyrelike, but not very alien.
He plucked once again at the lower strings. They echoed the upper, deeper tones.
The curved arm running out from the heart-shaped box was difficult to cradle.
The instrument had been designed to fit around a much broader chest than his
own. The short strap that ran from the top of the arm to the base of the
resonator helped a little, however. Letting the instrument hang naturally, he
found that by leaning forward he could get at both sets of strings. It hurt his