It was his friend Narvy who let out the high-voiced shriek; the impact of the hurtling cat was bad enough, but the feel of all those claws puncturing his chest through two layers of blue linsey-woolsey was a lot worse. Besides, Sweetboy wasn't just there; he was climbing, and that evilly fanged face was terribly close to Narvy's own. Naturally he too let go the tun of beer, to get both arms in front of his face. Since his friend had already let go, the barrel swung in as it dropped, and got Narvy's shin and one foot. He positively bellowed. Besides, the carefully misnamed Sweetboy, intent on reaching his face, was busily trying to chew his way through Narvy's sleeved arm. Narvy's throat erupted more noise.
His friend caught a glimpse of the big taverner coming through the doorway he absolutely filled, and the balding man whirled to exit by the outer door at a speed that would have brought him in at least second in a seven-horse race. Narvy kept on screaming.
"Damn," Ahdio said. "I told you last night you were a noisy beerhead, and damned if you aren't even noisier by day and sober-I-guess. Now look what you've done! You've disturbed that poor pussy's nap and got him all angry."
Narvy was flailing both arms, to one of which clung a chomping cat anchored by twenty or so claws and an unknown number of needly teeth.
"Get him offf meee!" poor Narvy shrieked.
"Are you daft or jesting, man? I'm not wearing mailed gloves!"
Screaming enough for six, Narvy wheeled and limp-dashed out the open doorway in the wake of his friend- who was already out of sight.
"Sweetboy! Let's have a drink!"
Sweetboy opened his mouth, retracted all claws, hit the ground facing the rear door of Sly's Place (drooling a shred of red-smeared blue fabric), and became a blur again until he was standing at his bowl. Finding it empty, he glanced accusingly around and up. He was also licking at the blood on his mouth.
"Goo-ood boy, goo-ood kitty," Ahdio crooned, using his foot to roll the barrel aside. It was intact and pleasantly sloshy.
He drew two cups of beer and unwrapped the brineless sausage Ivalia had given him. Sweetboy watched as if entranced, ears on the move. Ahdio had treacherously saved back the six-inch length of sausage about the thickness of Throde's staff. Now the big man gave it to Sweetboy all at once, as reward. Along with a full mug-bowl.
Sweetboy immediately proved that he was a cat who loved beer, not an alcoholic. He nicked his ears at the bowl, made a small appreciative remark, and went for the meat.
"What happened?" That from Throde, in the doorway with broom in hand. He held it in the manner of a spearman awaiting the command to charge.
"You and I both left the door unbarred and let two cess-heads disturb this nice li'l kittycat's nap, that's what!"
"Oh, gredge," Throde muttered, staring downward. "'m sorry, Ahdio."
"No harm done. If those two don't talk about it, let's be sure the story gets around." Eyes twinkling, Ahdio hoisted his mug.
"Uh ... what if they spread it that you keep a demon back here?"
"So? In Sanctuary? Who'd care?" his grinning employer rhetorically asked. "Demons and vampires and dead gods and living goddesses involved in street fights ... a demon in the back room of Sly's Place seems perfectly normal to me! What do you think, Sweetboy?"
Sweetboy thought the sausage was just lovely and that it was time for a swig or three of beer. • • •
When the veiled lady came into Sly's Place, it was three-quarters full and altogether noisy. Also, predictably, male. Nor did any of their attire reflect wealth, nobility, or the military. Oh, of course they wore daggers, that standard utensil for eating, among other uses. She saw three other females, all of whom looked as if they belonged here. The one in her teens wore a sort of skirt the color of new gold that was slit on both sides to the belt, and a black singlet that looked as if it had been stitched onto her. Her hair matched the skirt, despite her black eyes and brows, and three bangles chimed on each wrist. The oldest of the three sat against the wall with a bald and white-bearded man. He was presumably her husband, since they were saying nothing to each other. The third was a blowze of perhaps thirty who wore a low-necked white blouse that displayed a great deal of her pair of highly mobile head-sized breasts. Her skirt was heel-length, unslit, and wildly striped. Her voice was just as loud.
Among the tables and stools moved a thin young man in a nice green tunic and waist-apron over fawn-colored leggings. He had a tray, a towel, a shock of unruly brown hair, and a limp.
The advent of the veiled lady through the curtain of colored Syrese rope attracted attention, naturally; there was, after all, the veil, in addition to her hooded emerald cloak of obviously good cloth and weave. She was, however, escorted. Someone recognized him and called out with a wave. Wintsenay, self consciously with Jodeera, barely nodded acknowledgment. The newcomers stood where they were, on the entry platform a step above the room.
The veiled lady paid no mind to any of them. Her eyes, as invisible below the hood's shadow as her face behind the quietly colored paisley veil, followed only the movements of the big man in the coat of scintillant, softly jingling chain mail. He set down a double handful of mugs and slipped some coins into his apron before following the gazes of those he served. His brows rose at the sight of the two. He glanced around, raised a hand, and both looked and pointed to his left. He saw the man and the hooded and veiled woman look at the table he indicated, at the wall; saw the man look questioningly at her. The hood nodded. Perhaps she said something. Without uncloaking, they descended the step and moved to the table Ahdio indicated.
She was in charge, Ahdio noted immediately. The man was her servant or bodyguard, then. He caught Throde's eye, indicated a table of empty cups, and headed for the new arrivals.
"Welcome to Sly's Place, my lady; sir. I am Ahdio and, yes, this is a real chain-coat. What would you like?"
"Your best wine for milady; your better beer for me," Wints said.
Ahdio knew that she had told her escort what to order; he was not to be privileged to hear her voice in addition to seeing no glimpse of her face, then. The point was, what in the name of the Shadowy One was she doing here? While her retention of her hooded cloak along with the veil attracted attention just because others wondered what she was hiding, he hoped she kept both in place. Just the presence of a woman of quality here in Sly's was enough to touch off trouble from some of these jackasses. If she happened to be well-favored behind the veil, and shapely within her doubtless expensive and fashionable attire, he might well need Sweetboy's aid!
Ouleh jiggled over while he poured qualis into a nice cup and was about to turn to Maeder's Better True Brew, which Maeder identified with a blue MB on the barrel. She leaned across the bar to give Ahdio a high-eyebrowed look.
"Hai, Ahdio ole handsome ... who's the one in the veil and hood, hmmm?"
"Get your things off the bar," he said, grinning, and she chuckled dutifully at their old joke. Instead she ground herself down on it, wagging her shoulders, so that the things he mentioned were pushed above her low blouse in great outrounding moonshapes to her collarbones. He leaned toward her conspiratorially, keeping his gaze on her face.
"My cousin from Twand," he said quietly. "For all the gods' sakes and mine, don't ask her about her face or twit her either."