Chollandar scratched the back of his neck. For a moment it itched like someone was staring at him.
He always began his trading at Shamara's Wig Shop. In her youth Shamara had been striking. Her present beauty was of a different sort, a warmth that radiated from her sweet soul. They dickered for a bit, Shamara fingering the scalps for quality and texture. At last they settled upon three silver bits, eight coppers, and a kiss.
"The things I do for business," Shamara laughed before pressing her lips beneath his moustache. There was no lustful passion there, but there was something undefinable. "Enough. You make me feel like a girl, and I've survived that nonsense already."
He whistled a happy tune all the way to Marc's Weapons Shop. Most of Marc's goods were shoddy, but so were the weapons Cholly sold him. The really good stuff he sold separately. Some special blades he kept for himself. Even so, he sometimes ran across an interesting piece in Marc's stock.
Cholly regularly had lunch with Furtwan Coinpinch while Hazen, Furtwan's nephew, watched the shop and kept an eye on the gluemaker's wagon. Today they decided on beef, so they found themselves a quiet table at the Man in Motley, where a joint was always skewered to the carving board.
"Anything interesting happen last night?" Furtwan asked between swallows of True Brew.
Cholly did not answer right away. He felt the feeling return that he was being watched. By whom and for what reason he had no idea. He scratched his neck again.
No one seemed to be looking in his direction, but he knew damned well someone was spying on him. The itch was stronger. He slid his right hand under the table, pretending to scratch his bare calf. He assured himself the extra knife was in place in his boot. Good.
The two men gossiped spiritedly for an hour. When Cholly left the shop the itch returned. If anything, it was stronger. The most unsettling part was that he could spot no sign of anyone following him, yet he knew they were there. But who? And why?
He missed the friendly greetings he used to get from Ganner, Lalo's son who was slain by the mobs in the False Plague riots. He had enjoyed the brief chats they used to have. Instead of Ganner it was Herwick himself who met him at the door. The jeweler still wore the symbolic torn collar and black armband of mourning.
"Good to see you, Cholly. Are you here to buy or sell? I believe Ineedra has a birthday coming up. Next week maybe?"
"Next Eshday. The trouble is she still hasn't given me a hint what she wants like she usually does, or else for once she's been so subtle I missed it."
"You can't go wrong with good jewelry. I've got some nice new pieces.
Take a look. I could make you such a deal . . -"
"Not today, I've got a few days yet in case she drops a hint. In the meantime 1 did bring you a few trinkets to examine."
He fished a folded square of cloth from his tunic. Unfolding it upon the counter, he displayed a jumble of glittering ornaments. Most were cheap junk, worth a copper or two apiece. A few were good quality paste and worth a bit more. Two pins were set in real gold and sparkling gemstones. Finally there was a solid gold pendant covered with strange markings.
"Where did you get this? I've never seen this type of workmanship before. Most unusual. And raw gold! I can't read it; it isn't Rankan or Ilsigi. It isn't Beysib-I've had too many Fisheyes in here not to recognize it when I see it. If it was older I might guess it might be Enlibaran."
"Now that I've had a good look at it, I think I'll keep it for the time being. It's sort of interesting. Can you think of anybody who might be able to tell me what it says?"
"Try Synab. If anyone can tell you, he can."
His next stop was Synab's artifact and curio shop just down the street. The daub of blue paint smeared on the door meant the pwner was paying protection to someone. Cholly himself had never paid anyone for "protection" and he vowed he never would. A bell jingled when he entered.
The white-haired man in green linen said, "I haven't seen you lately. I trust you have something of interest for me?"
"Maybe. I found this medallion in this morning's goods. Can you decipher the writing?"
The little man's bushy eyebrows raised. His sallow face turned ashen. His gnarled hands trembled, dropping the bauble onto the counter as if it had suddenly become hot.
After a moment he said, "Do me a favor, Cholly. Go. Get that thing out of here. Please."
"Why? Mother Bey's balls, man, at least tell me what's wrong."
"I guess I owe you that much. I can't read it, but I've seen enough relics to recognize it. There is one word here I do know: the name Theba."
"Isn't she some sort of death goddess?"
"Yes. Anything connected with her has to mean trouble. If I were you, I'd get rid of it as quickly as I could."
Cholly thanked him and left.
His unseen stalker was still there. The tingle was so strong it was becoming painful. Hopefully whoever it was would not make his move until after Cholly reached Renn, his banker.
Renn was one of the few men in Sanctuary he completely trusted. Due to the armed men at the door and some less obvious defenses, no one had ever robbed Renn's bank and lived to reach the door. Thieves had gotten the message and stayed away.
The gluemaker deposited most of his cash and got a receipt, keeping out enough to pay the boys, take Ineedra out to a nice dinner, and enough left over to go to the games at Land's End and have a few coppers to bet. Compared to what he had been carrying it was spare change. Unfortunately his tracker didn't seem interested in money.
Upon his return to the Street of Money the feeling intensified. Damn! He wished whoever it was would make his move. This cat-and-mouse ploy was making him angry. Maybe he could shake them up a bit.
He turned Enkidu and Eshi onto Olive Branch, sped down to Saddlers and turned left, leaping off the wagon as soon as he thought his pursuer could not see him for a moment. He stepped through the doorway of a tack shop and waited.
Two thugs came running around the comer. One was of average size; the other was short and round, like a beer keg with legs. They were trotting to keep the wagon in sight.
For a middle-aged fat man in a ring-mailed vest, he moved quietly. And quickly. Any sound made by his soft-soled knee boots was masked by the din of street noises: beggars asking alms, shopkeepers and customers haggling, the clop of horseshoes on cobblestones, children shouting and playing.
The shorter man was lagging a few steps behind his partner, panting. He never heard anything suspicious.
The taller man glanced over his shoulder in time to see the barrel-man topple from the flat of Cholly's axe. Before he could break away a large hand extending from a wax-boiled vambrace had grabbed a handful of his tunic and slammed him against a brick wall, driving the air from his lungs. His head bounced against the bricks, painfully but not far. He became acutely aware of the axe haft pressed against his throat when he struggled to inhale. A melon-sized knee pressing into his stones also caught his attention-
Cholly's normally merry hazel eyes were narrow slits of cold green. His voice was calm, even, almost a whisper.
"Why are you following me?"
"I wasn't. (Cough)"
Cholly towered his knee slightly, then snapped it upward. "Don't lie to me or you'll sing soprano. Let's start again. You were about to tell me why you followed me."
Tears filled the tall man's eyes. "I swear I wasn't following you."
He would've screamed when the knee drove into his crotch if it weren't for the wooden haft flattening his gullet.
"Let's try again, shall we? I ask you a question, you answer it. Honestly. For the last time, why were you tailing me?"
"All right," he whimpered. "We was paid a silver bit apiece to rob you." Tears rolled down his dirty unshaven cheeks.
"Fool. If it was money you wanted you would have jumped me before I reached my banker. You didn't make your move, although you've been chasing me all afternoon. So what are you after that is worth dying for?"