The Dead of Winter Part 5

"Oh. Listen, I was a little nervous about you when you left last night. No trouble going home?"

Throde shook his head. "I better get set up."

"No trouble at all? Didn't see those three meanheads?"

Shaking his head, Throde went through the door into the taproom-the inn proper.

Ahdio sighed.

"Sure nice to have company," he muttered, and Sweet-boy looked up and belched.

Ahdio gave him a look. "Here! Cats do not belch, Tige. Maybe you should consider giving up strong drink."

The final word brought the cat to attention, and to its mug. It peered within as if myopic, looked pointedly up at its human, twitched its stub and said "Mraw?"

"No," Ahdio said, and Sweetboy showed him an affronted look before it slithered in between a couple of barrels to sulk.

Accommodatingly, Ahdio let those tuns sit and picked up another to carry into the other room. He handled it as if it weighed about half what it weighed.

Throde was arranging benches and stools, squatting to rearrange the sliver of wood that for three months had "temporarily" steadied the table with the bad leg.

"Maybe tonight we ought to turn that d.a.m.ned table up and slap a nail up through that hunk of wood into the leg," Ahdio said, his voice only a little strained.

He set the barrel down behind the bar, without banging it. "Not thisun," Throde said. "The wood'd split out."

"Uh," Ahdio said, thinking about last night's trouble. The arising of trouble in Sly's Place was hardly noteworthy. Patrons who came to push and shove or worse either settled down, or helped clean up and pay for damage, or were told not to come back. Now and again Ahdio relented. But when sharp steel flashed he moved in fast with a glove and a club. Both were armored. Such things happened, and usually he stopped it without a blow and before someone got stuck. Not always.

What he would not tolerate was yellers and plain bullies. That big one last night had been both. Ahdio warned him. Others warned him. Eventually Ahdio had felt compelled to pick up the big drunken troublemaker by the nape, just the way he'd have picked up a kitten. In sudden silence from patrons once again impressed by his strength, he carried the loosely wriggling fellow over to the door and deposited him outside, without roughness. He returned to applause and upraised mugs, smiling a little and never glancing back; he knew that if the ejected one came back in behind him, other patrons would call a warning.

Two men, however, stood staring in manner unfriendly. Ahdio stopped and returned the gaze.

"You boys his buddies?"

"Right."

"Yes. Narvy didn't mean no harm."

"Probably not," Ahdio said equably. "Just drank too much, too fast and wouldn't take anything to eat. You boys want a sausage and a beer, or you think you ought to help him ... Narvy ... home?"

The two of them stared at him in silence, mean-faced, and the taverner stared back with his usual open, large-eyed expression. After a time they looked at each other. The handsome one shrugged. The balding one shrugged. They sat down again.

"Couple of sausages and beers coming up," Ahdio said, and that was that.

Still, he had worried that they or perhaps all three might decide to take out their mad on Throde, and Ahdio warned the youth, who walked home every night alone. They had made it well known that he carried no money but did bear a big stick. On the other hand, he needed that staff because he had a gimped leg. Now his employer was more than glad that his apprehension had been for nothing.

He was heading back to the storeroom when he heard the banging sound back there.

Sweetboy didn't make banging sounds, particularly when he was napping.

That was when it hit Ahdio that he and Throde had both forgotten to replace the bar across the outer door. Some G.o.dless motherless meanhead had just walked in for sure, he thought, already racing that way. He was bulling through the door when he heard the screams: two. A man's, and a cat's. Not just any cat's. It was Sweetboy's war-cry. He had never achieved the volume of Notable, but he could sure raise h.e.l.l, nape-hair and heartbeats. The pair of yowling sounds were followed by a much louder banging than the first. And a yell that was positively a shriek.

From the doorway Ahdio glimpsed it all at once. The balding man and his big ejected pal Narvy, from last night, were in the act of removing a barrel marked with the hoofprint of a goat branded in black; the scream-trailing black streak was a watch-cat earning its keep. The cat landed acrouch on the barrel between them, having in pa.s.sing opened the balding man's sleeve without even trying. It hissed, whipping its stub back and forth, and uncoiled to hit Narvy's big chest.

Narvy's friend yelled when he felt his arm hit; when he saw the demonic apparition appear as if by ghastly sorcery right on the barrel he was so happily stealing, he let go his end.

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.

"d.a.m.n," Ahdio said. "I told you last night you were a noisy beerhead, and d.a.m.ned if you aren't even noisier by day and sober-I-guess. Now look what you've done!

You've disturbed that poor p.u.s.s.y's nap and got him all angry."

Narvy was flailing both arms, to one of which clung a chomping cat anch.o.r.ed 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 G.o.ds and living G.o.ddesses 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, n.o.bility, 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 st.i.tched 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 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-ap.r.o.n 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 ap.r.o.n 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 jacka.s.ses. 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 G.o.ds' sakes and mine, don't ask her about her face or twit her either."

"That ugly, huh?"

"I can't answer that, Ouleh. Just be good and tell your friends, all right?"

"Me? Be good? Oh, Ahdio! Qualis and Red Gold 'stead of True Blue Brew for them, hmmm? Didn't know you had moneyed relatives, bigun, in Twand or anyplace else."

She flashed him a teasing smile; Ouleh was good at that. "I've got me an idea that we're being treated to a visit by the mysterious Veiled Lady just everybody's talking about! Your cousin, Ahdio?"

Ahdio gazed at her, blinking. The mysterious veiled lady everyone was talking about? In that case, why hadn't he heard about her? True, it seemed not the sort of gossip that interested his patrons. They tended to talk about their work, to d.a.m.n anyone with authority or wealth, to talk about who was doing what with and to whom, and who was going to get into whom, how and when, and who was going to get into Ouleh next. He glanced past her at the two newcomers over there, waiting for him to bring their order. His patrons' favorite breasty blowze had just described her, all right: a mysterious veiled lady. On the other hand, within and under cloak and hood and veil she might as well be Ouleh or any other easygirl.

No; not with the aura he felt about her; she even moved-even sat with cla.s.s.

"Just be good, Man-killer. Or be bad as usual, but leave her alone; physically and with that mouth of yours." Hearing how harsh that sounded, he smiled and added, "Please. Tell you what. Anyone who gives her or her escort trouble is out of here on his tailbone."

It was Ouleh's turn to blink, in surprise. "Es-cort! That's Wints, bigun. He's no escort-not for the likes of her. Bodyguard, maybe. Lackey. Someone she found to guide her in what she's doing-slumming. I'll spread your word, bigun-for you," she said, glancing back at many men at many tables. "But others're going to think she's slumming, and that Wints is putting on airs, and there's likely to be trouble."

"Anyone starts any trouble tonight, Ouleh, it's going to be me who ends it."

She gave him a lazy grin, again leaning forward onto the bar to show him a pair of pale mountains and the deep dark canyon dividing them. "Isn't it always, big boy? All I'm sayin' is that it may happen anyhow."

He sighed. Not sure why, he said, "Ouleh-keep a secret?"

"Me? Betray a confidence? Cross my treasure chest and hope to die!" Her finger slid down one mountain and into the valley, up the other slope, and back in a necessarily large X. Ahdio immediately looked ceilingward. "What's the matter, Ah-dio? Can't look? Want me to start wearing loose robes to the chin?"

I'd have fewer fights and shouting matches if you did, he mused, but said, "Just looking for the thunderbolt, after that oath of yours. Anyhow. First, here. You take this cup of qualis, on ole Ahdio. Second: Spread the word as I said. Third, and this is the secret now, Man-killer: The reason is that's my ... lady. She just came here to see me. You can understand that I have to watch out for her.

Here's your wine, dear. Start helping me out, all right?"

"Ohh, Ahdio! Reeeeally? Your la-oh, Ahdio, you devil! And here I've had my cap set on you for years!"

Why am I doing this for some slumming stranger who may well be a Bey, come to spy on us with an Ilsigi sell-out, he demanded of himself, and said, "Sure, sure you have. You don't even have a cap."

She gripped the nice goblet with one hand and the rim of her bodice with the other. "No? What d'you call this?" She whipped the blouse down below the salient of her leftward mountain, held it there for two or three beats, and flipped it up over her nipple again. Then she swung away, laughing.

Briefly closing his eyes while he shook his head, Ahdio filled another goblet with that best of wines and topped off the mug for Wints, the head having subsided. He headed for the table against the wall, his scintillant coat jingling softly. Just as he pa.s.sed a regular named or rather called Weasel, Ahdio heard his loud conversation topper: "In a pig's a.s.s!"

"Someone call for my special sausage?" Ahdio called en pa.s.sant, and went on, ahead of a wake of laughter.

He set wine and beer before the strange couple, and noted the coins on the table. He smiled at the invisible face that, judging from the angle of the hood, seemed to be looking up at him. "In this place, those who put coins on the table are running a tab. Unless you think you're just going to have one and run."

There. That would get a few words from the woman who had eased coin onto the table while no one was looking.

Wrong. Wints looked at his companion/employer a moment, then up at the huge man looming over their table and occluding an immoderate number of tables. "Thanks, taverner. We'll be here awhile. My lady would like to know why you wear that chain-coat."

Ahdio shook his arm to emphasize the jing-jing of the mail that covered him from collarbone to wristbone and to a point just below his loins. "For effect," he said with an easy smile. "Ambience? A conversation piece. A little added color in a place I can't afford to fancy up much."

Wints glanced at the veiled lady and gave the taverner a knowing grin. "With the price of a coat of good b.u.t.ted chainmail being what it is? You sure that's the reason?"

Ahdio shrugged, jing-jing. "Maybe I wear it for the same reason a soldier does in battle. This is a tough dive with me as proprietor, bartender and bouncer.

Maybe I'd be dead or full of scars by now if I didn't wear these forty-seven pounds of linked steel."

Wints's grin broadened and just as he started to laugh, Ahdio heard the first sound from the man's companion: a nascent chuckle swiftly drowned by his full laugh.

"Hey, Ahdio, you still sellin' ale around here?"

Ahdio swung away from the strangers. "Ale! In this place? Glayph, you wouldn't know ale if I poured some in your ear! Want another mug of junk beer?"