neetha Napew - Spellsinger

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.

"Hard to say. Maybe she is, maybe not."

"Then why is she doing it?"

"Because she in love. Can't you see that?" The rabbit sounded surprised at

Jon-Tom's evident naivete.

"Hey... I can't play this round."

"Why not, man?" Suddenly the rabbit sounded considerably less friendly.

"I just think I've had enough." He was starting to gather up his winnings,

looking for pockets in pants and shirt to shove handfuls of coins into. The

other players looked upset and there were some movements in his direction.

But there was honor among thieves here, too. For every angry grumbling from the

players there were cries from the onlookers of, "He won fair.... The man can

pull out any time!... Let him leave if he wants.... You can't stop him...." and

so forth. But some of the comments were accompanied by eager looks at the pile

of coins in front of him. It occurred to Jon-Tom that winning the money was no

assurance he'd leave with it. Of course, no one would think of making an

outright attack on an honest winner. But Thieves' Hall was full of tunnels and

dark cul-de-sacs.

He looked helplessly up at the rabbit, whispered, "What should I do?"

The other's attitude softened, turned friendly once again.

"Well first thing, pay attention to you own clothing." He laughed and reached

for Jon-Tom's throat. Jon-Tom instinctively started to pull away, but the rabbit

only paused and grinned hugely at him. "With you permission?"

Jon-Tom hesitated, then nodded. There was no reason to assume the animal had

turned suddenly hostile.

Unclipping the cape while the rest of the players waited impatiently, the rabbit

spread it out on the floor. "Ah, I thought right so. Good tailor you got," and

he pointed out the hidden stitching and buttons lining the bottom hem of the

cape.

This he carefully unsnapped. With Jon-Tom's help, he filled the hidden

compartment with handfuls of coins. When it was full to the snaps they sealed it

tight again. Jon-Tom clipped it back around his neck. The weight was a tolerable

drag.

"There," said the rabbit with satisfaction, "that be more better. No one think

to pickpocket a cape. Only these few here, and I see no skilled one among them.

Others who see will think only rocks in there."

"Why would I fill my cape with rocks?"

"To keep it from blow over you head and blind you in a fight, or while riding in

a storm. Also to use in a fight. You may look weaponless, but what you got now

is five-foot flexible club to complement long staff." He turned his gaze

skyward. "That how I like to go, though. Beaten to death with somebody's money.

Or perhaps..." He looked back over at Jon-Tom. "It no matter my problems."

"Maybe it does." Jon-Tom reached into the still sizable pile of coins in front

of him and selected three large gold circles. "These are for your problems. And

for your good advice and counsel."

The rabbit took them gratefully, slipped them in a vest pocket, and sealed it.

"That kind of you, man. I take because I need the money. Under better

circumstances I refuse. More advice: don't go passing around gold too much like

this. You attract attention of some not so noble as I.

"Now as to what you should do, you pull out now if you really want. But you in

middle of round. It be better if you finish this one go-round. Then no one can

say shit to you."

"But what about the girl?" The bitch was tapping feet clad in pastel blue ballet

slippers and looking quite put out.

"Well, I tell you man," and he winked significantly, "you finish out this round.

I have three goldpieces you know. You have place in circle to finish. If you

win, I give you back gold circle for her." He eyed the muscular, tawny form of

the she-wolf. "Maybe two."

"Oh, all right." He looked a last time at the ring of spectators. Still no sign

of Mudge or Talea.

The dice were passed as the watchers nudged one another, muttered, made side