little game playing would be good for him.
Clothahump's purse still contained a few tiny copperpieces, the remnants of the
Mudge-directed spending spree that had enriched several of Lynchbany's
merchants. Cutting an impressive figure in his flashing green cape, Jon-Tom
leaned on his club-staff and studied one of the several continuous games before
finally deciding to join.
The particular game he'd selected seemed to be the largest. With the greater
number of participants he would have more opportunities between throws to study
the play. No one objeeted to or commented on his joining. It was simply a matter
of taking the place of a distraught lynx when the latter ran out of money and
dropped out.
Through no particular skill (the fickleness of dice being everywhere constant)
he did quite well. Dutifully, he concentrated on doing still better. So intent
on the game did he become that he failed to notice that he was drawing something
of a crowd of onlookers.
Players angrily left and were replaced by eager newcomers, full of fresh spirit
and fresh cash. There were always nine or ten throwers seated or squatting
around the circle.
The rock was cold against his backside, even through the leather pants. Not
quite as chilled were the well-traveled coins beginning to stack up in front of
him. For the first time in a long while he was not only relaxed but enjoying
himself.
Much to the delight of the crowd, which always pulls for a big winner, he hit
two nines in a row. Mutterings of magic came from a few of the other players.
They remained mere mutterings. An aged bat named Swal hung himself from the
overhead lamps. From there he could watch all the players. His opinion was well
respected, Jon-Tom could tell, and his knowledge of magic extensive though he
was no wizard himself. Very poor basketball players can make very fine coaches.
Swal had a detailed knowledge of magic though he couldn't work any himself.
Nevertheless, one of the other players tried to turn the tide in his own favor,
attempting to magic the dice before his turn to throw came up. Neither Jon-Tom
nor any of the other players or onlookers caught the unnatural vibration, but
the outraged Swal noticed it immediately.
"He muttered it softly, but I tasted the end of it," Swal explained to the
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
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
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
bets, or simply stared curiously. A ferret on the far side rolled a seven,
moaned. Next to him was a mole wearing immensely thick dark glasses and a peaked
derby. He dumped an eight, then a six, then a seven, and finally a losing three.
The dice came around to Jon-Tom. He tossed them into the circle. Two fours and a
two. Then a ten. The dice went to the fisher on his right. He rolled a ten.
Cries went up from the crowd, which pushed and shoved discourteously at the
circle of players. Jon-Tom rolled a six. Back to the fisher, who looked
confident. Over went the three dice, came up showing a one, a two, and a three.
The fisher kicked dirt into the circle. The shouts were ear-shaking.
Jon-Tom had won again.
He spoke as he turned. "There you go, friend. It's time to..." He stopped. There
was no sign of the rabbit.
Only a smartly dressed howler monkey nearby had noted the disappearance of
Jon-Tom's advisor. "The tall fella? White with gray patches?" Jon-Tom nodded,
and the simian gestured vaguely back down a main passage.
"He went off that way a while ago. So little golden ground squirrel came up to
him... delicate little bit of fluff she was... and he went off with her."
"But I can't..."
A hand touched his shoulder. He turned, found himself staring across into
aluminum-like eyes, glistening and penetrating. "I have not done it with many
humans, man. I understand some of you are fond of strange practices." The voice
was low, husky, and not altogether uninterested. "Is that true also with you?"
"Listen, I don't think you understand."
"Try me."
"No, no... that's not what I meant. I mean..." He was more flustered than at any
tune since they'd entered the hall. "It's just that I can't, I don't want you.
Go back there." He waved across the circle. "Go back to him."
"Just what the hell are you implying, man?" Her eyes flashed and she stepped
back.
The fox was suddenly standing next to her, angry at something other than his
losing. "Something wrong with Wurreel? Do you think I need your charity?"
"No, it's not that at all." He slowly climbed to his feet, kept a firm grip on
the staff. Around him the crowd was murmuring in an unfriendly manner. The looks
he was receiving were no longer benign.
"Please," he told the bitch, "just go back to your master here, or friend, or
whatever."
The fox moved nearer, jabbed a clawed finger in Jon-Tom's stomach. "Just what
kind of fellow are you? Do you think I don't pay my debts? Do you think I'd
renege on my obligations?"
"Screw your obligations, Mossul," said the wolf haughtily, "What about my
honor?" Her tone and gaze were now anything but interested. "See how he looks at
me, with disgust. I am insulted."
That brought a nasty series of cries from the crowd. "Shame, shame! ...down with
him!"
"It's not that. I just... don't want you."
She made an inarticulate growl, hit him in the chest with a fist. "That does
it!" She looked around at the shifting circle of spectators. "Is there a male
here who will defend my reputation? I demand satisfaction... of this kind if not
the other!"
"Your reputation..." Jon-Tom was becoming badly tongue-tied. "I didn't insult...
what about him?" He pointed at the fox. "He was the one selling you."
"Loaning, not selling," countered the fox with dignity. "And it was mutually
agreed upon."
"That's right. I'd do anything for Mossul. Except be insulted, like this, in
public." She put an affectionate arm around the fox's silk-clad shoulders.
"Turn him out, turn him out!" came the rising shouts.
"Wot's 'appening 'ere, mate. I leave you alone for a bit and you manage t' upset
the 'ol 'all." Mudge was at Jon-Tom's back and Talea nearby.
"I don't understand," Jon-Tom protested. "I've been winning all day."
"That's good."
"And I just won that," and he indicated the she-wolf, "for a couple of nights."
"That's very good. So what's your problem, mate?"
"I don't want her. Don't you understand? It's not that she's unattractive or
anything." The subject of that appraisal growled menacingly. "It's just that...
I can't do it, Mudge. I'm not prejudiced. But something inside me just...
can't."
"Easy now, mate. I understand." The otter sounded sympathetic. "Tis part o' your
strange customs, no doubt, and you're the loser for it."
"Well, tell them tha
t. Tell them where I'm from. Explain to them that I'm..."
Mudge put a hand momentarily over Jon-Tom's mouth. "Hush, lad. If they think
that you're from some other land, no matter 'ow alien, you won't longer 'ave
their protection. As it be, they think you're a local footpad like Talea and
meself." His eyes noted the weight dragging down the hem of Jon-Tom's cape. "And
judgin' from wot you've won from some 'ere, they'd be more than 'appy to see you
made fair game. You wouldn't last twenty seconds." He pulled at an arm. "Come on
now. Quiet and confident's the words, while they're still arguin' wot t' do."
They were bumped and even spat upon, but Mudge and Talea managed to hustle their
thoroughly confused friend out of the gambling chamber, through the tunnels, and
back out the iron door that sealed off the hall from the outside world.
It was mid-morning outside. Jon-Tom suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He
must have played through the night. That explained why he hadn't seen Talea or
Mudge. They'd been sleeping. But it was time-deceptive inside Thieves' Hall,
where the lamps burned round the clock, much in keeping with the activities of
the members.
"Why didn't you go with her?" Talea sounded bitter. "Now look at us! Forced out
of the one refuge where we'd be impregnable." She stalked on ahead, searching
the nearby corral for their team and wagon.
"I suppose I should have lost." He and Mudge had to hurry to keep pace with her.
"That would have made you happy, wouldn't it?"
"It would be better than this," she snapped back. "Where do we go now? When
you're turned out of Thieves' Hall, there's no place else to run to, and we
haven't been in hiding near long enough. We'll still be fresh in the minds of
citizens and police, if anyone noticed us. Damn it all!" She jumped the fence,
kicked at the flank of an innocent riding lizard. It hissed and scuttled out of
her way.
"It's too bad you weren't around, Mudge. You could have played that last round
for me."
"It don't work that way, mate. You 'ad t' play it out yourself, from what I
'eard. 'Tis a pity your peculiar customs forced you t' insult that lovely lady's
honor. You refused 'er. I couldn't 'ave substituted meself for you thatawise,
much willin' as I would've been."
Jon-Tom stared morosely at the ground, "I can't believe she was trading herself