And The Devil Will Drag You Under (1979) (15 page)

Jill turned back to the sleeping woman, reached out and touched her shoulder.

There was blackness.

2

She awoke, feeling pretty good, a
little after sunset. Although the shutters had kept out most of the light, enough had come in to illuminate the room slightly. But now it was almost pitch-black, and she sat up on the side of the bed and tried to remember where everything was in the little room.

Feeling her way cautiously, she located the nightstand and the lamp and water basin. Feeling around-and almost knocking the basin over-she felt what seemed to be several long, thin wooden matches. She struck one against the wooden wall and it flared immediately to life. She touched it to the wick, and soon the room glowed and took form. The amount of light the lamp threw off was surprisingly good.

After washing her face with the stale water to wake up completely, she looked around for clothes, which she found over a chair. Clearly these people didn't take baths often, and Yoni traveled light. The outfit smelled. A small leather purse hanging from a black belt showed that it was bulging with gold coins, though. Simple system. When you needed a new outfit, you just stole enough to buy it and tossed the other one away.

The clothes were tight-fitting and reminded her of ballet or gymnastics uniforms-a black cloth pullover shirt with long sleeves, black pants of the same ma-terial, and high slip-on black boots. In addition to the coins, the purse, which was designed to hang from the belt, contained a rolled-up pair of black gloves, a mir-ror and comb, and some boot-black. She guessed that that last item was used as much for darkening faces as for polishing boots.

Also on the belt, hanging down from the buckle it-self, was a sheath containing a small and nasty-looking sharp-pointed dagger.

After donning the outfit she removed the dagger and evaluated its balance, heft-all the things she thought she might have to do with it. It felt very good and natural in her hand, almost as if it had a will of its own. She practiced drawing it a few times and sur-prised herself with the speed at which she had it out and ready.

She'd inherited the beggar girl's gift for getting money in that first body; now, hopefully, she'd in-herited Yoni's skill with dagger and perhaps sword. She reminded herself that the owners of these bodies were still there, somewhere, in the back of her mind. Yoni's reflexes and sense of self-preservation would be essential in a pinch.

She checked herself out and liked what she saw. Now
, this
woman was close to her in size, condition, and athletic ability-and was younger. She felt almost normal. She walked to the door, opened it, blew out the light, and moved down the hall and descended the stairs. The bar and cafe were becoming crowded. A peak period was obviously coming up. She could tell even from this distance that Mogart had underrated this place as a thieves' hangout-it seemed as if everyone, even the bartender and serving maids, had a black mark on his thumb.

If anything, this was the Thieves' Guild Union Hall. They came in all shapes and sizes. Men outnumbered women about three to one, but there still seemed a fair share of female customers with black marks, daggers or swords, and business on their faces. They were also from different lands. Some odd tongues floated in the atmosphere thick with smoke and the odors of heavy eating and drinking, and even odder accents were discernible in the conversations she could understand.

Most of the people of the city had been short to medium and dark. In here she saw individuals who could have been Scandinavian, or Irish and Italian, English and Slay.

She spied a small table that had just been vacated, headed across the room toward it quickly, then sat down and surveyed the scene as a serving woman cleared away the remains and wiped the table. Knives were there in abundance, and some spoons of an odd depth and squarish shape; but forks were not a part of the culture, that was clear.

The sandwich, though, seemed to have been invented here in a way. Several people were munching on meat thickly sliced between halves of large hard rolls.

"A roast beef sandwich and an ale," she told the waitress, and that was that except to wait, look, listen, and reflect that this was one
hell
of an improvement over the enforced piety of Zolkar. Basic, even somewhat primitive, this world might be-but it was a liv-ing, breathing primitivism, such as might have existed in ancient Greece or Rome.

She let the threads of conversations float to her. Most were sheer nonsense, but they conveyed the life and vitality of this place, and that, for now, was enough.

"... Ningauble and Sheela! Ningauble and Sheela!" a huge Nordic-looking man was complaining to his partner, a small, dark man dressed in gray cloak and hood. "By all the black gods, aren't we
ever
going to be left alone . . . ?"

"... well, we got on the mathematics of magic, and, suddenly, there I was, in the middle of Spenser's
Faerie Queene. So
I-what? Who's Spenser? Well, I-never mind, just drop it ..."

A huge Germanic type was singing a little ditty fox some friends.

three brave hearts

and three brave lions ..."

"Oh, knock it off," a tall, blond-haired man snapped to the singer.

The big man laughed. "By Crom, Holger, you got no sense of humor when it comes to you!"

General laughter.

" . . I like not the look of this place," a tall, strik-ingly beautiful woman told her male companion. "It is a thieves' den, I think."

"Judge not, my lady," her handsome and bearded companion reproved. "Remember that Christos Himself was nailed between two of them."

There was more, none of it clear and all of it, somehow, vital and alive. These people had seen a lot and experienced enough excitement for a dozen lifetimes. Their energy swirled and congealed in the smoke and odor of the room; there was a spark, a sizzling presence here because of them.

The ale and roast beef came, and the latter proved excellent despite an unordered addition of fried green peppers and onions and some sort of hot sauce. The mixture tasted wonderful and fresh, so much a con-trast to the plastic food of her own world. She felt as if she belonged, could live here happily the rest of her life.

And that was a trap as sinister as any demon, she realized, for she dared not live here. She must get the jewel from that dark tower out there and return to Mogart as quickly as possible, or she would abandon her world.

A man entered, dressed in dark green from head to foot and with soft boots of the same color.

He wore a short-sword on a belt and had on a small green hat with a feather in it. He reminded her of a short Robin Hood.

He surveyed the scene, apparently looking for someone he knew or at least an empty seat near someone he'd feel comfortable with. His eyes fell on her and on the conspicuously empty chair across from her, and then he started across She crowded cafe in her direc-tion. She watched him, more curious than alarmed. Still, she shifted her sandwich to her left hand and let the right drop to her lap, near the dagger.

He had the thumb of the Guild, but that meant lit-tle-only that you had better not leave your purse in plain sight. Coming up to her, he stopped, removed his cap, and bowed slightly.

"Pardon-there are no empty places this night. Might I join you?" he asked in a polite and cultured voice.

It would have been easy to brush him off, but she needed information, and information came from peo-ple. She kept her right hand on her lap, though.

"By all means, sir, take the seat," she invited. "I am called Yoni."

He bowed again and sat comfortably. "Sugrin Pai-brush," he replied. "I can tell by your speech that you are not of the city. I should have remembered one of such loveliness here before in any event. Norbig?"

The flattery had little effect, but he was pleasant enough company. "Tussain," she replied. Now where the hell had that expression come from, she wondered. Clearly this Yoni was a much stronger personality than the beggar girl had been. She looked at his green garb.

"Poacher?"

He laughed. "Oh, my, no! Requires you be an expert bowman and fleet of foot as well. I work mostly in the country, though, where green is the best disguise."

He didn't have to say any more, even if he were so inclined. A highwayman, without a doubt.

After a moment's silence he continued to press the conversation. "And what brings you to our fair city? Not much pickin's around here. Too many
criminals
running about, you know." His eyes showed merri-ment, and the sarcastic tone in his voice was quite funny. She laughed and relaxed, starting to like him.

They talked a bit more. She finished her sandwich and he ordered a full beef dinner, and she began to feel comfortable with him. The magical thieves' mark made life a lot easier here. He was full of witty and fantastic stories, and if most of them or most all of them weren't true, they were nonetheless entertaining.

"And what of you?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Nothing much to tell-no fantastic tales." She thought a moment. "Well, perhaps one rather difficult one." In general terms she told of stealing a precious gem from a land where sin was impossible.

He loved it. "Wonderful!" he gushed, then became a little more serious. "But now, truly. You are young, you are attractive, and you are very well off and very independent of tone and manner.

Such a one as you would be dead if she were not exceptional at her trade. What brings you to this place? Vacation? Stopover?"

She thought a moment. "I told you about stealing the gem. I have, ah, an incredible contract with an eager buyer for more of them. One is here, and I mean to have it."

That piqued his interest a bit. "Oh? Where?"

"Castle Zondar," she replied almost in a whisper.

The humor and merriment drained out of him, and for a moment he just stared at her. Finally he asked, "Are you serious?" He turned and waved a hand around at the assembly of thieves and adventurers. "Look at them. Some of the best are in this room, you know. Some of the best there are. They've battled de-mons and demigods, faced down terrible sorceries and helped conquer whole kingdoms. I'm pretty good at the trade and live quite well, and I've never been caught-yet I am a flea, a gnat as compared to possi-bly a third of these. And none of these men and women will try that tower." He shook his head slowly from side to side. "No, I'd say no matter how good you are, you have an impossible contract. Break it. Forget it. Try something simpler, like fighting rogue elephants with wet noodles. It's safer and surer."

She didn't like the sound of that, but she had no choice. "What's so hard? I can climb a wall.

I've done as much or worse, even climbing some
real
mountains. As you surmised, Sir Sugrin, I
am
good."

He smiled wanly. "It's not the getting
in
that's the problem-the guards and such will let you do that, at least if you're good. Not that they will open the treasury and say, `Here it is,' but it's not impossible. It's the getting out that's impossible. Alarms, demonic guardians triggered by theft-impossible. They will have you, and death will be something desired but de-nied after that."

She considered his information. "Then maybe it's not so impossible," she responded. "You see, I'm there only to steal one thing, and if I get it in my hands I do not have to get out. The gem will transport me in an instant to my buyer."

He thought about it. "A magic stone, then. Hmmm . . . Maybe. But the risks are still too great, and there is a lot of countermagic up there. Safer to go to one of the southern kingdoms and score big and live a life of luxury if you're that good, in any event."

"I'll think about your advice," she told him. "But in the meantime, I'm a stranger here in need of equip-ment. Just in case I decide to try, anyway. Where would I get it?"

"The Guild Hall, of course," he replied. "Let me finish my meal, and then I'll take you over there.

It's not far, and they should be open about now."

He ate with relish and insisted on paying the tab. Since she pretty well guessed that any advice and equipment from a Thieves' Guild would hardly be free, she did not object.

They walked out into the darkness. Quite a large number of people stood about, but he took her away from the bustling bars and dives toward the small warehouse district of the harbor. All the time he kept up a running commentary on his philosophy of life, love, fun, and danger. When they turned another cor-ner into a narrow alley between two large, two-story grain warehouses, she began to grow a little nervous and suspicious. "I thought you said it wasn't far."

"It's not," he replied, his voice coming from slightly to one side and behind her. She cursed herself for letting him drop behind. "In fact, it's the warehouse at the end, just across the brightly lit street up ahead.

You can see the two gargoyles on either side holding torches in their mouths."

She saw the building, but also noticed something else. "That looks like only a block or two down from the inn on the same street!" She turned to face him and found herself pinned to the wall with a short-sword at her throat. Sugrin Paibrush was grinning in the darkness.

"Right you are, my girl!". he agreed. "But such is not for you. Cutpursing, perhaps, decoying, perhaps a nice little bank-but not the castle, no, not that. If you'll just remove and toss me your purse, we can be done with this. I will have saved you from a fate worse than death and, at the same time, reaped reward for my goodness. Easy, now, though! I shouldn't like to have to slit such a pretty throat!"

She sighed and inwardly cursed herself for being so sloppily trusting. She had no doubt that this man was, in his own way, quite honorable. He would let her go if he got the money, would kill her if she did not yield, and if he got the money, would feel wonderful about doing such a good deed.

Her hands moved to unfasten the purse from her belt. Suddenly she stepped to one side, battled down the sword on its flat, and spun the highwayman half-way around. Quickly, in a blur, she took advantage of the split second he was off balance, and using the wall as a brace, pushed off into him, feet shooting out in midair and landing right in his belly. He went down and the sword dropped free of his hand and clattered harmlessly to the ground. Quickly she somersaulted over him, landing on her feet, somehow drawing her deadly dagger at the same time, and was kneeling down with it at his throat before he could recover.