The whirlwind was upon us! Alarum! Alarum! Hack and hew! The King’s guards filled the room, the porkers close behind. Bobbing, weaving, ducking, dodging—he can be nimble when he has to be—Greyboar scooped me up and headed for the door. He was handicapped at first, what with me in one hand and the King in the other. But once the choke was finished—I’d like to stress that point, there’ve been allegations in certain quarters; I’ll admit he was eccentric, but his craftsmanship was impeccable—he had one hand free and that was that. Guards and porkers went flying and we were out of the King’s chamber.
But by then, of course, we’d been recognized.
“It’s Greyboar and his shill!” squealed the porkers.
“I resent that!” I cried, finally tongue-loose. (I’m good at half hitches.) “I’m a bona fide agent!” But it’s hard to pull off dignified reproof when you’re being carried like a cabbage. I got an upside-down view of the sorcerer as we made our way through the madding crowd. He was still rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the Void.
“—for if what is were many it must be infinitely small, because the units of which it is composed must be indivisible and therefore without magnitude; yet, it must also be infinitely great, because each of its parts must have another before it from which it is separated and this must be likewise—”
Magrit, there’s a proper witch. Mind you, if I’d known what the potion was, I’d never have used it. I’m not what you’d call soft-hearted, but that doesn’t make me a bloody sadist.
Once we got into the corridor, it was easy going. Porkers all over the place, of course, and the Hospice’s staff and filthy-rich clientele ogling and staring, all agog and atwitter, but give Greyboar some finger room and it took a small army to pull him down.
Truth to tell, it wasn’t long before we were out on the street, and from there into the sanctuary of the Flankn, with its maze of alleys, byways, tenements, cellars, attics, and all the other accouterments of the Thieves’ Quarter. On our way, I gave Greyboar a good talking to, you can be sure of it, but I doubt he heard a word I said. His mind, plain to see, was elsewhere.
Eventually, I ran out of breath, and besides, we’d arrived at one of our hideouts. “All right,” I concluded sourly, “untie me and let’s split up. Hide yourself somewhere and don’t move around—you’re too conspicuous. I’ll make the rendezvous with Rashkuta and collect the rest of our fee. Meet me in the attic over old Fyqulf’s place the day after tomorrow. At night, mind you, if you move around during the daylight, you’ll get spotted for sure.”
Two days later, I was sprawled on the attic floor counting our money. Things were coming up roses. I’d expected some haggling over the balance owed, but nary a peep. I suspect, after viewing the carnage in the Hospice, that His Acneship gave up any thought of stiffing us.
It was by far the biggest fee we’d ever collected, and I was feeling quite pleased with the world. “Lucre,” I gloated, “abundance, riches, affluence, pelf, the fleshpots! the cornucopia! the full measure!—and then some! O wallow, wallow, wallow, wallow, wallow, wallow—” I’m afraid I got quite carried away. I didn’t even notice Greyboar come in until he tapped me on the shoulder.
“Snap out of it,” he grumbled. “It’s only money.” Imagine my indignation. But it was no use. Greyboar slouched against the wall, gazing at his hands.
“Without my guru to lead the way, the road will be long and hard.”
“Ha! With what we’ve got here you can slobber around in all the extravagance you need to achieve—what’d the old geezer call it?—sloth, wasn’t it?” I giggled; Greyboar glared. “No, no, that’s not quite right! Languor—of course, that’s the word!”
“I fear not,” said Greyboar. “The hunt’s up all over the city. The whole army’s been turned out. The Flankn’s crawling with informers and stool pigeons. We’ll need every copper we’ve got just to bribe the porkers and get out of Sfinctria. Starvation rations, we’ll be on, until you scrounge up some work. Even that’ll be hard, being in a different city and all.”
I laughed, gay abandon. “Is that what’s troubling you? Fie on it! D’you think I hadn’t figured this all out before I took on the job? Sure, for the moment there’s a little heat. Looks bad, prominent tourist getting throttled. But what does the Queen of Sfinctria care, when all is said and done? Unless there’s pressure from the Sundjhab—zilch, that’s what Belladonna cares! And the Prince—remember him, he’s our client?—he’s the new King of the Sundjhab now. He’ll cool things down right quick.”