Thieves' World: Enemies of Fortune

by Lynn Abbey

  Spyder took Topo’s unresisting hand. One at a time, he pressed the silver shaboozh into the little man’s palm and folded his thick fingers around them. “No one needs to know about our arrangement, my friend,” he added in the same whisper. “You don’t even need to remember it yourself.”

  Topo backed up a step, opened his hand, and stared at the coins. When he looked up again, his gaze was hard and clear. “You’re smart to cooperate, Spyder,” he said with a sneer. “Lord Night is nobody to play games with.” He strode toward the door, grabbing up his cloak on the way. At the threshold, he turned back. “I’ll get your woman back to you. She might be a little-worse for wear, but I’m sure she’ll still love you.” He grinned, then tossed his cloak around his shoulders and disappeared into the storm.

  Spyder picked up the three daggers and juggled them with a performer’s skill. Lord Night, indeed, he thought. You’re working for yourself, carving out a little piece of Sanctuary’s action. Within reason, I can even admire your ambition. The blades flew faster and faster. Then he let them go. One after another they thunked into the countertop. Aloud, he added, “But if I were you, I’d pray Lord Night never finds out you’re using his name.”

  He smiled as he drew out the daggers, then bent closer to examine the gouges the points had left “I’m going to have to take it easier on the woodwork.” He clucked his tongue. “Channa will have a fit.”

  Aaliyah’s captors flung her into a dark, windowless room and slammed the door. A heavy lock clicked shut, and booted feet stomped noisily along the creaky floorboards of a hallway. An argument ensued as the men left her alone.

  “Why not?” one of them grumbled. “How often do pugs like us get a crack at something that fine?”

  “Jus’ keep it in yer trousers, boyo!” another advised. “Topo will cut that thing off an’ stuff it up yer nose if ye try to touch her. She’s business—not pleasure.”

  “Why can’t she be both?” said a third voice. “If you don’t enjoy your business you’ll never be a success at it!”

  In the darkened room, the bundle of netting, ropes, and cloth that covered Aaliyah began to stir and collapse. A moment later, a small shape began to wiggle among the heavy folds. Then from beneath the lower edge of the cloth, a fine-boned white cat poked its head out and looked around.

  Green eyes gleaming, it explored the dimensions of its prison on padded paws, finding not a stick of furniture to hide under or perch upon. A dust ball caught its attention, and the cat attacked, batting the bit of fluff between its claws until it tired of the sport. After that, it crept toward the door and sniffed. Its whiskers twitched. Faint lamplight shone through a narrow gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. The cat thrust one paw through the gap and felt around. Then, growing bored, it circled itself three times and curled up against the wall to lick its paws and wait.

  When voices sounded in the hallway again, the cat pricked up its ears.

  “The Citadel of Crime!” The voice was new to the cat, deep and nasal, vaguely Ilsigi. “That’s what we’ll call this place from now on, boys! We’ll strike fear into this town, and every petty crook that wants to work here will have to come to us for licensing! We’ll be a union! A criminals’ union! I’ve got plans, I tell you! Big plans!”

  “Citadel o’ Crime, my bleedin’ arse!” someone sneered. The voices drew nearer. Floorboards creaked as footsteps approached. “A stiff wind from the wrong direction will topple this dump on yer head, Topo. Still, I gotta hand it to ye … !”

  “No, I’ll hand it to you!” the one called Topo interrupted. “Here’s a shaboozh for each of you. And more to come, mark my words. Once the word gets out that the Black Spider has met our demands there won’t be a shop or merchant on the east side of Sanctuary that won’t fall into line!”

  A key grated in the lock. “Now let’s have a look at her!” Topo said as the door began to open. “I hope none of you were less than gentlemanly.”

  The white cat rose to its feet and lifted its tail high. Unnoticed in the near-darkness, it darted past the pairs of feet that filed into the room. Down the hall it went, emerging into a common area with a table and chairs and a few other pieces of crude furniture. It eyed the shuttered window, then hopped up on the table.

  A trio of bowls containing fish stew sat unfinished. The cat dipped its damp nose into each bowl and licked with a small pink tongue at the flaky nuggets, finally chewing and swallowing a couple.

  Loud shouts and furious cursing sounded from the hallway, followed by pushing and shoving and charging feet. The cat looked up from its meal, arched its back, and leaped from the table. At double-speed it loped to a staircase in one corner of the room and raced up them.

  “Her clothes are still in there!” Topo bellowed. “Don’t tell me a naked girl like that one got past three randy louts like you!” A loud slap punctuated his declaration. “Now what the hell did you do with her?”

  The cat paused only for a moment at the top of the stairs. Then, spying an open door to another room, it dashed inside. A rumpled bed stood in one corner. With an easy leap, the cat landed in the middle of it and sniffed at the myriad of scents that lingered on the blankets. It twitched its nose and squatted. With the most serious of looks on its feline face, it peed a thin yellow stream on the pillows.

  Bootsteps sounded on the staircase, and the bedroom door thrust wide open. A tall, rail-thin young man looked inside, his eyes wild and desperate. A look of surprise flashed over his face. “Hey! There’s a cat in here! Who let a cat in?” Then his surprise turned to outrage. “Gods’ balls! It’s peeing all over my bunk!”

  He lunged at the cat, diving headfirst with outstretched arms. The cat sprang aside, rebounded off a chair, hit the floor, and dashed out the open door. An older man, just as lean as the first, but with a rougher appearance charged up the stairs. The cat saw him, laid back its ears, and changed course. It raced down another hallway, finding another room with another bed.

  “It’s a white cat!” the young man shouted from the hallway. “I’m gonna skin it!”

  The cat trembled ever so slightly on the blankets of the second bed and shat a few small turds before it jumped to the floor and crouched in the dusty darkness beneath a claw-footed wardrobe. A foot kicked the door wider, and the older man charged inside. The cat dashed out behind him, but not before he spun around.

  “I thought you said it was a white cat?” he shouted as he gave chase. “It’s black!”

  The younger man stood in the hallway, blocking the cat’s path. “The one I saw was white!” he insisted. “Gotta be two of them!” He lunged again, but the black cat sped nimbly between his legs.

  “I got it! I got it!” The one called Topo with the Ilsigi accent waited at the top of the stairs. He was already crouched down, and stretched out his hands to grab. “Anybody else around here tired of fish stew?”

  The cat hesitated, then let go a sharp wail and showed its teeth. Topo’s eyes snapped wide. Too late, he threw up his hands as a black-furred ball of razor-sharp talons landed on the top of his bald head. “L-let-let go!” he cried, stuttering in his panic. “Get it off me! G-get-get it off me!” He grasped at the staircase railing as he pitched backward, but the rotted wood broke in his grip and he slid down the steps on his back, screaming all the way.

  The cat rode down on his chest with its claws firmly locked in his flesh. As Topo slammed into the wall at the bottom, it leaped away and dashed to another part of the house, turned a corner, and found itself in a kitchen. It looked around quickly, jumped up onto a counter, sprang onto a shelf, and settled on still a higher shelf.

  “It went back here!” called a fourth voice. “You guys pick Topo up before he bleeds to death! Leave the damned cat to me!”

  “Cats!” the younger man reminded.

  Topo called out in a weak and fearful voice. “That thing’s a d-de-demon! It’s a d-de-demon among us!”

  The fourth man crept into the kitchen. He looked stronger than the others did,
in better shape, though his garments were tattered and out of style. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” he whispered as his dark gaze swept the room. He drew a long rusted knife from a cracked leather sheath on his hip. “Come and get it, kitty. Nice, tasty little pusskabob!”

  A soft purring filled the kitchen. Slowly, the fourth man turned his gaze upward toward the source of the sound. Then he froze. His knees began to tremble, and a wet stain appeared on the front of his trousers. The tip of his tongue darted over his lips, dampening them, as he tried to summon spit.

  His womanish scream shook the walls, and he flung himself backward into the common room. On hands and knees, he quickly crawled to the table and hauled himself up again, overturning one of the bowls and a chair. Still clutching his rusty knife, he backed toward the door, wide-eyed with terror.

  His companions watched in amazement from the staircase landing with Topo supported between them. “It’s just a cat, you bloody coward!” the older one scolded.

  “Two cats!” the younger one insisted.

  Topo’s face was a mass of shallow scratches. “I t-t-tell you, I saw a d-de-demon!”

  Unable to find his own voice, the man with his back to the door shook his head and barely managed to point with his knife at the sleek, powerfully muscled leopard that strode from the kitchen. Turning a glittering, green-eyed gaze on each of them, the beast opened its mouth, showed its fangs, then growled.

  The man by the door spun and fumbled with the latch, trying to get it open. One of the thugs on the stair landing didn’t wait. At a run, he launched himself headfirst at the shuttered windows, crashed through them, and fell with a splash in the mud beyond. The third thug pushed Topo into the cat’s path and followed his partner through the window.

  The plump gang leader sprawled on the floor with a terrified shriek. As the leopard advanced toward him, he shot a desperate look over his shoulder at the open door. “Traitors!” he called after his fleeing lackeys. “Deserters!” The cat drew his attention back as it playfully smacked his foot with a huge paw. “Nice k-k-kitty!” he said, sucking for breath. “Or … or maybe you prefer nice c-c-cat?” The cat locked eyes with him and snarled again.

  Topo matched the cat’s snarl with a shriek of terror. Rolling onto his hands and knees, he crawled as fast as his bulk allowed straight for the open door. The cat growled again, and four sharp claws ripped through the seat of his trousers to carve furrows in his left buttock. Topo’s head snapped back with shock and pain, but he only scrambled faster through the door and out into the storm.

  On the threshold, the leopard stopped, licked its paw, and purred with satisfaction.

  Drenched to the bone and covered with mud, Topo pushed open the door to the Broken Mast and made his way across the crowded bar to a table at the back. The Broken Mast wasn’t the kind of place he frequented, and he cringed inwardly at the way the men at the other tables leered and pointed and laughed at his wounds. He particularly hated the crude comments they made about his torn trousers and his exposed, bleeding buttock. Still, where else was he to go on a night like this? He couldn’t show his face in any respectable tavern, much less his usual haunts on the Hill or in the Maze.

  Self-consciously, he clutched at his trousers, trying to pull the rent shut with one hand as pulled up a chair. Gingerly and with an audible sigh, he sat down.

  “Mate, you look like something the cat dragged in!” laughed a sailor at a nearby table.

  “I made an arse bleed like that once!” declared another customer. “That one couldn’t sit down for a week, though!” With a loud guffaw, he slapped his table, splashing some of his ale.

  “Braggart!” someone laughed. “With that short dirk o’ yers, ye couldn’t draw blood from a half-dead chicken, an’ I’ll wager ye’ve tried!”

  Topo did his best not to listen, and with all his scratches stinging and oozing, it wasn’t too hard. He winced as he ran a fingertip over his torn scalp, explored his forehead and cheeks, and discovered the tiny tears in his sodden tunic and the cuts in his chest. He gave a low groan as he leaned his elbows on the table and winced. Even those were sore and tender from his fall down the stairs!

  Safset, the bar’s dusky-skinned manager, glowered as he approached Topo’s table. “Don’t appreciate people comin’ in here an’ oozin’ their pox all over the furniture,” he grumbled. He slapped down a dirty rag and wiped off the top of the table. “This is a ’spectable joint!”

  “Respectable, my bleeding … !” Topo fell silent. Given his current condition, it really wasn’t the cleverest thing to say. He felt inside his waistband, pulled out a silver shaboozh, and tossed it down. Of the five he’d taken from Spyder, he’d given his men one each and kept two for himself. He thanked the Ilsigi gods he hadn’t lost his in his narrow escape. “Bring me an ale,” he ordered nervously. “And what have you got to eat?”

  “Fish stew,” Safset answered.

  Topo grimaced and instantly regretted it. Any drastic expression made his shredded face hurt! “Nothing else?” he whined.

  Safset snapped his fingers under Topo’s nose. “This is a sea town, mate,” he shot back. “Ye want somethin’ special, then try the palace. Maybe Arizak has a banquet all laid out fer ye!”

  Topo agreed to the fish stew, and Safset brought his ale. Hunkered down over the mug, he tried not to look around, but his gaze wandered toward the men with their arms around each other, leaning on each other, whispering and grinning. Why were they all looking at him? Even the ones playing dice several tables away kept glancing at him. His hands began to shake. He tried to steady them by locking his fingers around his mug and staring fixedly into the amber contents.

  So he didn’t see the brown, rain-soaked tabby that squeezed its way through the back door when a pair of customers eased out. Noiselessly, it made its way under a table, then another, weaving among swinging and shuffling feet until it stopped beneath Topo’s table. Between his outspread legs, it settled back on its haunches and ran a pink tongue over its furred lips.

  Safset brought the fish stew, set the bowl down, and turned away with a grunt as Topo picked up the large wooden spoon. The plump little man could only hope the utensil was clean. He stirred a few of the white, flaky chunks that floated in the creamy broth. It really didn’t look bad, but by the gods he was sick of fish! With a look of disdain, he lifted a morsel to his mouth.

  Still unnoticed, the cat below his table picked just that moment to attack. Sharp claws stabbed through his trousers as it climbed his right leg like a tree. With a startled cry of pain, Topo shot erect, toppling his chair and overturning his table. Fish stew and ale splattered on the pair of sailors at the table next to him.

  “Get it off!” Topo screamed as the wiry feline dug in its claws and climbed up his groin. “Help! Get it off!”

  “I’ll be happy to help you get off, mate!” said one of the stew-covered sailors. “In this place, you don’t even have to ask!” Drawing back a fist, he launched a meaty punch at Topo’s nose. The tabby leaped clear a moment before the blow landed. Topo crashed backward over his fallen chair. Multiple hands lifted him up and carried him to the front door. On a count of three, swinging him like a bag of laundry, they chucked him into the street.

  One of the sailors linked arms with another as they turned to go back inside. “Don’t you just hate it when that kind comes knockin’ ’round where they don’t belong?”

  “Gives the neighborhood a bad name, they do,” the other agreed, slamming the door closed.

  Topo rose painfully on bruised hands and knees. It was no muddy road that cushioned his landing this time, but the rough cobblestones of the Wideway. Dazed and cold without a cloak to keep him warm, he struggled to his feet and cursed the incessant, damnable rain. He stared at the door to the Broken Mast, thinking of the silver shaboozh he’d left on the table, and wondering if he could brazen his way back inside. Someone would have picked it up by now.

  Then he thought of the cat. He didn’t know Safset even kept a cat! Acutely
aware of the new scratches on his legs and thighs and uncomfortably close to where no man should ever be scratched, he stumbled away.

  A low snarl sounded in the darkness behind him. The hair on Topo’s neck stood on end. He didn’t dare look behind, but increased his pace, limping as he went. He headed east along the Wideway, thinking to return to the crumbling estate he’d claimed for his own purposes on the Hill. He’d be safe if he could bar the doors and windows!

  Lightning flashed, briefly igniting the darkness. Thunder smothered Topo’s scream as he stared into the road just ahead. Illuminated by the violet fire, a large gray cat blocked his path.

  His heart hammered. Desperate, he began to run, turning northward up the street called Safe Haven. But he found no safe haven on the ill-named street. Thunder blasted, and lightning flashed again. In the covered doorway of a candle merchant, a white kitten glared at him and growled.

  On the slick cobbles, Topo slipped and fell. Tears burst forth from his eyes, and he sobbed as he looked wildly around. Where was everybody? Was he the only person awake or alive in the entire city? He thought of his men and cursed them for abandoning him. “Help!” he shouted to anyone that might hear. “Help me!” But nobody answered.

  He shot another frantic glance toward the shop. A large and muscled black cat sat on its stoop now where the white kitten had been, and its green eyes blazed as if it were hungry for a mouse.

  A mouse! That’s exactly what I am! Lurching upright, he sped from Safe Haven Street into the Street of Steel. A dim flicker of lightning in the heavy clouds caused him to gaze upward as he turned the corner, and his heart skipped a beat. Poised on a rooftop above him, he glimpsed the shadowy form of the leopard. It stalked him as he ran, leaping easily from rooftop to rooftop.

  Still, he ran until his heart threatened to burst and his breathing wracked him. Down the Path of Money he splashed, slipping and falling more than once, and then across the Avenue of Temples. At last he reached the Hill with its steep and narrow streets.