Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [79]
“For Gudgeon’s sake, will you hurry! Spit in his ear, already! Kick him in the balls. Get him up! Unwilling to kick the litah himself, the swordsman had to be content with flailing at the floor.
Rising on all four powerful, attenuated legs, the big cat stretched and yawned languorously while Simna could only look on and grind his teeth helplessly.
“If your hairy majesty would be so kind as to join us in departing,” he finally snapped, “it would behoove us to get the hell out of here.”
The litah yawned again as he began padding toward the exit. “Ehomba explained things to me.”
“Then why aren’t you moving faster?” Knowing it would only provoke a delaying confrontation, the swordsman refrained from whacking the cat across its backside with the flat of his blade.
It was Ehomba who responded. “The street appears deserted, and it is not yet midnight, but it is a wise man who checks the ground outside his house before running wildly into the night.”
“Hoy, all right. But let’s not delay.” Simna’s sharp eyes were already scanning what he could see of the street to north and south as they approached the doorway.
“You worry needlessly.” The proprietor was trailing behind them. A brass ring heavy with keys hung from one hand. “The dead are very punctual.”
As they reached the portal, Ehomba looked down. Sure enough, a copper strip gleamed metallically beneath his feet. Inlaid in and bolted to the thick planking, it shone with the light of regular polishing. He stepped over it.
Nothing happened. The night was still and the coolness a relief from the heat of the day. In both directions, neatly shuttered shops looked out on the silent street. Flowers bloomed in window boxes, their blossoms shut against the cold until the next coming of the sun. Someone had washed and swept not only the sidewalks but the road itself. All was orderly, well groomed, and deserted.
Simna and Ahlitah crossed the threshold behind the herdsman. To prove that his words had meaning, the proprietor followed them outside onto the small covered porch that fronted the store. He showed no fear, and Simna allowed himself to relax a little as their erstwhile host pointed.
“Five storefronts that way and ye will find yourselves at the corner. Turn right. The boardinghouse will be the fourth door on your left. Knock firmly lest ye not be heard. And a good night t’ye.”
Stepping back inside, he shut the door behind them. Looking through the glass, Ehomba could see him rotating a large brass key in the lock.
“What are we standing here like stupefied goats for? We only have a couple of minutes.” Without waiting for his friends, Simna broke into a sprint. Ehomba and Ahlitah followed, running from need but not desperation.
They made it to the corner, but did not turn it.
“What was that?” Ehomba came to an abrupt stop.
“What was what?” Breathing as quietly as possible, Simna halted a few feet in front of the herdsman. “I didn’t hear anything. Hoy, what are you looking for?”
Ehomba was peering into the depths of a dark close between two silent, darkened buildings. Simna would not have thought it an activity worth pursuing at the best of times, which the present most emphatically was not. As he looked on in disbelief, the tall southerner stepped into the shadows that were even darker than the surrounding night. With the time beginning to weigh heavily on him and knowing it would not wait or slow its pace for any man, the swordsman moved to place a forceful hand on his companion’s arm.
“What do you think you’re doing, bruther? I’ve been late to funerals, and late to appointments, and late to meet with friends on a fine summer’s night, but I don’t want to be late to the door of this boardinghouse. Come on! Whatever piece of trash has piqued your inexplicable interest will still be there in the morning.” Behind them the litah waited