Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [53]
"Just a little sport, that's all-to take our minds off the day's gloom," the halfling offered as his drink-clouded countenance transformed into one of childlike innocence.
Pinch poured himself another mugful of ale and scowled at the halfling. The little fellow's smile might work well on the conies he cheated, but it didn't soften him one bit. "No more of it. Maeve's got the sense of things. It's not right to go mocking Therin's hanging." He drained the draught in a single long pull, all the while keeping his dark eyes on the other two.
"It's not like we haven't seen folks swing, Pinch. Even of our own." Sprite leaned forward to prop his chin on the edge of the table. With a small dagger that seemed to come from nowhere, he began to play an idle pass at mumblety-peg on the tabletop. "Besides a hanging's always good for trade. Draws a nice crowd. We should be striking the gawkers while they still got their purses full."
"We should be leaving town, that's what we should be doing, not sitting 'ere boozing," Corrick growled. "Therin's still got time to turn on us all."
Pinch raised a sharp eyebrow at that. Therin had been his choice as lieutenant. With a snake's speed, the master thief shot out a hand, seized Corrick by a ragged collar, and jerked the old man closer, till their faces were practically cheek to cheek. "Tell me, Gran'," he hissed, "who's the upright man here, you or me?" Even as Pinch asked, one hand slipped to the dagger in his boot.
Ancient Corrick wormed in the grasp, his eyes flickering in panic as he saw the black-haired rogue's hand move south. "You be, Pinch. No one else," he gasped in breathless sincerity.
"That be so?" Pinch mocked as he let Corrick's dirty shirt slip from his fingers. The ancient slid his chair away from the master thief's side of the table. His own hand started to drift toward the sheath knife at his side.
"Here now-Pinch, Corrick-your cups are empty," Sprite-Heels offered eagerly. He hopped up on his chair, dragged their tankards to the center of the table, and sloshed the last ale from the serving skin until both cups were filled to the brim. "To Therin's memory," he toasted, his own mug held aloft.
Neither Pinch nor Corrick moved, eyes locked on each other.
"To poor, dear Therin," Brown Maeve nervously added, clinking her mug to Sprite's.
The master thief's expression shifted into a thin smile as he lifted the mug set out for him. He held the cup there till Corrick followed suit. Still their eyes watched each other, ignoring the other two at the table. "To Therin-would all my children be so true," the master rogue offered. He tapped his mug to Sprite's and Maeve's.
"To Therin-may 'is tongue stay still." With that toast Corrick broke away from his leader's gaze. The mugs clinked once more, and Sprite muttered a benedictus for them all under his breath.
Pinch leaned back and unkinked his stiff leg, the reward of a bad tumble while on a roof-breaking job. "Therin's kept his peace till now. He'll keep his trap shut till the end," was the master thief's confident prediction.
Composure already regained, Corrick shook his bony head, once again sputtering off the golden foam of drink. "Knowing the 'igh lord's permanently canceled yer debts got a way of changing a man," he counterpredicted.
"I trust Therin," Pinch replied breezily, as if his previous displeasure were all forgotten.
"I still wish the Hellriders hadn't taken him," Maeve pined. "He was a good man to me. We was fixing to do up the town that night. Why, I barely shimmied down the back when they broke in the door."
"You should get yourself a crib on the first floor," Sprite jibed as he clambered back into his seat "Still it was damned quick, the way they found him right after the Firdul job."
"Aye, it was," Pinch agreed. "If they hadn't caught him with the garbage, I could've gotten someone to swear in court that Therin had been out boozing with them when old Firdul was robbed."