The Colour of Magic - Terry Pratchett [5]
“Good day to thee, sire,” Blind Hugh began, and found himself looking up into a face with four eyes in it. He turned to run.
“!” said the stranger, and grabbed his arm. Hugh was aware that the sailors lining the rail of the ship were laughing at him. At the same time his specialized senses detected an overpowering impression of money. He froze. The stranger let go and quickly thumbed through a small black book he had taken from his belt. Then he said “Hallo.”
“What?” said Hugh. The man looked blank.
“Hallo?” he repeated, rather louder than necessary and so carefully that Hugh could hear the vowels tinkling into place.
“Hallo yourself,” Hugh riposted. The stranger smiled widely fumbled yet again in the pouch. This time his hand came out holding a large gold coin. It was in fact slightly larger than an 8,000-dollar Ankhian crown and the design on it was unfamiliar, but it spoke inside Hugh’s mind in a language he understood perfectly. My current owner, it said, is in need of succor and assistance; why not give it to him, so you and me can go off somewhere and enjoy ourselves?
Subtle changes in the beggar’s posture made the stranger feel more at ease. He consulted the small book again.
“I wish to be directed to a hotel, tavern, lodging house, inn, hospice, caravanserai,” he said.
“What, all of them?” said Hugh, taken aback.
“?” said the stranger.
Hugh was aware that a small crowd of fishwives, shellfish diggers and freelance gawpers were watching them with interest.
“Look,” he said, “I know a good tavern, is that enough?” He shuddered to think of the gold coin escaping from his life. He’d keep that one, even if Ymor confiscated all the rest. And the big chest that comprised most of the newcomer’s luggage looked to be full of gold, Hugh decided.
The four-eyed man looked at his book.
“I would like to be directed to a hotel, place of repose, tavern, a—”
“Yes, all right. Come on then,” said Hugh hurriedly. He picked up one of the bundles and walked away quickly. The stranger, after a moment’s hesitation, strolled after him.
A train of thought shunted its way through Hugh’s mind. Getting the newcomer to the Broken Drum so easily was a stroke of luck, no doubt of it, and Ymor would probably reward him. But for all his new acquaintance’s mildness there was something about him that made Hugh uneasy, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was. Not the two extra eyes, odd though they were. There was something else. He glanced back.
The little man was ambling along in the middle of the street, looking around him with an expression of keen interest.
Something else Hugh saw nearly made him gibber.
The massive wooden chest, which he had last seen resting solidly on the quayside, was following on its master’s heels with a gentle rocking gait. Slowly, in case a sudden movement on his part might break his fragile control over his own legs, Hugh bent slightly so that he could see under the chest.
There were lots and lots of little legs.
Very deliberately, Hugh turned around and walked very carefully toward the Broken Drum.
“Odd,” said Ymor.
“He had this big wooden chest,” added Cripple Wa.
“He’d have to be a merchant or a spy,” said Ymor. He pulled a scrap of meat from the cutlet in his hand and tossed it into the air. It hadn’t reached the zenith of its arc before a black shape detached itself from the shadows in the corner of the room and swooped down, taking the morsel in midair.
“A merchant or a spy,” repeated Ymor. “I’d prefer a spy. A spy pays for himself twice, because there’s always the reward when we turn him in. What do you think, Withel?”
Opposite Ymor the second greatest thief in Ankh-Morpork half closed his one eye and shrugged.
“I’ve checked on the ship,” he said. “It’s a freelance trader. Does the occasional run to the Brown Islands. People