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The Yellow Silk - Don Bassingthwaite [3]

By Root 1083 0
gut. A cheer went up from those closest to him. Those farther away muttered their disappointment and tried to push closer. In the crush, the mob's victim twisted free and made a desperate break for freedom, dropping to the slush and mud of the ground and trying to scramble away between his tormentors' legs. He didn't get far. The mob surged around him, kicking and stomping. Tycho Arisaenn, curly black hair on his head and three days' of dark stubble on his face, slipped through the crowd and up to the door of the tavern. Most of the Ease's customers were outside now-the sole occupant of the doorway was a broad-hipped matron who leaned against the doorpost with a sour look on her face. Those few customers still inside yelled at her to close the door and stop letting the cold in. She ignored them. Tycho slid up to her. "Olore, Muire," he said, rubbing his hands together. Even inside thick mittens, his fingers were chilled. "Quiet night?"

The woman spat into the muck.

Screams turned into shrieks. Tycho turned to look. The mob's victim was up again, bloody but still struggling. Six pairs of arms held him firmly, though, and bore him aloft through the crowd to the massive, old tree that stood in the yard outside the Wench's Ease. Tycho's breath hissed through his teeth as he realized what they meant to do. He took a step forward, but Muire's heavy hand snapped out and grabbed the leather of his coat.

"It's too late," she said.

"Rope!" called someone. "Get rope!"

"Here!" A coil came hurtling out of the mob. Practiced hands caught it and looped it quickly then threw the looped end up and over a thick, scarred branch. Someone else grabbed it as it fell back down. The screaming man was thrust forward and the noose cinched tight around his scrawny neck. He looked up, eyes wide.

"Mercy!" he gasped. "Give me Tyr's justice!"

The woman cinching the noose slapped a rough hand across his face. "It's dockside justice for you, Ardo, and may your traitorous soul sleep tight in Umberlee's cold arms! A man who would turn on a mate deserves no better!"

Ardo's protests vanished into the roar of the crowd as the woman stepped back and snapped one arm into the air. Four burly men hauled sharply on the free end of the rope and Ardo was wrenched up to dance with the snowflakes on the night wind. A cheer went up with him. The front ranks of the mob darted forward to yank on his kicking legs with arms muscled by days of hauling nets and pulling oars, hastening Ardo's ignominious departure from the world. The men and women who couldn't get close enough to participate yelled encouragement and toasted their triumph with tankards of the Ease's dark ale.

Muire sucked on her teeth and glowered. Tycho glanced sideways at her. "What happened?"

Muire snorted. "Word is that Ton didn't just fall overboard from his and Ardo's boat last tenday. His body finally washed up today. His throat had been slit. Nobody could have done that but Ardo." She jerked her head at the mob and the skinny man's swinging body. "Bad night for him to come drinking."

"Bind me." Tycho tucked his hands up into his armpits and frowned. Off at one edge of the mob, a small cluster of men stood by themselves. At the heart of their cluster was a lanky thug in a dark-red tunic, a heavy fur mantle over his shoulders for warmth. Tycho nodded at them. "Lander's here, Muire."

"A man can drink where he wants. Even Lander."

Tycho gave her a thin smile. "Did you know that he and Ton had a… let's say a 'common friend' who wasn't too happy when Ardo didn't want to pick up Ton's debts? Has Lander been doing much talking tonight?"

"Some," said Muire in a quiet voice.

"Funny coincidence, Lander and rumor both coming 'round to the Ease tonight," observed Tycho. "With both Ardo and Ton gone, I wonder who'll be taking their boat."

Brawny arms came up and folded across Muire's broad chest. "You might want to keep that sort of thinking to yourself, Tycho, or Ardo won't be the only one on the tree. I wouldn't want to lose a good musician and a good customer in one night."

"That's a lovely sentiment."

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