The Yellow Silk - Don Bassingthwaite [39]
The back door of the Eel opened and Tycho Arisaenn stepped out, a repulsively smug look on his face. He saw Lander and smiled. "New job, Lander? It suits you."
The sound of Tycho's voice brought a chorus of happy squeals from Brin's pigs. The ones already in the sty ran across to greet him. Lander turned around just in time to see more come tumbling out of the covered shelter, woken from their afternoon nap. Suddenly they were pouring across the sty in a fat wave of swine-flesh. Lander yelped and scrambled out of their way.
His wheelbarrow wasn't so lucky. The hindquarters of one scrambling pig banged into it, setting it swaying. A second impact knocked it over and dung went spilling across the ground. Lander ground his teeth together, too angry even to curse. Tycho broke off his fond greeting of the pigs that swarmed around him to look up and smile again. "Sorry," he apologized. There wasn't a trace of sincerity in his voice. "You know how they are around me."
Tycho had sung to the pigs once. Once. It had been eerie to watch them all standing around and listening to the bard like some audience at a fancy concert. Now they acted as if he were their best friend whenever he came around. Fortunately, Lander wasn't the only one who found Tycho as annoying as an infestation of fleas. Black Scratch snorted and trumpeted loudly, trotting across the sty with his bristles up and his tail stiff. The other pigs scattered before their true king. Lander scowled at Tycho as he righted the wheelbarrow and grabbed the spade again. "I'd like to see you give that one a serenade some time," he snarled with a nod at the boar.
"Lander," said Brin, "just clean that mess up." The halfling leaped down from the table and came across to Tycho. "You're late."
"I was held up. I ran into trouble with Mard Dantakain-not over the delivery!" he added hastily. He pulled a tin tube tied with green cord out of his coat. "I'm going to have to work out a new way to meet with Jacerryl, though." Brin just shrugged as he took the tube.
"That's your problem, Tycho. You move between dockside and hightown easily enough, but there are other people who can do the same. Just don't let me down; tell me I need to replace you before I find out from someone else." He turned and started back to the table. "You can collect at the bar as usual on the way out. Four gold. I don't like late deliveries."
Lander flashed a grin at Tycho as the bard's face twisted. Tycho caught the grin and scowled at him. "Keep shoveling, Lander," he hissed. Lander flicked a bit of manure at him. Tycho dodged it neatly and took a few steps farther into the sty. "Brin," he said, "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
"I don't do favors," Brin replied, tugging on the cord around the tube. "They cost too much." He turned around and looked up. "Ton asked me for a favor once. I think you knew him. Shame about him and Ardo, isn't it?"
Lander was pleased to see Tycho stiffen. The curly-haired man managed to keep his voice level, though. "It's not about coin. It will only take a bit of your time-a little storytelling, really."
"You're the storyteller here." Brin dropped the cord to the mucky floor of the sty and pulled out the cork that sealed the tube. "Why do you want me to tell you a story? " His fingers dipped into the tube and drew out a piece of silk.
"Not me," said Tycho as Brin flicked back the folds of silk. "There's-"
The silence that fell between the halfling and the bard was solid like a wall. Both seemed frozen, staring down at the silk in Brin's hand. Lander dropped his spade and crossed the sty with two long steps to look as well.
Lying on the silk were half a dozen pieces of ordinary white gravel.
"Oh, bind