Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [121]
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Algorind rode swiftly through the crowded street on his tall white horse. He still did not understand how Icewind had returned to the Halls of Justice. The horse had been well treated and seemed none the worse for having been stolen by a treacherous dwarf.
He scanned the wooden signs that hung from the many shops, looking for the Curious Past. What he found was a bit of a surprise. Unlike most of the signs, it did not rely on an image of shoe or cloak or mug to convey what goods could be had within. The name was carved with runes in Common, as well as in several other languages. A learned woman. That did not fit the picture he carried of Bronwyn, who would steal from Hronulf and consort with a dwarven horse thief.
He pushed open the door. A bell tinkled merrily, and a white-haired gnome woman appeared from behind a counter. “How can I help you?” she said cheerily.
Algorind heard a door bang in the back room. “I am looking for Bronwyn.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the gnome said with evident regret. “She is out of town on business.”
The young paladin nodded. “You expect her?”
“That I do. No more than two, three days. Would you like to stop back or leave a name?”
“I will return,” he said simply. “Thank you, good gnome, for your time and help.”
He left the shop, walking briskly toward the narrow alley he’d seen by the cobbler’s shop a few doors down. That banging door interested him.
A small figure darted toward him in hot pursuit of a young alley cat, her hands outstretched for the grab. She hauled up short when she caught sight of him, and her large brown eyes rounded in terror. She shrieked and whirled away, dashing back down the alley.
It was the child! The same girl he had taken from the farm and turned over to Sir Gareth’s keeping. What she was doing in this city, and on her own, Algorind could not begin to fathom. He took off after her, ducking low to avoid a string of long wool stockings hung out to dry in the alley.
The girl could run like a rabbit. She darted down the alley and out into a small, open area. A wooden sign proclaimed the site to be Howling Cat Court. A few women strolled about, their faces garishly painted and their bodices laced indecently low. They mocked Algorind as he dashed past in pursuit of the child, bidding him leave off with his playmates and learn some adult games. His face heated when he realized what they meant.
His quarry swerved and dodged, evading his grasp nimbly. She turned and darted toward another alley. Algorind began to follow suit when a heavy thunk resounded painfully through his skull and stopped him where he stood. He turned, dazed, and looked incredulously at one of the over-ripe women. There was a small oak cudgel in her hand. She gave him a hard smile and kissed her fingertips to him in a mocking salute, then melted away into the shadows of an alley.
Algorind shook off the numbing pain and took off after the girl. He was almost to the alley when a loud, trembling horn call resounded through the court.
“You, there! Stop where you are.”
The young paladin knew authority when he heard it. He stopped and slowly turned around. Four men and two women, all wearing leather armor dyed green and black and reinforced with gold-colored chain mail, strode toward him, small clubs in their hands. A band of mercenaries, no doubt. He decided to try to fight his way clear.
His resolve must have shown in his eyes. “Yield to the city watch,” the speaker said. “You will not be harmed unless you resist.”
This put Algorind in a quandary. The rule of his order stated that he was to obey all lawful authorities unless they constrained him to do evil. These city guards were standing between him and his duty, but that was not necessarily evil.
“Good sirs, ladies,” he said earnestly. “You do not understand.”
“We understand that you were chasing a little girl. She yours?”
“No, but-”
“You responsible for tending her?”
In a maimer of speaking,