Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [90]
“Lookit,” he said grimly, pointing to the shattered dice. A small, iridescent blue beetle, sort of a pretty thing that looked like a sapphire with legs, scuttled frantically away. Smart little critters, they could be trained to throw their weight against the colored side of their tiny prison.
A low, angry murmur rose from the cluster of men, orcs, and worse that surrounded Ebenezer and his orcish challenger Using loaded dice didn’t win many friends, Ebenezer noted with satisfaction, not even in a place like this.
The ore’s howl of pain and outrage died suddenly as be realized how the tide of opinion had turned. He backed away a few steps, his piggish eyes wary and his shattered finger clutched close against his chest. Then he turn and ran with the whole pack of his former dice-mates roiling after him. Ebenezer raised his mug in mock salute, then turned back to the bar and his intended goal of waking up to find himself facedown on the bar after a few hours of hard-won oblivion.
An hour or so later, Bronwyn found the dwarf still at the bar. Ebenezer looked so defeated that her own shaky resolve firmed. She had found a solution-one that terrified her, but it was the best she could do. And it was the only chance the dwarf’s lost family had.
She strode over to the bar, slapping away a few grasping hands on the way, and seized the dwarf’s arm as he lifted his mug. Ale splashed over the bar and dampened the dwarf’s beard. He turned a dispirited face to her. “Now why’d you go doing that?”
“I’ve got us a ship,” she said urgently.
His eyes narrowed. “A ship?”
“And a crew. Smugglers waiting for cargo. It’s been delayed, and the captain is losing too many men while he waits. He’s eager for a job and will work cheap.”
“Now hold on there. You’re saying we should go out on the sea?” the dwarf asked. “In a ship?”
“That’s the usual method,” she hissed impatiently. “Now, come on. We haven’t much time to get to the docks.”
The dwarf still looked uncertain, but he hopped off the bar stool and followed her out of the Burning Troll. They wove their way between rows of leaning wooden buildings, taking a confusing maze of narrow alleys that led to the docks.
The prospect of a sea voyage left Bronwyn 80 edgy she felt as though several layers of skin had been peeled off, leaving her incredibly vulnerable. She started to chatter softly, to provide a distraction.
“Getting a ship was easier than I’d dared hope. The captain even took credit against plunder or payment. If you’re a praying dwarf you might want to hope that the ship has some plunder worth keeping, or this could break us both.”
“Clan’s good for it,” Ebenezer repeated.
“I’m sure you are. It seems to me, though, there’s more to the captain’s story than he’s letting on,” she said absently, suddenly aware of a soft, rhythmic sound behind them. In Skullport, sound seemed to be everywhere, echoing through the vast sea cavern and bouncing off stone walls, resounding through tunnels. But this particular cadence was too regular and too constant to ignore.
“We’re being followed,” she murmured. She took a small bronze disk from her bag and cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She caught the reflection of a squat, ugly ore peering around a corner at them.
Ebenezer was not so discrete. He turned around and glared, then sniffed dismissively. That clearly angered the ore. Lowering his head like a charging bull, he came at them. Bronwyn reached for her knife and dropped into a crouch.
But the dwarf pushed her aside and stood waiting in the center of the alley, hammer in hand. “Sit this one out,” he said. “Won’t take long, him having a smashed hand and all.”
Bronwyn looked from the gleam in the dwarf’s eye to the hammer in his hand and sighed. “Made friends in the tavern, did you?”
Ebenezer grunted in response and hauled the hammer down and back for the first swing. He caught the ore’s chin with a wicked uppercut that halted the creature’s charge and jerked his lowered head up and back. Ebenezer punched out with his free hand, slamming into the creature’s chest.