are you doing out here?” He tried to see past the ferret.
The oldster put a finger to his lips and beckoned for
them to follow. They crept along behind him, turned down
a long narrow alley. It was ripe with moldering garbage.
Jalwar pointed to the main street beyond.
Both of their heavily laden wagons were still hitched to
the rails outside the inn. Idling around the wagons were at
least two dozen uniformed skunks and civet cats from
Snarken’s olfactory constabulary. Several well-dressed ci-
vilians lounged next to the front wagon and chatted amia-
bly with the officer in charge of the cops.
Jalwar drew back into the shadows. “I saw them ar-
rive,” he whispered. “Many have stayed outside with our
wagons. Others went upstairs searching for us. I was
drinking and overheard in time to sneak away. I listened
when they came back down and talked to others and to the
innkeeper.” The ferret’s gaze shifted from Jon-Tom to
Mudge. “They were talking about you.”
“Me?” Mudge squeaked, suddenly sounding defensive.
“Now, why would they be talkin’ about me?”
“Because,” Jalwar replied accusingly, “it seems you
spent some time playing at dice with several of them.”
“So wot’s wrong with a friendly little game o’ dice.
Blimey, you’d think one o’ them caught me in the sack
with ‘is bleedin’ daughter.”
It came to Jon-Tom in a rush: the finely fashioned
wagons, the handsome dray animals, the new harnesses,
the mountainous stock of supplies.
“Mudge …” he said dangerously.
The otter retreated. There was little room to maneuver