pile of cloths. Wallu pointed at the curtain in the doorway to the other room.
‘He came home early. I suppose he couldn’t cadge drinks enough from his friends.
But he’s drunk enough to suit a dozen sailors.’ Grimacing, Masha strode to the
curtain and pulled it aside. ”Shewaw!’ (A combination of’Whew!’, ‘Ugh!’, and
‘Yech!’) The stink was that which greeted her nostrils when she opened the door
to the Vulgar Unicorn Tavern. A blend of wine and beer, stale and fresh, sweat,
stale and fresh, vomit, urine, frying blood-sausages, krrf, and kleetel.
Eevroen lay on his back, his mouth open, his arms spread out as if he were being
crucified. Once, he had been a tall muscular youth, very broad-shouldered, slim
waisted, and long-legged. Now he was fat, fat, fat, double-chinned, huge
paunched with rings of sagging fat around his waist. The once bright eyes were
red and dark-bagged, and the once-sweet breath was a hellpit of stenches. He’d
fallen asleep without changing into nightclothes; his tunic was ripped, dirty,
and stained with various things, including puke. He wore cast-off sandals, or
perhaps he’d stolen them.
Masha was long past weeping over him. She kicked him in the ribs, causing him to
grunt and to open one eye. But it closed and he was quickly snoring like a pig
again. That, at least, was a blessing. How many nights had she spent in
screaming at him while he bellowed at her or in fighting him off when he
staggered home and insisted she lie with him? She didn’t want to count them.
Masha would have got rid of him long ago if she had been able to. But the law of