right to walk a few paces north. Automatically, he stepped over the broken plank
in the boardwalk. He glanced into the tucked-in courtyard that was too broad and
shallow to be dangerous for several hours yet. Denizens of the Maze called it
variously the Outhouse, Tick’s Vomitory., or, less seriously. Safe-haven. From
the pointed tail of the shortcloak on the man back within that three-sided box,
Hanse recognized Poker the Cadite. From the wet sounds, he made an assumption as
to Poker’s activity. The man with the piebald beard glanced around.
‘Come on in, Shadowspawn. Not much room left.’
‘Looking for Athavul. Said he was carrying and said I could join him.’ Lying was
more than easy to Shadowspawn; it was almost instinctive.
‘You’re not mad at him?’ Poker dropped his tunic’s hem and turned from the
stained rearmost wall.
‘No no, nothing like that.’
‘He went south. Turned into Slick Walk.’
‘Thanks, Poker. There’s a big-bearded man in the Unicorn with no hair on top.
Get him to buy you a cup. Tell him I said.’
‘Ah. Enemy of yours, Hansey?’
‘Right.’
Hanse turned and walked a few paces north towards Straight, his back to Slick
Walk (which led into the two-block L whose real name no one remembered. Nary a
door opened onto it and it stayed dark as a sorcerer’s heart. It smelled
perpetually sour and was referred to as Vomit Boulevard). When Poker said the
weather was sunny, turn up your cloak’s hood against rain. When Poker said
right, head left.
Hanse cut left through Odd Birt’s Dodge, angling around the corner of the