Thieves World 3 – Shadows of Sanctuary by Asprin, Robert

barefoot, as he had worked in the days before prosperity, but he figured there

was no time for such. He edged his way around the ell of the roof on wet

shingles and out on to that section over the room itself.

There was noise inside, a sharp, animal sound which lifted his nape hairs and

made him less certain he wanted near this place at all. He edged closer to the

very edge of the eaves, put his head over, viewing upside down where only

parchment covered the window and formed a scant barrier to sounds and voices

from inside. He heard footsteps clearly, heard a napping sound… and suddenly a

jolt and crack as an aged shingle snapped in two under his hand on the edge. It

flung him overbalance, but he caught himself on his belly, spread-eagled on the

roof. ‘Hssst!’ he heard from inside, and he swore silently by appropriate gods

and began to work his way hastily back from the vulnerable edge.

His hands, his legs went numb; his breath grew short and the talisman at his

throat became a lump of ice and fire. Magic, he thought, some warding spell

flung his way … he dealt with wizards; and it was a trap. He strove to make

his limbs do what they well knew how to do: carefully he put a knee on a wet and

worn row of shingles on the slant.

One broke; he slipped, a rattling loud career down the layered face of the

shingles, his feet swinging into empty air, his wild final thought that if he

fought the fall now he might go head downwards or on to his back. He let go,

slid, expecting a dizzying long drop -the barrels, maybe, the debris of the