Thieves World 3 – Shadows of Sanctuary by Asprin, Robert

a gesture made smooth and unconscious by years of repetition.

‘Give me a hand with this,’ he said, bending to grasp one end of the boat.

Just that. No acceptance of the apology. No angry reproach. It was as if he had

expected his reluctant assistant would be late.

Hort fumed about this as he grunted and heaved, helping to right the small boat

and set it safely in the water. His annoyance with the whole situation was such

that he was seated in the boat, accepting the oars as they were passed down from

the dock, before he remembered that his father had been launching this craft for

years without assistance. His son’s inexpert hands could not have been a help,

only a hindrance.

Spurred by this new irritation, Hort let the stem of the boat drift away from

the dock as his father prepared to board. The petty gesture was in vain. The Old

Man stepped into the boat, stretching his leg across the water with no more

thought than a merchant gives his keys in their locks.

‘Row that way,’ came the order to his son.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Hort bent to the task.

The old rhythms returned to him in mercifully few strokes. Once he had been glad

to row his father’s boat. He had been proud when he had grown enough to handle

the oars himself. No longer a young child to be guarded by his mother, he had

basked in the status of the Old Man’s boy. His playmates had envied his

association with the only fisherman on the dock who could consistently trap the

elusive Nya – the small schooling fish whose sweet flesh brought top price each