tasters and a taste for the unknown. If it’s poisonous it will still make table
talk fit for an Emperor. I’ll give you five silvers for it.’
‘Five? Ten – times’re hard; I’ve got debts to Jubal for my fish-stall,’ the Old
Man bargained, no more awed by the Hell Hounds than he had been by Jubal
himself.
At the mention of the slaver’s name, the tall Hell Hound scowled and his swarthy
companion sucked air noisily through his teeth.
‘Jubal?’ the tall man mumbled as he reached for his pouch. ‘You’ll have your ten
silvers, fisherman – and a gold piece besides. A man should have more than a
slaver’s receipt for this day’s work.’
‘Thank ye,’ Panit nodded, accepting the coins. ‘Take your watch to the marshes
and swamps; there’s never one crab but there’s ten. Corner ’em on dry land
an’ Kitty-Kat’ll eat crab for a month.’
‘Thanks for your information,’ the Hell Hound grimaced. ‘We’ll have the garrison
look into it.’
‘Not a bad day’s catch,’ the Old Man chortled after the retreating soldiers,
‘and Nya besides. I’ll send two in luck-money to the blacksmith and the S’danzo
and get new traps besides.’ He cocked his head at his son. ‘Well,’ he tossed the
gold coin in the air and caught it again, ‘I’ve got this too, to add to your
other gift.’
‘Other gift?’ Hort frowned.
The smile fell from the Old Man’s face like a mask. ‘Of course,’ he snarled.
‘Why do you think I went after that thing anyway?’
‘For the other fishermen?’ Hort offered. ‘To save the fishing ground?’
‘Aye,’ Panit shook his head. ‘But in the main it was my gift to you; I wanted to