shadowy background and began to sketch the profile again. He felt those glowing
eyes burning him. His hand jerked and he looked up quickly.
The nose was misshapen now, as if some drunken potter had pressed too hard into
the clay. Lalo stared at his model and threw down his pen. The face before him
bore no resemblance to the one he had drawn!
‘Go away!’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can’t do what you ask of me -1 can’t do anything
anymore …’ He began to shake his head and could not stop.
‘You need a drink.’ Pewter clinked against the tabletop.
Lalo reached for the refilled tankard and drank deeply, not caring anymore
whether he would be able to earn it. He felt it bum all the way down to his
belly, run tingling along his veins to barrier him from the world.
‘Now, try again,’ commanded the stranger. ‘Turn your paper over, look well at
me, then draw what you see as quickly as you can.’ •
For a long moment Lalo stared at the oddly attenuated features of the man before
him, then bent over his work. For several minutes only the scratching of swift
penstrokes competed with the clamour of the room. He must capture the glow of
those strange eyes, for he suspected that when he looked at his companion again,
nothing but the eyes would be the same.
But what matter? He had his payment now. With his free hand he reached for the
mug and drank again, shaded a final line, then pushed the drawing across the
table and sat back.
‘Well – you wanted it…’
‘Yes.’ The stranger’s lips twitched. ‘Everything considered, it’s quite good. I