speed that belied his age.
‘One-Thumb,’ he cackled with calculated joviality, ‘welcome back!’
The massive figure straightened and turned, focusing vacant eyes on the
intruder. ‘Hakiem!’ The fleshy face suddenly wrinkled with a wide smile. ‘By the
gods – the world is normal.’
To the storyteller’s amazement, One-Thumb seemed on the verge of tears as he
stepped forward, arms extended to embrace the old man like a long-lost son.
Recoiling, Hakiem hastily interposed his wine cup between them.
‘You’ve been gone a long time,’ he said, abandoning all semblance of subtlety.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Gone?’ The eyes were vacant again. ‘Yes, I’ve been gone. How long has it been?’
‘Over a year.’ The storyteller was puzzled, and insatiable.
‘A year,’ One-Thumb murmured. ‘It seems like … the tunnels! I’ve been in the
tunnels. It was…’ He paused to take a long swallow of wine, then absently
filled Hakiem’s cup as he launched into his story.
Accustomed to piecing together tales from half-heard words and phrases, the
storyteller rapidly grasped the essence of One-Thumb’s ordeal.
He had been trapped by a magician’s spell in the tangle of tunnels below
Sanctuary’s streets. Confronted by an image of himself, he had killed it and
been slain in turn – over and over until this night when he miraculously found
himself alone and unscathed.
As One-Thumb redoubled his lurid description, describing the feel of cold metal
as it found its home in one’s innards – again and again, Hakiem pondered the
facts of the story. It fitted.