eldest, a lean and twisted man with lank greasy hair, a beggar, generally: but
some mornings he came home, limping not so badly as he did in Sanctuary’s
streets, to spend his take at Mama Becho’s.
So enterprise brought some coin to the Downwind in these days of unrest, with
Jubal fallen and the Stepsons riding in pairs down the street, striking terror
where they could; and coin inevitably brought the bearer to Mama Becho’s, and
bought a corner of a board that served as a bench, or a pile of rags to sit on,
or for the fastidious, the table, the sole real table with benches, and a draft
of one of Mama Becho’s special kegs or even (ceremoniously wiped with a grimy
rag) a cup and a flask of wine.
Mradhon Vis occupied the table this night as he had many nights, alone. Mad Elid
had tried him again with her best simper and he had scowled her off, so she had
slunk out the door to try her luck and her thieving fingers on some drunker
prey. Thoughts seethed in him tonight that would have chilled Elid’s blood,
vague and half-formed needs. He wanted a woman, but not Elid. He wanted to kill,
someone, several some-ones in particular, and he was no small part drunk,
imagining Elid’s screams-even Elid might scream, which he would like to hear,
which might ease his rage at least so long as he was mildly drunk and seething.
He had no real grudge against Elid but her persistence and her smell, which was
nothing which deserved such hate. It was perhaps because, looking at her, with
her foolish grin that tried to seduce and disgusted him instead, he saw