Mradhon stamped a muddy puddle on the aged boards and stripped his cloak off,
showing a drowned, dark-bearded face, eyes still wild with the chase.
‘Slid,’ he said, taking his breath. ‘There’s a patrol out. There’s watchers You
get it?’
Haught reached inside his doublet, pulled out a small leather purse. He tossed
it at Mradhon Vis with a touch of confidence recovered. At least this they had
done right.
Then Moria’s eyes lightened. The hope came back to them as Mradhon shook the
bright spill of coins into her palm, three, four, five of them, good silver; a
handful of coppers.
But the darkness came back again when she looked up at them, one and the other.
‘Where did you get it, for what?’
‘Lifted it,’ Haught said.
‘Who from?’ Moria’s eyes blazed. ‘You by-Shalpa double fools, you lifted it from
where?’
Haught shrugged. ‘A greater fool.’
She hefted coin and purse, down-browed. ‘At this hour, a merchant abroad in the
Maze? No, not likely, not at all. What did I teach you? Where did you get this
haul? From what thief?’ They neither one answered, and she cast the prize on to
the table. Pour silver coins among the copper.
‘Light-fingers,’ Mradhon said. ‘Share and share alike.’
‘Oh, and share the trouble too?’ She held up the missing coin and dropped it
down her bodice, dark eyes flashing. ‘Share it when someone marks you out? I
don’t doubt I will.’ She walked away, took a cup of wine from the table, and
sipped at it. She drank too much lately, did Moria. Far too much.
‘Someone has to do it,’ Haught said.
‘Fool,’ Moria said again. ‘I’m telling you, there’s those about don’t take