Thieves World 7 – The Dead of Winter by Asprin, Robert

her and smiled.

Her heart thudded. “Haught.” She came pelting down off the steps and remembered

all at the same time that she was no longer the street-wiry sylph, no longer the

tough woman who knew the ways Haught did not; he was all elegance and she was

she was still Moria of the streets, gone a little fat and altogether terrified.

“Moria.” Haught’s voice was cool, but a sexual roughness ran through it, and

shivered on her nerves. She stopped in her dismay and he took her by the

shoulders, in this fine house that was Ischade’s, as they all were Ischade’s. No

one had let him in. He passed whatever doors he liked.

“My brother’s missing,” she said. “He’s-gone.”

“No,” Haught said. “She knows where he is. Vis and I found him. He’s doing a

little job. Now you have to.”

Her mouth began to tremble. First it was outright terror for Mor-am, for her

brother, who was half-crazy and bound to Ischade as she was; and second it was

for herself, because she knew that she was in a trap and there was no way out.

Ischade gave them this fine house and came and collected little pieces of their

souls whenever she wanted favors done.

“What?” she asked; and Haught put his hands up to her face and brushed the

tangled hair back, gently, like a lover. “What?” Her lips trembled.

He bent and kissed them, softly, and the touch was both gentle and chilling. He

gazed closely into her eyes.

Was it possible-Moria stood quite transfixed-possible that Haught still loved

her? It was a fool’s thought. She only had to remember what she was and look at