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

from here. My name is Moria. Say to the Beysa that there are ways to safeguard

her people. And ways to pass any door.” It came out in a rush and was done. She

did not know what she had said, except that the two Beysib stared at her and the

tall woman’s necklace had risen up to stare too, quite unpleasantly.

The doll spoke, rapidly. Started forward and looked mad enough to spit, but the

other restrained her. There were men about now, elegant, quiet men, half a dozen

of them.

“I’m done,” Moria said, and waved a hand toward the door. Backed a step, thought

of snakes and decided to turn and look. It was not a comfortable retreat. She

turned her face to the Beysib again. “I’d say,” she said, and her voice was more

her own, “that you better lock your doors and stay behind them. You’ve been

fools to walk about so rich. There’s a lot fewer of you than there were. Bread’s

dearer, gold’s cheaper, and two blocks downhill from my house even the Guard

won’t walk. Think about that.”

“Come here,” the Beysib said.

“Not with those snakes,” Moria declared, and snatched the door open and slammed

it after.

Her guard was not precisely apparent outside; it materialized when she came down

off the steps, a man slouching along here, another joining them from an alley.

Only one walked with her openly, one of her own servants, a nine-fingered man

very quick with a knife. He wore brocade and a gold chain and had a sword at his

hip which he had not the least idea how to use, but she knew that of brigands on

the street she was walking with the very worst, and they took her orders.