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

push him up against a wall-the push was their idea, the wall was his, to get

something besides the knife at his vulnerable back; but they followed up close

and personal and Vis and the knife followed up against his gut, where it was

utterly disconcerting.

“This is a talk,” Vis said.

“Fine,” Straton said, back to the bricks. “Talk.”

“No, this is you to us.”

“Uhhn. Who’s us?”

Strat had his stomach tight. He waited for the blow to the gut; it failed to

come. That puzzled him; and unnerved him more than violence. They wanted more

than he had thought.

“Us is the same source you’re used to,” Vis said. “Us is a man you know. This is

all business. Word is something’s on the move.”

“You and I’ve talked,” Strat said. “You want to get me a little breathing room

and we can trade-” He stopped. The knife indicated stop. He was in no

disposition to argue. He was careful about breathing for a moment. The dark look

of the men about him might have been Ilsigi. It wasn’t-quite. He suddenly knew

what he had fallen in among. Nisi death squad. In Jubal’s pay-maybe.

“You and I have talked,” Vis said. “Now I want you to tell me a few things. Like

who’s giving you your orders. I hear you’re in her bed. True?”

He sucked in his breath; mistake: the knife gave him no room to take another.

“Soght-ohon,” he said, Nisi obscenity. And waited for the knife. Vis grinned. It

was a wolf-grin. Mountain-lunatic grin. Men smiled like that who hurled

themselves off walls, disdaining surrender.

“She’s got you,” Vis said. “You’re sweating, man. You know that?”