merciless beating to one of the onlookers. Reliable witnesses testified that the
victim’s only offense had been to make the offhand comment: “You Hell-Hounds
will do anything to get ahead!”
THE COLOR OF MAGIC
Diana L. Paxson
The sky was weeping, as if some artist had muddied all the world’s colors to
gray and now was trying to dissolve them away. Water dripped from the brim of
Lalo’s floppy hat down his neck and he tried to pull his cloak higher, swearing.
The saying went that there were two seasons in Sanctuary-one of them was hot and
the other was not-and the most miserable was whichever one you were in. It was
not a hard rain-more a persistent drizzle that imposed an illusory peace on the
town by encouraging the bravos of the dozen or so warring factions to stay
inside.
I should have stayed home too, thought Lalo. But another hour in rooms crowded
with children and the lingering odors of wet clothing and cooking food would
have driven him into a quarrel with Gilla, and he had sworn not to do that
again. The Vulgar Unicorn was closed to him, but last he had heard, the Green
Grape was still on the corner where the Governor’s Walk joined the Farmer’s Run.
He’d have a peaceful drink or two there, and figure out what to do….
Lalo ducked under the overhang where the weathered sign with its bunch of
peeling fruit knocked forlornly against the wall. The only sign of life about
the place was the scruffy gray dog shivering against the door. Then Lalo pushed
the door open and the welcome scent of mulling wine overpowered the more