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

for quite a while.

“Ah-fat lady wake now? Fat lady sleep hard; Snapper Jo was lonely!”

Gilla stared. The voice which had uttered these words of welcome was very deep,

with a kind of curdled quality that made her think of the bottom of a vegetable

bin that had been left alone too long. For a moment her eyes struggled to sort

through a confusion of piled boxes and dusty hangings, then she focused on a

shape that was tall, and gaunt, and gray. It made a gurgling sound that could

have meant anything, and lit a lamp.

Gilla blinked. The creature’s general grayness was more than compensated for by

a pair of purple pantaloons and a shock of orange hair. He treated her to a

sharp, snaggle-toothed smile.

“Fat lady talk to Snapper Jo now?”

Gilla cleared her throat. “Does this place belong to you?”

“Oh, noooo-” The warts on his gray skin seemed to crawl as Snapper Jo glanced

fearfully over his shoulder. “Great Mistress rules here! Great Lady, very

beautiful, very strong …” He ducked his head with a kind of fearful reverence.

Gilla thought he was overdoing it, but it was obvious that whoever had brought

her here did have plenty of power. Beneath the dust she caught the unmistakable

dank perfume of the White Foal River, so she knew she must still be in

Sanctuary, and there were only two sorceresses here with that kind of power. Her

skin chilled as she thought about it. It was the kind of riddle children asked

in play: Would you rather be eaten by a she-panther or a tigress? By Ischade or

by Roxane?

Suddenly the dust and clutter around her seemed stifling. Gilla got to her feet