asked; put out the word. Notable was gone without a trace. At least it was hard
to imagine such a fighter’s having been snatched and used to fill someone’s
hungry belly. Ahdio swallowed hard, then turned up his mug.
“I hope he’s with Hanse,” he muttered, lowering the emptied cup, and Sweetboy
gave his abbreviated tail a twitch in acknowledgment. “But if he is and they
ever come back to Sanctuary, I’m going to pin back all four of their ears!”
With another sigh, Ahdio decided to have another before he fixed himself
something to eat and joined Throde in preparing to open up for tonight’s
business in the lowest dive in Sanctuary. He had no idea that it would be one of
the very most eventful nights ever.
He was just finishing his early dinner-he’d snack while he worked and enjoy a
late supper while counting tonight’s take-when he heard Throde at the door. He
hurried to lift the bar and let in his lean and wiry assistant. The youth
entered, thump-clump thump-clump. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was known to
some as Throde the Gimp, and now and again a customer tried calling “Hey Gimp!”
or “Gimpy-over here” when he wanted service. Throde, with more encouragement
from Ahdio than mere approval, did not respond in any way. (He did respond to
calls of “Boy” or “Waiter” or “Hey you!”) If a newcomer chose to take offense
and become surly despite being advised by a fellow patron of Throde’s name and
humanity, Ahdio was always ready to prevent any violence on his assistant.
Sometimes they even came back, those he graphically warned and cooled by