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

Sweetboy’s war-cry. He had never achieved the volume of Notable, but he could

sure raise hell, nape-hair and heartbeats. The pair of yowling sounds were

followed by a much louder banging than the first. And a yell that was positively

a shriek.

From the doorway Ahdio glimpsed it all at once. The balding man and his big

ejected pal Narvy, from last night, were in the act of removing a barrel marked

with the hoofprint of a goat branded in black; the scream-trailing black streak

was a watch-cat earning its keep. The cat landed acrouch on the barrel between

them, having in passing opened the balding man’s sleeve without even trying. It

hissed, whipping its stub back and forth, and uncoiled to hit Narvy’s big chest.

Narvy’s friend yelled when he felt his arm hit; when he saw the demonic

apparition appear as if by ghastly sorcery right on the barrel he was so happily

stealing, he let go his end.

It was his friend Narvy who let out the high-voiced shriek; the impact of the

hurtling cat was bad enough, but the feel of all those claws puncturing his

chest through two layers of blue linsey-woolsey was a lot worse. Besides,

Sweetboy wasn’t just there; he was climbing, and that evilly fanged face was

terribly close to Narvy’s own. Naturally he too let go the tun of beer, to get

both arms in front of his face. Since his friend had already let go, the barrel

swung in as it dropped, and got Narvy’s shin and one foot. He positively

bellowed. Besides, the carefully misnamed Sweetboy, intent on reaching his face,

was busily trying to chew his way through Narvy’s sleeved arm. Narvy’s throat