Thieves World 8 – Soul of the City by Asprin, Robert

they were taking no chances.

When the triple portrait had burned, the fire had touched Tempus-not as it had

touched Randal, but purging him of the dark associations between Death’s Queen,

Niko, and himself. The shock, and the pain, were still strong-he’d kill the

witch when he could for the crippling scars she’d left in Niko- but the

compulsion he’d felt since the black storms in the capital was fading.

“Damn plague town,” he said to himself. “Infecting everything it touches with

its disease. Let the fish people have it.”

Torchholder looked over at him. “You just. might have something there, Riddler.”

He liked the idea coalescing in his thoughts; unconsciously he tugged at his

sleeves as a sense of competence returned to him. “Now, then-whatever we might

feel about the long-term implications of Theron’s delegation I think we all

agree that this is not the time to have any outsider wandering around. Right?”

The other men nodded reluctant agreement.

“We also know them well enough to know that once they suspect we’re hiding

anything they’ll make imperial nuisances out of themselves. And they’re

suspicious right now just from the smoke.” He didn’t wait for them to nod this

time. “They’ll want to be out there unless we give them a bloody good reason for

staying exactly where we put them: plague-quarantined for their own protection.”

Critias arched an eyebrow. “Priest, I could find myself liking you.”

Ischade made her way to the White Foal alone. She’d separated from her Beysib

escort near the Peres house when the anarchists and so-called revolutionaries