The dock marshal returned her look with a baleful stare and went back to his cards. “Shouldn’t allow her at the table, in any case. She’s not a player. She’s nothing but a bit of pretty fluff. You want to play the game, you should play it alone.”
The newcomer shrugged. “I can quit now, if you wish. All right with everyone if I cash out and leave you to it?”
He glanced casually about the table. Heads remained lowered, but the disgruntled murmuring was unmistakable. None of them would be happy if he left now, carrying away almost all of their credits. And the other two men were no better to cross than the dock marshal—one thought to be a successful assassin attached to one of the guilds, and the other a high-placed member of the city’s governing body of Ministers and a member of the Federation military.
The dock marshal glanced at his companions and made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind. Leave it for now. But as for you…” He looked again at the newcomer’s sinuous companion momentarily and then at the newcomer. “Don’t bring her back tomorrow. You hear?”
The newcomer glanced at the woman draped across his shoulders. “Hear that, Seelah? My friend the dock marshal doesn’t much like you, I’m afraid.”
Seelah’s features tightened, and her strange slanted eyes found the dock marshal’s. For the first time, the boy noticed them change color, from golden to a smoky crimson. He watched in fascination as her lips parted with a soft hiss, revealing wickedly long and razor-sharp teeth—better suited to a Parkasian wolf than a sensuous girl.
The dock marshal hesitated, then looked away quickly.
What is she? the boy wondered.
The newcomer cleared his throat. “Regardless of who does or doesn’t return tomorrow, it’s one more round tonight for me, and then I’m through. Make your best play, friends.”
The other three glared even harder, their expressions bitter and their eyes filled with malice. No one spoke. The dock marshal had the deal and the roll, and so he commenced the round. All of them turned their attention back to the game. The dock marshal won the first hand and began to smile, sensing that things were turning his way at last, while the other two men continued to fume. The newcomer seemed almost disinterested.
“Boy!” he called suddenly, turning to Shea, his hand beckoning.
Shea hesitated, not sure for a moment if he had heard right. Then, seeing the other continue to make impatient gestures, he hurried over. When he was beside the newcomer, the woman with the cat eyes slid close to him and placed a slender white hand on his shoulder.
“Your name?” the newcomer asked softly.
“Shea Ohmsford.”
A long stare. “You wouldn’t be having me on, would you?”
The boy shook his head. “That’s my name.”
“Well, well. Small world, it seems.” He laughed softly. “So, Shea Ohmsford, are you for hire this evening?”
“Of course,” the boy answered, growing marginally bolder. “What’s your wish?”
The cards were being dealt, the dice placed in front of the military man. The newcomer bent close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “How would you like to engage in a bit of excitement? Something you’ve not been asked to do before?”
“You’d have to pay well,” Shea said at once. “More than you’ve probably been asked to pay before.”
The newcomer smiled. “An excellent riposte. Well done, young Shea. Are you ready or not?”
“Stop all that whispering and play the game!” the dock marshal snapped. “Chat with the boy later, if you admire his company so much.”
The woman slid off the newcomer like a sheet of silk and onto Shea, wrapping herself protectively about him. Her deep-auburn hair tumbled over his shoulders and brushed his face. The boy went rigid all over at the touch of her body enfolding his, and his eyes fixed on the newcomer. “She’s awfully close,” he whispered. “Can you ask her to move?”
The man smiled once more. “Cross the room to the doors leading to the street,” he replied. “When things start to get rough, as I think they will, I will signal you with a raised arm. When I do, scream Fire! as loud as you can. Fire! Scream it. Then throw open the doors and step away from them at once.”
“If I do that,” the boy replied, eyeing the newcomer, “I’ll lose my job.”
The other smiled. “I don’t think so. But if you do, I’ll give you a new one. With better pay.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a leather pouch. The boy could tell by the bulge of its contents that it was chock-full of credits. A second windfall in one month, he thought—and this one perhaps larger than the one resulting from his encounter with the black-cloaked grandfather. Still, he hesitated.
“Just shout Fire and nothing more?”
“And step clear of the doors.”
“Are you playing or not?” the purported assassin demanded, sharp eyes fixed on them.
“I’ve been watching you,” the newcomer said to Shea, a hint of urgency in his voice. “You’re a sharp young lad. A better future than this awaits you. A richer future. Take a chance, and don’t disappoint me.”
Seelah slid off the boy’s back and onto the shoulders of the newcomer once more. Her eyes had turned a curious fragmented gold and green, and they glittered like gemstones as they watched him.
Shea accepted the bag and tucked it away. “I won’t,” he managed.
The entire conversation had taken no more than a minute, and no one had heard a word save the newcomer and the boy. Shea backed away into the crowd and then moved off as if to fulfill whatever errand had been entrusted to him. Behind him the game resumed. Everything returned to the way it had been before—as if time had stopped for a few moments and then started up again. Yet Shea Ohmsford knew something important had happened, even if he had no idea yet what it was.
At the very least, he was about to make a change in his life, and he had to hope it was a change for the better.
He edged his way through the crowd of men and women, sidling past the gaming tables until he had reached the entry. Once there, he positioned himself by the closed doors and waited, a rush of expectation surging through him, wondering what would happen next.
For long moments, nothing did. He waited patiently, on edge for the disruption the newcomer had promised, with one eye on the table and the other on the closed doors. The minutes passed. He found himself wondering just what it was he thought he was doing. What did he know about this man and his…his creature? Neither one might be anything like what he thought them to be. This was dangerous ground he was treading, allowing himself to become involved in a scheme that could very easily get him killed. He was violating his own rule about avoiding such situations, even if he was a child of the streets and used to such risks. The credits mattered, but not at the cost of his life. He resisted the urge to look around the room and see if anyone noticed what he was doing, just standing there. Someone must, he reasoned. He began to feel self-conscious about his presence and his inactivity, and then he began to worry that some other patron would summon him and he would have to find a way to ignore them without calling attention to himself.