King Pinch Read Online Free PDF Page A

conversation for those of his trade. "It's the white city, the princely city, built up right on the shores of the Lake of Steam. Some folks call it the boiled city. Take your pick."
    "So who is this Cleedis, Pinch?" Maeve wheedled. "He seemed like a gent."
    "An old, foolish man," Pinch answered offhandedly to end his reminiscence. Maybe there was more to be said, but the rogue offered no further explanation.
    Sprite, his judgment decidedly impaired, was not going to let Pinch slip away. "So wha' do we do? We goin' to meet with him?"
    The other poured a blackjack of sack and gave Sprite a jaundiced glare. "You're not doing anything. This fellow's looking for me, not you. We've had success tonight, and it calls for some drinking. Here's to my little diver!" the rogue raised his leather mug for the toast, and the other three quickly followed.
    "Here's to Sprite," Therin and Maeve chorused.
    "Aye, here's to me," the halfling burbled happily. He buried his childlike face deep into the overfull mug of wine, greedily tipping it back with two hands until the drink streamed down his chin.
    Pinch took a judicious draught of his wine, while Therin and Maeve drank long and hard. Even before the others had finished, their master stepped away from the table. "I'll look for you in the usual places," Pinch advised. "Finish your drinking and keep your eyes and ears sharp. The patricos are going to be looking hard for their thieves. It won't do to have any of you scragged now."
    "As you say it, Pinch," Therin murmured dourly as he set his blackjack on the greasy table. Brown Maeve nodded her receipt of Pinch's caution. Sprite was silent, already insensate and snoring on the bench.
    Gathering his mantle tight, Pinch stepped over the sleeping dog by the door and walked out into the bracing dawn.
    The muddy lane was flecked with clumps of long-lasting snow that clung to the patches of daytime shade. Right now it was neither light nor dark but the point where time hovered between the two. The false dawn that dimmed out the lower stars was fading, replaced by the true dawn. Here though, the sun's first light struggled against the winter mists common to Elturel. How like Ankhapur, Pinch thought as he watched the hovering frost swirl through the night alleys. The comparison had never occurred to him before, not even when he'd arrived fresh from the south. Travel had all been new, wonderful, and terrifying then; there was never time for such frivolous speculation.
    The man shook his head with a snap of his curly hair, as if to shake loose these romantic notions and rattle them out his ears. Such thoughts were all fatigue, and he could not allow himself that luxury of rest. First there was Cleedis.
    The Five-League Lodge was far from Pinch's normal haunts. It perched halfway up the slope of Elturel's High Road, halfway between the base world of the common man and the uppermost crest of nobility. In Elturel, a man's address said much for his status. Chaperons in their salons counted how many streets a prospective suitor was from the top of the hill. Ragpickers always claimed their gleanings were gathered from the very summit of Elturel, an artless lie their hopeful customers accepted anyway.
    For Pinch, all that mattered was that the best pickings were found in the streets that looked down on the city. Of course, the higher streets had the most watchmen and wizards, too. It was here that the city's leaders lived in aeries at the top of the great High Hill, the temples of those gods currently in favor clustered around them. Farther down, those merchants who aspired beyond their class vied for the choicest -hence highest- streets left to choose from. The Five-League Lodge had done well, holding practically the last address before the realms of the privileged crowded out all others.
    By the time Pinch reached the block of the inn, the morning vendors were already straining their carts through the streets. Eelmongers and bread carts competed for attention,