Lois Greiman Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mildew maybe.
    “Little Gem,” said the man with the cultured voice, “I’ve not known you to be so concerned with another’s pain. Perhaps your time at Westheath changed you.”
    “Changed me? Course not.” The tension in her voice had cranked up a notch. “It didn’t change me none. I’m the same as I always was, only quicker with me hands.”
    “Was there someone there whom you grew to cherish? MacTavish perhaps?”
    MacTavish. Did Will recognize the name? But there were so many other factors to consider. There was something in the man’s voice. A threat wrapped in velvet. Who was he? He could identify none of the voices, but perhaps he’d be able to say the same for his own. The thought made him want to speak, to sit up, to examine himself, though he knew suddenly how he would look. Tall and lean, with shabby brown hair and a jaded expression. His clothes were unkempt. He remembered someone laughing as she told him so. Was he a pauper, then, like the others here?
    “You know I’d never fall for no foppish gent. Except…” There was the flirtatious edge of teasing in the girl’s tone. But there was caution in equal measure. “Except you of course, Master Poke.”
    Poke. Will searched his memory, but the name drew not a spark of recognition. The man was laughing now, a dry sound that fell like darkness into the room. “Young Gem, still as nimble with her wits as she is with her fingers, despite her infatuation. But what of you, my lady?”Will could hear him turn away, could feel the mood change ever so slightly. “I’ve yet to hear your opinion.”
    “’Tis because I have none.” The woman’s voice was smooth, almost singsong, though not quite cultured.
    “Truly? None a’tall.”
    “Is there a reason I should care if he lives or dies?” she asked, and the shock of those words said with such unconcern seemed strangely surreal.
    “Our little Gem seems to think so.”
    “Then perhaps you should spare him.” There was a shrug in her voice. “For her.”
    The Den! For no apparent reason the memory of a young man’s face snapped suddenly into Will’s mind. The lad had saved him from the watch and brought him here. To the Den, he’d said. But what was…Was this the proverbial den of thieves? Emotions flared in Will’s soul, but for the life of him he couldn’t identify them. Anger perhaps. Or fear. Yes, fear would be appropriate, for regardless of his disorientation it was clear that he had good reason to be afraid. They were discussing his future survival as one might debate rearranging the parlor furniture. But perhaps this was how he spent his days, fencing terror like a master swordsman.
    “Might you find him attractive?” The gentleman almost purred the words, and perhaps there was still the hint of a threat, prompting the woman’s delay.
    Will waited for a denial. Instead, footsteps rapped across the floor toward him, the stride slow and cadenced until he could feel the woman’s gaze on him and was tempted to open his eyes. But his survival instincts were strong. That much was apparent, though memory told him nothing.
    “Attractive?” She was close now. Close enough totouch. He was sure of that, and for one ragged instant he wondered if he should grab her, pull her against his body, and hold her hostage against the others. But the thought left him as soon as it came, for he knew too little of the situation. Regardless of his combat abilities, the odds were greatly against him. “Yes,” she said. “He is rather attractive in a shabby sort of way. A bit gaunt, of course, but handsome nevertheless.”
    The room went absolutely silent. Not a soul spoke. The tension was cranked as tight as a phaeton spring, but suddenly Poke laughed.
    “My Princess.” His footfalls followed the woman’s, striding up to Will’s side. The smell of sweet tobacco grew stronger. “Always so honest.”
    “Not always.”
    “Perhaps not,” he said, and laughed again. “But always bold.”
    “No