The Duchess of the Shallows Read Online Free PDF Page B

the bargain. He wheeled around belligerently, showing small eyes under a beetled brow, and she said, "Pardons, sir," around a mouthful of blood. The man was taller than she, broader by half, and smelled of cheap wine, and she wanted no trouble on this of all nights.
    Evidently the man felt differently. "Pardons yer arse," he slurred in a voice thick with drink, squinting against drunkenness and poor light. She stepped aside, trying to get around him, but he grabbed at her. She backed away and feigned a spasm of coughing, a tactic that had rarely failed to discourage unwanted attention from beggars, cutpurses and other night-folk. There was too much sickness in the Shallows for anyone to ignore, but wine had made the man bold. He reached for her, moving more quickly than she had expected and catching the shoulder of her new cloak. She pulled away but the cloth was too new to tear yet too dry to slip from his grasp. Without thinking she swept out her blade and jabbed at the cloak, thinking she could cut herself free from his grasp and be off and running in a moment, and on any other night it would have worked. That night, however, she was distracted and her aim was off, and in an instant the man was howling and jerking back a bloodied hand. His reddened eyes met hers, and she realized belatedly that this drunken lout was not one to be driven off with a stab and a glower. His scowl turned into something darker, and he balled large fists and stalked towards her.
    Confident she could outdistance the man in a footrace, Duchess faked left and darted right, but she slipped on the muddy cobblestones and nearly fell. She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the heavy, clumsy fist that caught her on the left shoulder with a muffled thud . It was a glancing blow, but still heavy enough to send her staggering back against a barrel someone had set out to catch the rain. The barrel rocked, heavy with water, but did not fall over. This man would not be satisfied by knocking her into the mud, she realized with a jolt of fear. A quick look revealed that the street was for the moment empty, although she never seriously considered shouting for help. In the Shallows, shouting for help never got you any.
    She moved to keep the barrel between them, and he smiled menacingly. "Here's your pardon," he growled, swiping at her over its open mouth. She ducked the blow and the one that followed it, but he kept on, moving clumsily around to get at her. Crazily, her mind jumped back to Hector and his dagger, and that brass coin in her pocket, and in that instant one drunken man in the Shallows seemed far less formidable. She was armed, he was drunk, and by Anassa, if she couldn't deal with one drunken man how could she ever survive on the Grey? In that moment, she was all Steel.
    She stepped out into the open again, held out one dagger and drew the other from her boot, ready to move. Undeterred by her steel, the man lurched at her. She slashed at his face with her left blade and he jerked back, then shejabbed at his belly with her right. He avoided that one, too, but then it was his turn to slip in the mud. He fell heavily, cursing, and one of his flailing hands struck the rain-barrel on the way down. That gave her an idea. She threw herself against the barrel, pushing mightily.
    It rocked, tilted, and then fell over heavily, landing partly on the man and drenching him with its contents. He thrashed and gurgled out a watery ooof. Although Silk was clamoring for retreat, Steel noted the fat purse dangling from his belt; evidently the man hadn't drunk up all of his sou. Ignoring Silk, Duchess stooped, sliced the cord that attached purse to belt, and was up and away. He howled in protest and shoved the barrel aside, but she was off before he could climb back to his feet. Soon enough she heard his footsteps slapping wetly against the cobblestones behind her, and she knew the race was on.
    The man was broader and stronger, and energized by anger,