The Redemption of Althalus Read Online Free PDF Page A

wriggle out of them. When I get back home, I think I’ll take my brother out behind the house and brick his mouth shut. Then, the next time I come to Maghu, you and I might want to have a little chat.”
    “I’ll look forward to it, Master . . . ?”
    “Kweso,” Althalus picked a name at random.
    “Are you by any chance a relation of that salt merchant in Deika?”
    “He’s our father’s cousin,” Althalus replied glibly. “They aren’t talking to each other right now, though. It’s one of those family squabbles. Well, you’re busy, Master Druigor, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go have some words with that drunkard and then visit Master Garwin and find out how much of the family holdings my half-wit brother’s given away.”
    “I’ll see you next time you come to Maghu, then?”
    “You can count on it, Master Druigor.” Althalus bowed slightly, and then he left.
    It was well after midnight when Althalus broke in through the door on Druigor’s loading dock. He went on silent feet through the wheat-fragrant warehouse to the room where he’d spoken with Druigor that afternoon. The door to the room was locked, but that, of course, was no problem. Once Althalus was inside the room, he quickly ignited his tinder with his flints and lit a candle sitting on Druigor’s table. Then he closely examined the complex latch that held the bulky lid of the bronze strongbox shut. As was usually the case, the complexity had been designed to confuse anyone who might be curious about the contents of the box. Althalus was quite familiar with the design, so he had the latch open in only a few moments.
    He lifted the lid and reached inside, his fingers trembling with anticipation.
    There were no coins inside the box, however. Instead, it was filled to overflowing with scraps of paper. Althalus lifted out a handful of the scraps and examined them closely. They all seemed to have pictures drawn on them, but Althalus couldn’t make any sense of those pictures. He dropped them on the floor and dug out another handful. There were more pictures.
    Althalus desperately pawed around inside the box, but his hands did not encounter anything at all that felt anything like money.
    This made no sense whatsoever. Why would anybody go to the trouble to lock up stacks of worthless paper?
    After about a quarter of an hour, he gave up. He briefly considered piling all that paper in a heap on the floor and setting fire to it, but he discarded that idea almost as soon as it came to him. A fire would almost certainly spread, and a burning warehouse would attract attention. He muttered a few choice swearwords, and then he left.
    He gave some thought to returning to the tavern he’d visited on his first day in Maghu and having some words with the tavern loafer who’d spoken so glowingly about the contents of Druigor’s strongbox, but he decided against it. The sting of constant disappointments he’d endured this summer was making him very short-tempered, and he wasn’t entirely positive that he’d be able to restrain himself once he started chastising somebody. In his present mood, chastisement might very well be looked upon as murder in some circles.
    He sourly returned to the inn where his horse was stabled and spent the rest of the night sitting on his bed glaring at the single piece of paper he’d taken from Druigor’s strongbox. The pictures drawn on the paper weren’t really very good. Why in the world had Druigor bothered to lock them up? When morning finally arrived, Althalus roused the innkeeper and settled accounts with him. Then he reached into his pocket. “Oh,” he said, “I just remembered something.” He drew out the piece of paper. “I found this in the street. Do you have any idea at all what it means?”
    “Of course,” the innkeeper replied. “That’s money.”
    “Money? I don’t follow you. Money’s made out of gold or silver, sometimes copper or brass. This is just paper. It’s not worth anything, is