Villains by Necessity Read Online Free PDF Page A

wooden and battered metal cookware, and a few old, tattered leather books. Bunches of dried herbs and wild tubers and dried fruit hung from hooks in the ceiling. Birds flew in the window and landed on the shelves now and then, would twitter around the room awhile, sometimes picking a few crumbs off the floor, and then fly out.
    Sam himself was looking different. A check of his reflection in the mirrored surface of the well had given him cause to abandon his protective camouflage of grease and coal-dust hair mixture. A scrub with some viciously harsh herbal soap left by the well and a few buckets of water had left him with his old innocent-looking sandyblond locks: A few more splashes took a good portion of the mud and blood and debris off his skin and clothing, a quick shave with a dagger, and then he'd caught himself, wondering what the hell he was doing washing up under the orders of some strange woman who walked through trees. He'd stomped back to the cave, following an aroma of vegetable stew and wondering what kind of assassin he was supposed to be, acting like this.
    Arcie had been wondering the same thing. He turned from Sam to take another glance at the woman. Was she pretty? he wondered. A moment's reflection decided that yes, probably by Sam's standards, she was. She was too tall for Arcie's tastes and stretched-out thin looking, but she did have a few qualities he recalled were attractive to others. She looked about Sam's age, maybe a bit younger, but with a strange wisdom in her leaf-green eyes that made her seem older. She had long red hair, rather tangled and unkempt, pulled out of her eyes by a headband of cloth. She wore some kind of simple robe, tied with a cord and hung with cloth pouches. She held a gnarled oak staff with a crook on the end, a bit taller than herself, and was watching them warily. He glanced again at Sam, then shrugged and went back to eating.
    Sam wordlessly took a bowl of stew from the woman and sat on another log. The woman leaned against the wall and watched them, finally speaking in her strong, cold voice.
    "Well, you eat, so you must be living beings enough.
    Have you names?"
    Arcie set his bowl down and tipped his cap. "Most certainly, dear lady. I be Fredly Mirtin, of Shiredale, and this here be a friend of mine, named Eithin Frazpot, he's with a theater company ..." He smiled widely, settling his cap back on his curls. The woman regarded him coolly.
    "You lie," she replied calmly. "I heard you call this man
    "Sammy" as he walked in here."
    Sam and Arcie exchanged glances, and Arcie shrugged.
    "Och, right then. I'm called many things, but most of them are Arcie. That yonder are Sam. I'm a freelance tax collector, and Sam is..." "... An assassin," Sam stated bluntly.
    "Ah yes," replied the woman, as if she had known all along anyway. "You are what they call criminals. On the outskirts of this forest, to the west, a company of five men in armor are searching for you and getting quite lost." Arcie chortled and reached for the water jug. "So, you are criminals, then? You lie, cheat, steal, break into the homes of innocent people and murder them and their families in their beds, spy, rape, incite riots, torture, loanshark, and similar?"
    The water jug clattered on the floor, and Sam and Arcie stared at her in blank shock. The wildcat slowly unfolded itself from the corner and stood in front of her, watching them and twitching its tail. The two men checked the door. It was still open. With the way out thus assured, Arcie spoke up again hurriedly.
    "Uh, nay, miss, I dinna think you've got it quite clear ... I mean, lying, aye, but that be just a survival tactic..."
    Sam helped him out, while keeping an eye on the wildcat. "Cheat, well, we don't cheat much. We don't play that many games worth cheating over, mostly."
    "And steal, aye. I steal things. But how else am I supposed to make a living? There bein't many options open to people my size, and my talents don't lie in any other direction."