Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I Read Online Free PDF Page B

forth.
    Nuzbek’s snort
was akin to a jackdaw’s. “I see that I must sweeten the pot then.
Alas! Cravens and duffers! My patience you test! For the first man
or woman, or even beast, who presents himself as a suitable
candidate, I offer ten cils.”
    There was a
frantic dash for the stage. Surly teens with expressions of zeal,
tough old mariners with gap teeth, barefooted children with moony
grins; blue-bonneted women with frills and lace, hunched-over
dockworkers scrambling like wolves at feeding time. Nuzbek was
amused by the unseemly rush. He leaped to the stage’s edge to hold
up a hindering hand. “Desist! I order all access barred!”
    The
participants ignored the decree.
    Nuzbek,
unamused, stomped on the fingers of several stage-clamberers. “Let
us exercise propriety here! Storming my stage like a bunch of
ignorant bumpkins is intolerable, especially on a platform as
expensive as this.”
    The mob
subsided, grumbling; Nuzbek smoothed out the back of his gown.
“That is better. Now, you!”—he pointed a bony finger at a dowdy
frump with quivering lip who clung close to the stage. “What is
your name?”
    “Conikraul.”
    “How ladylike!
Nadek, help Miss Conikraul on stage. There’s a lass. Ho-ha! No need
to struggle! Mind her sun bonnet and froggish parka. Get Zlanda out
to assist you, if her weight is too prodigious.”
    Conikraul
resented the remark about her weight. With indecorous effort,
Zlanda and Nadek hauled the woman up on stage. Propelled by the
aides, she stood beside Nuzbek in front of the mirror, wearing a
confused frown.
    Nuzbek
addressed the audience with a patronizing glare: “First of all, let
it be know that it is of utmost necessity to—”
    “What about my
cils?” demanded Conikraul.
    Nuzbek’s eyes
glittered. “First, never interrupt me; second, miss, your stipend
shall be forthcoming at the conclusion of this episode. No earlier.
Now, as I was saying, I shall prepare the requisite unguents . . .”
He lifted a menacing finger, brought forth two tubes from air,
rousing more delightful murmurs. “A bit of background,” he added,
“these gels are to be smeared on the exposed areas of Conikraul’s
body, which as you notice, include shins, forearms, neck and
visage. Then, as habitual, the subject is to be doused with
wintergill, and a generous spray of gautz.”
    Conikraul
raised a cry, at which someone suggested a jesting supplement.
    Nuzbek arched
a questioning ear to the audience. “What need I of unguents when my
powers are all-encompassing? For this reason alone, hounds: the
place where Conikraul is to go is fraught with danger and
debasement! Do not doubt it! The place is one of abysms and
abysses! She is to enter a world of Stygian gloom, a place devoid
of kind thought, where she will be presented before a line of
demonesses and dark dorlords and tested for the mettle of her
essence. And here I do not fib!—the spirits from the other side may
decide her unworthy. Maybe they shall spare her rigour. But harbour
no misgivings! I have administered the proper unguents, which are
of nature too puissant to name, yet steeped in the ritual hours of
litany. If Conikraul is to waver in the dusky weft of chaos,
perchance claimed by the demonesses—alas! With regret, she will not
return. But, invested with the agents I subscribed and drenched
with the goodness of my will and my formidable magics, she shall
return to the world as we know it, unscathed from the claws of
‘ Ruthifara ’, the demoness witch!”
    Never before
had the crowd heard such necromantic prophecy and they roared out a
single note. Conikraul wailed and struggled to fight her way
offstage. Nuzbek signalled Nadek. Nadek and Zlanda scooted her back
toward the mirror, positioned dead centre alongside the
magician.
    “Do not fear,
child.” Accustomed to this quality of voice, Nuzbek shook his head
in contempt. Weavil noted somewhat sourly how he had been barely
spared such lampoon treatment, no thanks to Baus’s