Belly of the Beast Warren Thomas (e novels for free .txt) 📖

human waste, wood smoke, and cooking foods. He even found the closeness of packed humanity preferable to the suffocating darkness and quiet of the forest.

            Once Dakar grants me my boon, which will be dominion over the whole Qakara, I’ll never again set foot in this Godsforsaken land of humid rot, Nizar thought with a thin smile, steering his now skittish mount toward the nearest street leading off the square.

            “Ho, milord!” a red-headed youth shouted. She couldn’t have been more than ten, and short for her age. A boy looking even younger followed, with the same facial features and dirty red hair. Brother and sister. Stopping by his side, she looked up with big green eyes, saying, “We’ll look after yar horses, fer a crown copper each. We’ll take right good care of da pair, too. Promise.”

            I’ll bet you would, he thought, taking in their threadbare clothes, bare feet, and grimy faces. Within the hour you’ll either have sold them to others, or delivered them to your parents to butcher. Probably get good coin for so much fresh meat.

            Aloud he said, “I’ll don’t need to worry about that, little lady. Since I intend to leave by ship, I’d rather you guide me to the man willing to pay the most for the pair.”

            A frown creased her brow a moment. Her little brother watched her intently.

            “Same price, and ya gots a deal,” she finally said, jaw set defiantly.

            “Do you have names?” he asked, amused despite himself.

            He almost felt bad about what he intended to do to them. But his first consideration had to be finding the swordsmith called Tane Kyleson. And street urchins, especially such hustlers as this pair, would make the perfect scouts.

            “Name’s Sindy and he’s Uthor,” she said, jabbing a finger at her grinning brother. “An’ we ain’t got no time to be a socializin’ if’n you want to sell yar beasts afore nightfall. If’n it takes till the morrow, it’ll cost ya another crown copper, each.”

            Nizar smiled behind his veil. At her age, he had been just such a hustler himself. Anything for a coin, and woe to the unwary. The price was reasonable, since he would gain ten times the true value of the animals under the reigning conditions within the city. And it did his heart good to know that the arrogant stallion that had so battered his rear would likely be carved up and sold by the sizzling fistful.

            “You have a deal, little lady,” he said, swinging out of the saddle. He took care not to show any sign of pain or discomfort. Desert royalty rode, were as much born to the saddle as steppe nomads. “But before I sell my horses, I’d like you to lead me to a good inn to drop off my clothes and supplies. There will be a meal, and another crown copper in it for you both.”

            The children’s faces lit up at mention of a free meal. Nizar inwardly cringed at their open, gap-toothed smiles. Such an immodest display! By the Gods, he could see their teeth and tongues!

            “Follow me!” the girl said, setting off down a side street little wider than his sumpter’s wicker packs. “Ole man Hywel’s gots da cleanest rooms in da Pictis District. An’ da safest against thieves.”

            Hywel’s place, the Forest Haven Inn, was a sprawling affair of stone and thatch, with more gables than Nizar could count and at least a dozen smoking chimneys. The golden glow of the windows was as welcoming as the aroma of roasting pork emanating from the establishment. Nizar thought it a shame the place would likely be burned to the ground by the coming battle and siege, and its proprietor enslaved or killed.

            The innkeeper proved to be a whip thin man with just a fringe of steel gray hair circling his shiny pate and a permanent scowl. His wife and three daughters were all pleasantly plump and cheerful. His one son, not much older that Nizar’s lead guide, was as plump as his mother and older sisters, but surly as his father.

            “Innkeep, please provide my little friends with hot food while my belongings are being carried to my room,” Nizar said after paying for a week in advance. That was ten days in the local calendar. Dakar’s army would be there by then, two weeks at the most, so he needed to find the swordsmith well before that.

            “Pork,” Sindy said.

            “An’ taters!” Uthor chimed in. “Lotsa taters.”

            Nizar personally supervised the transport of his baggage to the small room at the head of the stairs. After the innkeeper and son had departed, grumbling about prickly foreigners, Nizar took out a piece of enchanted chalk. He drew the symbols of power the High Priest had taught him around the window and door. Only after his room and belongings were thus protected from thieves and curious staff did Nizar return to the common room.

            As expected, the urchins had already devoured their meal and were demanding more.

            “If I get a good price for my horses, then I might consider feeding you again,” he said.

            The look in Sindy’s bright eyes said she looked forward to that meal.

            Sindy and Uthor led Nizar three streets over to another inn. He was introduced to a dark, heavyset woman in a greasy apron by the name of Riska. She smiled hungrily at his horses.

            While the two youths stood by quietly, Nizar and Riska haggled heatedly over price. In the end, Nizar got four times the peace time price for good horses, but had to throw in their tack as well. Not as profitable as he had hoped.

            Grumbling, Nizar stalked away. He was a good twenty paces away when he noticed the urchins weren’t with him. A glance back showed the pair each receiving a coin from a reluctant Riska. That cheered him up a bit. Those coins would soon be in his purse, along