Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,72

other rogue asked, waving the notion away. “How long do Crimson Shadows live? What say you, Tasman? Me friend ’ere thinks the Crimson Shadow’s come back from the dead to haunt Montfort.”

“They seen the shadows, I tell ye,” the first rogue insisted. “A slave friend telled me so! And no wash’ll take ’em off, and no paint’ll cover ’em!”

“There are whispers,” Tasman interjected, wiping down the bar in front of the two slovenly rogues. “And if they are true,” he asked the first rogue, “would you think it a good thing?”

“A good thing?” the man slurred incredulously. “Why I’d be glad indeed to see those fattened piggy merchants get theirs, I would!”

“But wouldn’t your own take be less if this Crimson Shadow hits hard at the merchants?” Tasman reasoned. “And won’t Duke Morkney place many more guards on the streets of the upper section?”

The rogue sat silent for a moment, considering the implications. “A good thing!” he declared at last. “It’s worth the price, I say, if them fatted swine get what’s coming to them!” He swung about on his stool, nearly tumbling to the floor, and lifted his spilling flagon high in the air. “To the Crimson Shadow!” he called out loudly, and to Luthien’s surprise, at least a dozen flagons came up in the toast.

“A thief of some renown, indeed,” Oliver mumbled, remembering Brind’Amour’s description when he had given Luthien the cape and bow.

“What are they talking about?” Luthien asked, his senses too dulled to figure it out.

“They are talking of you, silly thief,” Oliver said casually, and he drained his flagon and hopped down from his stool. “Come, I must get you back to your bed.”

Luthien sat quite still, staring dumbfoundedly at the two rogues, still not quite comprehending what they, or Oliver, were talking about.

He was thinking of the slave girl, then, all the way home, and long after Oliver dropped him onto his cot.

The second rogue, the doubtful one in the discussion of the Crimson Shadow, watched Oliver and Luthien leave the Dwelf with more than a passing interest. He left the tavern soon after, running a circuitous route along the streets to a secret gate in the wall to the upper section.

The cyclopian guards, recognizing the man but obviously not fond of him, watched him suspiciously as he crawled out the other side. He flashed them his merchant seal and ran on.

He had much to report.

CHAPTER 16

THE PERILS OF REPUTATION

YOU SHOULD BE THINKING of the task at hand,” Oliver remarked in uncomplimentary tones as he and Luthien wove their way through the darkened streets toward Montfort’s inner waIl.

“I do not even think we should be going,” Luthien replied. “We have more than enough money . . .”

Oliver spun in front of the young Bedwyr, stopping him with a pointing finger and a vicious scowl. “Never,” Oliver said slowly and deliberately. “Never, never say such a stupid thing.”

Luthien flashed a disgusted expression and ignored the halfling, but when he tried to continue walking, Oliver grabbed him and held him back.

“Never,” Oliver said again.

“When is enough enough?” Luthien asked.

“Bah!” the halfling snorted. “I would steal from the merchant-types until they became pauper-types, giving their riches to the poor. Then I would go to the poor who were no longer poor, and steal the wealth again and give it back to the merchant-types!”

“Then what is the point?” Luthien asked.

“If you were truly a thief, you would not even have to ask,” Oliver said, snapping his fingers in Luthien’s face, a habit that had become quite regular over the last few days.

“Thank you,” Luthien replied without missing a beat, and he forced his way around Oliver.

The halfling stood in the deserted street for some time, shaking his head. Luthien had not been the same since that day a week before in the market. He was thrilled when Oliver had discarded those coats he did not deem appropriate—and the children of Tiny Alcove had fallen upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves—but Luthien’s mood had become generally surly, even despondent. He ate little, talked less, and had found an excuse to prevent him from going to the inner section of the city on every occasion Oliver had proposed an excursion.

This time, though, Oliver had insisted, practically dragging Luthien out of the apartment. Oliver understood the turmoil that had come over the proud young Bedwyr, and truthfully, the rapidly growing reputation of the Crimson Shadow added an element of danger to any intended burglaries. Rumors along the seedy streets