Free Thief's Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) by Ari Marmell Page B

trimmed in gold embroidery. His boots boasted bright buckles—and, Widdershins knew from experience, several hidden daggers—and he sported a deep purple half cape and a white flocked hat with an ostrich plume.
    “Do the gods even wear shoes, dear Widdershins?” he asked her.
    “If you don't tell me why you're here, and why you felt it necessary to frighten my friend half to death, you're going to be eating your own shoes. So spit it out!”
    With a magnanimous gesture, the finery-bedecked man motioned for them to come in. As though we needed his invitation.
    “It's all right, Gen,” she said softly to her pallid friend, steering her gently through the doorway. “He's harmless.” She cast a sideways glance at the smiling popinjay. “More or less.
    “Renard,” she continued, once she'd firmly shut the door behind them, “this is Genevieve Marguilles, the owner of this tavern and, therefore, your host. Genevieve, Renard Lambert, a friend—acquaintance—of mine, and an incorrigible thief. Keep an eye on your silverware, your coin purse, and possibly your hair. He's almost as good as he thinks he is.”
    “You wound me, Widdershins,” Renard complained. “As you say, we are guests in this dear lady's establishment. I never steal from a host, Mademoiselle Marguilles. Bad for the social standing.”
    “Thief?” Genevieve tensed, as though she would bolt from the room. Widdershins passed her a goblet of wine, which the innkeep drained in one long swallow. “Is…,” she started, faltered, choking shallowly on her drink. “Is it really a good idea to be talking to him? I mean, after…”
    Renard's smile faded. “I am indeed of the guild, Mademoiselle, but I can assure you that I strongly disagree with some small number of their more draconian policies—at least where my friends are concerned. Neither of you has aught to fear from me.”
    “That's true enough,” Widdershins agreed blandly, refilling Genevieve's drink. “Since he knows I'd kill him three times if he tried anything.” Then, despite herself, she grinned at the injured look on his face.
    “Actually,” she grudgingly acknowledged, “Renard's always done right by me. He was my assigned trainer when I joined the guild. Helped me assimilate, showed me the ropes.”
    “Since otherwise you were liable to get yourself hanged from one of them.” Renard smiled.
    “And he's got a serious hate for certain people who hate me, so I guess that puts him on my side. Whether I want him or not,” she couldn't help but add.
    Renard, classy and urbane Renard, stuck his tongue out at her.
    “All of which,” she concluded, “has taken us kind of away from the point. Which was, why were you skulking about in here?”
    “I,” Renard sniffed, “do not skulk. I sneak. I prowl. I have even, upon occasion and at need, been known to lurk. But I have never once—”
    “—managed to keep silent for two minutes straight,” Widdershins interrupted. “Would you shut up and answer the question?”
    “Make up your mind. Which one?”
    “Renard…”
    “All right,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “The truth is, I witnessed you guiding our lovely host over in this direction, and I snuck in before you got here. I need to talk to you, Widdershins, and I'd rather not have anyone else know of it.”
    “You snuck through my tavern?” Genevieve exclaimed, disbelief pushing her lingering fear to one side. “A tavern full of people? Dressed like that ?!”
    Renard smiled affably. “Indeed I did, my dear. As Widdershins has already so graciously testified, I am quite nearly as good as I think I am.” His tone finally came over completely serious. “Widdershins, are you hurt?”
    “A little banged up, but nothing serious. Brock and his cronies got the worst of it.”
    “Oooh, that's not good. He holds a grudge.” Renard sighed. “Well, better that than the alternative, I suppose.”
    “Renard, please get to the point. Why is the guild angry at