Free Storm Season- - Thieves World 04 by Robert Asprin

So let's not make up tales. Where? Who? When?"
    "Name's Vis. At Mama Becho's."
    "That's a tight place. Not easy to get at."
    "That's my point. I get him to you." There was a silence. The man brought out silver pieces and dropped them into Mor-am's hand, then clenched fingers on his as they closed. "You know," the Rankan said, "the last one named your name."
    "Of course." Mor-am tried not to shake. "Wouldn't you want revenge?"
    "Others have. You knew they would."
    "But you want them brought out of the Downwind. And I do that for you." He clenched his jaw, a grimace against the chattering of his teeth. "So maybe we get to the big names. I give you those-I deliver them to you just like the little ones. But that's another kind of price."
    "Like your life, scum?"
    "You know I'm useful. You'll find I can be more useful than you think. Not cash. A way out." His teeth did chatter, spoiling his pose. "For me and one other."
    "Oh, I don't doubt you'll be cooperating. You know if the word gets out on the streets how we got our hands on your friends-you know how long you'd last."
    "So I'm loyal," Mor-am said.
    "As a dog." The man thrust his hand back at him. "Here. Tomorrow moonrise."
    "I'll get him." Mor-am subdued the shivering and sucked in a breath. "We negotiate the others."
    "Get out of here."
    He went, slow steps at first, and quicker, still with a tendency to shiver, still with a looseness in his knees.
    * * *
    But the man climbed the stairs of a building near that alley and made his own report.
    "The slave is gone," one said, who in his silk and linen hardly belonged in the Shambles, but neither did the quarters, that were comfortable and well-lit behind careful shutters and sealing of the cracks. Two of the men were Stepsons, who smelted of oil and light sweat and horses, whose eyes were alike and cold; three had the look of something else, a functionary kind of coldness. "Into the Downwind. I think we can conclude the answer is no. We have to extend our measures. Someone knows. We take the hawkmasks alive and eventually we find the slaver."
    "We should pull the slave in," another said. "No," said the first. "Too disruptive. If convenient... we take him."
    "This woman is inconvenient."
    "We hardly need more inconvenience than we've had. No. We keep it quiet. We destroy no leads. We want this matter taken out-down to the roots. And that means Jubal himself."
    "I don't think," said the man from the street, "that our informer can be relied on that far. That's the one who ought to be pulled in, kept a little closer ... encouraged to talk."
    "And if he won't? No. We still need him."
    "A post. Security. Get him into our steady employ and we'll learn where all his soft spots are. He'll soften up fast. Just twist the screws now and then and he'll do everything he has to."
    "If you make a mistake with him-"
    "No mistake. I know this little snake." A chair grated. One of the Stepsons had put his foot on the rung, folded his arms with elaborate disdain for the proceedings. "There are quicker ways," the Stepson said. No one said anything to that. No one debated, but slid the discussion aside from it, arguing only the particulars and a slave who had finally run.
    * * *
    The bridge was always the worst part, coming or going. It narrowed possibilities. There was one way and only one way, afoot, to come into the Downwind, and Mor-am took it, sweating, feeling his heart pounding, with a little edge of black around his vision that might be terror or something in the krrf that he had bought, that tunnelled his vision and made his heart feel like it was starting and stopping by turns, lending an unreality to the whole night, so that he paused in the middle of the bridge and leaned on the rail, wishing that he could heave up his insides.
    Then he saw the man following-he was sure that he was following, a walker who had also paused on the bridge a little ways down from him and delayed about some pretended business.
    Sweat broke out afresh on him. He