Free The White Wolf's Son by Michael Moorcock

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     and shuddered. “Visitors here sometimes know of ways of going back and forth across the multiverse.” He seemed almost sorrowful.
    I didn’t mean to start crying. Why had it taken so long for the reality to sink in? I had no idea what was happening. I was
     lost in time as well as space, and however kind Lord Renyard was, he had no easy way of helping me. It was some comfort to
     be held in his huge paw, to have his stammers and snuffles of sympathy, but it wasn’t enough.
    I pulled myself together. I was fairly certain Heir Lobkowitz and the others would guess where I was and would find me. I
     told myself I had every chance of returning home. The fox was greatly relieved when Istopped crying. “It’s not too far now, mademoiselle. And as soon as I am in my apartments I promise I will begin the search
     for those people who can help you.”
    Again I took his soft paw, and soon we were in the canyons of what he called the Deep City, where tall, dilapidated buildings
     creaked and swayed around us. Lord Renyard assured me it was in the nature of this part of Mirenburg to behave so and that
     only rarely did a building actually fall down. “It helps us keep our privacy, however. That and our reputation.” His wink
     included me in a conspiracy whose ramifications I could never hope to understand. To distract myself I changed the subject.
    “You said you are a thief, Lord Renyard. What do you steal?”
    His big red-furred ears flattened a little, as if with pride. “I am the Prince of the Thieves, as I told you. That is why
     you are so safe with me. I myself do not steal, but I command as rascally a gang of footpads, pickpockets and tobymen as you’ve
     ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
    “Tobymen?”
    “The toby is the highway, my dear. They are highway robbers. Knights of the road, as they’re sometimes termed.”
    “And murderers?”
    He was disapproving. “We don’t encourage murder.”
    Among the shadows of the tenements, I began to see shadows lurking. Sometimes I glimpsed a pale, ratlike face, and sometimes
     I detected a glinting eye in a basement area or heard a scuttling, a shuffling, a sniggering.
    Then, outside a tavern whose sign was so weather-stained and peeling I couldn’t easily make out its name,Lord Renyard stopped. “Here we are!” I spelled it. “R-A-S-P-A-Z-I-A-N’S.”
    Raspazian’s Tavern was a basement drinking den. The strong smells of alcohol and tobacco roiled up towards us as we descended
     dirty steps to its door, which was immediately flung open, inviting us to step through.
    I heard a sound all around us, as if we had disturbed a colony of rats, but the interior, lit by oil lamps, had an unexpectedly
     pleasant atmosphere. At the tables groups of men and women dressed in patched and ragged finery, none of it very clean, saluted
     my friend with their tankards and weapons and called out respectfully.
    “Morning, Captain. Who’s the chicksa mort?”
    “Enough of that, you rogues.” Suddenly Lord Renyard adopted a haughty manner. I guessed that was how he kept his followers
     in order. I was glad to be under his protection at that moment. We stepped through the tavern to a door at the back, and up
     a flight of steps into a spacious room much cleaner than the one we left.
    Judging by the table and chairs, the room was used for dining. On the other side of this was another flight of stairs. Lord
     Renyard ushered me ahead and up into a comfortable apartment with two bedrooms. It was the quaintest set of rooms I’d ever
     seen. I had expected a prince of thieves to live in a palace, but these were the simple, comfortable apartments of a gentleman
     who enjoyed reading. There were bookshelves everywhere. There was even a shelf of small leather-bound volumes next to a spice
     rack.
    The smaller bedroom was for me, he said. There he let me clean up while he sent servants out to find clothes for me. Before
     long his maid brought me everything I needed, including a