Free Skeen's Leap by Jo Clayton Page A

coins, fancy pots and boxes—everything else that took her fancy, including three jeweled and embroidered cloaks. She grinned with satisfaction as she came across four swords with elaborately chased blades and jeweled hilts, four matching knives and sheaths. The blades were a fine steel with the wavy mottling that spoke of long patience and many folds, the kind of swords that brought premium prices at the submarkets. She looked over these prizes, glanced at the Poet. Vanity, ah vanity, where would I be without it. She grimaced. On that cannery line, packing fish and pregnant with some grunt’s kid. Djabo bless all vanity. She pushed the blades gently back into their embroidered begemmed scabbards and set them on the bed. Different swords for different occasions, color coded to match your outfits no doubt. She sniffed as she examined the lanky body with its soft sagging flesh. You look like it tires you out to climb in bed. She looked at Timka. Obviously I’m underestimating your talents. She shrugged. The smell of sex was still strong in here, the coverlet was kicked onto the floor. Timka, little Min, I strongly doubt you want rescuing. Not my problem. Nobody asked me to pay you heed. Mmm. Better get busy, the dark won’t last forever. She checked the ring chron. Couple of hours yet. No hurry.
    Working briskly, she dressed Timka in the shirt and trousers she’d brought from Mintown. She set Timka on the floor by the bed, then began cutting up the coverlet, cursing the dullness of the ceremonial knife; she could have used her own but she felt a strong aversion to the idea and trusted her instincts. Been wrong before, but nobody laughed. She wrapped Timka and the swords in half of the coverlet, used strips of tough silk sliced from the other half to tie and gag her first, then bind the bundle together, knotting the ends to make an awkward sort of sling. She shrugged the sling onto her shoulder and started from the room, her darter in her hand, the lanyard engaged. In the doorway she hesitated, then went back to the bed. You’re skinny enough, except for that pot, but the way my luck’s been running recently.… She darted him again, resettled the Timka bundle and trotted into the corridor, intent on getting out of the place as fast and with as little fuss as she could.
    Three strides down the hall. No warning except a low growl. With it, a weight slamming into her back, knocking her skidding along the polished wood. She crashed into a wall, cushioned by the small muscular body of the Min. The sword hilts digging into her side, she brought the darter up and around, more by instinct than will, then sprayed the hall with darts.
    Her head cleared. She got shakily to her feet and stood blinking down at a slim, dark-haired youth sprawled naked on the floor. Tame Min, she thought, better tuck him out of sight. She shrugged out of the sling, dumped Timka on the floor, caught hold of the boy’s ankle and began to drag him toward one of the rooms she’d looked into earlier and found empty. He slipped out of her grasp, turning to smoke that oozed between her fingers, reforming into a silver-shouldered wolf.
    With a hiss of annoyance she darted him again. The wolf smoked into boy and the boy gathered himself to attack. For the third time she pumped a dart into him, thought a moment, then darted him once more just to be sure. She finished dragging him into the empty room, watched him until he started to stir, put another pair of darts into him. The shifting apparently flushed the drug from the Min system. Something I’d better remember. Handy for poisoning, I suppose. She watched a moment longer, nodded with satisfaction. They had to be minimally awake to shift, so he was out now until the stuff wore off naturally. She thought about tieing him, then laughed at herself. He’d just ooze out of whatever she used. She frowned. Timka? She went hastily back into the hallway.
    The silk bundle moved a