Free Skeen's Return by Jo Clayton Page B

forceps to bring up a new cloth; he holds it out for Angelsin to touch, then lays it on her knee. “Nochsyon Tod. Hummerfig Tig who runs the front for Doodamsitirsabo, that Chalarosh tightfist who won’t pay any tithe, you know, the one who cut up Tiilk and his mob. Kar hes Kituk, he’s a drug dealer, works the North Cusp, stays out of our holding.” He changes the cloths. Angelsin closes her eyes. Her lips press into a thin line. Breath snorts from her nose. “A couple more,” Hopflea says, “but those’re the important ones.”
    â€œAnd tell me, Hopflea, why was she going for those names?” Her voice is harsher than before, ugly with the effort she is making to control it.
    â€œThieving,” he says. Again he changes the cloth, using the forceps to make sure the hot cloth is covering the whole area.
    She cannot speak for several minutes, then forces out two words. “What more?”
    He looks slyly at her; he is going to dance a dangerous game around her, counting on his knowledge of her to help him stop in time. “What more? What more?” He taps his head. “This, that’s it, this clever knob, old lady.” Thick white eyelashes flutter. “Guess, huh. Guess which one she picked. Guess how I know. I give you a clue about who. The craziest choice of all.”
    â€œDon’t play stupid games.” She sounds angry, but an instant later, she gazes thoughtfully into the darkness, smiling a little, amused, as she thinks over what she knows about those named. “Tod,” she says finally.
    He giggles. “Worm, he happens to see this big old owl come flying out a those women’s window. He figures it is the Min going to do something she don’t want no one knowing about, so he goes twisting after. Moon’s high, owl’s big, flying low. Worm, he pick up Chickfat and the Tump and they go slip slip after and what do they see but owl flying round and round over Tod’s House, and it goes slip slip down, it sits on a house tower, turning its head, looking and looking. Then it goes flying off, back to the window and in whoomp and then someone shuts the window, but the light goes on burning for a long time. That same thing happens four nights running until day before yesterday, then no more owl. Easy to see the Min is scouting for the Pass-Through and maybe that other one and the Aggitj, they’re looking out a way to run so they don’t get picked up after the thing is done. Worm swears neck and gizzard he sees everything he tells me.”
    Angelsin shudders as he takes away the last cloth and the cold air hits her flesh, then sighs with pain and pleasure mingled as he pours the warm oil on and begins rubbing it in. “Min,” she says thoughtfully. “If … no. Can’t trust them. I wonder how the Pass-Through managed to tame that one? It might be wise to ask her that. Say you so, my Flea?”
    â€œMight be.”
    â€œBut first we find out more about this Min. Nose it out for me, Flea; who is she, what’s it about her makes her different, why does she keep away from her own? And do it fast, Hopflea. If she’s looking at boats, we have not got a lot of time.”
    The male Min follows Hopflea cautiously into the chek and hovers nervously beside him as the Funor taps at the door behind the empty chair. A deep rich voice sounds through the heavy door, the young Min winces, glances at the entrance to the taproom, obviously regretting his decision to follow what he thought of as a Funor boy. “Come,” the voice says and even muffled by the wood, the single word is pregnant with threat and power.
    The room inside is huge, filled with so much saturated color that it is an assault on the eyes, so much intricate line work it is an assault on the mind, convoluted Funor writing scrawled in flaking gilt around and around the walls, echoed in the looping swirls in a crimson and gold rug worth a small