Free Ratastrophe Catastrophe by David Lee Stone Page A

Merchants’ Quarter, Jimmy struggled to his feet and frantically kicked over a group of dustbins.
    Unfortunately he didn’t have time to snatch up the idol—which had fallen off, along with half the skin from the palm of his hand—before Lord Buddy’s thirteen hounds bore down on him.
    “We can’t leave until his grandson turns up,” said Gordo, indicating the unconscious Tambor with a nod of his head.
    Groan looked puzzled. “Why not?” he asked.
    “Because,” Gordo began, wondering about his own chances with the barmaid. “Well, it just wouldn’t be right, that’s all.”
    The barbarian sniffed and downed his ale.
    High above the streets of Dullitch, a shadow danced along the rooftops.
    Jimmy dropped down a level, walked a little way with his back pressed firmly against a wall, and arrived at the ledge edge of City Hall. Problem. There was a considerable space between the roof of the building and the roof of the Alchemist Museum.
    He slid down a slated section of roof and onto a lower ledge, feeling the first touch of rain on his cheek. His fingers, which had been groping frantically at the wall in case he lost his footing, found glass. He turned and peered through the window into a well-furnished office. He wondered how hard it would be to shatter the largest pane: too hard, probably.
    Far below in the street, a figure ascended the large flight of stairs that led to City Hall. A door opened and closed again. Jimmy didn’t pay much attention.
    As he was looking into the room, two things happened in quick succession. First the light came on and then somebody opened the window. Outward.
    “Oi,” said Groan, nudging Gordo’s helmet with his elbow. “You ’member that ’erald what met us on the road? He’s jus’ walked in.”
    Jimmy had entered the Ferret and was in the process of apologizing to all and sundry as he bumped his way to the bar. He was covered in hay. Gordo watched as he stumbled up to Chas Firebrand and muttered something in his ear. Then he looked over in their direction and sauntered toward the table.
    “That’s my granddad,” Jimmy said, pointing at the unconscious councillor and smiling feebly.
    “Aye,” said Gordo.
    “Wanna make somefink out of it?” said Groan, who immediately took issue with anyone who began his sentences with claims of ownership.
    “Nice helmet,” said Jimmy conversationally, nodding down at the battered-looking piece of metal by Gordo’s feet. “Mind if I join you?”
    “Sure,” said Gordo. “Did you have a nice walk back?”
    “Eh? Oh, yeah, thanks for that.”
    The dwarf grinned. “Sorry. No hard feelings. I’m afraid yer’ granddad here’s the worse for drink.”
    “He’s sleepin’,” translated Groan with satisfaction.
    Gordo belched. “Why are you all covered in that stuff?”
    “Accident,” said Jimmy, smiling. “Thank the gods for hay carts, that’s what I say.”
    “Hmm…You know where we can get lodgings at this hour?” asked Gordo.
    “Well, there’s always Finlayzzon’s,” said Jimmy. “Or, at a push, I s’pose I could sneak you into one of the Yowler hideouts.” He looked wretched at the thought of that .
    “No,” said Gordo. “That first place you mentioned should be okay. Where is it?”
    “On Stainer Street. ’S not far.” He sniffed and scratched his chin. “Only, I wondered—”
    “Yes?”
    “Well—”
    “What is it?” snapped Gordo impatiently.
    “I don’t suppose you could take Granddad with you?” He snatched one of Tambor’s prunes and popped it into his mouth. “Only, his landlady’s a right old dragon and she’s threatened to kick him out if he comes home in the small hours again.”
    “What?” Gordo exclaimed. “But he’s the council chairman, isn’t he? Are you seriously telling me he hasn’t even got his own house?”
    Jimmy gave the dwarf a nervous grin. “Politics doesn’t pay you much of a wage in Dullitch,” he whispered.

ELEVEN
    I T WAS MORNING IN Dullitch, and a cool