Skeen's Return by Jo Clayton

pliant creatures and adaptable,” Tod said. “They keep me comfortable, why not. My men walk the walls and watch from the guard towers, why should I have them here?”
    Outside, the dance ended, the musicians and the dancer collected their gear and vanished round the side of the house.
    â€œAnd woffits in the garden. No doubt there are woffits where I sit once you have gone up.” Vassa Bassa sounded blearily envious. “And a peaceful night, bedwarmers beside you, no fear your throat will be cut before the dawn breaks. Sometimes I think I should buy peace with that cow Pululvatit Grytta and go back to the Funor Plain where I have kin who’d guard me with their lives instead of spending those lives looking for a way to bleed my veins dry.” He gulped at the tepid wine and his neck got a degree redder while the ear that she could see was almost purple. “Heyya hai, I’d do it tomorrow had I the blood price. Tod, you Pallah don’t know what greed is; just wait till you come across a cow in spite, you’ll find out.” He grunted, squeezed his nape into accordion folds and gulped the lees of his wine, blew out a cloud of droplets, and settled back muttering to himself. “Not my fault he had air ’tween his horns. Every shorthorn plays rough games. We played rough games, so what? Wasn’t my fault he tried to play Fool without the Tapping and bashed the Ippy Lyta. Nearly got ME killed, that gimp brain.” He scowled uncertainly at the goblet, wrestled himself up and refilled it at the urn cock. The effort seemed to sober him. Head swaying, he peered at Tod. Ti-cat read hostility and alarm in what she could see of his face and the set of his body. Tod had the presence of mind to have his eyes shut and to produce a soft eeping snore. The Funor relaxed. He’s either dumb or very drunk, Timka thought; she watched him settle back and changed her mind. No, Ti, you don’t make that mistake or you’re the dumb one; maybe he’s not the brightest of the Funor, but he’s cunning or he wouldn’t be alive. No. Tod was giving him a way to save face and he took it because Tod’s too useful to him to throw away for such a little happening.
    After a few more minutes of silence punctuated by Tod’s tactful snores, Vassa Bassa cleared his throat, flicked a fingernail against his goblet’s bowl, making it ring loudly. “Tod!”
    Tod opened his eyes and sat up with a thousand apologies for his discourtesy.
    Vassa Bassa brushed them off, showing his irritation, and turned the conversation to the reason he was there. “Word is you’ve a shipment due soon.”
    â€œNot soon, Char. Tomorrow. The messenger bird came shortly before you did. Your timing, as usual, is impeccable, oh Char. Shipmaster Khorem will be tieing up a short while after the noon meal if all goes well.”
    â€œSent he a list of what he’s got?”
    â€œIn general terms, Char. Twelve fives of young Pallah studs, sturdy stock with years of work in them. And this is a coup indeed—Khorem got his hands on nine Skirrik dames old enough to be well-trained in their arts but young enough for heavy work. And three Skirrik pups guaranteed to be deft at sniffing out Min spies. Twelve twos of tender girls, a mix of Balayar and Pallah with three young Chalarosh bitches, defanged of course. Something else, what, what … ah! a handful of Aggitj extras. He took those on because they come from the orehills in the Backland and one is said to be an ore-sniffer, but I truly doubt that because no family would exile such an asset.”
    â€œUnless they happened to be a family of ore-sniffers and too many of their kind would lessen their worth.”
    â€œSo wise, oh Char, then the report might be true. I will not guarantee it though, not without a trial of his skills. And it will be important to keep the presence of these Aggitj quiet. You know the Slukra, they squeal