he can tell me how to find Finnie Street." Damien eyed the leggy bundle of rags. "How about it, kid? You get me to where I'm trying to go, and earn an honest penny?"
"I'm not a kid!" The high voice belied the claim. After another suspended moment, "You need to go right three blocks."
Three blocks later he turned onto an unmarked street, and four blocks later found a store with a Finnie street address painted on the front door. Two more blocks and he was handing over the boxes to a grumbling jeweler who thought tomorrow would have been fine for delivery.
"I think the bargemen were in a hurry to get away, and paying for warehouse space for a few hours is silly, not to mention just begging for thieves." Damien ignored the jeweler's glance at the pintos, and bid him a good night.
The kid got a penny, and Joe and Richie were snoring within a block.
That set the routine for the next two weeks, including the bundle of rags hiring out to give directions. Damien quickly learned to bring lots of extra food, the kid was a bottomless pit. Code knew the gossip about half the people they were delivering to, and a cheap tavern with good ale, and a passable cook for the occasional lunch. It was a good place to meet to swap teams. The Sooty Duck had little else to recommend it. The prostitutes were over-aged and filthy. This World apparently had some reasonably effective contraceptives, as only one of the whores had a baby.
"Handy, that." Damien muttered, fending off the attentions of three women, probably in their forties, but looking older. They apparently rented a room jointly and rotated. At the moment they were bored and dangerous. He really hoped the guys would hurry up with the other two mares. Tony and Carl had left with the morning team, leaving him helpless in the claws of these women, who, old or not, were female and it had been too damn long . . . "I don't do that. Can't."
Sussy snickered. "Like I can't tell what's going on in your pants? Hey, Barto, you got any Havwee temple water? Got a boy here that needs it bad!"
Damien shuddered. He wasn't even sure what Barto's gender was. His, her or its age was considerable. The old creature snickered. "Wine. You gotta keep the water in wine or it goes bad, it does." The three whores flocked over to it, chattering away and Damien finished his sandwich in peace. He drained his ale and set the tankard down as they flocked back.
"Try this. We'll see if the stories are true." Norma giggled hideously. They filled it a quarter with something that looked more or less like red wine, and then started passing the bottle around between the three of them.
Damien winced to think of wine poured into a mug with the dregs of ale, but took a sip anyway. Damn! Where'd that old wreck find good wine. He savored the rest of it, and wondered if he could buy a bottle . . . except that he wasn't carrying much money, in as much as he was saving every penny for decent quarters. "Sorry ladies, even after that fine wine I haven't much money . . . " he staggered up and they grabbed him. He vaguely thought he was awfully drunk for one ale and a little bit of wine, then the beautiful ladies were steering him into their room and he was working off about six month's celibacy in as many minutes, no, not worked off yet . . . Some interminable amount of time later he'd worked off every second of frustration in his adult life, and paid forward a good ways as well. He finally managed to pull himself out of the pile of happily complaining women, find his clothes and escape.
He found Mike and Max just backing the mares into the traces and climbed up onto the wagon. "Note to self. Avoid the wine they have around here."
"Not good, eh?" Mike looked him over and grinned. "Or is it merely uninhibiting?"
"'Merely' is the wrong word to use anywhere in the vicinity of that wine. They called it Havwee temple water." He clicked his tongue at Blue and Sombrero, and tried to look repentant. He felt great. He pretended he didn't
"I'm not a kid!" The high voice belied the claim. After another suspended moment, "You need to go right three blocks."
Three blocks later he turned onto an unmarked street, and four blocks later found a store with a Finnie street address painted on the front door. Two more blocks and he was handing over the boxes to a grumbling jeweler who thought tomorrow would have been fine for delivery.
"I think the bargemen were in a hurry to get away, and paying for warehouse space for a few hours is silly, not to mention just begging for thieves." Damien ignored the jeweler's glance at the pintos, and bid him a good night.
The kid got a penny, and Joe and Richie were snoring within a block.
That set the routine for the next two weeks, including the bundle of rags hiring out to give directions. Damien quickly learned to bring lots of extra food, the kid was a bottomless pit. Code knew the gossip about half the people they were delivering to, and a cheap tavern with good ale, and a passable cook for the occasional lunch. It was a good place to meet to swap teams. The Sooty Duck had little else to recommend it. The prostitutes were over-aged and filthy. This World apparently had some reasonably effective contraceptives, as only one of the whores had a baby.
"Handy, that." Damien muttered, fending off the attentions of three women, probably in their forties, but looking older. They apparently rented a room jointly and rotated. At the moment they were bored and dangerous. He really hoped the guys would hurry up with the other two mares. Tony and Carl had left with the morning team, leaving him helpless in the claws of these women, who, old or not, were female and it had been too damn long . . . "I don't do that. Can't."
Sussy snickered. "Like I can't tell what's going on in your pants? Hey, Barto, you got any Havwee temple water? Got a boy here that needs it bad!"
Damien shuddered. He wasn't even sure what Barto's gender was. His, her or its age was considerable. The old creature snickered. "Wine. You gotta keep the water in wine or it goes bad, it does." The three whores flocked over to it, chattering away and Damien finished his sandwich in peace. He drained his ale and set the tankard down as they flocked back.
"Try this. We'll see if the stories are true." Norma giggled hideously. They filled it a quarter with something that looked more or less like red wine, and then started passing the bottle around between the three of them.
Damien winced to think of wine poured into a mug with the dregs of ale, but took a sip anyway. Damn! Where'd that old wreck find good wine. He savored the rest of it, and wondered if he could buy a bottle . . . except that he wasn't carrying much money, in as much as he was saving every penny for decent quarters. "Sorry ladies, even after that fine wine I haven't much money . . . " he staggered up and they grabbed him. He vaguely thought he was awfully drunk for one ale and a little bit of wine, then the beautiful ladies were steering him into their room and he was working off about six month's celibacy in as many minutes, no, not worked off yet . . . Some interminable amount of time later he'd worked off every second of frustration in his adult life, and paid forward a good ways as well. He finally managed to pull himself out of the pile of happily complaining women, find his clothes and escape.
He found Mike and Max just backing the mares into the traces and climbed up onto the wagon. "Note to self. Avoid the wine they have around here."
"Not good, eh?" Mike looked him over and grinned. "Or is it merely uninhibiting?"
"'Merely' is the wrong word to use anywhere in the vicinity of that wine. They called it Havwee temple water." He clicked his tongue at Blue and Sombrero, and tried to look repentant. He felt great. He pretended he didn't
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