Throy
“He rapped softly against the door panel.A minute passed without response. Glawen tapped again and waited, head cocked, ear to the door. He felt, rather than heard, a stir of cautious movement. The door opened a crack and a heavy half-muffled voice spoke. “What is it?”“Open up. I want to talk with you.”“This is Madame Furman’s cabin. You have made a mistake; go away.”“I am Glawen Clattuc. Ask Kathcar if he can speak with me.”There was another pause. The voice inquired: “You are alone?”“Quite alone.”The door opened another few inches. A bright black eye surveyed Glawen from head to foot. The door slid back a few more inches, sufficient for Glawen to sidle through. Kathcar, lips drawn back in a humorless grin, closed the door. He wore ordinary garments: a loose black shirt, grey trousers, open-work sandals which dramatized the dimensions of his long limp white feet. On a rack to the side hung his disguise: gown, bonnet and narrow high-buttoned boots with hobheels, which must have caused ...him considerable discomfort.Kathcar asked in a sharp voice: “Why do you follow me?MoreLess
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