| OCR Text |
Show Simon left the table and went to the kitchen, leaving mother and daughter looking at each other, their differences wiped away for the nonce by the horror of what they'd just heard. He returned almost immediately with two brimming tankards of ale, a basket of salted biscuits, and a soft towel hanging over his arm. He leaned over the table to dust it off again with the towel. "The thrice bedamned dolts in the BauerNetwork," he hissed, "should look to their bare-assed flanks." He threw the towel back over his arm and left for the kitchen. Dr'Anya sipped her ale and Janni flicked her eyes over the big knight, then looked down at her tankard. "Sore terrified I'd be to meet a regiment of that hardware, mounted, and set for a charge," she muttered. "As I toldest thee, my pearl." Dr'Anya dabbed delicately at her foamy upper lip with her fingers-since there was no question of napkins at Brighton's one alehouse. "A stunner would be small help in such a case." "Where be Bod's Rift?" asked Janni. "Some twenty kilometers hence." "That far. And this one?" "A scout? I wot n o t . . . ." "But, my mother, 'tis back in the DarkAges, fighting to wound, to the death-that has ever been proscribed since. . .since. . .the twenty hundreds!" Dr'Anya was looking thoughtful. "The worthy Simon said 'wiped out', not murdered'. To murder. . .aye! . . . 'twould send the murderer to Earth's TranquilizingSatellite for good and all. And so 'tis now in the Commendiums as well, this kind of murder." "'Wiped out' is a tourney t e r m . . . " mused Janni. 148 |
