The Colour of Magic   ::   Пратчетт Терри

There were lots and lots of little legs. Very deliberately, Hugh turned around and walked very carefully towards the Broken Drum.

“Odd,” said Ymor.

“He had this big wooden chest,” added Cripple Wa.

“He’d have to be a merchant or a spy,” said Ymor.

He pulled a scrap of meat from the cutlet in his hand and tossed it into the air. It hadn’t reached the zenith of its arc, before a black shape detached itself from the shadows in the corner of the room and swooped down, taking the morsel in mid-air.

“A merchant or a spy,” repeated Ymor. “I’d prefer a spy. A spy pays for himself twice, because there’s always the reward when we turn him in. What do you think, Withel?”

Opposite Ymor the second greatest thief in Ankh-Morpork half-closed his one eye and shrugged. “I’ve checked on the ship,” he said. “it’s a freelance trader. Does the occasional run to the Brown islands. People there are just savages. They don’t understand about spies and I expect they eat merchants.”

“He looked a bit like a merchant,” volunteered Wa. “Except he wasn’t fat.”

There was a flutter of wings at the window. Ymor shifted his bulk out of the chair and crossed the room, coming back with a large raven. After he’d unfastened the message capsule from its leg it flew to join its fellows lurking among the rafters.

Withel regarded it without love. Ymor’s ravens were notoriously loyal to their master, to the extent that Withel’s one attempt to promote himself to the rank of greatest thief in Ankh-Morpork had cost their master’s right hand man his left eye. But not his life, however. Ymor never grudged a man his ambitions.

“B12,” said Ymor, tossing the little phial aside and unrolling the tiny scroll within.

“Gorrin the Cat,” said Withel automatically. “On station up in the gong tower at the Temple of Small Gods.”

“He says Hugh has taken our stranger to the Broken Drum. Well, that’s good enough. Broadman is a—friend of ours, isn’t he?”

“Aye,” said Withel, “if he knows what’s good for trade.”

“Among his customers has been your man Gorrin,” said Ymor pleasantly, “for he writes here about a box on legs, if I read this scrawl correctly.”

He looked at Withel over the top of the paper. Withel looked away. “He will be disciplined,” he said flatly.