Shadow Chaser by Alexey Pehov Read Free Book Online Page B

disappointment: I would have to abandon the fur coat that I had acquired with such a great effort. I stuck the purse in my teeth and started unfastening the buttons as I ran along. The warm coat slipped off my shoulders and fell into the snow. Immediately it was much easier to run—I strode out and caught up with Bass.
    “Into the alley,” I shouted to him, and turned sharply to the right.
    Bass followed me, and our pursuer, who was just about to grab me by the collar, went flying on past. Now we had at least a chance to disappear in the labyrinth of the Suburbs’ winding side streets.
    “Oh, he’ll wring our necks!” Bass panted with an effort.
    I didn’t answer and just speeded up even more, hoping very much that my friend’s prediction would not come true. We turned another corner, hearing the man threaten to pull our arms off. I was almost exhausted, but the cursed stranger didn’t seem to know what it meant to get tired.
    Suddenly a pair of hands appeared out of some hidey-hole, grabbed Bass and me by the scruff of our necks, and dragged us into a dark, narrow space. Bass yelled out in fright and started flailing at the air with his hands, and I followed my friend’s example, trying to break free and give whoever had grabbed us a kick.
    “Better shut up, if you want to live!” someone whispered. “Keep quiet!”
    There was something about his voice that made us fall silent immediately.
    Our pursuer went hurtling past, stamping his feet and setting the alley ringing with choice obscenities.
    The man who had saved us still didn’t release his grip, he was listening to the silence, and I tried to take advantage of the moment to put the purse with the gold pieces away in my pocket.
    “No need to bother,” said the stranger. “I don’t steal from pickpockets.”
    “I’m not a pickpocket!” I protested, my teeth chattering from the cold. I was feeling the loss of the fur coat.
    “Not a pickpocket? Then who are you?” asked the man who had rescued us.
    “I’m a genuine thief!”
    “A thie-ef! Well, well. I swear by Sagot that you might just become a good thief, with my help. Or you might not, kid. Let me have a look at what I’ve caught today.”
    The man opened his hands, walked out into the light, and inspected Bass and me closely.
    “Well then, who are you?” the stranger asked.
    “I’m Bass the Snoop,” Bass said with a sniff.
    “I’m Harold the Flea,” I answered, studying our unlikely rescuer.
    “Well now,” the man said with a smile. “And I’m For. Sticky Hands For.”
    *   *   *
     
    “Harold, do you know this goon?” Hallas asked, rousing me from my reminiscences.
    “Yes, he’s an old … friend of mine,” I muttered.
    “Very old,” Bass said with a smile. “Glad to see you alive and well, Harold!”
    “Likewise,” I said in a none-too-friendly voice.
    “How’s For?” Bass asked, apparently not noticing my cool tone.
    “Alive, by Sagot’s will.”
    “Is he still instructing the young?” Bass asked with a smile.
    “No, he’s a priest now. Sagot’s Defender of the Hands.”
    Bass whistled.
    “Listen, Harold,” said the gnome, whose patience had run out. “Maybe you and your friend could talk some other time? Thank you very much for the help, kind sir, but we have to be going.”
    “Deler,” I said to the dwarf. “Give him his money back.”
    Amazingly enough, the dwarf delved into his purse and handed Bass three silver pieces.
    “Hey!” Bass cried indignantly. “I don’t want your coins. I was just helping a friend!”
    “Everyone can always find a use for coins,” I said. “Keep well. Ah yes, if you’re interested, Markun is no longer in this world.”
    “And is that all?” he said, spreading his arms wide in protest. “Aren’t you even going to talk to me? Are you just going to walk away when we haven’t seen each other for more than ten years?”
    “No time, my friend,” I said curtly.
    “How can I find you, Harold?” Bass