Книга только для ознакомления
. That's why I called you, Excel-
lency. I thought you should know."
"Indeed." Pitrick fixed his eyes on the Aghar and watched
the color drain from the little fellow's face. Why would a
gully dwarf try to steal smoke weed? And why this particu-
lar smoke weed? Pitrick's North Warren Blue was renowned
as the best in Thorbardin, but only among those aficionados
familiar with the finer points of the weed.
The Aghar groaned and squirmed, looking around for a
friendly face. When Pitrick spoke, his voice came out silky
smooth, soothing the trembling gully dwarf.
"So you want some smoke weed, hmmm?" Pitrick smiled.
It was more of a grimace, but it was the best he could do. "It
is such a pleasure to find a gully dwarf with refined taste.
Why do you enjoy it so?"
The Aghar squinted at him in fright, trying hard to under-
stand the question. "Enjoy what so?" he finally inquired.
"The North Warren mossweed, of course," said Pitrick,
pretending mild surprise. "You do smoke it, don't you?" The
derro's mind seethed. He pictured his hands wrapping
around the helpless gully dwarf's throat and squeezing,
slowly, as the thing squirmed
|
