Shadow Prowler

15 ANSWERS

Pardon me for the foolish pun, but the Street of the Sleepy Dog was sunk in a deep sleep. It differed strikingly from its sister street—the Street of the Sleepy Cat—in both the arrangement of the houses and their size. The Sleepy Dog was rather short and winding, with an assortment of low-class shops, little old houses, and a couple of i

I was standing right in front of one of them. One fine day that huge sign in the form of a knife and an ax promised to forget its public responsibilities and come tumbling down on the head of some unlucky passerby.

As I had expected, the Knife and Ax was empty. For had told me that Gozmo had closed up his little establishment for no apparent reason. Which was rather strange, if you knew how much money he lost by doing that. And not just from the sale of beer, but also from the fees that came his way when contracts for Commissions were concluded inside his i

The doors and the shutters were closed, but neither were any real barrier to me. I was in a determined mood and intended to visit Gozmo’s i

At first I felt like simply breaking in as bold as brass through the main door and walking right through the entire i

The window of Gozmo’s bedroom was on the second floor. I had the cobweb rope with me, and it only took me a minute to reach my goal. I had to spend a little more time on the catch. Unfastening it without making a racket was no simple job, but I don’t earn my bread for nothing.

Gozmo was snoring away, trilling like a nightingale; nothing could have been farther from his mind than uninvited guests. There were several china pots with forget-me-nots in my way and I almost knocked them off the windowsill. I had to twist and turn like one of the circus acrobats on the Market Square in order to avoid breaking anything.

Gozmo carried on sleeping serenely. That’s what’s it like to have no conscience at all.

I tiptoed up to him, took the rope lying on his bedside table, and then carefully slipped my hand under the pillow. I was right. My fingers came across something cold. My old friend Gozmo wasn’t quite as stupid and placid as you might think.

After borrowing his throwing knife, I made my way across to an armchair, brushed a few cheap rags off it, and sat down. I wanted to make Harold’s entrance effective. The i

When I’d visited Gozmo’s room five years earlier (on that occasion I happened to go in through the door), there had been a heavy hunting horn hanging on one of the walls. Quite a valuable item. Now I got up, walked over to the wall, and felt along it until I found the toy trumpet.

I took out my crossbow, sat down in the armchair again, set the weapon on my knees, and imagined Gozmo’s face. I felt like laughing, but I restrained myself.

I wasn’t afraid of waking anyone else. Gozmo didn’t rent out rooms, so there were no guests at the i

I raised the horn to my lips, filled my lungs with air, and blew.

What a sound that was! Even I hadn’t expected such an effect! The sudden roar—which was like the rumble of a mountain avalanche mingled with the braying of an ass crazed with terror—went hurtling round the room, bouncing off the walls and setting my ears ringing.

Gozmo stopped snoring, flew a full yard up into the air, together with his blanket, and when he landed he started shaking his head violently, still too sleepy to understand a thing. I had got my satisfaction and I roared in merry laughter.

“Who’s there?” the villain barked. His eyes weren’t accustomed to the dark yet and all he could see was the window.

His hand slid under the pillow like a snake and discovered nothing there.

“Harold.”

“Harold?”

“Who else could it be, visiting you at this hour? Light a candle.”

The i

“Well, have you recovered?” I inquired derisively.

“Harold, you’re a real bastard!”

“I’m glad that you and I are in agreement on that point. Now let’s talk.”

“What about?” Gozmo looked angry and dumbfounded at the same time.

“There’s a little matter I need to discuss. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

“That’ll do you good,” the i

The bowstring twanged, and a bolt went humming across the room and struck the headboard of the bed, very close to Gozmo. He jumped in the air.

“In the name of Darkness! What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

He seemed a little jittery.

“Be so kind as not to interrupt me. I’ve had a hard night and I’ve been feeling a bit on edge. So shut your trap and be so good as to hear me out.”

The i

“Right then,” I went on, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About that conversation we had, and about a lot of other apparent coincidences. Why would a rogue like you suddenly decide to apologize? I was a bit too hasty at the time; I decided that it was all about the garrinch in the duke’s house, the one that you, you shameless villain, apparently forgot to warn me about. You grabbed at that line of explanation because you thought I didn’t know anything and so your precious life was in no danger. But it wasn’t really a matter of the garrinch. Isn’t that right, Gozmo?”