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might have lingered otherwise.
The Hill, once a place for lords and ladies, had become the refuge for
Sanctuary's poor, downtrodden, and luckless.
An old woman with a small girl child clinging to her skirts trudged up
Face-of-the-Moon Street. She was probably no more than Spyder's age, somewhere
in her twenties, but she looked sixty. Her face was lined and weather-beaten,
her shoulders already slumped from hard work and constant hunger. Her clothes
and those of her child were little more than rags, and her eyes were
infinitely sad.
"Mother?" Spyder called out to her as he reached into the purse on his belt.
She almost kept going, then stopped in mid-step, as if startled to realize
that someone was talking to her. "Do you own a broom?" He held out a quarter
piece of an Ilsigi shaboozh. The afternoon sunlight glinted on the silver
metal.
She nodded slowly as she stared at the coin he was offering. Then, eyes
narrowing with suspicion, she studied his face.
"I need someone to sweep my shop each morning."
The woman hesitated. Bending down, she instructed her child to remain a safe
distance back before she approached Spyder. She licked her lips, staring again
at the silver coin, but she kept her hands at her sides. "That's too much pay
for a shop-sweep," she said nervously.
Spyder smiled to himself. Despite her poverty, the woman had not lost all her
pride. "One of these each week will adequately nourish yourself and your
daughter. I am content to pay for a clean floor."
"The Hill is full of criminals and worse. What if I take your coin and never
return?"
Spyder met her gaze with equanimity and said nothing as he held out the coin.
"Gray eyes," the woman grumbled. "Gray eyes always mean trouble."
"But not for you, Mother," Spyder answered. He closed his fist around the
coin, then opened it again.
The coin was gone. He reached toward her ear with his other hand, and the bit
of silver rested between two of his fingers.
Her eyes lit up in brief amazement, then narrowed again.
"My name is Channa," she said, finally taking the coin. "And I have the finest
damned broom in the city, Master Spyder. I'll sweep your shop every morning
till the boards gleam and shine, and mop it, too. And
I'll use it over your head if you ever get out of line with me or my little
girl."
Though she tried her best to sound tough, she couldn't hide her excitement.
Taking her child's hand, she hurried on her way and entered another apartment
a short distance on.
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Cat brushed against Spyder's ankle and made a soft meow as he continued to
watch the street. "It didn't take much persuasion," he whispered as he picked
Cat up and cradled it in his arms. "She needed the job and the money, and
we'll benefit from another pair of friendly eyes and ears."
Cat meowed again, then jumped down and padded across the shop and up the
stairs.
Word spread swiftly about the unexpected overnight opening of a new weapons
shop on the Hill. The morning and the early afternoon might have been reserved
for the curious locals and immediate nearby residents. But by mid-afternoon a
seemingly endless parade of colorful characters from all classes and parts of
the city passed through the door of The Black Spider.
Red-haired Raith, young and wide-eyed with curiosity, became enamored of an
expensive White Hart bow. White Harts were rare and of extremely fine quality,
made only by one artisan in the northern
Rankan city of Tarkesi. Spyder, with a quiver full of arrows, escorted the
young man to a narrow archery range behind the shop so that he could try it
out. It took only five shots to clench the sale.
Eraldus and Gorge, two officers of the guard, arrived to introduce themselves
and to remind Spyder of the dangerous location he had chosen for his shop.
Neither the Guard, nor the City Watch, ventured onto the Hill after dark, they
warned.
A dark-faced little gnome with a hunchback and a serious lisp wandered in just
as Ronal descended the stair from above. The two shortest men in Sanctuary
glared at each other, much to Spyder's silent amusement. Then the hunchback
rushed off, muttering something about telling his "mathter."
Spyder introduced himself to all his visitors. To Soldt, a grim man with a
professional eye for weapons.
To Galen, another shopkeeper from the Maze, to whom Spyder took an immediate,
if cautious, liking.
To an arrogant young Rankan named Vion Larris, who despite disdaining and
criticizing virtually everything in the shop, nevertheless bought and bought
until his considerable purse was empty.
Despite the Hill's reputation, throughout the afternoon friendliness and
courtesy prevailed until the arrival of Naimun, the Irrune chieftain's second
son, and his pair of burly escorts. Half of The Black
Spider's customers, those nearest the door, exited at once. The other half
backed into the far corners of the shop.
"Do you make all these weapons?" Naimun demanded as he took a Yenized sword
down from its peg
on the wall and unsheathed it. He ran his thumb along its edge.
"Of course not," Spyder answered calmly. "I'm a merchant. I, or my agents,
travel the known world to find the finest merchandise made by the finest
artisans and craftsmen."
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