The Book by H.M.Clarke (best free e reader .TXT) 📕

city near the Wharf Quarter.  This was not the poorest, however.  The poorest part of the city was on the other side of the Wharf Quarter and that was where Kurt was heading.  The Tanner’s Quarter.

Kurt could feel the form of the book as the sack bumped against his side as he moved.  He adjusted the mouth of the sack on his shoulder to try to shift the book off of his spine but it kept slipping back into a position to jab him in the small of his back.  After a few moments of this, he gave up trying.  He was nearly home, and he needed to keep his wits about him, he could suffer the jabbing of the book for a few blocks more.

As he moved closer to home, the harsh smells of the nearby tanneries assailed his senses.  He was used to the smell now but when he first moved into his current digs, the constant stench made his eyes water and caused him to throw up at the mere hint of food.  Now the smell did not worry him but it is a deterrent to others who might want to do him over.  No one who did not have to live or work here could endure the smell for long.  Though he did have a problem with the smell clinging to his clothing and hair, but a good dusting of charcoal could get rid of that.

Kurt crept slowly to the corner of his street block and peered carefully around the edge of the large warehouse that dominated the street he lived on.  The run down boarding house that he called home was nestled in between this warehouse and what passed for the local Ale House.

It was some of the heavies from the local Ale House that Kurt wanted to avoid.

The Tallow is the only Ale House that catered for the Tanneries and their workers and because of this, it reeked.   It also had a sizable custom which Kurt often took advantage of when he was getting a little hard up for cash.  The Tallow’s heavies know him and they know his reputation, one night he failed to hand over to them a cut of his takings and ever since they have always tried to reinforce the need to share by ‘roughing’ him up a little.

But as he looked around the corner Kurt saw no sign of the Ale Houses’ heavies.  The Inn was quiet so Briee, the owner of The Tallow, probably sent them home early.  Kurt decided to make a quick dash to his front door; once he was inside the building, he would be safe.  The Tallow’s heavies were as terrified of his landlady as most of her tenants were.

Keeping to the dark shadows that were thrown by the warehouse, Kurt edged his way carefully along the walls, making his way slowly to the weather-beaten front door of the lodging house.  It always pays to be careful even if you are sure that no one is around.  Kurt’s caution paid off.  As he made his way to the edge of the last shadow before jumping to the door, Kurt thought he heard movement behind the stack of cases and empty barrels that sat in the corner where the boarding house meets the sidewall of The Tallow.

Kurt froze in mid-step, keeping within the shadow cast by the warehouse.  It was dark enough here so that anyone casually looking would not notice him.  Kurt’s sharp eyes scanned the wooden boxes for any sign of movement from a waiting thug but he could see nothing.  And all the while he stood watching, the corner of the book dug into the small of his back as if trying to prod him forward to take a closer look.

After a few more heartbeats of watching Kurt crept slowly forward, moving past the door to the boarding house towards the stack of wooden boxes.  Curiosity had gotten the better of Kurt, a trait that he usually never gave into.  He suddenly wanted to know what had made the noise.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder in an effort to move the book away from his back, Kurt carefully looked over the top of the boxes to the space behind them.  He expected to see one of the thugs fast asleep but he breathed a sigh of relief at what he did see.

Curled in the corner in a nest of fur and cloth was a large black cat.  She was lying on her side while four small kittens suckled from her belly.  She blinked golden eyes at him but otherwise did nothing else at his intrusion.

Letting out a pent up sign, Kurt turned back to the door of the boarding house.  Letting himself in, he quickly rushed up the stairs and up to the landing that lead to his room.   Two other rooms shared this landing and Kurt knew where every creaking board and knothole was on this floor.  He had walked this way many times without making a single sound that could alert the disreputable occupiers of the neighboring rooms.

Kurt adjusted his sack across his shoulders and began to cross the landing with surprising agility.   He could hear no sounds as he passed each closed door so either the occupants were asleep or not in (of course any respectable person should be tucked into their crib at this time of night).

As Kurt reached his door, he drew his dagger from his belt and slipped it neatly between the door and the frame, lifting the blade quickly as it caught the latch.  He opened the door and slipped quietly into his one room abode.

Closing the door behind him, Kurt tossed the bag onto the wooden crate that he was using as a makeshift table.

He leaned back against the door.  He expelled a sigh of relief that he was safely back in his room and then his eyes fixed on the crate.  The contents in that bag would enable him to move from this