By Glen Cook
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Additional info for Petty Pewter Gods (Garrett P.I. 8)
Example text
It was the voice of the lover you have been waiting for all these years. Something was going on here. The light faded till I could stand to open my eyes. It continued to wane till there was no more than you would find in your average torchlit dungeon, which was my first guess as to my whereabouts. But I didn't recognize any voices. I thought I pretty well knew everybody who had a dungeon in the family inventory. Well, it's a big city. Hell. No. Not a dungeon. This was some kind of big cellar with a high ceiling and only a couple of really dirty windows practically lost in rusty steel bars, way, way up at the back.
Which did not slow my effort to get away. I didn't give up till the third one grabbed my ankles and lifted. The Goddamn Parrot walked down my back muttering to himself. Mumble and mutter was all he seemed capable of anymore. The whole crew lockstepped to the coach. I lifted my head long enough to see a matched set of four huge horses, the same shade of brown. On the driver's seat was a coachman all in black, looking down at me but invisible within the depths of a vast black cowl. He needed a big sickle to make the look complete.
It was the kind of chuckle I get too often. My friends figure I was put here to amuse them with my travails. "Look, Saucerhead, this gal is going to lose me if I don't... " Tinnie is one ex that my cronies won't let go away. "Great. Come by the house later. " "I seen Winger, too. She... " Our mutual acquaintance Winger, though female, is as big as me and goofier than Saucerhead. And she has the moral sense of a rabid hyena. And, despite that, she is hard not to like. " I was drifting away. "She had a good idea.