Читать книгу The Complete Darkwar Trilogy: Flight of the Night Hawks, Into a Dark Realm, Wrath of a Mad God - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 26

MAGNUS WATCHED CAREFULLY.

Nakor hovered over the Talnoy. Three Tsurani Great Ones also watched. ‘It’s nothing obvious,’ said Nakor. ‘And I may be wrong, but …’ He moved his hand over the thing’s helmet, and added, ‘… if my idea works –’

The Talnoy sat up. Magnus’ eyes went wide and then he smiled. ‘You did it.’

Magnus was holding the ring which had previously been required to control the creature.

Nakor said, ‘I think I can now devise a way to control the Talnoy without using the ring. That would be a good thing since using the ring eventually drives you mad.’

Illianda said, ‘Very impressive, Nakor.’

Of the Great Ones who had met the wily Isalani, Illianda was the least bothered by the fact that Nakor didn’t fit into the Tsurani magical hierarchy of the Greater and Lesser Paths. Most of the time, Nakor even denied that he was a practitioner of magic. Illianda didn’t seem to care what he was, as long as there were results.

‘But we still need to concern ourselves with the rogue rifts that are attracted to our world by this thing,’ said Fomoine. ‘If we can’t establish protective wards we must return this thing to Midkemia, to divert the risk from our world. We have had another possible occurrence of a rift since you were last here. Nothing definite, but two of our brother magicians are visiting the site now to determine if such a thing did occur.’

Nakor nodded. ‘I will tell Pug. He’s also attempting to understand the wards which shielded this thing from magical detection for so long.’

Magnus said, ‘Perhaps we can divert whatever magical forces follow it, by removing it to Midkemia, but what if it’s already too late?’

The three Tsurani magicians exchanged questioning looks before Savdari said, ‘If it is too late, then we shall have to look to our own resources to preclude an incursion into our world. If not, at least we can buy both of our worlds some time by switching the Talnoy between them? A few weeks there, then back here, then back to Midkemia?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Magnus. ‘I’ll speak to my father tonight. I hope, however, that shuttling the Talnoy between our worlds will not prove necessary and that an effective ward will be provided soon.’

Nakor said, ‘If we have to, we can move the Talnoy through the rift quickly, to Stardock and then perhaps somewhere else.’

The three Tsurani magicians bowed. ‘As always, convey our respects to Milamber,’ Illianda said, using Pug’s Tsurani name.

Magnus and Nakor returned the courtesy. ‘I will, and as always he sends his respects to the Great Ones of Tsuranuanni.’ They left the room containing the Talnoy and walked through several halls to the rift room.

Unlike in the past, the rift between the Assembly of Magicians on Kelewan and the Academy at Stardock was not left open continuously anymore. With the current concern over rifts from the Dasati world, Pug and the Great Ones of Tsuranuanni had thought it best to only open a rift when they most needed to.

Magnus stood before the rift device and held out his arms, incanting the appropriate spell. Nakor watched him without comment and the younger magician went through the ritual necessary to attune the energies that would bridge the gulf between the two worlds.

An odd buzzing filled the room for a moment, and the hairs on Nakor’s and Magnus’ arms and neck stood up, as if a lightning strike had occurred nearby. Then, a shimmering grey void appeared before the two men. They both stepped through without hesitation and suddenly they found themselves upon the island of Stardock.

A few magicians had gathered when the rift had appeared, but upon seeing Magnus and Nakor they nodded their greetings and departed. Magnus turned and with a wave of his hand he willed the rift out of existence. With a wry smile, he said, ‘My father told me he almost died trying to close the first Tsurani rift.’

Nakor said, ‘I’ve heard the story. Before you become too full of yourself, just remember he had to shut down a machine created by a dozen Great Ones, and he had to have your grandfather’s help to do it.’

Magnus shrugged. ‘I wasn’t comparing myself to my father, or grandfather, Nakor.’ He started walking towards the beach. ‘I was merely remarking on … oh, never mind. It’s just an idle thought.’

When they reached the edge of the lake, Magnus drew out an orb, and an instant later the two men stood at the door of Pug’s study. Magnus knocked and Pug’s voice answered: ‘Come in.’

Nakor paused and said, ‘You tell your father what we’ve done and found. I’m going to go and look for Bek.’

Magnus nodded, and Nakor took his leave.

A few minutes later he found Bek sitting under a tree watching some students listen to Rosenvar lecture. When he saw Nakor approach, he jumped to his feet and said, ‘Are we leaving?’

‘Why, are you bored?’

‘Very. I have no idea what that old man is talking about. And the students here are not very friendly.’ He looked at Nakor and said accusingly, ‘And that thing you did in my head …’ His expression was one of frustration verging on tears. ‘One of the boys insulted me and normally I would have just hit him very hard, probably in the face. And if he had gotten up, I’d have hit him again. I’d have kept on hitting him until he didn’t get up.’ With an almost pained expression, Bek said, ‘But I couldn’t, Nakor. I couldn’t even ball my fist. He just stood there looking at me like there was something wrong with me, and there was! And then there was this pretty girl I wanted, but when she wouldn’t stop to talk to me and I tried to grab her, the same damn thing happened! I couldn’t bring my hand up to—’ Bek looked as if he were on the verge of tears. ‘What did you do to me, Nakor?’

Nakor put his hand on the large youngster’s shoulder and said, ‘Something I would rather not do to anyone, Bek. At least for a while, you can’t do harm to someone else except if you’re defending yourself.’

Bek sighed. ‘Am I always going to be this way?’

‘No,’ said Nakor. ‘Not if you learn to control your own impulses and anger.’

Bek laughed. ‘I never get angry, Nakor. Not really.’

Nakor motioned for Bek to sit and sat next to him. ‘What do you mean?’

Bek shrugged. ‘Sometimes I get annoyed, and if I’m in pain I can really break things up, but I find most things either funny or not funny. People talk about love, hate, envy and the rest of it, and I think I know what they’re talking about, but I’m not certain.

‘I mean, I’ve seen how people act around each other and I sort of remember feeling things when I was really little, like the way it felt when my mother held me. But mostly I don’t care about the same things that other people care about.’ He looked at Nakor and there was almost a pleading quality to his expression, ‘I often thought that I was different, Nakor. Many people have told me I am.

‘And I’ve never cared about that.’ He lowered his head, looking at the ground. ‘But this thing you’ve done to me, it makes me feel—’

‘Frustrated?’

Bek nodded. ‘I can’t … do things like I used to. I wanted that girl, Nakor. I don’t like not being able to have what I want!’ He looked Nakor in the face and the little gambler could see tears of frustration forming in Bek’s eyes.

‘You’ve never had anyone say no to you, have you?’

‘Sometimes, but if they do I kill them and take what I want, anyway.’

Nakor was silent, then he thought of something. ‘Someone once told me a story about a man travelling in a wagon which was being chased by wolves. When the man reached the safety of a city, he found the gates closed and while he shouted for help, the wolves overtook him and tore him to pieces. How do you feel about that tale, Ralan?’

Bek laughed. ‘I’d say that it is a pretty funny story! I wager he had a really amazing look on his face when those beasts caught up with him!’

Nakor was silent, then he stood. ‘You wait here. I’ll be back shortly.’ The Isalani walked straight to Pug’s study. He knocked, then opened the door before Pug told him to enter.

‘I need to speak with you, now,’ Nakor said.

Pug looked up from where he sat before an open window, enjoying the summer’s breeze. Magnus sat opposite him and both men studied the excited looking Isalani. ‘What is it?’ Pug asked.

‘That man, Ralan Bek, he is important.’

‘So you have said,’ Magnus replied.

‘No, even more important than we suspected. He understands the Dasati.’

Pug and Magnus exchanged startled expressions before Magnus asked, ‘Didn’t we agree not to speak of them to anyone outside our group?’

Nakor shook his head. ‘I’ve told him nothing. He knows them because he is like them. I now understand how they came to be the way they are.’

Pug sat back and said, ‘This sounds fascinating.’

Nakor said, ‘I don’t mean I understand every detail or even exactly how it is so, but I know what has happened.’

Pug motioned for Nakor to sit and continue.

‘When Kaspar described what Kalkin had shown him of the Dasati world, we all had the same reaction. After our concern over the threat they pose, we asked ourselves how such a race came to be. How could a people rise, grow and prosper without compassion, generosity and some sense of common interest?

‘I suspect they had them once, but evil became ascendant in that world, and this man is an example of what we will all become if the same evil gains pre-eminence here.’ Nakor paused, then stood and began to pace as if struggling to form his thoughts.

‘Bek is as the gods have made him.’ He looked at the young man, who nodded. ‘That is what he said to me, and he is correct. And he knows that he is not as the gods made other men. But he doesn’t yet begin to understand what that means.’

Nakor glanced around and continued, ‘No one in this room was made as other men are made. Each of us has been touched in one fashion or another, and because of that we are condemned to lead lives that are both uniquely wonderful and terrible.’ He grinned. ‘Sometimes both at the same time.’

His face resumed a thoughtful expression. ‘During our struggles with the agents of evil, we have pondered what purpose such evil serves, many times, and the best answer we have reached is an abstract hypothesis: that without evil, there could be no good, and that our ultimate goal, for the greater benefit of all, is to achieve a balance where the evil is offset by good, thus leaving the universe in harmony.

‘But what if the harmony we seek is an illusion? What if the natural state is actually a flux, the constant struggle? Sometimes evil will predominate, and at other times good. We are caught up in the endless ebb and flow of tides that wash back and forth over our world?’

‘You paint an even bleaker picture than usual, Nakor,’ Pug interrupted.

Magnus agreed. ‘Your ant-seige on the castle sounds more promising than being swept away on endless tides.’

Nakor shook his head. ‘No, don’t you see? This shows that sometimes the balance is destroyed! Sometimes the tide sweeps away all before it.’ He pointed to Bek. ‘He is touched by something that he doesn’t understand, but his understanding is not necessary for that thing to work its will upon him! The Dasati are not evil because they wanted to be that way. In ages past, I’d wager that they were not unlike us. Yes, their world is alien and they live on a plane of existence that would be impossible for us to endure, but Dasati mothers loved their children once, and husbands loved their wives, and friendship and loyalty flourished ages ago. The thing we call the Nameless One is but a manifestation of something far greater, a thing not limited to this world, this universe, or even this reality. It spans—’ he was lost for words. ‘Evil is everywhere, Pug.’ Then he grinned. ‘But that means, so is good.’

Nakor struck his left palm with his right fist. ‘We delude ourselves that we understand the scope of our decisions, but when we speak of ages, we do not understand them. The thing we fight has been preparing for this conflict since men were little more than beasts, and it is winning. The Dasati became what they are because evil won on their world, Pug. In that universe, what we call the Nameless One overturned the balance and it won. They are what we will become if we fail.’

Pug sat back, his face drawn and pale. ‘You paint a grim picture, my friend.’

Nakor shook his head. ‘No, don’t you see? All is not lost – if evil can win there—’ He looked at Pug, then at Magnus and his grin returned ‘—then good can win here!’

Later, Pug and Nakor walked along the sea shore, letting the warm breeze and salt spray invigorate them. ‘Do you remember Fantus?’ Pug asked.

‘Kulgan’s pet firedrake that used to hang around the kitchen from time to time?’

‘I miss him,’ said Pug. ‘It’s been five years since I last saw him, and he was very old, dying I think. He wasn’t really a pet, more of a house-guest.’ Pug looked out at the endlessly churning surf, the waves building up and rolling in to break upon the beach. ‘He was with Kulgan the night I first came to his hut in the woods near Crydee Castle. He was always around back then.

‘When I brought my son William from Kelewan, he and Fantus became thick as thieves. When William died, Fantus visited us less and less.’

‘Drakes are reputed to be very intelligent, perhaps he grieved?’

‘No doubt,’ said Pug.

‘Why think of him now?’ asked Nakor.

Pug stopped and sat on a large rock nestled into the cliff face where the beach curved into an outcropping. To continue their walk, they would have had to wade through the shallows around a headland. ‘I don’t know. He was charming, in a roguish sort of way. He reminded me of simpler times.’

Nakor laughed. ‘During our years of friendship, Pug, I’ve heard you talk of your simpler times but I would hardly count the Riftwar, your imprisonment in Kelewan, becoming the first barbarian Great One and then ending the war,’ he laughed, ‘and the Great Uprising, and all those other things you, Tomas and Macros accomplished as being anything close to simple!’

‘Maybe I was just a simpler man,’ said Pug, fatigue evident in his voice.

‘Hardly, I’ll accept you had a simpler understanding of things years ago. We all did, in our youth.’

‘Fantus had a capricious nature, he could be as unpredictable as a cat or as steadfast as a dog. But I think the reason that I dwell on him today is because he and William were inseparable.’

‘And you think of William?’

‘Often. And my adopted daughter, Gamina.’

‘Why this reflection now, Pug?’

‘Because my children are in harm’s way again.’

Nakor laughed. ‘I know they are your sons, Pug, but the term children hardly applies to Magnus and Caleb any longer. They are not only men, but men of great resolve and strong character – men whom any father would be proud of.’

‘I know, and I do feel proud,’ said Pug. ‘But I am fated to watch all those I love die before I do.’

‘How do you know this, Pug?’

‘When I fought the demon Jakan as his fleet sailed into the Bitter Sea, I attempted to destroy his armada single-handed – one of my more arrogant moments. As a result, I was almost killed by a powerful magical ward.’

‘I remember that,’ said Nakor.

‘In the Hall of Lims-Kragma, I was given a choice by the Goddess. Only my family know of the decision I made, and then only part of it. In short, I was allowed to return and continue my work, but in exchange I must watch everyone I love die before me.’

Nakor sat on the rock next to Pug and was silent. After a long minute, he said, ‘I don’t know what to say, Pug. But perhaps there is one other thing to consider.’

‘What would that be?’

‘I am older than you, and everyone I knew as a young man is also dead. Everyone. Sometimes, I remember faces yet cannot put names to them. It is the curse of being long-lived. But, you might have been cursed even before you spoke to the Goddess.’

‘How so?’

‘As I said, I have also outlived everyone I knew in my youth. My family was never much of one; my mother died before my father, but he died soon after her. It didn’t matter, for I hadn’t seen them for more than thirty years, and I didn’t have any brothers or sisters either.’ He shrugged. ‘But that doesn’t mean I haven’t come to love people, Pug. And losing them is always painful.

‘There is an ancient Isalani blessing intoned at the birth of a baby: “Grandfather dies, father dies, son dies”. It is a blessing because it expresses the natural order. I have never been a father so I can’t imagine what it was like to lose William and Gamina. But I remember how it affected you. I saw that. I saw what it meant for you to lose them.’

Nakor shook his head as if struggling to find the words he sought. ‘But I have lost a wife, twice. The first time I lost her when she left me to seek more power. And the second time … I killed her, Pug. I killed Jorma. The body I knew her to possess had died decades before, and she occupied a man’s body when I ended her life,’ said Nakor with a slightly rueful laugh. ‘But that didn’t change the fact that she was someone whom I had loved, in whose arms I had lain, and whose presence made me more than I was without her.’ He looked at Pug and his eyes were shining with moisture as he continued. ‘You, I and Tomas, have been chosen for something by the gods, and that honour has its price.

‘But I have to think it is because it must be done. Maybe it’s vanity, but only we three. Not Miranda, not Magnus, not anyone else. Just we three.’

‘Why?’

‘Only the gods know that,’ said Nakor with an evil chuckle. ‘And they’re not telling us the truth.’

Pug stood up, motioning to Nakor that it was time to return to the villa. ‘They’re lying to us?’

‘Well, they’re certainly not telling us everything. Consider who Kaspar met on the peaks of the Ratn’garies.’

‘Kalkin.’

‘Yes, Ban-ath, the god of thieves … and tricksters, and liars …’

‘So you think the Dasati may not be as big a menace as Kalkin portrayed?’

‘Oh, I still think they are all that and more, but I think Kalkin showed Kaspar only what he wanted Kaspar to see. The gods have their reasons, I’m sure, but I’m a cynical bastard at times and I’d like to know what Kaspar didn’t see in that vision.’

Pug stopped and put a restraining hand on Nakor’s shoulder. ‘You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?’

Nakor grinned. ‘Not yet, but in days to come, we may have to visit the Dasati world.’

Pug stood motionless for a moment, then started walking again. ‘Intentionally opening a rift to the Dasati home world? Could there possibly be a more reckless act?’

‘I’m sure there is. We just haven’t thought of it at the moment,’ said Nakor with a laugh.

Pug laughed with him. ‘I’m not convinced, Nakor. That could be the worst idea in the history of really bad ideas.’

Nakor continued laughing. ‘Perhaps, but what if travelling there prevents the Dasati from coming here?’

Pug’s laughter stopped abruptly. ‘What if—?’ He walked with his eyes down as if he was lost in thought, then he said, ‘Perhaps it is something we need to discuss.’

‘Good. And while we’re at it, when are you going to tell me more about these messages from your future self?’

‘Soon, my friend,’ said Pug. ‘Soon.’ He looked up at the afternoon sun sparkling across the waves. ‘I wonder how Caleb and the others are doing down in Kesh? We’ve not had word from them in days.’

‘Oh, I’m sure we’d have heard if there was anything of importance going on.’

Caleb lunged to his left as the assassin drove the point of his sword through the air, barely missing his chest. Caleb ignored the burning pain in his left shoulder as it slammed into the moss-covered stones of the sewer, and drove his own sword point into the Nighthawk’s stomach.

The trap had been diabolical in its planning and execution. Caleb cursed himself for being a smug fool. Not only had he and Chezarul’s men failed to stay one step ahead of the Nighthawks, they were now clearly at a disadvantage.

The only reason they were still alive was blind luck.

Chezarul had agents following the merchant and other men watching the house where Zane had spied Mudara speaking with the Nighthawk. The night before, one of Chezarul’s agents had reported uncovering the Nighthawks’ base. It had taken days, but now it seemed that their patience was paying off.

Chezarul had identified a basement of an abandoned warehouse as the Nighthawks’ headquarters, and had planned a double-pronged assault on them, with men emerging from the sewers, while others attacked the building from the street.

As the Nighthawks were most active during the night, it was decided that a mid-afternoon attack would catch the majority of the assassins as they slept.

Guided by one of Chezarul’s men, Caleb had taken his group through the sewers, taking an entire morning to work their way to positions surrounding the Nighthawks’ suspected lair.

What they had found instead of the nest was a trap, which had only been revealed because a company of rats had been disturbed and one of the men felt a stray gust of breeze which had carried a faint hint of smoke. Caleb barely had time to call out a warning before the sewer swarmed with black-clad Nighthawks. Three of Caleb’s men had died before they realized what was occurring and the rest fell back in a disordered manner.

The attack had been turned into a rout, and now Caleb’s only concern was getting the surviving men out of the sewers alive. He urged them past him while battling the Nighthawks at a slower pace, so that eventually only he and four others held the mouth of the tunnel at the entrance to a large junction.

Caleb knew that he needed to keep the intersection clear for at least another couple of minutes so that the rest of the Conclave’s agents could flee into the city above.

He had no doubt that other Nighthawks would be waiting in the vicinity, but he doubted that any of them would assault Caleb’s men in broad daylight. The City Watch was usually disinterested, but proved aggressive and brutal when it came to public unrest. Armed conflict in the streets of Kesh was close enough to rebellion to provoke a swift reaction, and if the fighting got out of hand the Inner Legion would answer their call. If that happened, the only options would be run, or die.

The man next to Caleb gurgled as his lungs filled with blood from a puncture wound to his chest. Caleb slashed down hard and removed the offending Nighthawk’s arm at his elbow and he fell back into the foul water screaming. Caleb stood his ground with two of Chezarul’s men at his side, and for a brief moment the Nighthawks gave them respite as they regrouped.

A scream from further down the tunnel told Caleb that another of the Conclave’s men had been slain. Caleb could only hope that the end had come swiftly, for the Nighthawks would think nothing of peeling the skin from a man inch by inch to extract whatever information he might have before finally killing him.

Caleb had lost his lantern when they had retreated. Some light filtered through a distant grating in the ceiling twenty yards to his left, otherwise the tunnel was shrouded in murk.

The three men at the junction stood fast as the Nighthawks rushed at them. The lack of light and their black clothing made it difficult for Caleb to judge how many there were until they were almost upon him.

He slashed at a man who dodged back, then thrust past the man’s retreating form to take another Nighthawk in the thigh. The assassin crumpled with a groan of pain as the man on Caleb’s right sliced at another Nighthawk who also fell down.

Then, without any verbal communication, three remaining Nighthawks stepped back. The one nearest to the wounded assassin skewered the man with the point of his sword, sinking his corpse beneath the sewage that swirled around their legs.

The Nighthawks retreated slowly, until they vanished into the gloom. After a moment, Caleb said, ‘Follow me,’ and led his men towards the sunlight streaming from the grate above.

Upon reaching the pool of light, he found the iron rungs fixed to the wall and indicated the two men with him should climb out of the sewer. When they were safely up the ladder, Caleb climbed out.

It was quiet as the three filthy, blood-splattered men emerged from the sewer in the centre of a backstreet in the warehouse district.

Caleb said, ‘Go to your appointed safe havens. If Chezarul has survived, he’ll know where to find me. If not, then whoever takes his place will know how to reach me. For now, trust no one and say nothing to anyone. Go!’

The men hurried away, and when they were safely out of sight, Caleb took off in the opposite direction.

He paused at a public fountain and leaned over, ducking his entire head under the water. He came up sputtering and shook the water from his long hair – he had lost his hat somewhere in the sewer.

Caleb glanced around and knew that he couldn’t be sure if he was being watched. He could only hope to lose whoever might be following him on his route to his safe house.

As he set off, he wondered about the boys. He had given them strict instructions to follow if he were not back by sundown. They were to walk out of the Three Willows by the route he had taught them until they came to a particular home. There, they should knock on the back door and say a particular phrase. He prayed they would do as they were told.

Caleb dodged around some crates stacked on the corner of two alleys, and a slashing blade cut deep into his left shoulder. He staggered backwards and made ready to receive the attack that would follow.

Two Nighthawks blocked his escape route. Caleb knew the men would have to die in as short a time as possible else he would lose consciousness and bleed to death from his wounds.

The Nighthawk who had caught him by surprise charged first, the other man moved to Caleb’s left, so Caleb took the one opportunity presented to him. He ducked, thrust upwards, and then with an explosive leap, yanked his sword from the stomach of the first Nighthawk, twisting himself completely around and swinging his sword in an arc. The second Nighthawk saw Caleb duck and instinctively moved his blade to his own left, assuming that Caleb would now swing at him from that side, but with the sword turned in a complete circle, the attack came from his right, and before the Nighthawk could bring his sword around to block, Caleb’s blade bit deep into his neck.

The second man fell and Caleb stumbled past him, clumsily putting his sword into his scabbard as he moved in what looked like a drunken stumble. He pushed his hand against his twicewounded shoulder, to stanch the flow of blood and turned his mind to one thing: reaching the safe house before he lost consciousness. ‘Three treys,’ said Jommy, laughing as he scooped up the copper pieces. Zane groaned and threw his cards down on the table.

Tad laughed. ‘I told you not to bet.’

Jommy was about to say something when the smile suddenly faded from his face. His eyes darted around the room and he lowered his voice. ‘Heads up. It’s about to get nasty in here.’

Tad and Zane glanced around the taproom and saw that four men in matching grey cloaks had entered and now stood around the room, effectively sealing off each exit.

‘What is this?’ asked Tad.

‘Don’t know, but it’s not good,’ answered Jommy. ‘Stay close to me, lads.’ He stood up and waited until Tad and Zane did likewise. He said, ‘Get ready.’

‘For what?’ asked Zane, just as Jommy walked towards the nearest man.

The direct approach of the large red-headed boy must have confused the man, for he didn’t attempt to draw his sword until Jommy had picked up a chair and sent it crashing towards him, foiling his attempt to pull out his weapon.

While the man ducked under the first chair, Jommy picked up another and smashed it down on the man’s head, at about the same time Pablo Maguire came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what the problem was. Before he made two steps, one of the greycloaked men had pulled a small crossbow out from under his cloak and fired at the old man. Pablo ducked behind the bar and avoided being killed, and rose up with a sailor’s cutlass in his hand.

Jommy and Pablo both shouted, ‘Run!’ at the same time, and Tad and Zane ran out the door. Jommy paused only long enough to kick the downed man in the face, before he leaped through the doorway, with the two closest men following after him.

The boys had reached the boulevard and were heading into the plaza by the time the men began to overtake them. Jommy glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tad and Zane were still behind him and shouted, ‘Follow me!’

He hurried to the fountain where the usual gang of apprentices and girls were gathering and came to a grinding halt in front of Arkmet and the other Bakers’ Boys. He said, ‘You feel like hitting someone?’

‘You?’ asked Arkmet, taking a step back.

‘No,’ said Jommy as Tad and Zane caught up.

‘Them?’ said Arkmet with a grin.

‘No,’ said Jommy, pointing past the brothers at the two greycloaked assassins who had pursued them into the plaza. ‘Them.’

Arkmet shrugged. ‘Sure.’

Jommy, Tad, and Zane took off, and the two assassins moved forwards, their cloaks hiding their weapons from the city watch. The Bakers’ Boys moved to intercept the two men and Arkmet said, ‘What’s the hurry?’

One assassin, a grey-bearded man with a bald pate, threw back his cloak, revealing a sword and dagger in either hand, and said, ‘You don’t wish to know, boy.’

Seeing weapons, the Bakers’ Boys stepped away but continued to block the route Tad, Zane, and Jommy had escaped by. Putting up his hands, Arkmet also backed away, and said, ‘No one said anything about blades.’

‘No one said anything about stupid boys getting in the way, either,’ said the assassin. He made a menacing gesture with the dagger in his left hand, while his companion slipped around him to the right, and tried to see which way the three boys had fled.

‘Stupid?’ said Arkmet as the man tried to shoulder past him. ‘Stupid?’ With stunning fury, the broad-shouldered boy lashed out, catching the assassin on the left side of his face, right at the point of his jaw. The man’s eyes rolled in his head and his knees buckled. His companion turned to see what the noise was and was greeted by a brick, thrown with precision by another Bakers’ Boy. The brick caught the man on the bridge of his nose and his head snapped backwards.

Someone pushed him over and the Bakers’ Boys gathered around the two fallen men and proceeded to stomp and kick them, continuing long after they had fallen unconscious.

Tad, Zane, and Jommy hugged the wall in the darkness. They had been on the move for hours and at last were fairly sure they were not being followed. Perspiration dripped off all three of them, for the night was hot and they had not had the chance to rest for ages.

‘What now?’ asked Zane.

‘We go where Caleb told us to go if something went wrong,’ Tad replied. ‘Four men trying to kill us is most certainly something wrong, don’t you think?’

‘You’ll get no argument from me, mate,’ said Jommy. ‘Where did he say we were supposed to go?’

Tad said, ‘Follow me.’

He led his two companions through the streets of the city, getting lost twice but eventually finding his way to the appropriate home. As instructed, he did not approach the house directly, but from a narrow alleyway, and through a broken board in the back fence, which let the three boys into a small garden behind a modest building. At the kitchen door, he knocked and waited.

‘Who’s there?’ demanded a man’s voice.

‘Those who seek shelter in the shadows,’ Tad replied.

The door opened quickly and a broad-shouldered man in a simple tunic and trousers urged them inside. ‘Come in, quickly!’

He said nothing but moved towards the centre of the room and rolled back a carpet. Under it lay a trap door and he motioned for Zane and Jommy to pull it open. A narrow flight of stairs led down into the gloom. The man lit a lantern from a taper thrust into the fire in the kitchen, then led the boys down. ‘I’ll close that when I come back up,’ he said at the bottom of the stairs.

The stairs gave way to a narrow tunnel which headed away from the house in the direction they had come. A deserted shed had stood on the opposite side of the alley, and Tad judged they were now somewhere beneath it.

The man paused at a door and knocked twice, paused again, and then repeated the knock. Then he opened the door.

They entered a small chamber with barely enough space to hold them. Within the room sat a single bed, a chair and a tiny table. Obviously this hide-out had been meant for one person. The man turned and said, ‘You’ll wait here until tomorrow night, then we shall move you.’

As he moved past the three boys, Zane and the others finally realised that a figure already lay on the bed, unconscious. At the door, the man turned and said, ‘We’ve done all we can. He had lost a lot of blood before he got here.’ He closed the door.

The boys looked down. ‘Caleb,’ Tad whispered, regarding the still form on the bed. His bandages were soaked in blood.

Zane slowly sat on the one chair, and Jommy and Tad settled on the floor to wait.