Читать книгу Shadow of a Dark Queen - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 14

The wagon halted.

Helmut Grindle pointed. ‘Krondor.’

Erik, sitting in the back of the wagon, turned and looked over the shoulders of Grindle and Roo, who had been driving. Erik had been impressed to discover that for once his friend really could back up his claim. He drove the team like an experienced teamster; obviously, Roo’s father had been good for something besides getting drunk and beating up on him.

Erik looked down the long winding road known as the King’s Highway. They had turned south after Grindle had passed the last toll station, entering the road near a town called Haverford. Twice before that patrols of armed soldiers had ridden past, but at no time did they even pause to look at Roo or Erik.

As Roo snapped the reins and the wagon started down the road toward the city, a patrol of city guardsmen rode toward them. Erik sat as calmly as he could in the rear, attempting to look as much like just another wagon guard as possible. Roo’s hands knotted on the reins and the rear left horse snorted at the tension in the line, not sure if she was asked to change pace or direction. Roo forced himself to relax and the two of them watched as the soldiers approached. Then, abruptly, the guards pulled up. ‘There’s a long wait,’ said the guard sergeant.

Grindle asked,’ ‘What’s the holdup?’

‘The King has entered the city. South gate by the palace is sealed off for his retinue. Everyone else is forced to use the north gates.’ he said, waving in the general direction Grindle’s wagon was headed. ‘And the gate watch is searching the wagons.’

Grindle swore as the guards rode off.

Roo and Erik exchanged glances. Roo shook his head slightly, indicating Erik should say nothing about the wagon search. In conversational tones, he said, ‘That’s some city.’

‘That she is,’ replied Grindle.

Krondor sprawled at the head of a large bay, beyond which an expanse of blue stretched off to the horizon: the Bitter Sea. The old city was walled, but an extensive foulburg – the part of the city outside the walls – had grown up over the years, until now it was much larger than the inner city. Inside the walls, the view was dominated by the palace of the Prince of Krondor, which sat atop a hill hard against the south side of the bay. Ships, looking like tiny white slips of paper, rested at anchor or sailed in and out of the bay.

Roo said, ‘Master Grindle, what do you think are the best commodities to ship from this city?’ Erik suppressed a groan as the merchant began his long answer. In the days since joining up with Grindle, Roo had been pestering the merchant for ideas on making money. At first the man was reluctant, as if Roo would somehow steal a thought from him and he’d be the poorer for it. Roo made several statements as if they were fact that got the old merchant going, telling the youth he was an idiot and would end up ruined before he was twenty years old. When challenged as to why, he’d open up with a sound argument. By cleverly asking questions, Roo would turn the conversation into an ongoing lecture on how to conduct business.

‘Rare, that’s the thing,’ said Grindle. ‘You can hear there’s a shortage of hides for making boots in Ylith. So corner all the hides in Krondor you can. By the time you reach Ylith, you find some lad from the Free Cities has already imported ten wagonloads of hides and you’re ruined. But rarities! There are always rich men looking for fine cloth, precious gems, exotic spices, and the like.’ Glancing around to see he was not overheard, he continued. ‘You can build volume in commodities. You can be the largest wool shipper in the West, but one plague of anthrax on the sheep herds, one ship sunk on its way to the Far Coast, and bang!’ He slapped his hands together for emphasis. One of the horses cocked an ear at the noise. ‘You’re ruined.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Roo. ‘People may not have money to buy luxuries, but they have to eat.’

‘Bah!’ said Grindle. ‘Rich people always have money to buy luxuries. Poor people often don’t have money to buy food. And rich people may eat better than poor, but one man can only eat so much, no matter how rich.’

‘What about wine?’

Grindle launched into a discussion, and Erik sat back, turning his mind to the last few days. At first bored by the chatter, Erik discovered there was a lot about the business world that was interesting, especially in terms of risk versus reward. Grindle claimed he was only a modest merchant, but Erik was beginning to believe that was intentional understatement. The cargo in the wagon was an odd mix, a half-dozen bolts of embroidered silk, a dozen small jars carefully lashed together with huge amounts of cotton wadding for protection, some wooden boxes with heavy cord tied around them, and some odd sacks. The boys never asked what was in the packages and Grindle never volunteered. From the course of the recent discussion, Erik assumed the man traded in precious goods, small but of high value, and wore poor clothing and drove a modest-appearing wagon to throw off suspicion. Erik suspected Grindle might have gems or some other cargo of small bulk and large value there.

The first night together, Erik had noticed that while the wagon was dirty on the outside it was clean in the back where the cargo lay, and it was very well repaired. The wheels had recently been reset and the work had been first-rate, with the hubs properly packed and the iron bands on the wheels carefully attached with more than the minimum number of nails. The horses were likewise more than they seemed. Grindle kept them modestly dirty, though not enough to pose a health problem, but they were scruffy-looking animals until you examined them closely. Their hooves were trimmed at the proper angle and the shoeing was absolutely masterful, as good as any Erik had seen. The animals were more than sound, they were fit and well cared for; every night Grindle supplemented their roadside grazing with fresh grain from a bag he stored under the wagon seat.

Roo clucked and rustled the reins and the wagon rolled forward again, moving in behind a long line of wagons that were stretching along the highway toward the city. Grindle said, ‘This is the longest damn wait I’ve seen in my life!’

‘It doesn’t look like we’re moving any time soon. I’ll go look.’ Roo handed the reins to Grindle.

Erik said, ‘I’ll go with you,’ and leaped down off the wagon, following after Roo.

As they moved along, several wagon drivers were standing up in their seats, attempting to see what the delay ahead might be. Ten or so wagons ahead of Grindle’s, they encountered a teamster heading back toward the end of the line, muttering curses.

‘What’s the holdup?’ asked Roo.

The man didn’t even look at them as he said, ‘Some damn nonsense if you ask me. They’re searching the wagons before they even reach the outer edge of the foulburg. Couldn’t do it at the city gate, proper like. No, they set up a second search point down at the creek bridge. I guess they just have to ruin a man’s chances of a hot dinner. It’ll be hours before we get through.’ The man reached his own wagon, five ahead of Grindle’s, and swung up to take the reins from his apprentice. ‘Prince’s funeral – every noble in the West and half from the East in town – and market day, yet they’re climbing through every wagon and looking at every man coming in like they were on the hunt for the King’s own murderer.’ The man’s comments descended into general muttering, peppered by some colorful obscenities, as Erik motioned for Roo to come away.

Out of earshot of anyone in the waiting line of wagons, Roo said, ‘What do we do?’

Erik said, ‘I don’t know. With all this funeral stuff going on, it may be something else they’re on the watch for, but it could be our necks if they are looking for us.’ He thought a minute. ‘Maybe we wait until dark, circle away from this road, and see if there’s another way into town less watched. And there’s still the problem of getting into the city proper behind the wall.’

‘One at a time. If we can get into the foulburg, we can find a way through the walls, I’m certain. There’s always a way in and out of a city for folks who don’t want too much attention drawn to themselves.’

‘Thieves and smugglers?’

‘Yes.’

‘What if we circle the city and strike out for another port?’

‘Too far,’ said Roo. ‘I don’t know how far Land’s End is to the west, but I remember my father swearing a blue streak when he had to go there. Almost half again as far, he’d say. And I don’t know what sort of ports there are to the north.

‘Besides, on the road, without Grindle’s wagon, we’d stand out like we were painted red.’

Erik nodded. ‘Well, we’d better go back and say something to Grindle so he doesn’t get suspicious.’

‘He’s suspicious already, but he’s not overly curious, which is better,’ answered Roo. Then, with his infectious grin, he added, ‘Besides, I think he likes me. He says he has a daughter I should meet, and I’ll bet you she’s as ugly as he is.’

Erik had to laugh. ‘Going to marry for money?’

As they approached Grindle’s wagon, Roo said, ‘Only if I get the chance.’

Grindle listened as they explained the delay, then said, ‘Are you going on ahead?’

Roo said, ‘I think so. We can get through the gate faster if we go now, and you’re safe from any marauders, so you don’t need our company any longer, Master Merchant. We’ve got business near the port, and the sooner we can get there the better.’

‘Well then, the gods’ speed to you, and if you ever return to Krondor, drop by and tell me how you’re doing.’ To Roo he said, ‘You’re a rogue and a liar, boy, but you have the makings of a good merchant if you’d just stop thinking everyone else around you is slower than yourself. That will be your undoing, you mark my words.’

Roo laughed and waved good-bye to Grindle as Erik shouldered his travel bag. They walked down the line of wagons until they were sure they were out of sight of the merchant, and then they angled off, away from the King’s Highway and toward a small farm to the north.

Erik swatted a persistent fly that refused to stay away from his face. ‘Got the little bastard!’ he said with satisfaction.

Roo waved away several others and said, ‘Now, if you could manage to kill all his little brothers and sisters, as well …’

Erik lay back on a bale of straw. The farm was deserted, looking as if the entire household had gone into the city for some reason. It was a well-tended smallholding with a house, two outbuildings – one a privy and the other a root cellar – and a barn. They had found the barn unlocked and wagon tracks leading away, so Erik supposed the farmer and his family had been stuck somewhere in that long line of people waiting to get into the city or had gotten there earlier in the day.

Erik and Roo were waiting for sundown before attempting to cross the open fields to the east of the city and make their way into the foulburg. Roo was confident that once they found a likely inn he could find someone to show them the way into the city for a small fee. Erik wasn’t as certain of the plan, but had nothing to offer by way of an alternative, so he said nothing. They sat at the rear of the barn, beneath the hayloft.

‘Erik?’

‘Yes?’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Not bad. My shoulder feels like new.’

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ said Roo, nibbling on a long straw. ‘I mean about everything – killing Stefan and the rest.’

Erik said nothing for a long while; at last he said, ‘He needed killing, I guess. I don’t feel much of anything. I felt very strange when he went all limp after you stuck him. I felt a lot worse when that bandit got in the way of my sword point. That made me feel sick.’ He was quiet for a minute. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it? I hold my own half brother so you can kill him and don’t feel much – not even relief because of the way he abused Rosalyn – but a complete stranger, a murderer probably, and I feel almost like vomiting.’

Roo said, ‘Don’t be so hard on murderers. That’s us, remember?’ He yawned. ‘Maybe you have to be holding the blade; that robber dying didn’t bother me, but I can still feel the way it was when I stuck my dagger into Stefan. I was sure mad at him then.’

Erik let out a long sigh. ‘It doesn’t do to dwell on this, I think. We’re outlaws and there’s nothing to do for it but try to get to the Sunset Islands. There’s a legacy of some sort waiting for me at Barret’s Coffee House, and I mean to go there, then find the first ship heading west.’

‘What legacy?’ Roo sounded intrigued. ‘You never mentioned it before.’

‘Well, “legacy” may be too big a word. My father left something for me with a solicitor and litigator at Barret’s Coffee House.’

The sound of a wagon in the distance brought both young men to their feet. Roo peered out the door. ‘Either the farmer got tired of waiting in the line or he’s back from morning market in the city, but either way the entire family seems to be riding in the wagon and we can’t get out without being seen.’

‘Come on,’ said Erik, climbing the ladder to the hayloft. Roo followed and found what Erik had been looking for, a door outside. He knelt and said, ‘Stay back against the wall until they’ve unhitched the wagons and gone inside. Then we’ll jump down from here and head into the city. It should be about time, anyway.’

Just then the door to the barn was heaved open, and a child’s voice shouted above the loud creaking, ‘Papa! I didn’t get to see the Prince.’

A woman’s voice said, ‘If you hadn’t been hitting your sister, you would have seen him ride by.’

Another male voice, an adult’s, said, ‘Papa, why do you think the king named Nicholas Prince instead of Erland?’

‘That’s the business of the Crown, and none of mine,’ came the answer as the wagon rolled into the barn, backed in by the farmer. Erik peeked over the edge of the loft and saw the farmer sitting in the wagon seat, letting his eldest son push the horses backwards as he kept an eye on things. They had obviously done this hundreds of times, and Erik appreciated the ease with which they ensured the horses did exactly what was asked, keeping the wagon intact and those riding in it safe. They continued to talk.

The son said, ‘Father, what’s it going to be like with a new Prince?’

‘Don’t know,’ said the farmer. ‘Seems like Arutha was ruling there long as I can remember. Back to before I can remember. Fifty-three years on the throne of the West. Well, Nicholas is the son said to be the most like his father, so maybe things won’t change much.’ The wagon stopped rolling. ‘Get Davy out of his traces first and put him away. I want you to take Brownie outside and walk her so I can see if she’s really lame on her left front or just acting lazy, like usual.’

The elder boy did as he was instructed while from the house the distant shouts of the younger boy and a girl could be heard, followed almost instantly by a scolding from their mother. The farmer dismounted from the wagon and removed some grain sacks from the back, loading them into a pile below the hayloft.

When the second horse was out of her traces, father and son left the barn, and Erik said, ‘We’d better clear out. If they need fodder for the animals, the boy will be up here in a few minutes.’

‘It’s still light out,’ Roo complained.

‘It’s almost sundown. We’ll just keep the barn between us and the house for a bit. If anyone sees us we’ll be two travelers walking across the field, heading for town.’

Roo said, ‘I hope you know what the hell you’re talking about.’

Erik pushed open the door to the outside through which hay was hoisted into the loft, and looked down. ‘It’s only a bit of a jump, but be careful not to twist your ankle. I don’t want to have to carry you.’

‘Right,’ said Roo with thinly disguised concern. He looked down to the ground below and found the distance far greater than he had remembered. ‘Can’t we climb back down the ladder and sneak out?’

‘One door, remember? And they’re exercising a horse right in front of it.’

The creak from out front told Erik and Roo the farmer was returning. ‘Lazy creature. Why should I feed you if you’re pretending to be lame to get out of work?’ asked the farmer with affection.

His son’s voice carried to the loft as Erik lowered himself to hang from the edge, then let go. ‘I like the way that lameness moves from foreleg to back, then from right to left, depending on which way she’s going.’ His laughter showed his genuine amusement.

Roo repeated Erik’s movements, hanging for what seemed the longest moment before he let go, expecting to slam hard into the ground and break both legs. Erik’s powerful hands closed around his waist and slowed him just enough so that he landed lightly on his feet. Roo turned and whispered, ‘See, nothing to it.’

‘Did you hear something out back?’ came the voice of the son.

Erik motioned for silence and they hurried away from the barn.

Whatever curiosity the farmer’s eldest son might have had, the requirements of caring for the animals must have displaced it, for no one came to investigate the sound. Erik and Roo hastened along, until they were a quarter mile across the field, then slowed to a casual walk.

They plodded down the rolling hillside, approaching the outer buildings of the city as the sun went down. Erik looked at the foulburg as they neared it, and said, ‘Keep an eye out for guards.’

They reached a low row of huts and simple gardens. with no clear passage between the buildings. In the evening light they could see a few hundred yards to the north of them that another road entered the city. They made out movement along the road, but neither Roo nor Erik could tell if it was field hands returning to the city or soldiers on patrol using the thoroughfare.

Roo said, ‘Look,’ and pointed to what was little more than a clear space between two houses, but through which they could reach the first north-south street in town without having to use the main roads. They stepped over a low fence, carefully avoiding the rows of vegetables planted there, and made their way to the back of the hut. Ducking low so as not to be seen through the single window, they skirted away from the rear door and moved between the buildings. Obviously in one of the poorer sections of town, this little alleyway was heavily littered with trash. They picked their way along, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Reaching the street, Roo peered out and pulled back, hugging the wall. ‘It’s pretty empty.’

‘Do you think we’re beyond where the guards are?’

‘I don’t know. But at least we’re in Krondor.’

Roo moved out into the street, then strolled along, as Erik caught up. They glanced right and left and saw only a few locals, some of whom paused to study the two young men. Roo started to feel self-conscious about the attention and motioned for Erik to follow him into a small neighborhood tavern.

They entered a dingy, smoke-filled common room, populated by only two other men and a barkeep, who looked at them with suspicion. ‘Help you?’ he asked with a tone that indicated help was far down his list of priorities.

Roo removed his travel bag and said, ‘Two ales.’

The man didn’t move, continuing to stare at Roo. After a moment, Roo dug into his belt pouch and pulled out a pair of copper coins. The man took the money, inspected it, and then put it in his own belt pouch. He reached under the bar and produced two empty flagons, which he carried halfway down the bar to a large tap. He pulled it twice, filling each flagon with a frothy brew. Returning to where Roo and Erik waited, he put them down before the two young men. ‘Anything else?’

Erik said, ‘Anything to eat?’

The man indicated a kettle hanging before the fireplace on the other side of the room. ‘Stew’s done. Two coppers a bowl, three if you want bread.’

The smell wasn’t promising, but Erik and Roo were both hungry, having had nothing to eat all day. Erik said, ‘We’ll take the stew and the bread.’

The man still didn’t move, until Roo put more money on the bar. Then he went and filled two wooden bowls with stew and carried them back. He produced a couple of small loaves of bread and set them down on the dirty bar next to the bowls, then produced two almost clean wooden spoons and put them in the bowls before Erik or Roo could intercept them.

Roo was too hungry to notice, and seeing his friend not suffering from eating the stew, Erik tried his own bowl. It was nothing like his mother’s, but it was hot and filling, and the bread was acceptable, if a little coarse.

As casually as he could, Roo said, ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

‘What fuss?’ asked the barkeep.

‘Outside, at the gate,’ replied Roo.

‘Didn’t know there was a fuss.’

Erik said, ‘We just got to Krondor and didn’t feel like waiting in that long line to eat.’

The barkeep was silent until Roo put money on the bar and signaled for two more ales, even though the first were only half-drunk. The barkeep produced another set of flagons and said, ‘Prince of Krondor died.’

‘We heard that,’ said Roo.

‘Well, his son is being installed in the office tomorrow. His brothers are here.’

‘The King’s in Krondor?’ said Erik, feigning surprise, even though he had heard that earlier.

‘That’s why there’s so much security at the gates,’ said the barkeep. ‘There’s a pair of murderers they’re looking for; did in some noble east of here, if you believe the story. Of course, everyone and his uncle’s pet dog is in town for the festival. Funeral parade was today, which is why everyone took the day off to gawk at the King. Tomorrow they have this ceremony, then another parade, so those that couldn’t see anything will get their chance. After that, the King will take his father back to Rillanon for burial in the family vault. And Prince Nicholas will come back as the new Prince of Krondor. Then we’ll have another festival, and everyone will drink too much and nothing will get done. Then all the visiting nobles will go home.’

‘You don’t sound very impressed,’ said Erik.

The front door opened and two more rough-looking men entered, sitting down at the table occupied by the first two.

The barman shrugged. ‘Why should I? Old Prince, new Prince, the taxes are the same.’

Roo continued to sound matter-of-fact. ‘Well, now that we’re getting some food in us, I guess we’ll just have to go stand in line like everyone else.’

The barkeep said, ‘Not, I should think.’

Roo tried to look uninterested and said, ‘You know another way into Krondor?’

At this the barkeep’s expression changed to one of surprise. ‘No, just that they close the gate in an hour and you won’t be able to get in tonight.’

‘They close the gate?’

‘With the King in the city, of course,’ answered the barman, now interested. ‘You have a problem?’

Erik was about to say nothing at all was the matter, but Roo quickly said, ‘We have to find a ship and be on it at first light tomorrow.’

‘Plan on taking another, then,’ said the barkeep. ‘For many of those waiting to get into the city will simply sleep before the gate, so even were you to leave now and take a place outside, you’ll be hours getting through tomorrow. It will be like that every day until the King and his family leave next week.’

Narrowing his gaze, Roo said, ‘I don’t suppose you know of another way into the inner city? Say, perhaps, one used by locals and not widely talked about?’

The barman glanced around the room as if fearing being overheard – highly unlikely, given that the other four men in the room were lost in their own conversation – and said, ‘I might. But it would cost you.’

‘How much?’

‘How much do you have?’

Before Erik could plead poverty, Roo said, ‘My friend and I can pay ten gold pieces.’

The barman looked surprised at the amount, but only said, ‘Let’s see your gold.’

As Roo made to undo his backpack, Erik placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Ten gold pieces is all we have in the world. It’s taken us months to scrounge it together. We were going to purchase passage with it.’

‘You’re young and strong. You can work your passage. There are ships leaving for Queg, the Free Cities, Kesh, every port you might wish to reach. They are always looking for deckhands.’

The barman nodded, and the sound of chairs being pushed away from the table caused Erik to turn. The two men who had just entered were already closing, billy clubs held high. Roo tried to duck under a blow and for his trouble caught the strike on his shoulder instead of his head. His knees went loose from the pain and he fell.

Erik tried to draw his sword, but the nearest man was upon him. Letting go of the hilt, Erik unloaded a backhand blow that sent the man flying into the one coming behind him.

The man who was clubbing Roo turned and shouted, ‘Get him!’

Erik was starting to draw his sword when a blow to the back of the head stunned him. He felt his legs go out from under him and his vision swam.

Two men grabbed him and hoisted him up, and before he could resist he was tied like a fatted calf. The barman came around, holding the lead-filled club he had struck Erik with from behind, and said, ‘The little one is probably worthless, but the big fellow will bring a good price as a galley slave, or maybe even as a fighter in the arena. Get them to the Quegan buyer before midnight. The envoy’s escort galleys leave tomorrow on the evening tide, after the festivities at the palace.’

Erik tried to say something, and for his troubles caught another blow to the head. He slumped down, unconscious.

Erik’s eyes opened. He sat up. His head throbbed and his vision went in and out of focus, as his stomach knotted. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, discovered that made his nausea worse, and opened them again. He found his hands were restrained by heavy iron bracelets and his legs by even heavier shackles. He looked around, expecting to be in the bottom of a ship bound for Queg. Instead he found himself in a cell.

A groan from close by caused him to turn around. Erik found Roo likewise shackled and trying to sit up. Erik gave him a hand and the smaller youngster tried to clear his head.

‘Sort of a bad day for you two, wasn’t it?’ said a voice from behind them.

Erik turned to find a man leaning back against a window ledge, bars behind him, his body silhouetted against daylight, the small aperture being the sole source of light. He moved away from the window, coming to squat down before Erik. Erik could make out his features in the dimly lit room. He was a broad-shouldered, bull-necked man of middle years, with dark receding hair, cut close, and deep blue eyes. There was something odd about his manner and expression, but Erik couldn’t put his finger upon it. He needed a shave and was dressed in plain tunic and trousers. High boots, well cared for but old and worn, and a wide belt were his only other garments.

‘Where are we? …’ He closed his eyes as his head swam a minute. ‘We were struck from behind.’

‘Some of the locals trying to sell you to Quegan slavers,’ said the man. His voice was slightly raspy and his manner of speech common. Erik wasn’t sure, but there was something about his accent that reminded him of Nathan’s, so he assumed the man was from the Far Coast.

The man smiled, but there was a hint of meanness behind the smile. ‘You were on your way to a less than pleasant ocean voyage. With the emissary from Queg in the city, along with several of his King’s galleys, the Duke of Krondor thought there might be something like this going on.’

‘You’re not with them?’

Ha! I’d as soon kiss a goblin as leave a Quegan slaver alive.’ He glanced at Roo, who was regaining his wits. The man continued, ‘The Duke’s men intercepted the slavers on their way to the docks. He was both surprised and pleased to discover that you two were among those heading out of the city. There’s been quite a search on for you, my friends.’

‘Then you know who we are?’ said Erik with resignation. ‘Who are you?’

‘You’ve heard of the man they call the Eagle of Krondor?’

Erik nodded. Who that man was and why he was called that wasn’t widely known, but that he existed was common knowledge. ‘Is that you?’

‘Ha!’ The man gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Hardly. But I work for him. You might call me the Dog of Krondor. I bite, so don’t irritate me.’ He made a growling noise and snarled in a fair imitation of a dog. ‘My name is Robert de Loungville. My friends call me Bobby. You call me sir.’

Roo said, ‘What have you to do with us?’

‘I just wanted to see if you had any serious wounds.’

‘Why?’ asked Roo. ‘Can’t hang an injured man?’

Bobby smiled at this. ‘Not my concern. The Prince needs desperate men, and by all reports you two are about as desperate as they get. But from what I see, that’s all you are. Well, pitiful, too. The Prince may have to look elsewhere for his desperate men.’

‘We’re just going to be hung?’ asked Erik.

‘Hardly,’ said the man. He got up from his squatting position, groaning theatrically as he did so. ‘Knees aren’t what they used to be.’ He moved to the cell door and motioned for the jailer to open it. ‘The new Prince of Krondor, like his father, is a very particular man when it comes to observing the law. We will have a trial; then we will hang you.’ He passed through the door and it closed behind him.

A short time later the door opened again and an old man entered. He was dressed in richly fashioned clothing, but of plain cut, as if designed for one who was active despite his rank and years. The man’s hair was silver, he wore a closely trimmed beard, and his eyes were dark and penetrating. He studied the two prisoners carefully.

Kneeling before Erik, he said, ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Erik von Darkmoor … sir.’

Then he turned to Roo. ‘You are Rupert Avery?’

Roo said, ‘Yes. And who are you?’ His manner showed he took exception to being treated so roughly, and if he was going to be hung he might as well vent his temper on whoever was nearby, irrespective of rank.

The man smiled, amused by Roo’s sharp manner. ‘You may call me Lord James.’