Читать книгу King of Ashes - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 10

Dockworkers hauled the ship into its berth in the north dock of the city of Sandura. Seven men pulled on a thick hawser, while two youngsters quickly arranged the wooden fenders between its hull and the dock, so that the tidal motion of the sea wouldn’t damage the ship as it rubbed against the stone. It had arrived in port on the morning tide, but by the time a harbour boat with a hawser had rowed out and tossed lines to the crew in the prow, it was nearing noon.

Hatu finished reefing the sails and slid down a rope to the railing, jumped over it, and made for the sailors’ deck, where his go-bag was stored. The deck crew made fast everything that needed to be tied down, while Hatu and the rest of the aloft crew headed belowdecks.

As Hatu wended his way through the clutter of sailors to his hammock, he saw many of the men removing leather neck thongs and untying small objects from their belt loops. He recognised them as various icons of Othan, goddess of the sea and weather, and realised the crew were hiding them in various spots on the sailors’ deck. Hatu understood that meant they were now somewhere the Church of the One held sway and to be seen with any item associated with an old god could land a man on top of a heretic’s pyre.

On reaching the main deck, Hatu spied Master Bodai. Seeing the boy, he motioned for him to come stand at his side. When the youngster reached the man playing the part of a mendicant friar, Bodai said, ‘We wait.’ He leaned on a shoulder-high walking stick, almost a battle staff but not as conspicuous, though Hatu was certain Master Bodai could employ it as such with lethal effect should the occasion warrant.

It took Hatu a moment to realise that the play had begun; as one of the most important masters in Coaltachin, Bodai would usually be first off the ship, but here, as an impoverished monk, he would be among the last passengers to leave.

When the passenger before them had departed, Bodai put his hand on Hatu’s shoulder. ‘Be ready,’ he instructed.

Hatu nodded. He had questions but knew they would keep until a more private moment; until then, he would simply follow instructions and Brother Bodai’s lead. Hatu fell into step behind Bodai, moving last onto the gangplank, keeping his head down, and attempting to look the part of an inconsequential servant.

On the dock, they were just steps away from the gangplank when two men approached, a soldier with the yellow and red badge of Sandura on his tunic, and another wearing a large black badge with a solid white circle at its centre: the sign of the One.

It was the servant of the Church of the One who spoke. ‘Who are you, traveller?’

‘Brother Chasper, late of Turana, an island of Lanobly.’

‘Brother?’ he replied. ‘You wear no vestment or badge.’

The newly named Chasper smiled broadly and said, ‘I am a mendicant friar of the Order of the Harbinger. This is my beggar boy, Venley.’

A look of confusion crossed the soldier’s face and the officer of the Church looked annoyed. ‘We expected an episkopos of your order and his retinue …’ He left the sentence unfinished and made a general circular motion encompassing the itinerant monk.

‘The episkopos hasn’t arrived?’ said Bodai, feigning alarm. ‘I was supposed to join him, to then carry news …’ He gave a sigh that Hatu, now named Venley, thought a hit too theatrical.

It worked, however, as the church official waved them towards the city and said, ‘Go down the main boulevard, across the small plaza, and take the northern street on the other side, two crossings, then west again until you see the burned-out building that was once your order’s temple.’ He almost spat the last word, for all buildings of the One were called churches. The followers of Tathan had been among the first to modify their doctrine to integrate themselves into the Church of the One, claiming the god of purity had been only a prophet, the Harbinger of the One. Many in the church viewed the followers of Tathan as only slightly better than heretics.

Bodai nodded, bowed slightly, and then pushed Hatu’s shoulder in the direction the man had indicated.

When they were safely away, Bodai said, ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’

Hatu glanced at his master and waited for a moment to see if the question had been rhetorical or if the old man actually sought his opinion. Finally, he nodded agreement.

‘What do you judge from that?’ asked Bodai.

Hatu thought about that question for a moment, then said, ‘They’re looking for someone, or they’re worried about strangers, perhaps both. The manner in which they questioned you, brother, makes me think that the Church of the One is concerned about something, and that the king is supporting them.’ He shrugged.

Bodai nodded once. ‘Look around, what do you see?’

Hatu did a quick survey of the long street. When they neared the plaza, he said, ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Bodai. ‘The weather here is often overcast and dark, cloudy, or raining, but today, sunshine. What else?’

As they entered the small plaza, Hatushaly looked around, taking a moment to appraise their surroundings, then said, ‘This is far from a happy place.’ Rather than busy market stalls, which he would have expected to see in any city he visited, only a few people moved around a small, well-kept, but otherwise unremarkable fountain in the centre of the plaza.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Bodai as he paused before the water, reached in, and made a show of rubbing his face and neck.

Hatu followed his example and leaned over the water to freshen up before he replied, ‘No one lingers here. There are no sellers, despite this being a wonderful market, so someone – the king?’ he speculated. ‘Or someone important has decided to keep this plaza free of merchants.’ Hatu splashed a little water on his own face, glancing around as he wiped it with his hands. ‘They don’t want people gathering here. There are three armed men in identical garb: the city guard? For a place this size, with so few people, there are too many soldiers. They watch. People passing near to them avert their eyes. We saw the same behaviour on the streets from the docks.’

‘Enough,’ whispered Bodai, shaking his hands as if ridding them of excess water. ‘Come along.’

Hatu followed the counterfeit monk through the streets as instructed by the church official. They found the site of the former Temple of Tathan, now a skeleton of burned timbers and an altar charred black. Rain and wind had scoured the abandoned building of ash and cinders, and they could walk across the stone floor without turning their sandalled feet black.

‘Some time ago,’ said Bodai softly, ‘the king of this dolorous nation embraced the Church of the One. All other gods and goddesses were pronounced lesser and demonic beings, and in their enthusiasm to rid the city of the evil places of worship, the king’s soldiers got a little carried away. They failed to remember that this order had contrived a narrative, a wonderful story that named Tathan the Pure a prophetic being, a heavenly messenger who proclaimed the coming of the One.’

The false monk knocked on a still-upright timber with his staff. ‘Hmmm, with some good craftsmen, this place might be restored sooner than I thought.’ As if musing to himself, he muttered, ‘Scrape off this char, see how much good timber is left …’

After studying the burned timber, Bodai came out of his reverie. ‘Now, as I was saying, this king was the first monarch of stature to elevate the Church of the One above all others, and by seizing this opportunity Lodavico Sentarzi, ruler of Sandura’ – he lowered his voice – ‘known widely as “the King of Sorrows”, not only gained a new title, “His Most Holy Majesty”, which he seems to find most agreeable, but gave the Church of the One an official base from which to operate, a home, as it were. Word reached us some months ago that the ancient city of Sandura’ – he gestured to their surroundings – ‘was now being called “the Holy City”, which also seems to please Lodavico.

‘You will learn that some places are often very important,’ Bodai continued. He found a relatively clean piece of masonry, a support for an interior wall now missing, and sat. He motioned for Hatu to sit at his side. ‘The obvious places are defensible positions along routes others wish to take or occupy, or advantageous sites from which to launch assaults. Being near a good water supply and fertile land, a tidy harbour, or other natural features often persuaded people to choose a place to build a city, or rather they did in ages past; we do not see a lot of cities being built now, do we?’

Hatu could see it was a rhetorical question and so said nothing, merely nodding his understanding and agreement.

‘Other important places are symbolic: sites where great battles were undertaken, so we remember the victors’ heroics or lament the loss of the vanquished. Or the holy places.’ He motioned out of the burned doorway, and Hatu looked up at the high plateau barely visible above the rooftop of the building across the street. ‘Up there,’ continued Bodai, ‘the Church is constructing their most holy place: a cathedral, the grandest of their churches and the seat of an episkopos. Only this cathedral will be the home of many episkopos, their entire ruling council.’ He sighed theatrically, sounding, in Hatu’s opinion, far too amused, and said, ‘And they’re building it right next to His Most Holy Majesty’s palace.’

Hatu looked confused. ‘But—’

‘That compromises the defensible position of Lodavico’s castle, I know.’ Bodai waved his hand around, indicating the entire city. ‘His castle is now a citadel given how much his capital has grown since his forefathers built the fortress. Should an army knock at its gates, the addition of the cathedral will hardly matter. He will have already lost the war.’ He smiled at Hatu. ‘But it’s good to see that you pay attention when your preceptors speak about military history. Unlike that rock-headed friend of yours.’

Hatu tried not to smile, for he knew Bodai was speaking of Donte. Being the grandson of one of the seven masters on the Council had often saved Donte from receiving the more severe punishments he deserved. Any other student would have been sent away for several of his infractions, and certainly for the number of rules Hatu’s friend had broken over the years.

As a boy, Donte had been merely fractious, but as he grew older, his behaviour turned to a near-constant defiance. Hatu judged that within a few years Donte could be a crew captain, or perhaps a gang captain, or even dead, but he doubted his friend would rise to his father’s and grandfather’s status. He might have a chance if he learned to curb his impulses, but Hatu doubted Donte would ever become a master.

Students who were sent away from the schools when they were little, returned to their parents, were apprenticed to crafts in the town, or sent to work on farms or in fishing villages. But after a certain age, when certain secrets had been learned … Hatu didn’t care to think about it but had made the assumption that those students were discreetly murdered.

That was the curse of the chosen: to be selected to train as a sicari and potentially become a member of the Quelli Nascosti, the secret army of Coaltachin, meant that after a certain point you would know too much to be allowed to leave. Hatu sensed that he, Hava, and Donte were close to that point. While certain intricacies about the inner workings of the army were still kept from students of their age and experience, Hatu had observed enough to extrapolate how the Coaltachin nation might be organized, and little of what he had been told of late had come as a surprise, which had bolstered his confidence. Remembering the conversation he shared with his friends after being scolded by the gang boss Hilsbek, Hatu realised that they had perhaps already passed that point. Hatu was uncertain, for he had little more than speculation to go on. There was an old saying about what happened within powerful families when someone like a Donte failed to rise: ‘Those who know don’t talk, and those who talk don’t know.’

For the deepest secret of the Kingdom of Night was that, beyond its islands, it represented the largest, most extensive criminal empire on Garn. Coaltachin was not a kingdom, as there was no king, but it was ruled by a council of seven masters, each of whom controlled a ‘family’. Within these families were the regimes who directed many gangs across many cities.

Council titles usually passed from family member to family member – unless a family was displaced by another, more powerful family, often at the cost of bloodshed and the creation of factions; this organization had been formed to settle such disputes and, most important of all, to protect an ancient way of life. Master Zusara was the final arbiter for issues that the Council was unable to settle, and while masters might contest with one another, all united against outsiders.

Criminal activity provided the island nation with the bulk of its wealth, but the agents sent around the world to work on behalf of distant rulers, or affluent merchants, provided the most vital commodities: they uncovered critical economic and political intelligence before anyone else; they produced significant riches, for the services of the island nation did not come cheaply; but their most important commodity of all was information, and their most potent weapon was fear. Those above who were crew bosses and regime bosses were sicari. Not only the best fighters, they had to be smart enough to command criminals and maintain effective control over their gangs.

Above the sicari were the nocusara. The term meant ‘invisible’, ‘hidden’, or ‘unseen’ and was reserved for only the most skilled sicari, those who achieved the highest level of training and trust. They were the legendary ghost warriors: the assassins, spies, and agents of the Kingdom of Night who could enter any building, no matter how well guarded, and take the life of any ruler. They were the agents who diverted information and gained some nobles power over their rivals. Most of their reputation was due to clever planning, theatrical tricks, and selecting agents who were suited and trained for specific tasks. While not supernatural beings, the nocusara were among the finest-trained assassins and warriors on Garn, the very best of the sicari.

The Kingdom of Night relied on its reputation, well earned by the Quelli Nascosti and their sicari, but for the most part it was a nation of thugs, bandits, confidence tricksters, thieves, and smugglers. Practically none of the significant criminal activity across the eastern half of North Tembria or the northeast quadrant of South Tembria, or even in the Ten Thousand Islands, was undertaken without Coaltachin’s notice or participation. And none of it occurred without their tacit approval.

As was his nature, Hatu had countless questions, but painful experience had taught him to keep them to himself unless an opportunity for him to ask without repercussions presented itself. Master Bodai’s playful reference to Donte’s behaviour was not permission to press forward with unwelcome questions, and might even have been a test of some sort; the masters and preceptors often lured students into logic or behaviour traps to judge, correct, or punish as the situation warranted.

Bodai said, ‘We shall wait here, though I think not for too long. A day or two more; perhaps one or two beyond that.’ He looked around and said, ‘But tonight we shall act like dutiful members of a questionable sect under the fastest-rising power in this world. And also we need to eat.’ He looked at Hatu. ‘Bowl?’

Hatu pulled open his go-bag and withdrew a simple wooden bowl, slightly flatter and wider than a soup bowl. He had used it for his meals, but it now became his beggar’s bowl.

‘We shall begin the mummery in earnest tomorrow.’ Bodai threw some small coins into the bowl. ‘There is a larger square three streets west of here, the second largest in this city, and at the northwest corner you’ll find an alehouse. It is not one of ours, but we have agents there. Should anything befall me, that is where you must go and ask for a man called Luke. Do you know what to say to him?’

Hatu nodded once. ‘I’m travelling from an island to the east.’

Bodai smiled. That was the correct code to identify someone from Coaltachin in need of assistance.

‘Do not go there for any other reason, unless you are in dire need.’ Sitting back, ignoring the soot on the wall behind him, Bodai slapped both hands on his knees. ‘To the south of there, across the mouth of the most northwestern street and three doors down, is a bakery. There, you will haggle for a bit with the owner for a loaf of bread – he makes an excellent one with rosemary and a hint of garlic – and as you return, you’ll pass a cheese vendor. Buy something not too far gone, with only a bit of mould, and finally get a skin of wine. Manage that on the coins I gave you.’

Hatu glanced at the sky and saw it was barely past noon. ‘How long should I linger, brother?’

‘As long as it takes to overhear gossip, discover interesting rumours, or ascertain anything of value. Now go!’

Hatu gripped his beggar bowl and said, ‘Yes, brother,’ and was off.

HATUSHALY WANDERED WITH PURPOSE, CHANGING his walking pace and never lingering overly long in one spot. The market was a fair size; he could weave his way completely through it in slightly over an hour. He moved neither too fast nor too slowly, careful not to attract attention, and knew better than to approach any merchant’s stall too closely. A beggar boy near to their wares would instantly draw scrutiny from any experienced merchant, for the grab-and-dash was a constant threat they endured. The more valuable goods were always placed near the back of the booths; some merchants organized their tables into open squares, so you had to enter the stall to fully inspect the merchandise, while smaller stalls with a single table front challenged a thief to reach to the back of the booth to steal the better-quality goods, an action sure to bring a club or blade crashing down on all but the quickest miscreants before they could escape.

Hatu also made a quick surveillance of the area of the city between the plaza with its market and the main road that ran up the hill to the citadel where the cathedral was under construction. From the northeast corner of the square, the road wended its way upwards, doubling back and rising rapidly from the northern edge of the plaza; it was fenced or walled until it reached the edge of the grounds abutting the old castle. The main road was busy, and from what he had learned, the establishments closest to the old castle were likely to be the oldest and most successful, for their proprietors could quickly retreat into the castle if the city were attacked, while those below were more likely to be sacked.

Hatu’s first impression of this city was reinforced by the mood and manner of the people in the market. Too many watchmen patrolled the area, and when he passed one of them Hatu did his best to imitate a local going about his business, but if it was safe, he watched the crowd. He looked for vantage points where he could pause for a few minutes and observe. There was no hint of joy in the noise surrounding him. In most open markets you would hear the occasional laugh, or the sound of music if entertainers were earning coins, but here in Sandura the population seemed suspicious, as if constantly under watch, and by now Hatu was of the opinion that they were.

Finishing up his last task, finding an inexpensive but palatable wine, he began his journey back to Bodai, constantly observing as much as possible. For once he was pleased Donte was not with him. Subtlety was not among his friend’s good qualities; he seemed to have a need to call attention to himself at the worst possible moments. It was as if Donte couldn’t stand quiet. Hatu wondered how he would do once he left the school; he didn’t seem to fit the role of sicari. Perhaps Donte would do well in the more traditional, if modest, army of the Coaltachin nation. Or perhaps he would rise to be a regime captain, responsible for running multiple crews in one or more cities.

Hatu would have welcomed Hava’s company. She had an almost perfect set of abilities and a even-tempered nature that would serve a mission like this well. Her presence both calmed and excited him, and lately his feelings towards her were becoming more complicated. She had been his friend and confidante for almost a lifetime, but she confused him. He didn’t know if she understood him or simply accepted him. In an environment where everyone had tried to either change him or find his flaws, she had taken him just as he was.

He’d been with girls before: the town girls were more than pleased to have sex with the students, for the chance to become the wife of a captain, or even a master, was perhaps their only opportunity to rise in station above their parents. Hatu never heard of it happening, but the daydream lived on. But his feelings for Hava were more complicated than simple desire. He struggled to put a name to them, though familiarity and comfort were there. He felt a growing desire, but students were not permitted to have sex with each other. Such attachments were forbidden, and should a talented girl like Hava become pregnant, the boy involved would be given a death sentence.

Hatu pushed Hava out of his mind as he realised he was becoming distracted. He paused to look around and take stock of what he had missed, then returned to the task at hand. Circling back through the market to where he’d started, having found nothing noteworthy to report, he finally reached the burned-out temple, where he found Brother Chasper dozing. However, as he neared, Hatu saw it was a ruse; Master Bodai had been watching the passing traffic closely. Without looking up, he asked, ‘Anything?’

Hatu shook his head. ‘Nothing unusual: normal market commerce, people arguing, others speaking of family, business, gossip.’ He shrugged.

‘Ah,’ said the older man, making a show of awakening. ‘Good, I am hungry.’

‘Shall I find wood for a fire?’ asked Hatu.

Shaking his head, Bodai said, ‘Cold camp tonight. Besides, nothing we have needs cooking.’

Hatu had the merchant wrap the bread and cheese in stiff paper that rustled loudly as he unfolded it into a makeshift platter. Without a word, Bodai took the small slice of cheese and broke it in half, tore off a large hunk of bread, and began eating.

The meal passed with little conversation, as Bodai was intent on studying those who passed on the road as the late afternoon wore on to evening. Hatu drank sparingly of the wine. He honestly couldn’t tell if it was good or not, as drinking wine and other spirits was still new to him, and he had a slight dread of becoming intoxicated. He hated the feeling of being out of control.

As they finished their scant meal, Bodai said, ‘How do you feel about some after-dark prowling?’

Hatu smiled. The old man wasn’t asking if he was willing but informing him of what he would be doing. ‘That should depend on where you’re sending me.’

Without a word, Bodai looked above the building across the street and Hatu realised he was about to be sent to investigate the new cathedral next to the palace, and its surroundings, perhaps inside the citadel itself should he find a way in. He took a breath to calm himself and began mentally retracing his steps through the city leading to the road up to the old castle. Now he wished he had paid a little more attention to the route.

EARLIER IN THE DAY, HATU had chanced a quick journey up the road leading to the plateau above the city. For this evening’s foray, he hurried past a row of businesses preparing to shut down for the night and quickly entered a shop near the top of the winding road leading up to the palace, one that was about to close. He wanted to avoid attracting the attention of the guards at the end of the road, denying them a glimpse of anyone unusually close to their post.

Hatu nodded to the vendor of fine cloth and glanced around for a moment as the merchant narrowed his gaze at the scruffy-looking lad; then, with a smile, Hatu darted back through the door, hugging the wall and insinuating himself between this building and the next. He crouched and glanced around, hoping his movement hadn’t been seen in the failing light.

The bored-looking guards showed no sign of having spotted him, as they chatted about something across the distance between them – one stationed on each side of the gate – their subject unintelligible to Hatu. He studied closely what he had only glanced at for a few seconds earlier in the day.

A gate and a cleared area of ground lay before the entrance to the citadel. The ancient stone walls sat a good distance from the edge of the plateau. Hatu had been taught some military history and theory, so he assumed there was a reason for that clearing but had no idea what it was. He imagined that it might be transformed into a road leading to the cathedral, but he knew nothing about engineering, so how that could be achieved was a question he would have to ponder another time, should such curiosity return to visit him.

He had difficulty understanding the differences between temples, churches, and cathedrals, all of which seemed interchangeable in his mind; they were all places people went to worship. Their size, if anything, seemed to have significance. Hatu had seen a few temples in out-of-the-way places, a couple of which had still been in use, and for the most part they were modest buildings, perhaps as large as a decent inn. A few had even been small enough to be called shrines, with just a roof and a single bench. Churches were not much bigger but tended to be far gaudier, from what he could remember. The cathedral on the plateau, however, seemed to be a massive undertaking.

One point of its construction struck Hatu as odd: a tower had been built that seemed to look down into the old marshalling yard on the east side of the palace. He felt an itch of annoyance that some key information was evading him and pushed it aside to concentrate on the task at hand: to get past the guards at the gate. Slipping past them would be impossible. The gate was closed for the night, and had a door in it that only one person at a time could pass through.

Hatu looked back along the narrow passage between the two buildings and saw a crate nestled against the side of the next building. He could easily use it to jump to the roof.

He had run rooftops before, though he had no love for it, especially alone and in the dark. The crate seemed providential, as he had no companions to boost or catch him. He wasn’t completely certain, but he thought he could clear the gaps between the buildings to reach the last roof before the gate.

The tricky part of roof jumping was the landing. To aim for the peak of the roof was ideal, as it would be braced and solid. Stories were told in school about students crashing through thin thatch with no support, old flimsy tiles, or even thin sheets of wood. But the problem with aiming for the peak was that it was a narrow target, often mere inches wide, and missing it, losing your balance, and rolling off the eaves was as bad an outcome as crashing through the roof.

A successful landing on any roof could be noisy, so it had been drilled into him only to try that if he was running for his life. Some stone tiles were tricky, as well. Nailed shingles were best. He had studied the rooftops earlier in the day as a matter of habit and those along this street seemed to be heavy tiles or wooden shingles, so he thought he had a good chance to reach the cathedral this way.

He hurried to the crate, saw it was sturdy wood, and easily gained the top of the first roof. There were four more houses and he crouched low, timed his first jump, and landed as silently as he could, very close to the peak. While it sounded a little too loud to him, Hatu realised anyone not standing directly below where he’d landed was unlikely to have noticed the noise.

Hatu reached the edge of the penultimate roof and judged the distance to the last. He realised it was only slightly further than takeoff to landing in a yard game he had played when he was younger; he reconsidered his run and jump, took two steps back, and executed a simple hop, squat, and jump, and landed with both feet squarely on the peak of the final roof with barely a sound.

Feeling uncharacte‌ristically smug for a moment, Hatu tiptoed quickly along the peak and reached the end of the roof. In times past, a wall might have existed along the edge of the plateau, long since torn down as the city erected more distant outer walls. Nothing remained but some irregular mounds, probably foundation stones covered by centuries of earth, rising and falling at irregular intervals.

The remaining wall lay across the road, complete with a massive gate and guards. The building Hatu stood upon constituted a barrier blocking access to the citadel.

He judged the width of the wall that almost abutted the building, to see where he might land safely, but those points were too far away to make any reasonable attempt at jumping down.

He reversed his position and lowered himself to hang from the eaves, then dropped, remaining as silent as possible. He bent his knees when he landed and continued into a low crouch, turning to look at the guards by the gate.

Hatu had landed where the corner of the building almost met the gate wall. A small child might have been able to slip through the gap, but not a grown man. He assumed that the remaining gate was for local security, not military defence, for an invading army would have had to fight its way through the entire city to reach this position, and levelling the house behind him would most certainly take less time than battering down that old gate with a ram.

He looked at the rear of the building, suddenly concerned about how he was going to get back to Bodai, and realised that a pile of refuse and broken masonry had created a makeshift wall between where he stood near the edge of the building and the edge of the plateau. Hatu tried to inspect it as best he could in the dim light of the gate lamps and soon hoped that he did not have to depart in a hurry. Then he spied a sturdy-looking small crate, or more correctly a large wooden box. He gingerly moved towards it, as he had no idea what he might be stepping on among the debris, and his role as a beggar boy demanded he wear poor footwear. He was relieved to find the box met his requirements; it was sturdy enough that he could stand on it and boost himself back onto the roof when he needed to take his leave.

Hatu removed it as quietly as he could, hoisted it over his head, and slowly returned to the edge of the building, keeping the closest guard in sight through the narrow gap as best he could. He was far enough away from the corner of the gate wall that as long as the guard didn’t completely turn around Hatu would remain unseen. All he needed to do was not make any noise, Hatu reminded himself. The guard looked half-asleep and Hatu could hear him muttering with his companion on the other side of the gate, though he still couldn’t make out the words.

Hatu reached the wall and set the crate down. Moving back a step, he judged that if he got a decent start he could hop on the crate and reach the eaves; then he’d be able to pull himself up to the roof. He let out a breath of relief, though he still wondered how quietly he could accomplish the feat. Then again, he considered, if he was in a hurry, stealth was probably not required.

He glanced around, considering how best to get nearer to the cathedral. He’d already risked tripping over debris and building materials, so he thought staying as far away from the building as he could and seeking a clear route to it was best. He made his way slowly to the verge of the plateau, painfully aware that the rooftops below, hidden in the darkness, were far enough down to ensure his rapid demise should he slip. The light from the castle walls, cast by torches set about ten feet apart, provided little illumination, and the half-built cathedral looked like some ill-defined monster crouching in the darkness. It was cool and damp, as the ocean air brought in enough mist to make seeing more difficult than usual. Good for escaping detection, but terrible for finding one’s way.

Hatu wondered what possible reason Bodai had for sending him up here, unless he was trying to get his student caught, for Hatushaly saw no opportunity to observe the citadel at this point and the cathedral appeared empty. He supposed the old master wanted him to crawl around the half-finished building in case secret rooms or strange additions were being built, but how he was supposed to recognise them was a mystery to Hatu. He knew nothing of construction, never having apprenticed in any of the building trades, save occasionally helping to repair a hut in a village, and beyond personal instruments of combat, large weaponry was as much of a mystery to him as masonry and scaffolding. He could have tripped over an unassembled ballista and had no idea what it was. And one empty room looked much like another, rarely revealing any special purpose.

A large pallet of masonry, a table, and a huge box of tools and supplies lay between Hatu and the completed entrance to the cathedral. Below the table, which was empty, sat a long box containing papers that Hatu assumed were plans for the cathedral. For a moment he considered inspecting them as best he could in the faint light from the street below, though he doubted he would learn much. Never having worked around this scale of building, he’d never studied plans before. He considered taking them, then decided it was better to leave them undisturbed. Hatu was wondering about the safest way to creep into the building site when he heard a voice call out faintly.

Hatu ducked behind the tall stack of facing stones – marble or granite slabs, he couldn’t be sure which – and heard the voice grow louder as someone approached. It was calling out a name. He chanced a quick glance and saw one man approaching from the keep and another exiting the cathedral to greet him. When they met, he could make out what was being said, but Hatu didn’t recognise the language. It was naggingly familiar, a few words here and there were almost recognisable, but he was not able to grasp what was said.

Again, Hatu glanced around the corner of the stone blocks and saw the two men pause and continue their conversation before the half-constructed entrance to the cathedral. One carried a partially shuttered lantern, emitting just enough light to let them step safely through the clutter of rock and debris, but not easily spied from any distance.

Hatu shivered as he realised that the style of one of the two men – dark clothing, head covering, and soft footwear – looked familiar. He looked like a sicari!

His companion seemed to be wearing something akin to the fashion of the church official he and Bodai had met at the docks.

Hatu remained motionless and hoped he did nothing to betray his presence. If there were sicari here, he would be dead the moment they discovered him.

The two men entered the cathedral, and when they had disappeared into the darkness Hatu crouched low and forced himself to be calm. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, which in turn slowed his heart, which had for a few moments felt as if it were about to burst through his chest. As he relaxed, he recognised just how close he had come to panic. Without his training, he most likely would have been dead now.

Hatu considered his options. He could return at once and inform Bodai of what he had seen, but he knew that the old master would ask many questions for which he had no answers, and he would, in all likelihood, be ordered to return. He realised he had only one option.

Hatu continued trying to stay composed. He had no idea if the two men were already deep within the structure or just inside the entrance, so he ruled out following them directly through the dark, half-finished doorway and instead moved quickly and silently to crouch behind a segment of unfinished wall on the right side of the door. He heard the voices fading and the faint tread of boots on the stone floor as the two men walked deeper into the cathedral.

Hatu took a step to his left and peered in at the corner of the cathedral doorway. When it was completed, Hatu imagined the frame would be hung with some massive wooden thing, at least twenty feet across, given the size of the opening. The faint light from the men’s lanterns was moving further away, indicating that the two men were moving deeper inside the massive building.

He quickly tossed aside following them through the door. Since he had no idea what sort of obstacles, what potential cover, or how many other people might lie in the gloom inside, it was too risky.

He moved quickly to the left corner of the cathedral and peered around it. The connecting wall was still a low course of stones just high enough for Hatu to hide behind. He ducked and began to walk just outside the wall on a parallel course to what he judged to be the one taken by the two men from the doorway.

Hatu tried to ignore the fact that any mistake on his part would likely result in his death. The main purpose of his training, like that of all students of Coaltachin, was not to be detected. He focused on employing every trick and skill he had learned so far.

Duck-walking, as it was called, was difficult even for a gifted youngster like Hatu; his thighs and hips were protesting painfully when he heard the voices again from within the shadows and paused gratefully. He straightened slowly and glanced over his shoulder, memorizing the way, in case he found himself leaving this location in a hurry. There was just enough light that he could see darker shapes in the gloom, with an occasional reflection from a source in the city below.

Hatu knew there were tools and stones piled by the corner he had just passed, so if he had to flee and not run face-first into them, he might survive. If he could get clear of this cathedral, reach the crate he had placed near the gate across the main road, and reach the first roof … Hatu left the thought unfinished. Dwelling on too many things at once caused mistakes, like doing something stupid that was not conducive to calm observation and invisibility.

He could still hear the faint voices of the men some distance away. The darkness was a blessing and a curse. He could barely see where to put his feet, but it sheltered him from scrutiny. Hatu turned his head slightly, trying to detect the direction from which the voices originated.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he pulled himself atop the low stone course. Hatu assumed that more stones were added each day, and he silently thanked whatever deities were listening that he wasn’t trying this the following week. He lowered himself gingerly to the floor inside the cathedral, then stopped to listen again.

Large stone pillars that would eventually support the ceiling rose from the stone floor, and from their size Hatu guessed the roof was going to be very high up and very heavy. Each pillar was three feet thick, wide enough for him to hide behind if he was careful.

He moved as cautiously as possible, hoping the occasional noise from the street below the citadel and the early night rustling of nocturnal animals and birds would mask whatever sounds he might make: dislodging a forgotten tool, hunk of stone, or loose lump of dried mortar. It made his movements seem impossibly slow, but Hatu knew he was making steady progress towards the two mysterious men.

The voices grew more distinct as he neared them, and he could now make out a third voice. He positioned himself behind a pillar and listened for a moment, then he crouched down and looked around the stonework. Hatu saw figures faintly outlined in the glow from a brazier. Four men knelt around the fire, speaking quietly with the two men Hatu had followed.

The brazier was one typically used for cooking and heating, a small earthenware dish hard-fired to withstand the heat of the coals and designed to give off little light; on Coaltachin it was called a hibachi. It helped Hatu detect movement but provided no great detail; from where he watched, it appeared that the four men wore black, or at least very dark, clothing, but he could barely make out shapes, let alone identification marks.

He judged the usefulness of lingering here: despite feeling a nagging familiarity towards the language, he could not understand what was being said, and he could hear only half of the conversation because the men kept their voices low.

Then Hatu heard a word he recognised. It was immediately repeated by one of the men he had followed, but his inflection made it a question. Hatu’s heart skipped and he forced himself to calm in order to focus on what was being said. Squatting as low as he could, he peered further around the corner, and suddenly understood what he was hearing.

He pulled back around the corner and flattened himself against the stonework, panic threatening to rise inside as his heart began to pound. He forced himself to stillness, keeping his breathing slow, rather than deep, a calming practice he’d learned early. Once he fully had control of himself, he peered around the corner of the pillar. His training had taught him that if anyone looked his way they wouldn’t be staring at the floor. He would then freeze and hope it was dark enough to hide. If it wasn’t dark enough, he’d know it only moments later.

Then one of the kneeling men stood and walked to a low course of stones waiting to be hoisted up onto the growing wall and opened a shuttered lantern.

Hatu froze, his cheek hard against the cold floor, fighting every instinct he had not to pull out of sight. He had been taught to hide behind as much cover as possible, but every fibre of his being wanted to bolt and run as fast as he could. He knew movement in low light drew the eye, while an odd shape in the gloom was less likely to garner attention. From the perspective of those in the room, should someone glance his way, his head would seem nothing more than an odd-shaped stone, but any movement would give him away. He forced himself to believe in the sense of this mantra, and slowly he realised he was safe; none of the men were looking his way. Then he slowly and silently let out his breath and continued to watch them.

The man holding the lantern returned to the group and removed a folded paper from within a leather packet. He handed it to one of the two men Hatu had followed. Hatu felt the hair on his neck rise a second time. The four men around the brazier were also dressed like sicari, the armed assassins and spies of Coaltachin, but with slight differences, which were numerous enough to make Hatu certain they were not from his home nation.

Again the men spoke, and the man with the document pointed to it in response and repeated the phrase containing words that Hatu recognised.

Hatu stayed motionless, to remain part of a murky landscape. He knew that he had to leave as soon as possible and report to the false monk waiting for him.

The man holding the paper returned it to the packet and closed the shutter on the lamp. Hatu seized the moment to move and hide once again behind the pillar. He knew that even a small change of illumination would force the eyes of those in the room to adjust and cause a brief moment of darkness; he had a very good chance to remain unseen. But he also knew that any change in light would not keep him from being heard should he make any sound.

Back to the stone, he forced his protesting knees to push him upright, and when he was standing, his back to the sheltering pillar, he settled his mind for a moment, took control of his breathing, then stepped deeper into the darkness.

He retraced his steps as slowly and with as much control as he could muster. As he moved further from the gathered men, each new yard fuelled his desire to simply leap over the low wall and run; only discipline gained from lifelong lessons prevented him from giving in to the impulse. When Hatu reached the wall near the unfinished doorway, he eased himself over and down, landing lightly on the balls of his feet.

He tried to stay clear of any line of sight from within through the huge door opening but moved quickly, one step shy of a run, until he saw the crate he had left next to the building. He risked three fast steps and a jump onto the box, grabbed the eaves of the roof, and pulled himself up. If the guards at the gate noticed any noise, Hatu would be off across the roofs of the next three buildings before they had the chance to climb up and investigate.

Hatu reached the edge of the final roof, and with no sign of pursuit, he sat. His heart felt as if it might pound out of his chest and he could barely breathe. He took some time to steady himself and, when he was ready, lowered himself to the ground and rounded the corner into the street that would return him to the market and the burned-out temple beyond. The beggar boy walked at a good pace, fast enough to look like someone with purpose: the sort of behaviour that often kept petty thieves, pickpockets, and thugs from approaching, that hinted they would do well to seek easier prey. Even a ragged beggar boy might have something worth stealing. It was early enough in the night that people still moved through the streets and the evicted drunks hadn’t yet started wandering.

It felt as if it took hours for Hatu to find his way back to Master Bodai, but he knew it was more like minutes. Even with people on the streets, in most cities a lone figure at this time of night was likely to draw the attention of the town watch, and this city seemed under even more scrutiny than most, so he had taken his time and paused often to ensure he wasn’t seen.

When Hatu passed through the burned-out door he found the false monk stirring something in a pot above a small fire. Bodai took one look at Hatu’s face, ignored the heat, and used his stirring stick to overturn the clay pot and extinguish the fire. ‘What?’ he asked calmly.

Hatu hunkered down. ‘I gained entrance to the citadel grounds and, before seeking a way in, set off to inspect the cathedral as you instructed. I spied two men making their way into the unfinished building.

‘They spoke a tongue I did not recognise at first. One was dressed like that church soldier at the docks, an officer or an official, but he met with five other men in hiding, dressed like sicari.’

Bodai held up his hand, and Hatu ceased speaking.

‘Like sicari?’

‘I could not see much, but there were differences.’

‘Describe them.’

Hatu paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘Their head covers were not like the ones our men wear. They looked more like turbans’ – he made a wrapping motion around his own head – ‘not the big ones like the traders from—’

‘Enough,’ interrupted Bodai. ‘What else?’

‘I could see little, but one opened a shuttered lantern briefly and I could see that their clothing was looser than that of our sicari, with a wide belt and an over-vest, I think; it was very dark. And by then I could understand some of what they said.’

Bodai tilted his head, much as a dog might when listening. ‘Go on.’

‘They spoke our tongue, master. But with an accent unlike any I’ve heard before. It was thick and alien to my ear.’

‘Describe it.’

Hatu said, ‘At first I could not make it out, for they …’ He paused, then continued, ‘seem to swallow the sounds rather than speak them as we do.’ Bodai nodded. ‘They held the sound “o” in the hack of their throat, so it wasn’t made clear.’

Bodai said, ‘Did they shorten their words?’

Hatu’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, that is it! That is why I had trouble until my ear became used to the sound. They spoke as if they had rocks in their cheeks!’

Bodai let out a slow sigh. He nodded slightly, then began gathering his scant goods and putting them in his travel bag, and asked, ‘What else?’

Hatu continued, ‘They spoke of meetings, messages, and much of the meaning was hidden, but they knew of what they spoke. They said only one word I understood clearly; they repeated it twice, and that was the word I recognised first.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Your name, “Bodai”. They took out what must have been a map, as each man was given a gate to watch, and one stationed at the docks. The man from the church said he’d send others to go with the five sicari, and other men would be sent for.’

‘We go now,’ said Bodai, standing up.

Hatu grabbed his go-bag and followed Bodai out of the building. They moved towards the docks but turned to the east at the small plaza. ‘There is a place we must visit before we are found,’ said Bodai as they walked quickly. ‘For if they do not see us try to leave tomorrow, they will begin searching the city in earnest.’ He looked around as they reached an empty corner and lowered his voice. ‘But should ill befall me, or we get separated, you must get back to Coaltachin. You know how to seek a ship?’

Hatu said, ‘Yes, seeking an island to the east.’

Bodai nodded once in affirmation. ‘Seek out Zusara, and tell him what you told me.’ Hatu nodded, despite the fact that the prospect of meeting the most powerful master in Coaltachin alone only added to his worry.

‘The men you took for sicari, they are from Azhante. Speak that name back to me.’

‘Azhante,’ repeated Hatu.

‘Now, do not speak that name to anyone but Master Zusara or me; not even to another master. Do you understand?’

Hatushaly said, ‘Yes, master.’

He glanced down at Hatu, then motioned for him to follow.

Seeing no one around, Bodai asked, ‘What else did you see?’

A sudden memory struck Hatu. ‘Badges, I think. They wore small badges shaped differently from any I’ve seen. I only remember them because of how they flashed in the lantern light.’

Bodai nodded. ‘Black lacquered badges, which is why they caught light. It keeps infiltrators from—’ He stopped and, looking at Hatu, said, ‘Never mind. You should know only what you need to know, and you know a bit more than that already.’

The two moved with the purpose of people on their way to a destination, perhaps a bit late, hence their quickened pace. Hatu stayed one step behind Bodai as a beggar boy would, showing respect for a holy man.

Glancing continuously from side to side, Bodai quietly asked, ‘Where are those men from?’

‘Azhante,’ replied Hatu. Being questioned so soon about that name informed Hatu that Bodai considered it to be critical.

Reaching a corner, they turned, and Bodai stopped before the first door on the right, opposite a backwash inlet from the harbour, covered in drifting refuse, dead fish, and other flotsam. Bodai struck the door once, waited, then struck once more, waited again, then struck three times.

The door opened to reveal a pair of armed men, weapons drawn. Bodai said, ‘We need to travel to an island in the east.’ The men stepped aside and put away their blades, and Bodai and Hatu entered.

A lantern rested on a table in a sparsely furnished room. Two chairs had been positioned against one wall, and the cold fireplace on the back wall lay next to a door with a dark curtain. ‘A ship leaves on the morning tide,’ said one of the two men.

‘Getting to the docks might prove a problem,’ said Bodai. ‘Apparently both the king and the Church are looking for us. Someone must have realised who I was after we left the docks this morning.’

The man who had spoken looked at his silent companion and said, ‘Never easy, is it?’

The second man shook his head.

The first man brought over the two chairs and said, ‘Sit. We need to find some lads, then we’ll move you. We’ll come up with a plan before morning. Hungry?’

Hatu nodded and Bodai said, ‘I was about to eat when we had to bolt.’ He sat and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

‘I’ll get you something from the back. Bread’s fresh and we have cold meat and cheese.’

‘A feast,’ said Bodai lightly.

Hatu realised that he now held his entire body taut, as if he had clenched his fist and the feeling had spread from his head to his toes. He took a slow breath and tried to relax. He failed.

Bodai glanced at him and nodded once, as if he understood. Then he said, ‘We wait.’

AS A FREIGHTER MADE READY to depart the harbour, the sailors on deck saw a colourful procession making its way towards the boarding plank. A gaudy palanquin carried by six large slaves and followed by half a dozen retainers, all heavily armed, reached the gangplank and was lowered. Its gauze curtain was pulled aside to reveal an obese man with a massive black beard and flowing oiled locks to his shoulders; he descended the carriage as a young man in fine robes placed a step before him.

As Hatu extended his hand to help his master from the litter, Bodai spoke through the enormous false beard. ‘When attempting to evade those who seek you, it’s often wise to look exactly like someone they do not have to seek.’

Hatu was exhausted from the fear of being discovered, and from spending the night having his skin dyed to make him look like a southern islander, but the sight of Bodai wrapped in an entire roll of linen to double his weight, wearing the outlandish dress his agents had found for him, was still amusing.

He followed Bodai up the gangway as their retinue of hastily gathered agents departed, to scatter quickly throughout the city. Hatu found the theatre absurd but looked forward to describing the humorous event to Hava and Donte some day, assuming he lived long enough to see them again.