Читать книгу Krondor: The Assassins - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 9

THE COLUMN RODE TOWARDS THE CITY.

Krondor was backlit by a late afternoon sun, dark towers rising against a lemon-yellow sky. In the east, distant clouds turned rose and orange against a blue that seemed to shimmer. The column behind the Prince’s vanguard tightened up as they entered the southernmost city gate, the one closest to the palace and barracks. Traffic in the area was normal for this time of day: a few traders drove wagons into the city, while farmers who’d visited the city for the day were leaving, starting their homeward journey.

James pointed. ‘Not much of a welcome, is it?’

Locklear saw that a few curious onlookers were turning to watch the approaching company that was escorting Arutha through the palace district. Otherwise they were ignored by the citizenry, as they had been since entering the outer reaches of Krondor. ‘I guess Arutha didn’t send word we would arrive today.’

‘No, there’s something else,’ said James, his days of fatigue washing away as curiosity took hold of him.

Locklear looked at the faces of those on the street who stood aside to let the Prince’s company ride past, and saw anxiety. ‘You’re right, James.’

The capital city of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was never silent. Even at the darkest hours before sunrise, sounds could be heard from all quarters. There was a pulse to any city, and Krondor had one that was as well known to James as his own heartbeat. He could listen to its rhythm and understand what it was saying: Something’s wrong. It was less than an hour before sundown, yet the city was far more subdued than it should be.

Locklear listened and knew what it was James was hearing, a muted quality, as if everyone was speaking a little more softly than usual. A shout from a teamster to his mules was cut slightly short, lest it hang too long in the air and attract notice. A mother’s command for a child to come home was short and sharp, followed by a low threatening warning rather than a top-of-the-voice shriek.

‘What do you think is going on?’ asked Locklear.

Just ahead, Arutha spoke quietly to the two squires without looking back. ‘We should find out in a moment.’

The young men looked past their ruler and saw a committee waiting for them at the palace gate. In the forefront was Princess Anita, her smile edged with relief at seeing her husband unharmed before her. Still youthful despite ten years of marriage and motherhood, her red hair was gathered up under a wide white hat, looking more like a sailing ship set atop her head, thought James, than anything else. But it was the current fashion, and one did not make jests at the expense of the Princess, especially not when her second smile was directed at you.

James returned the Princess’s welcoming smile and basked for a moment in its warmth. His boyhood infatuation with Anita had matured into a deep, abiding affection, and while she was too young to be viewed as his surrogate mother, she served as surrogate older sister with ease and humour. And it was clear to all who knew them that she viewed James as the younger brother she never had. It went so far as the Princess’s children calling James ‘Uncle Jimmy’.

At Anita’s right stood twin boys, the Princes Borric and Erland, jostling with one another, as if it were impossible for the two nine-year-olds to remain at rest even for a moment. The red-headed lads were intelligent, James knew, and undisciplined. Some day they would number among the most powerful nobles in the Kingdom, but at present they were simply fractious boys bored with having to act the part of Princes and anxious to be off about whatever mischief they could find. Directly before her mother stood the Princess Elena, four years younger than the boys. Her features were as fine as her mother’s, but her colouring was her father’s, dark and intense. She beamed at the sight of her father riding at the head of his Household Guard. Succumbing to impulse, she pointed and said, ‘There’s Daddy!’

Arutha held up his hand and ordered a halt. Without waiting for official greetings from the Master of Ceremonies, he jumped from his mount and hurried to his family. Embracing his wife, he then turned his attention to his sons and daughter.

James motioned with this chin towards the welcoming guards and whispered to Locklear, ‘Willie’s on duty.’

William, Pug’s son, was a cadet, a young soon-to-be officer who presently was learning his trade. He exchanged glances with James, giving the squire a tiny nod.

The order was given for the company to fall out, and James and Locklear dismounted. Grooms hurried over and took away the tired mounts.

Their duty required the squires to wait upon their Prince’s need, so they moved to stand at Arutha’s right hand.

Anita gifted the young men with a warm greeting, then turned her attention to Arutha. ‘I know I shouldn’t worry. I know you’ll always come back to me.’

Arutha’s smile was both happy and tired. ‘Always.’

A small knot of court officials stood silently behind the royal family, and Arutha nodded greetings. He saw by their expressions that he would be needed in council before he would be permitted the pleasure of a long visit with his family. He noticed the Sheriff of Krondor in attendance, and sighed. That could only mean grave problems in Krondor, for the sheriff, while an important officer in the city, wasn’t properly a member of Arutha’s court. Glancing at Gardan, he said, ‘Marshal, see what the sheriff and the others want, and meet me in my private council chamber in a half hour. I will have this road-dirt off before I sit down to another meeting.’ He smiled at Anita. ‘And I’ll steal a few minutes to speak with my wife and children.’ He leaned over and kissed Anita on the cheek and said, ‘Take the children to our apartment. I’ll be along in a minute, dearest.’

Anita herded the children away, and Arutha motioned to James and Locklear. ‘No rest for the wicked, boys.’ Looking over at the palace guard, he added, ‘Young William looks as if he’s going to pop with news to share, so go find out what’s on his mind. I’m sure I’ll be hearing a different version of the same tale from my officers in council. If something warrants some snooping around in the city, do it, and be back no later than the end of the evening meal.’ Then he looked James in the eyes and said, You know what you must do.’

James nodded. As he led Locklear away, Locklear said, ‘What does that mean?’

‘What?’

‘“You know what you must do?”’

‘Just something Arutha and I have been working on since you were sent north to Tyr-Sog for …’

‘I know why I was banished to Tyr-Sog,’ Locklear said in a tired voice. ‘Too well,’ he added, considering his imminent return to that cold and lonely town on the northern frontier.

James signalled to the guardsman in charge of the trainees, who stood to attention as he shouted, ‘Members of the court!’

The cadets were already at attention, but they seemed to stiffen a bit more as the two squires approached.

James nodded greeting to Swordmaster McWirth. ‘How are the cadets this afternoon, swordmaster?’

‘A worthless lot, squire, but one or two of them may survive to actually be allowed to serve as an officer in my army!’

James smiled wryly at the pointed remark, given that he and the swordmaster had little affection for one another. As a member of Arutha’s court, the young man was not technically part of the army, and trained with weapons with the Prince; in fact, James was Arutha’s favourite duelling partner as he was one of the few in the city as fast as Arutha with a blade. As a squire, he also carried some rank, which meant that often he was put in charge of soldiers who had trained under the swordmaster, and it galled the old soldier.

Still, thought James, McWirth was thorough in his job and the officers he turned out, especially those who were chosen for the élite Royal Household Guards, were fine soldiers, to a man. In his travels, James had seen the worst of the army as well as the best, and he had no doubt these were the among the best in the Western Realm.

‘I need to speak to the Prince’s cousin when you’re done with him, swordmaster.’

The dour old soldier fixed James with a baleful gaze for an instant, and one more time James was thankful he never had to endure the swordmaster’s supervision. McWirth turned and shouted, ‘Dismissed! Cadet William, over here!’

William came to stand before the swordmaster, while the other cadets headed back towards their quarters, and said, ‘Sir!’

‘Member of the court desires your company, it seems.’ He smiled at James and Locklear and said, ‘Good day to you, squires.’

The other cadets hurried off to their duties and McWirth said, ‘And when you’re done, I expect you to catch up with the rest of the cadets, else you’ll be tending your equipment during mess, is that clear?’

‘Sir!’ replied William with a salute. The old swordmaster stalked off and William approached Locklear and James.

James asked, ‘What’s the news?’

‘Lots,’ said William. He was a short man, though taller than his father, with dark brown hair and eyes. The boyish cast to his features had faded in the months since he had come to serve in the Prince’s army and his shoulders had broadened. He was lethally effective with the two-handed sword, a difficult weapon for most soldiers to master, and his horsemanship was considered exceptional. ‘I’m to be commissioned next week!’

‘Congratulations,’ said Locklear. ‘I’m to be exiled.’

William’s eyes narrowed. ‘Again?’

James laughed. ‘Still. Arutha appreciated his reasons for returning without leave, but decided it didn’t warrant an early reprieve from the icy north.’

Frowning, Locklear said, ‘I depart for Tyr-Sog again, tomorrow.’

James said, ‘Something’s funny in the city. What do you hear, Willie?’

Only Arutha’s family, James, and Locklear called William by that nickname, a familiarity he allowed no one else. William said, ‘Odd things. They keep us cadets busy and we don’t get to mix much with the others in the garrison when we’re not training, but you do hear this and that. Seems like an unusually high number of people in the city have been turning up dead this last week.’

James nodded. ‘That would explain the sheriff waiting for the Prince.’

Locklear said, ‘He doesn’t usually do that sort of thing, now that you mention it.’

James was lost in thought a moment. He had crossed paths with Sheriff Wilfred Means on more than one occasion when James had plied his trade as a thief. A few times he had come close to being the sheriff’s guest in the Old Town Jail. The sheriff acknowledged James as the Prince’s squire and treated him with the respect due his office; their relationship was a cold one at best. James suddenly was visited with the image of a younger Wilfred Means glaring up at James as he bolted over the rooftops of the city, the then constable’s ginger-coloured moustache almost quivering with rage at the boy’s escape.

But the sheriff was stalwart in his duty, and tried to keep crime in Krondor as much under control as possible. The city was an orderly one by most any measure James could imagine, and unlike others who held the office before him, Wilfred Means was not a man to take a bribe or barter a favour.

For him to be waiting in person to speak to Arutha as soon as he returned meant something grave had occurred, something the sheriff judged required the Prince’s immediate attention.

‘You get back to your duties,’ said James absently to William. ‘Locky and I had better catch up with Arutha.’

William said, ‘Well, Locky, I will bid you farewell, again, if you’re off for the north in the morning.’

Locklear rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Take care of this rascal, William. I would hate to see him get killed when I wasn’t around to watch.’

‘Sorry you’re going to miss the commissioning,’ said William.

James grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Willie. I’ll find you a celebration, and even without this knave’s vaunted reputation as a lodestone for the girls, we’ll find us some pretty faces to look upon you in awe as you sport your new badge of rank.’

William couldn’t help blushing at that. ‘Take care, Locky,’ he said.

Locklear bid him farewell, and as William ran off to his duties Locklear said, ‘Did you see that blush? I warrant the lad’s never been with a woman.’

James elbowed his friend in the side. ‘Not everyone is as precocious as you were, Locky.’

‘But he’s nearly twenty!’ said Locklear in mock astonishment.

‘He’s a bright lad and fair to look at. I suspect things will have changed by the time you return,’ said James.

‘You think?’

‘Certainly,’ said James as they entered the palace. ‘I’m sure I can find him an agreeable girl to bed him in the next five years.’

Locklear’s grin vanished. ‘Five years!’ With wide eyes he said, ‘You don’t think Arutha’s going to keep me up there for five years, do you?’

James laughed at his friend’s distress. As the two young men hurried along to their Prince’s chambers, Locklear threw an elbow at James – which James adroitly dodged – and for an instant they were boys again.

James and Locklear reached Arutha’s private council room just as the Prince was approaching after his brief visit with his wife and children. He moved purposefully down the small hallway that connected his family’s private apartments with the council chamber and the formal court. James hurried to fall in behind his liege lord, with Locklear one step after. A pair of court pages flanked the council chamber door, and one quickly opened it so that Arutha might enter.

Arutha arrived to greetings from Master of Ceremonies Brian de Lacy. Standing at his right hand was his assistant, Housecarl Jerome. Jerome and his supervisor bowed as one to the Prince; the housecarl gave a fleeting nod of greeting to the two squires. Jerome had been a member of the company of squires with James and Locklear as boys, and James had been the first one to stand up to the older boy, who had been the resident bully. Now Jerome was studying to succeed de Lacy as the man in charge of the daily business of the court, and serving as the chief administrator of the palace while doing so, and James was forced to admit his fussy attention to detail made him ideally suited for the job.

Arutha said, ‘I am very tired and would like to join my family for an early supper; let’s save as much as we may for formal court tomorrow. What can’t wait?’

De Lacy nodded and then looked up. He noticed who was in the room and said, ‘Shall we wait for the Knight-Marshal?’

Just then Gardan entered. ‘Apologies, Highness. I wanted to make sure the men were taking care of their mounts and weapons before I joined you.’

Arutha’s brow furrowed and his mouth turned up in a familiar half-smile. ‘You’re not a sergeant any more, Gardan. You’re the Knight-Marshal of Krondor. You have others to ensure that the men and animals are properly billeted.’

Gardan nodded in reply, then said, ‘That’s something I wish to discuss with you.’ He glanced at the nobles in the Prince’s private offices and added, ‘But it will wait until after this evening’s business. Highness?’ Arutha indicated his agreement.

De Lacy said, ‘Two communiqués from Great Kesh via courier arrived during your absence, Highness, informing the crown of matters of small urgency, yet they do require a formal response.’

Arutha waved them over to James. ‘Leave them. I’ll read them tonight and compose a reply first thing in the morning.’

De Lacy handed them to James who tucked them under his arm without looking at them.

The Master of Ceremonies looked at the sheriff, who stepped forward and bowed. ‘Highness, I fear I must report a rash of black murders have been done in your city during the time you’ve been away.’

The Prince was silent for a moment as he considered these words, then he said, ‘You speak then of something warranting my personal attention? Murder is not uncommon in our city.’

‘I do, Highness. Several men of prominence have been slain in their beds at night, throats cut while their wives slept undisturbed beside them.’

Arutha glanced at James and nodded slightly. James knew what the Prince was thinking: Nighthawks.

For nearly ten years the city had been untroubled by the Guild of Death. The assassins who had been employed by Murmandamus’s agents had vanished at the end of the Riftwar. A few months ago rumours about their return had begun to circulate. Then they had suddenly reappeared in the Kingdom. James himself had killed their current leader, but was under no illusion that the Nighthawks would just go away. If there was another cell of them here in Krondor, they already knew of the death of one called Navon du Sandau, an erstwhile merchant from Kenting Rush. Exposing his true identity had almost got James killed in a duel, and it was only by dint of hours spent practising the sword with Arutha that James had prevailed.

Looking troubled, Arutha asked the sheriff, ‘What have your men uncovered?’

‘Nothing, Highness. Of some of the victims, what you’d expect: men with enemies due to their prominence in their trade. But others were men of little significance except to their families. There is nothing of sense about these murders. They seem … random.’

Arutha sat back and weighed what he had been told. His mind turned furiously as he considered, then discarded options. Finally he said, ‘Random? It may be we simply do not understand what is behind the selection of victims. Have your men return in the morning and question the families of the victims, those who worked with them, their neighbours and anyone who may have seen them prior to their deaths. There may be some vital bit of information we are not seeing because we do not know it is important. Send a scribe with your men to record the conversations. In all of this we may discover some connection between those murdered.’ He sighed, fatigue evident in his features. ‘Return to your post, sheriff. Join me after morning court tomorrow and we’ll discuss this business at length. I’ll want your men’s reports by tomorrow evening.’ The sheriff bowed and withdrew.

Arutha turned to de Lacy. ‘What else?’

‘Nothing that cannot wait, Highness.’

Arutha rose. ‘Court is dismissed until the tenth hour of the day tomorrow.’ De Lacy and Jerome left the chamber, and Arutha turned to Gardan and the squires. ‘Now, Gardan, what is it you wished to speak with me about?’

‘Highness, I’ve served your house since I was a boy. I’ve been a soldier and sergeant to your father, and a captain and marshal to you. It’s time I returned home to Crydee. I wish to retire.’

Arutha nodded. ‘I see. Can we speak of this over supper?’

The Knight-Marshal said, ‘If you wish.’

‘I do.’ Turning to the squires, Arutha said, ‘Locklear, you’d best be getting ready for your journey tomorrow morning. I’ll have travel warrants and orders sent to your quarters. Leave with the dawn patrol to Sarth. If I fail to see you before then, have a safe journey to Tyr-Sog.’

Locklear tried to keep his expression neutral as he answered, ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

Arutha turned to James and said again, ‘You know what to do.’

Arutha and Gardan turned towards the royal apartments as the two squires moved in the other direction. When they were out of hearing distance, Locklear mimicked the Prince: ‘“You know what to do.” All right: what is this all about?’

James sighed and said, ‘It means I don’t get any sleep tonight.’

Locklear said, ‘Is this your way of telling me it’s none of my business?’

‘Yes,’ James answered. He said nothing more as they moved to the wing of the palace which housed their quarters. Reaching the door to Locklear’s room, James said, ‘I probably won’t see you before you leave, also, so take care not to get yourself killed.’

Locklear shook hands, then embraced his best friend. ‘I’ll try not to.’

James grinned. ‘Good, then with luck we’ll see you at Midsummer’s Festival, assuming you don’t do anything to cause Arutha to keep you up there longer than that.’

Locklear said, ‘I’ll be good.’

‘See that you are,’ instructed James.

He left his friend and hurried to his own quarters. Being a member of the Prince’s court merited James a room of his own, but since he was only a squire, it was a modest one; a bed, a table for writing or eating a solitary meal, and a double door wooden wardrobe. James closed the door to his room, locking it behind him, and undressed. He was wearing travel clothing, but it was still too conspicuous for what he needed to do. Opening his wardrobe, he moved aside a bundle of shirts in need of laundry, and beneath those he found what he was looking for. A dark grey tunic and dark blue trousers, patched and mended and looking far dirtier than they actually were. He dressed in those, pulled on his oldest boots and slipped a well-made but plain-looking dagger into his boot-sheath. Then once again looking like a creature of the streets, he slipped out through the door of his quarters, avoiding servants and guards as he made his way down into the palace cellar.

Soon he was moving through a secret passage that connected the palace with the city sewers, and as night fell on Krondor Jimmy the Hand once more moved along the Thieves’ Highway.

The sun had set by the time James reached the transition point between the sewer under the palace and the city sewer system. The sky above might still be light for a while, but beneath the streets it was as dark as night. During the day there were places in the sewer where illumination filtered down from above, tunnels close to the surface where culverts had broken through, others below streets where missing stones or open drains admitted daylight.

But after sundown, the entire system was pitch-black, save for a few locations with light sources of their own, and only an expert could move through the maze of passages safely. From the moment he left the palace, James knew exactly where he was.

While a member of the Guild of Thieves, the Mockers, James had learned every trick of survival that harsh circumstance, opportunity, and keen native intelligence had presented to him. He moved silently to a stash he had prepared and moved a false stone. It was fashioned from cloth, wood, and paint, and in light far brighter than any likely to ever be present here, it would withstand inspection. He set the false stone down and retrieved a shuttered lantern from the stash. The hidey-hole held an extra set of picks, as well as a number of items unlikely to be welcome inside the palace proper: some caustic agents, climbing equipment, and a few non-standard weapons. Old habits died hard.

James lit the lantern. He had never considered keeping a lantern in the palace, for fear someone might observe him making the transition between the palace sewer and the one under the city. Guarding the secret of how the palace could be reached through the sewers was paramount. Every drawing on file in the palace, from the original keep through the latest expansion, showed the two systems as entirely separate, just as the city’s sewer was divided from the one outside the city walls. But smugglers and thieves had quickly rendered royal plans inaccurate, by creating passages in and out of the city.

James trimmed the wick, lit it, and closed the shutters until only a tiny sliver of light shone, but it was enough for him to navigate his way safely through the sewer. He could do it with no light, he knew, but it would slow him down to a painful near-crawl to have to feel his way along the walls the entire way, and he had a good distance to travel this night.

James did a quick check to ensure he had left nothing exposed for anyone to chance across. He considered the never-ending need for security which created this odd paradox: the Royal Engineers spent a lot of time and gold repairing the city’s sewers – and just as quickly the Mockers and others damaged them to have a furtive passage free of royal oversight. James often was the one responsible for identifying a new breach. Occasionally he was guilty of hiding one, if it suited his purposes more than it compromised the palace’s security.

Thinking that there was a great deal more to being a responsible member of the Prince’s court than he had imagined when he had first been put in the company of squires, the former thief hurried on towards his first appointment.

It was almost dawn when James started looking for his last contact. The squire was having trouble keeping his concerns in check. The first three informants he had sought were missing. The docks were unnaturally silent, devoid of even the boisterous noise usually marking the area’s inns and taverns. The poor quarter was clearly a no man’s land, with many of the Mockers’ usual bolt-holes and accesses blocked off and sealed.

Of the Mockers, James had seen nothing. That alone was not completely unusual. He wasn’t the only one adroit at travelling through the sewers and streets unnoticed. But there was something different about this night. There were others who used the sewers. Beggars who weren’t Mockers had places where they could sleep unmolested. Smugglers moved cargo short distances from secret landings built into the larger outflows into the harbour to basements farther in the city. With such activities came noises: small, unnoticed unless one was trained to recognize them for what they were, but usually they were there. Tonight everything was silent. Only the murmur of water, the scurrying of rats and the occasional rattle of distant machinery, waterwheels, pumps, and sluice gates echoed through the tunnels.

Anyone in the sewers was lying low, James knew. And that meant trouble. Historically, in times of trouble, the Mockers would seal off sections of the sewers, especially near the poor quarter, barring the passages to Mockers’ Rest, the place called ‘Mother’s’ by members of the Guild of Thieves. Armed bashers would take up station and wait for the crisis to pass. Others not belonging to the guild would also hole up until the trouble passed. Outside those enclaves and safe areas, anyone in the tunnels was fair game. The last time James had remembered such a condition had been during the year following the end of the Riftwar, when Princess Anita had been injured and Arutha had declared martial law.

The more he had travelled through the sewers below and the streets above, the more James was convinced something equally dire had occurred while he had been out of the city on the Prince’s business. James looked around to see that he was unwatched and moved to the rear of the alley.

A pair of old wooden crates had been turned towards a brick wall to offer some shelter against the elements. Inside that crate lay a still form. A swarm of flies took off as James moved the crate slightly. Before he touched the man’s leg, James knew he wasn’t sleeping. Gingerly he turned over the still form of Old Edwin, a one-time sailor whose love of drink had cost him his livelihood, family, and any shred of dignity. But, James thought, even a gutter-rat like Edwin deserved better than having his throat cut like a calf at slaughter.

The thick, nearly-dried blood told James he had been murdered earlier, probably around dawn the day before. He was certain that his other missing contacts had met a similar fate. Either whoever was behind the troubles in the city was killing indiscriminately – and James’s informants had been exceedingly unfortunate – or someone was methodically murdering off James’s agents in Krondor. Logic dictated the latter as the most likely explanation.

James stood and looked skyward. The night was fading, as a grey light from the east heralded the dawn’s approach. There was only one place left he might find answers without risking confronting the Mockers.

James knew that some agreement between the Prince and Mockers had been reached years before when he had joined Arutha’s service, but he never knew the details. An understanding of sorts had arisen between James and the Mockers. He stayed out of their way and they avoided him. He came and went as he pleased in the sewers and across the roofs of the city when he needed, and they looked the other way. But at no time had he any illusion that he would be warmly welcomed should he attempt to return to Mockers’ Rest. You were either a Mocker or you weren’t, he knew, and for nearly fourteen years he had not been a Mocker.

James put aside concerns about braving a visit to Mother’s and turned towards the one other place he might find some news.

James returned to the sewer and made his way quickly to a spot below a particular inn. It sat on the border between the poorest quarter of the city and a slightly more respectable district, one inhabited by workmen and their families. A rank covering of slime hid a secret release, and once it was tripped, James felt a slight grinding as a section of stone swung aside.

The ‘stone’ was made of plaster over heavy canvas, covering a narrow entryway to a short tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, with the secret door closed behind him, James opened the shutters of the lantern. He was almost certain he knew of every trap along the short passage, but as the key word was ‘almost’ he took great caution as he traversed the tunnel.

At the far end he found a thick oaken door, on the other side of which he knew rose a short flight of stairs leading to a cellar below an inn. He inspected the lock and when he was satisfied nothing had changed, he picked it adroitly. When it clicked open, he pushed it gingerly aside against the possibility of a new trap on the other side of the door. Nothing happened and he quickly mounted the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, he entered the dark cellar, thick with barrels and sacks. He moved through the maze of stores and climbed the wooden steps up to the main floor of the building, opening into a pantry, behind the kitchen. He opened the door.

A young woman’s scream split the air and a moment later a crossbow bolt flew through the space James had occupied the instant before. The young man rolled on the floor as the bolt splintered the wooden door and James came to his feet with his hands held palm out as he said, ‘Easy, Lucas! It’s me!’

The innkeeper, a former soldier in his youth, was halfway around the kitchen, the crossbow set aside as he was drawing his sword. He had grabbed the crossbow and fired through the door, across the kitchen, upon hearing the scream. He hesitated a moment, then returned his sword to its scabbard as he continued moving towards James.

He circled around a butcher’s block. ‘You idiot!’ he hissed, as if afraid to raise his voice. ‘You trying to get yourself killed?’

‘Honestly, no,’ said James as he stood up.

‘Dressed like that, sneaking at my cellar door, how’d I know it was you? You should have sent word you were coming that way, or waited an hour and come in the front door like an honest man.’

‘Well, I am an honest man,’ said James, moving from the kitchen, past the bar and into the empty common room. He glanced around, then sat down in a chair. ‘More or less.’

Lucas gave him a half-smile. ‘More than some. What brings you crawling around like a cat in the gutter?’

James glanced over at the young girl who had followed him and Lucas into the commons. She had regained her composure as the intruder was revealed to be a friend of the innkeeper. ‘Sorry to startle you.’

She took a breath and said, ‘Well, you did a good job of it.’ She stood upright, and her high colour from the fright put her fair complexion in contrast to her dark hair. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.

James asked, ‘The new barmaid?’

‘My daughter, Talia.’

James sat back. ‘Lucas, you don’t have a daughter.’

The proprietor of The Rainbow Parrot sat down opposite James and said, ‘Run to the kitchen and see nothing’s burning, Talia.’

‘Yes, father,’ she said, leaving.

‘I have a daughter,’ Lucas said to James. ‘When her mother died I sent her to live with my brother on his farm near Tannerbrook.’

James smiled. ‘Didn’t want her to grow up in this place?’

Lucas sighed. ‘No. It gets rough in here.’

Feigning innocence, James said, ‘Why, Lucas. I never noticed.’

Pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, Lucas said, ‘Far less savoury characters than you have graced that chair, Jimmy the Hand.’

James held up his hands as if surrendering. ‘I’ll concede as much.’ He glanced towards the kitchen door as if somehow seeing through it. ‘But she doesn’t sound like any farm girl I’ve heard before, Lucas.’

Lucas sat back, ran his bony hand through his grey-shot hair. His angular face showed irritation at having to explain. ‘She studied with a sisterhood in a nearby abbey for more hours than she milked cows. She can read, write, and do sums. She’s a smart lass.’

James nodded in appreciation. ‘Laudable. Though I doubt your average customer will appreciate those qualities as much as … the more obvious ones.’

Lucas’s expression darkened. ‘She’s a good girl, James. She’s going to marry a proper man, not some scruffy … well, you know the type. I’ll have a dowry set by and …’ He dropped his voice so as not to be heard in the kitchen. ‘James, you’re the only one I know who knows some proper lads, being in the palace and all. At least since Laurie ran off and got himself named duke in Salador. Can you arrange for my girl to meet the right kind of boy? She’s been back in the city only a few days and already I feel as green as a raw recruit on his first day of training. With her brothers dead in the war, she’s all I’ve got.’ He glanced around the well-tended but rough common room and said, ‘I want her to have more than this.’

James grinned. ‘I know. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring a couple of the more likely fellows down for a drink and let nature take its course.’

‘But not Locklear!’ said Lucas. ‘You keep him away.’

James laughed. ‘No worries. He’s probably riding out the gate this very minute, heading for a long tour of duty in Tyr-Sog.’

Talia came back into the room and said, ‘Everything is ready, father.’

‘That’s a good lass,’ he replied. ‘Open the door, then, and let anyone in who’s waiting for breakfast.’

As she moved off, Lucas said to James, ‘All right then. You didn’t get yourself almost killed sneaking in from the sewers to gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?’

James’s face lost any hint of humour. ‘There’s a war underway in the sewers, Lucas. And someone’s killed some friends of mine. What’s going on?’

Lucas sat back and nodded. ‘I knew you’d come asking one of these days. I thought it would be sooner.’

‘I just got back into the city last night. I was off with the Prince … doing some things.’

Lucas said, ‘Well, Arutha would do well to look closer to home for trouble, for he has heaps of it here free for the asking. I don’t know the truth of it, but according to the rumours men are killing freely in the sewers and along the waterfront. Citizens and Mockers alike are dying. I hear of Keshians setting up shops in buildings once owned by Kingdom merchants, and new bully gangs working along the docks. No one knows what’s going on, save the Mockers who have gone to ground and are hiding out. I’ve not seen one in a week. Most of my regulars come later and leave earlier, wanting to be home safe before dark.’

‘Who’s behind it, Lucas?’ asked James.

Lucas looked around, as if afraid some invisible agency might overhear him. Softly he said, ‘Someone calling himself the Crawler.’

James sat back. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he muttered.