Читать книгу Krondor: Tear of the Gods - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 8

JAMES HURRIED THROUGH THE NIGHT.

As he moved purposefully across the courtyard of the Prince’s palace in Krondor, he still felt the odd ache and twinge, reminders of his recent beating at the hands of the Nighthawks while he had been their captive. For the most part he was nearly back to his usual state of fitness. Despite that, he still felt the need for more sleep than usual, so of course, he had only just settled into a deep slumber when a page came knocking upon his door and informed James that the overdue caravan from Kesh had been sighted approaching the city. James had gotten up and dressed despite every fibre of his being demanding that he roll over in his warm bed and return to slumber.

Silently cursing the need to meet the arriving magician, he reached the outer gate where two guards stood their stations.

‘Evening, gentlemen. All’s well?’

The senior of the two guards, an old veteran named Crewson, saluted. ‘Quiet as the grave, Squire. Where’re you bound at this ungodly hour?’ He motioned for the other guard to open the gate so that James could leave the precinct of the palace.

Stifling a yawn, James said, ‘The Prince’s new mage has arrived from Stardock, and I’ve the dubious honour of meeting her at the North Gate.’

The younger guard smiled in mock sympathy. ‘Ah, you’ve all the luck, Squire.’ He swung the gate wide to allow James to depart.

With a wry smile, James passed through the opening. ‘I’d rather have a good night’s sleep, but duty calls. Fare you well, gentlemen.’

James picked up his pace, as he knew the caravan would disband quickly upon arrival. He wasn’t worried about the magician’s safety, as the city guard would be augmented by caravan guards coming off duty, but he was concerned over the possible lapse in protocol should he not be there to greet her. While she might be only a distant relative of the Ambassador from Great Kesh to the Western Court, she was still a noble by rank, and relations between the Kingdom of the Isles and Great Kesh had never been what one might call tranquil. A good year was one in which there were three or fewer border skirmishes.

James decided to take a shortcut from the palace district to the North Gate, one that would require he pass through a warehouse district behind the Merchants’ Quarter. He knew the city as well as any living man, and had no concerns about getting lost, but when two figures detached themselves from the shadows as he rounded a corner, he cursed himself for a fool. The out-of-the-way route was unlikely to be host to many citizens abroad on lawful business at this time of night. And these two looked nothing like lawful citizens.

One carried a large billy club and had a long belt knife, while the other rested his hand easily upon a sword. The first wore a red leather vest while his companion wore a simple tunic and trousers. Both had sturdy boots on, and James instantly recognized them for what they were: common street thugs. They were almost certainly freebooters, men not associated with the Mockers, the Guild of Thieves.

James pushed aside his self-recriminations for taking this shortcut, for the matter was now beyond changing.

The first man said, ‘Ah, what’s the city coming to?’

The second nodded, moving to flank James should he try to run. ‘It’s a sad state of affairs. Gentlemen of means, wanderin’ the streets after midnight. What can they be thinking?’

Red-vest pointed his billy club at James and said, ‘He must be thinkin’ his purse is just too heavy and be hopin’ for a helpful pair like us to relieve him of it.’

James let out a slow breath and calmly said, ‘Actually, I was thinking about the foolishness of men who don’t recognize a dangerous mark when they see one.’ He drew his rapier slowly and moved the point to halfway between the two men, so that he would be able to parry an attack from either man.

‘The only danger here is tryin’ to cross us,’ said the second thug, drawing his sword and lashing out at James.

‘I really don’t have time for this,’ James said. He parried the blow easily and riposted. The swordsman barely pulled back in time to avoid being skewered like a holiday pig.

Red-vest pulled out his belt knife and swung his billy club, but James ducked aside and kicked out with his right leg, propelling the man into his companion. ‘You still have time to run away, my friends.’

Red-vest grunted, recovered his balance, and rushed James, threatening with the billy club while holding his knife in position to do the real damage. James recognized the man’s outrage – this was no longer a simple mugging; these two men now meant to kill him. He ignored the billy club, dodging towards it rather than away, and sliced at the man’s left wrist. The knife fell to the stones with a clatter.

While Red-vest howled in pain and fell back, his companion came rushing in, his sword cocked back over his shoulder. James danced backward for two steps, and as the man let fly with his wide swing – designed to decapitate the young squire – James leaned forward in a move he had learned from the Prince, his left hand touching the stones to aid his balance and his right hand extending out. The attacker’s sword passed harmlessly over James’s head and he ran onto the point of James’s rapier. The man’s eyes widened in shock and he came to an abrupt halt, looked down in disbelief, then collapsed to his knees. James pulled his sword point free and the man toppled over.

The other brigand caught James by surprise coming over the shoulder of his collapsing friend, and James barely ducked away from a thrust that would have certainly split his head. He took a glancing blow on his left shoulder, still sore from the beating he had taken at the hands of the Nighthawks, and gasped at the unexpected pain. The hilt of the knife had struck, so there was no blood – his tunic wasn’t even ripped – but damn it, he thought, it hurt!

James’s training and battle-honed reflexes took over, and he turned with the attacker, his sword lashing out again as the man went by, and stood behind him as he too went down to his knees, then toppled over. James didn’t even have to look to know his sword had cut Red-vest’s throat in a single motion.

James wiped his sword off on the shirt of the first man he had killed and returned it to its sheath. Rubbing his sore left shoulder, he shook his head and muttered, ‘Idiots,’ quietly under his breath. Resuming his journey he marvelled, not for the first time, at humanity’s capacity for stupidity. For every gifted, brilliant man like Prince Arutha, there seemed to be a hundred – no, make that a thousand – stupid men.

Better than most men in the Prince’s court, James understood the petty motives and narrow appetites of most citizens. As he turned his back on the two dead men, he acknowledged to himself that most of the population were decent people, people who were tainted by only a little larceny, a small lie about taxes owed, a little shorting of a measure, but in the main they were good.

But he had seen the worst and best of the rest, and had gone from a fraternity of men bent on trivial gain by any means, including murder, to a fellowship of men who would sacrifice even their own lives for the greater good.

His ambition was to be like them, to be noble by strength of purpose and clarity of vision rather than by accident of birth. He wanted one day to be remembered as a great defender of the Kingdom.

Ironically, he considered how unlikely it was that that would ever happen, given his current circumstance. He was now commissioned to create a company of spies, intelligence men who were to act on behalf of the Crown. He doubted Prince Arutha would appreciate him telling the ladies and gentleman of the court about it.

Still, he reminded himself as he turned another corner – glancing automatically into the shadows to see if anyone lurked there – the deed was the thing, not the praise.

Absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand, he noted how it had been overstrained by the swordplay. The little exercise with the two brigands was reminding him he wasn’t fully healed from his recent ordeal in the desert at the hands of the Nighthawks – a band of fanatic assassins. He had been up and around within days of returning to Krondor, but he was still feeling not quite right after three weeks. And two sore shoulders would continue to remind him of it all for a couple of days, at least.

Sighing aloud, James muttered to himself: ‘Not as spry as I once was, I fear.’

He cut through another alley that brought him around the corner to the street leading to the North Gate. He found himself passing the door of a new orphanage, recently opened by the Order of Dala, the goddess known as ‘Shield to the Weak.’ The sign above the door featured a yellow shield with the Order’s mark upon it. Princess Anita had been instrumental in helping to secure the title to the building and funding it for the Order. James wondered absently how different his life might have been had he found his way to such a place when his mother had died, rather than ending up in the Guild of Thieves.

In the distance he could see two guardsmen speaking with a solitary young woman. He left off his musings and quickened his pace.

As he approached, he studied the young woman. Several facts were immediately manifest. He had expected a noblewoman of Kesh, bedecked in fine silks and jewellery, with a complement of servants and guards at her disposal. Instead he beheld a solitary figure, wearing clothing far more appropriate for rigorous travel than for court ceremony. She was dark-skinned, not as dark as those who lived farther south in Great Kesh, but darker than was common in Krondor, and in the gloom of night, her dark hair, tied back in a single braid, reflected the flickering torchlight with a gleam like a raven’s wing. Her eyes, when they turned upon James, were also dark, almost black in the faint light.

Her bearing and the set of her eyes communicated an intensity that James often admired in others, if it was leavened with intelligence. There could be no doubt of intelligence, else Pug would never have recommended her for the post as Arutha’s magical advisor.

She carried a heavy staff of either oak or yew, shod at both ends in iron. It was a weapon of choice among many travellers, especially those who by inclination or lack of time couldn’t train in blades and bows. James knew from experience it was not a weapon to be taken lightly; against any but the most heavily-armoured foe a staff could break bones, disarm or render an opponent unconscious. And this woman appeared to have the muscle to wield it effectively. Unlike the ladies of Arutha’s court, her bare arms showed the effects of strenuous labour or hours spent in the weapons yard.

As he neared, James summed up his first impression of the new court magician: a striking woman, not pretty but very attractive in an unusual way. Now James understood his friend William’s distress at the news of her appointment to the Prince’s court. If she had been his first lover, as James suspected, William would not easily put her behind him, not for many years. Given his young friend’s recent infatuation with Talia, the daughter of a local innkeeper, James chuckled to himself as he surmised that William’s personal life was about to get very interesting. James didn’t envy him the discomfort, but knew it would no doubt prove entertaining to witness. He smiled to himself as he closed upon the group.

One of the two guards conversing with the young woman noticed James and greeted him. ‘Well met, Squire. We’ve been expectin’ you.’

James nodded and replied, ‘Gentlemen. My thanks for keeping an eye on our guest.’

The second guard chimed in. ‘We felt bad, I mean, her bein’ a noble and all, and havin’ to wait so long, but we didn’t have enough men to send with her to the palace.’ He indicated the other pair at the far end of the gate.

James appreciated their dilemma. If any of them had left his post, for whatever reason, without permission, the guard captain would have had their ears. ‘Not to worry. You’ve done your duty.’

Turning to the young woman, James bowed and said, ‘Your pardon, milady, for making you wait. I am Squire James of Krondor.’

The young magician smiled and suddenly James reevaluated his appraisal. She was very pretty, if in an unusual fashion for the women of the Western Kingdom. She said, ‘It is I who should apologize for arriving at this unseemly hour, but our caravan was delayed. I am Jazhara, most recently of Stardock.’

Glancing around, James said, ‘A pleasure to meet you, Jazhara. Where is your entourage?’

‘At my father’s estates on the edge of the Jal-Pur desert. I had no servants at Stardock and requested none to travel here. I find that the use of servants tends to weaken the will. Since I began studying the mystic arts, I have always travelled alone.’

James found the availability of servants one of the key attractions of the Prince’s court; always having someone around to send on errands or fetch things was very useful. He was also now embarrassed to discover he should have ordered a squad of soldiers to escort Jazhara and himself back to the palace; her rank required such, but he had assumed she’d have her own bodyguards in place. Still, if she didn’t bring it up, neither would he. He merely said, ‘I quite understand. If you are willing, however, we can leave your baggage under the watch of the guards, and I will arrange to have it brought to the palace in the morning.’

‘That will be fine. Shall we go?’

He decided to avoid shortcuts and keep to the broader thoroughfares. It would take a bit longer to reach the palace, but would afford them safer travel. He suspected that in addition to knowing how to use that staff to good effect, Jazhara probably had several nasty magician’s tricks at her disposal, but the risk of an international incident to save a few minutes’ walk wasn’t worth it.

Deciding that being direct was his best course, James asked, ‘What does your great-uncle think of this appointment?’

Jazhara smiled. ‘I do not know, but I suspect he is less than happy. Since he was already unhappy that I chose to study at Stardock – over my father’s objections – rather than marry a “suitable young lord,” I fear I’ve likely put him in a dark mood.’

James smiled. ‘Having met your great-uncle on a few occasions, I should think you’d want to stay on his good side.’

With a slight twist of her lips, Jazhara said, ‘To the world he is the mighty Lord Hazara-Khan, a man to be dreaded by those who put their own interests ahead of the Empire’s. To me he is Uncle Rachman – “Raka” I called him because I couldn’t manage his name when I was little – and he can deny me little. He wanted to marry me off to a minor prince of the Imperial House, a distant cousin to the Empress, but when I threatened to run away if he sent me south, he relented.’

James chuckled. They rounded a corner and headed down a large boulevard that would eventually lead them back to the palace.

After only a few minutes, James found himself enjoying the company of this young woman from Kesh. She was quick, observant, keen-eyed, and witty. Her banter was clever and entertaining without the acerbic, nasty edge one found so often among the nobles of the Prince’s court.

Unfortunately, she was too entertaining: James suddenly realized he had turned a corner a few streets back without thinking and now they were in the area he had planned on avoiding.

‘What is it?’ Jazhara asked.

James turned and grinned at her, a grin that could barely be seen in the faint glow of a distant lantern hanging outside an inn. ‘You’re very perceptive, milady.’

‘It’s part of the trade, sir,’ she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and caution. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I just got caught up in our discourse and without thought turned us into a part of the city it might be best to avoid at this hour.’

James noticed a very slight shift in the way she held her staff, but her voice remained calm. ‘Are we in danger?’

‘Most probably not, but one never knows in Krondor. Best to be alert. We shall be at the palace in a few minutes.’

Without comment, they both picked up the pace slightly, and hurried along, each watching the side of the street for possible assailants in the gloom, James taking the left, Jazhara the right.

They had rounded the corner that put them in sight of the palace district when a sound echoed off to James’s left. He turned and as he did so he recognized the trap: a pebble being tossed from the right.

As he turned back towards Jazhara, a small figure darted from the shadows. Jazhara had also spun to look in the same direction as James and was slow to recover.

The assailant darted close, a blade flashed, and suddenly a child was running down the street clutching Jazhara’s purse.

James had been prepared for an attack, so it took an instant for him to realize that a street urchin had robbed Jazhara. ‘Hey! Stop! Come back here!’ he shouted after the fleeing child.

‘We have to stop him,’ said Jazhara. ‘Besides a few coins, my purse has items which could prove fatal to a child.’

James didn’t hesitate.

He knew the city as well as any man, and after a moment’s pursuit, he slowed. ‘What is it?’ asked Jazhara.

‘If memory serves, he just ducked into a dead end.’

They turned into the alley after the cutpurse and saw no sign of him.

‘He’s gone!’ Jazhara exclaimed.

James laughed. ‘Not quite.’

He moved to what looked to be some heavy crates, and reached around behind them, pulling away a piece of cloth tacked to the back. With a quick motion, in case the young thief was inclined to use the blade to defend himself, James snatched a thin arm.

‘Let me go!’ shouted a young girl who looked no older than ten, dressed in rags. She dropped her blade and Jazhara’s purse on the cobbles.

James knew it was a ruse to get him to release her arm and pick up the purse, so he held firm. ‘If you’re going to be a thief, you must learn who to mark and who to leave be.’

He turned to block her path if she tried to run and held her arm loosely. Kneeling so that he was at eye level with her, he asked, ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’

Quickly sensing that this man and woman weren’t trying to harm her, the girl relaxed slightly. ‘Nita,’ she said with a tiny hint of defiance. ‘Mommy called me that after Prince ’Rutha’s wife, ’Nita.’

James couldn’t help but smile. He knew Princess Anita would be flattered to hear of that tiny honour. ‘I’m Squire James, and this is Jazhara, the court mage.’

The girl seemed less than reassured at being confronted by two members of the court. ‘Are you going to take me to jail?’

‘James,’ said Jazhara, ‘you’re not going to put this child in jail, are you?’

With mock seriousness, James said, ‘By rights I should. A dangerous criminal like this preying on innocent people at night!’

The child’s eyes widened slightly, but she stood unafraid and didn’t flinch. James softened his tone. ‘No, child. We’ll not put you in jail. There’s a place we could take you, if you like. It’s called the Sign of the Yellow Shield. They take care of children like you.’

The reaction was instantaneous. ‘No! No! You’re just like the other men. You’re just like the bad men!’ She struck at James’s face with her free hand, and tried to pull away.

James hung on. ‘Hold on! Hold it! Stop hitting me for a minute.’

The girl ceased hitting him, but still kept tugging. James slowly let go of her arm and held up his hands, palms out, showing that he was not going to grab her again. ‘Look, Nita, if you want to stay here that’s fine. We’re not going to hurt you,’ he said softly.

Jazhara asked, ‘Who were you talking about, Nita? Who were the bad men?’

The girl looked up at the mage and said, ‘They say they’re like the Yellow Shield, and all good children go with them, but they hurt me!’ Her eyes started to fill with tears, but her voice was firm.

James asked, ‘How did they hurt you?’

Nita looked at the former boy-thief and said, ‘They took me to the big house, and they locked me in a cage, like all the other children. Then they told me to dye cloth for Yusuf, or else they’d beat me, and some of the other children, the bad children, they took and they never came back and there were rats and squirmy things in our food and—’

‘This is horrible,’ said Jazhara. ‘We must act on this “Yusuf,” but first we must care for Nita.’

‘Well, I suppose we could take her to the palace,’ began James, turning to look at Jazhara.

It was the chance the girl had waited for. As soon as James looked away from her, she was off, sprinting down the alley towards the street.

James stood and watched her turn the corner, knowing that he could probably chase her down, but deciding not to. Jazhara stared at James with an unspoken question in her eyes. James said, ‘I told her she could stay with us if she wanted to.’

Jazhara nodded. ‘Then you will do something about this?’

James leaned down to pick up Jazhara’s purse. He dusted it off and as he handed it to her he said, ‘Of course I will. I grew up on these streets. This isn’t about duty; it’s personal.’

Jazhara turned away from the palace and started walking back the way they had come.

‘Hey!’ said James, hurrying to catch up. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Unless this Yusuf lives in the palace, we need to go deeper into this poor section of the city, I am guessing.’

‘Good guess,’ said James. ‘There’s a dyer named Yusuf up in what’s called “Stink Town,” to the north – it’s where all the tanners, slaughterhouses, and other aromatic businesses are housed. But now?’

Looking at James with a resolute expression, Jazhara said, ‘We can’t start any sooner, can we?’

‘Apparently not,’ replied James. Then he grinned.

James kept his eyes moving, peering into every shadow, while Jazhara gazed resolutely forward, as if fixed upon a goal. As they walked purposefully through the Poor Quarter of Krondor, Jazhara said, ‘Do you expect trouble?’

‘Constantly,’ answered James, glancing down a side-street they were passing.

The rising stench in the air told them they were close to their destination, the area of the Poor Quarter given over to those businesses best kept downwind. ‘Where do you think this Yusuf resides?’

James said, ‘The cloth-makers are all located at the end of this street, and along two others nearby.’ Turning to look at Jazhara, he said, ‘You realize, of course, that the place will almost certainly be closed for the night?’

Jazhara smiled. ‘Which will give us an opportunity to look around unnoticed, correct?’

James smiled back. ‘I like the way you think, Jazhara.’

Several times along the way they passed individuals hurrying by; the city was never truly asleep. Those who passed cast appraising glances at the pair, either as potential threats – or as possible victims.

They reached an intersection and glanced in both directions. Off to the left, all was quiet, but to James’s surprise down the street to the right a few places were still obviously open for business. ‘The dyers’ trade must be very profitable for these establishments to be conducting business all night.’

‘Or they’re paying nothing for their labour,’ said Jazhara as they passed one such open establishment. The door was ajar and a quick glance inside indicated there was nothing suspicious taking place; a dyer and others – obviously members of his family – were busy preparing a large shipment of cloth. Most likely it was to be delivered at dawn to tailors who had ordered the material.

They moved along the dimly-lit street until they reached a large, two-storey building, before which stood a large man with a sword at his belt. He watched with a neutral expression as James and Jazhara approached.

James asked, ‘What is this place?’

The guard answered, ‘This is the shop of the honourable Yusuf ben Ali, the illustrious cloth merchant.’

Jazhara asked, ‘Is he in?’

‘No. Now, if that’s all, you’ll excuse me.’ Since the guard showed no sign of leaving, it was clear that he expected James and Jazhara to move along.

James said, ‘I find it odd to believe your master is out at this late hour, and you are merely standing here guarding a workshop in which no one is working.’ He moved to stand before the man. ‘I am Prince Arutha’s squire.’

Jazhara added, ‘And I his newly-appointed court mage.’

At this the guard’s eyes flickered over to her for an instant, then he said, ‘My master is indeed within. He is working late on a shipment that must leave tomorrow on a caravan and wishes not to be disturbed by any but the most important guest. I will see if he considers you to be important enough.’ He turned his back on them, saying, ‘Follow me to my master’s office, but touch nothing.’

They entered the building and discovered a brightly-lit display area, showing finely-woven cloth dyed in the most marvellous colours. A bolt of crimson silk was allowed to spill from a rack, the best to show off its scintillating colour. Surrounding them was indigo and bright yellow linen, cotton of every hue, all waiting for potential buyers. A door to the rear of the showroom was closed, and a narrow stairway ran up along the left wall to a single door. A large chandelier ablaze with a dozen candles hung from the ceiling.

Beyond the viewing area, huge vats of dye stood, while large drying racks held freshly dyed cloth. James saw two children, no older than ten years, moving a rack aside to make way for another being pushed by another pair of children. The youngsters were dirty, and a few appeared to shiver beneath their thin ragged clothing. Jazhara noticed one little girl, who looked to be about seven years old, yawn, struggling to keep her eyes open as she pushed the heavy drying rack. Two guards stood watching the children.

The guard who had accompanied them inside said, ‘Wait here. I will fetch my master.’

James asked, ‘Isn’t it late for the children to be working?’

The man said, ‘They are lazy. This order must be ready by noon tomorrow. Had they finished at dusk, they would be asleep in their beds now. They know this. Do not talk to them; it will only slow them down. I will return with my master.’

The man hurried across the large room and disappeared through the rear door. A few minutes later, he and another man returned. The newcomer was obviously a merchant, yet he carried a curved desert sword – a scimitar. He wore Kingdom tunic and trousers, but elected a traditional desert man’s head cover, a black cloth wound as a turban, its length allowed to drape below the chin, from right to left, the end thrown across the left shoulder. He had a dark beard and the swarthy looks of Jazhara’s countrymen, a fact confirmed as he reached them and said, ‘Peace be upon you,’ the traditional greeting of the people of the Jal-Pur.

Jazhara replied, ‘And upon you be peace.’

‘Welcome to my workhouse, my friends. My name is Yusuf ben Ali. How may I serve?’

James glanced back at the labouring children. ‘We’ve heard how you work around here. This place is being shut down.’

If the man was surprised at this pronouncement, he didn’t show it. He merely smiled. ‘Oh, you’ve heard, have you? And what exactly did you hear?’

Jazhara said, ‘We’ve heard about your working conditions and how you treat children.’

Yusuf nodded. ‘And let me guess, you heard it from a young girl, perhaps less than a decade in age? Or was it a young boy this time?’

‘What do you mean?’ James asked.

‘My dear sir, it was all a lie. My competitors have taken to paying children to accost guardsmen and other worthy citizens. They ply them with stories of the “horrors of Yusuf’s shop.” And then they vanish. My shop is then closed down for a few days while the Prince’s magistrate investigates, and my competitors flourish.’

Jazhara said, ‘But we’ve seen the working conditions inside.’

Ben Ali glanced over at the ragged youngsters and shook his head slightly. ‘My dear countrywoman, I may be unable to provide for the children as I would like, but even I have a heart. They have a roof over their heads, and hot meals, and clothes. It may not be the extravagance that you would be used to, but, as the wise men taught us, poverty is food to a righteous man, while luxury can be a slow poison.’ He inclined his head towards the children. ‘We work late tonight. This is not unusual in my trade, but I assure you most nights these children would be safely asleep. When this shipment is done, I shall send them to their beds and they will be free tomorrow to sleep; then, when they awake they shall have a day of rest and play. What would else you have me do? Put them back on the streets?’

Children working to support their families was nothing new in the Kingdom. But this smacked of something close to slavery and James wasn’t convinced this man Yusef was what he seemed. ‘What about up there?’ he asked, pointing at the stairs.

‘Ah, the second floor is under construction – we make improvements. It is not safe at present to see, but when it is done it will expand our capacities, and will include better quarters for the children.’

James was about to speak, when Jazhara said, ‘James, may I have a moment alone with this gentleman?’

James was surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Please.’

James glanced from Jazhara to Yusuf, then said, ‘I’ll be outside.’

When he was gone from the building, Jazhara lowered her voice and said, ‘You work for my great-uncle?’

Yusuf bowed slightly. ‘Yes, kin of Hazara-Khan, I do. And I wished to speak to you alone. You did well sending our young friend away. A Kingdom nobleman is a complication. Does he know your great-uncle’s position?’

Jazhara smiled. ‘As Governor of the Jal-Pur, or as head of Keshian Intelligence in the north?’

‘The latter, of course.’

‘He may suspect, but what he knows is not the issue. This place is what matters. Is what the young girl said true?’

‘The Imperial treasury hardly provides enough support for this operation,’ said Yusuf. ‘I must supplement my means; this shop is very successful, primarily because the labour is almost free.’ He looked at her disapproving expression and said, ‘I’m surprised at you. I expected a great-niece of Hazara-Khan to value practicality over misguided morality. Deceit, after all, is the first tool of our trade. What I do here aids me in my work.’

‘Then what the girl said was true. Does my great-uncle know about this?’

‘I have never bothered to inform him of the details of my operation, no. But he appreciates my results. And now that you are here, they will be greater than ever!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It is well known of your falling out with your family and your choice to study magic at Stardock. Only your great-uncle’s power has shielded you from those in the Imperial Court who think you a potential risk. It is time for you to grow up and face your responsibilities. You are a child of the Empire, a citizen of Great Kesh. Your loyalties must lie with them.’

‘My loyalties also lie with this court, and the Prince. I am the court mage, the first to be appointed to this position.’

Yusuf studied the young woman’s face. ‘Sometimes the ties of blood must be held above the ties of hollow words.’

‘I am not a spy!’

‘But you could be,’ insisted ben Ali. ‘Work for me; grant me secrets from the lips of Krondor’s courtiers and make your family proud!’ His expression darkened. ‘Or disgrace your country, your family, and continue as you are. Your great-uncle can provide only limited protection if you swear that oath to Arutha.’ He paused, then added, ‘These are harsh choices, Jazhara. But you are now an adult, and the choice, as ever, must be yours. But know that from this point forward, whatever choice you make will change you forever.’

Jazhara was silent for a long moment, as if considering the merchant’s words. Finally she said, ‘Your words are harsh, Yusuf, but your actions have shown me where my loyalties lie.’

‘Then you will help me?’

‘Yes. I will honour his teachings and the ideals of my nation.’

‘Excellent! You’d best leave now, before your friend becomes suspicious. Return again when you’re settled into the prince’s court and we shall begin.’

She nodded and walked towards the door. She passed the still-labouring children, one of who looked up at her with eyes dulled from lack of sleep. In those eyes, Jazhara noted a flicker of fear. When she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder at the smiling spy and the three guards who stood nearby.

James waited at the end of the alleyway. ‘Well?’ he asked as she approached.

‘Yusuf is a spy for my great-uncle.’

James could barely conceal his surprise. ‘I don’t know which I find more astonishing; that he is what you say, or that you’ve told me.’

‘When I left my father’s court and trained at Stardock, I set aside my loyalty to Great Kesh. What my great-uncle does, he does for the betterment of the Empire.’ With a nod of her head to the entrance to Yusuf’s shop, she added with a steely edge to her voice, ‘But this one seeks to line his pockets with gold from the suffering of children, and his service to the Empire is of secondary concern, I am certain. Even were I in service to Kesh, I would not long abide his continued existence.’ She gripped her staff and James saw her knuckles go white. Although he’d known the court mage for but a few hours, he had no doubt she was not making an idle threat; no matter where Jazhara’s loyalties might lie, she would see Yusef pay for his crimes against the children.

‘What do you propose?’ he asked.

‘There are but three guards. You are, I assume, a competent swordsman?’

‘I am—’ began James.

‘As I am a competent magician,’ interrupted Jazhara. ‘Let’s go.’

As they strode back towards the dyer’s shop, James felt the hair on his arms stand up, a sure sign magic was being gathered. He had never liked the feeling, even when he knew someone on his side was employing it. Jazhara said, ‘I will distract them. Try to take Yusuf alive.’

James pulled out his rapier and muttered, ‘Four to one and you want me to try to keep one of them alive? Wonderful.’

Jazhara entered the shop ahead of James, and Yusuf turned as she did so. ‘What—?’ he began.

Jazhara’s pointed her staff at him and a loud keening sound filled the air as a ball of blue energy exploded off the tip of the staff. It struck the merchant, doubling him over in pain.

James rushed past the magician, quickly scanning the room for a sign of the children. They were gone. The three armed guards hesitated for a moment, then sprang into action. James was about to strike the guard on his right when the energy ball caromed off Yusuf and struck the guard to James’s right. James quickly switched his attack to the center assailant.

James had fought multiple opponents before, and knew there were certain advantages. The most important thing he had found was that if his opponents hadn’t practised as a unit they tended to get in one another’s way.

He lunged and took the centre assailant under his guard, running him through. As he withdrew his blade, he leapt to his right and as he had hoped, the man on James’s left stumbled into the dying man in the middle.

Yusuf’s sword suddenly slashed the air near James’s head. He had recovered from the magic Jazhara had thrown at him and was now on James’s right, his scimitar expertly slicing the air.

‘Great,’ James muttered. ‘The spy has to be a master swordsman.’

The two remaining thugs had regained their feet and were a danger, but Yusuf was the true threat. ‘Jazhara! Keep those two off me, if you please.’

Jazhara advanced and another burst of energy shot across the room, this time a red blast of lightning that caused the air to crackle as it struck the floor between James and the two guards. They quickly retreated as smoke began to rise from the wooden floor.

James didn’t have time to appreciate the display, for Yusuf was proving a formidable opponent. It looked as if there would be almost no chance of keeping the Keshian spy alive, unless he got lucky. And given a choice, he’d rather keep himself alive than spare Yusuf and die in the process.

James used every trick he knew, a lethal inventory of combinations and feints. Twice he came close to cutting the Keshian, but twice in turn Yusuf came close to ending the struggle, too.

James circled and the turn brought Jazhara and the other two thugs into view. One had left the magician and was coming to help his master finish off James, while the other approached the magician warily, as Jazhara stood ready with her iron-shod staff before her.

James didn’t hesitate. He feigned a blow to Yusuf’s right hand, and as the Keshian moved to block, James spun to his own right, taking him away from the Keshian spy. Before Yusuf could recover, James was standing at his exposed left side, and all the merchant could manage was to fall away, avoiding a killing blow. This brought James right into the reach of the approaching guard, who lashed out high with his sword, a blow designed to decapitate the squire.

James ducked and thrust, running the man through. He then leapt to his right, knowing full well that Yusuf would be coming hard on his blind side. James hit the floor and rolled, feeling the scimitar slice the air above him. As he had hoped, Yusuf was momentarily slowed as he tried to avoid tripping over the falling corpse of his guard, and that afforded James enough time to regain his feet.

Off to one side, James could make out Jazhara and the other guard locked in combat. She wheeled the staff like an expert, taking his sword blows on hardened oak and lashing back with the iron tips. One good crack to the skull and the fight would be over, and both James and Jazhara’s opponent knew that.

Yusuf came in with his sword point low, circling to his right. James glimpsed bales of cloth and display racks to his own right and moved to counter Yusuf. The spy wanted James’s back to possible obstructions, so he might cause the squire to trip.

James knew it was now just a matter of who made the first mistake. He had been in struggles like this before, and knew fear and fatigue were the enemies most to be avoided. Yusuf’s face was a study in concentration: he was probably thinking the same thoughts.

James paused as if weighing which way to move, inviting Yusuf into committing himself to an attack. Yusuf declined. He waited. Both men were breathing heavily.

James resisted the urge to glance to where Jazhara struggled to finish off her opponent, knowing that to do so would invite an attack. The two men stood poised, each ready for an opening, each waiting for the other to commit.

Then James had an inspiration. He intentionally glanced to the left, at Jazhara, seeing her block a blow from the guard; she took the tip of the staff inside the man’s guard, and James saw her deliver a punching blow with the iron end of the staff to the man’s middle. He heard the man’s breath explode out of his lungs, but didn’t see it, for at that precise moment, James spun blindly away to his left.

As he had expected, Yusuf had acted the moment James’s eyes wandered, and as he had also suspected, the attack came off a combination of blade movements. A feint to the heart, which should have caused James’s sword to lash up and out, to block the scimitar, followed by a looping drop of the tip of the scimitar to a low, inside stab, designed to impale James in the lower belly.

But James wasn’t there. Rather than parry, he had spun to the left, and again found himself on Yusuf’s right hand. And rather than dance away, James closed. Yusuf hesitated for an instant, recognizing he was over-extended and needed to come back into a defensive posture. That was all James needed.

His rapier struck out and the point took Yusuf in the right side of his neck. With a sickening gurgling sound, the spy stiffened. Then his eyes rolled up and his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.

James pulled out his sword and turned to see Jazhara break the skull of the last guard.

The man went down and Jazhara retreated, glancing around to see if any threats remained. Seeing only James standing upright, she rested on her staff as she tried to catch her breath.

James walked to her and said, ‘You all right?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

James then looked around the room. Bolts of cloth were overturned and had been sent every which way, and many were now stained with crimson.

Letting out a long breath, James said, ‘What a mess.’