Читать книгу Shards of a Broken Crown - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 12

DASH FLINCHED.

The wind had turned cold again after the previous day’s springlike warmth and he was still sporting many bruises, which seemed to sting more when the cold hit them. Still, the exercise seemed to be keeping him from getting stiff. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Gustaf again since he had mentioned the possibility of escape. Talwin had taken to staying close by, a turn of events which worried Dash. He could only guess at the man’s motives; either he was also looking for escape and judged Dash and Gustaf likely allies in such a break, or he was an informer. Dash decided he could spend another day or two trying to discover which.

The guards shouted for the midday break, and the boys with the bread and watered wine hurried through the ranks, distributing their welcome fare. Dash sat down right where he worked, on the next large rock to be returned to the wall, while Gustaf sat with his back to the wall they were repairing. Dash took a bite and said, “Either I’m getting used to this or they’ve found a better baker.”

Gustaf said, “You’re getting used to it. Remember the old saying, ‘Hunger is the best sauce.’”

Dash studied the warrior from the Vale of Dreams. At first it had seemed his entire conversational repertoire consisted of head nods, grunts, and the occasional “yes” or “no.” But since last night he had opened up a little to Dash.

“How’d you get caught here?”

“I wasn’t,” said Gustaf, finishing his meager meal. He sipped his watery wine and said, “I was a guard on a caravan …” He glanced around. “It’s a long story. The short of it is we were intercepted and captured by Duko’s men and those of us who lived through the fight ended up here.”

“How long has it been?”

“Too damn long.” He frowned. “Must be a couple of months now. The days blur. It was snowing when I got here.”

Dash nodded. “Caravan?”

Gustaf shrugged. “My employer wasn’t the only merchant to think he could steal a profit by being the first one bringing goods into the city. From what I’ve seen around here, this general isn’t interested in trading much. He seems willing to let folks fend for themselves on the other side of the wall, but in here it’s a military camp.”

The order to resume work was passed down the line and Dash said, “I get that impression.”

Gustaf smiled. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Back to work!” shouted a guard, and the four men nearest Dash and Gustaf began moving the rock back into place in the wall.

Jimmy motioned with a slight tilt of his head. Malar nodded that he understood and signaled for the boy to come over. The urchin was filthy, covered from head to toe in soot and grime. He smelled as if he had been swimming in a cesspool, and Jimmy thought him a likely source of information.

Malar spoke with the boy for a few minutes, then gave him a coin, telling him to run off. He returned to where Jimmy leaned against the wall in a pose of indifference and said, “Young sir, the boy was, indeed, working in the sewers. They pay him to crawl into the smaller culverts and pipes, ridding them of burned wood, mud, and the like.”

Jimmy shook his head slightly in irritation. “Damn. What are they doing down there?”

In a low voice, Malar said, “Apparently repairing the sewer, much as they seem to be repairing everything aboveground on the other side of the wall from all reports.”

“But why?” asked Jimmy rhetorically. “The sewers are sufficient for his army. With a little work, he can keep them flowing enough so his men don’t fall ill.” Jimmy scratched an imaginary itch on the side of his face. “But from what we’ve heard, he’s trying to put them back to the state they were in before—” He had been about to say before “Grandfather blew up the city,” but changed it to “the city was taken.”

“Perhaps this General Duko likes things orderly.”

Jimmy shook his head in baffled silence. He had read every report that had reached Darkmoor on the enemy before and after the Battle of Nightmare Ridge.

Duko was probably their best field general, and third in importance after Fadawah and Nordan. Jimmy couldn’t begin to guess what he was up to. Had he been fortifying the city for an attack from the east or south, that might have made some sense, though the defenses would still be less than ideal when Patrick’s army arrived.

Had he continued to rip Krondor apart, adding to the destruction – to deny it to the Kingdom – would have made sense. But repairing the damage done, as if he was going to occupy the city for a long time, that made no sense.

“Unless …” said Jimmy softy.

“Young sir?” asked Malar.

“Never mind.” He looked around. “It’s going to be dark in the next hour. Come with me.”

He led Malar through the busy streets in the tent city and toward an alley, really just a passage between freestanding walls, all that was left of two businesses. He ducked into the alley without waiting to see if he was being watched, and heard Malar follow.

It would be easy to become lost in Krondor, Jimmy knew from his last visit. With all the destruction, landmarks didn’t exist. Yet the patterns were the same, and if one constantly remembered where one was relative to one of the few intact recognizable features in the city, it should be possible to find one’s way. At least Jimmy hoped this was so.

He heard movement before he saw it, and ducked back, almost knocking Malar over. Someone walked along the abandoned street, coming closer. Jimmy and Malar hunkered down, fading into the darkness between the walls.

Shortly, a pair of armed men hurried by, upon what errand Jimmy could only guess. Jimmy waited, to see if they returned or if others followed. When no one else appeared after a few minutes, he moved across the road to a burned-out inn.

Hunkering down behind a section of still-standing wall, Jimmy whispered, “This inn has a Way into the sewers. If it’s not blocked, and if the sewers are still intact, we can get inside the city. Most of the sewer is cut off from out there to in there,” he said pointing toward the city, “but there is an old collapsed wall of a cistern that we can wiggle through.”

“Is that a good idea, young sir?” asked Malar. “From what we’ve heard it seems difficult to remain inside without being pressed into a work gang. At least that seems the general opinion.”

“I don’t plan on being seen,” said Jimmy. “You’re free to make your own way from here on, if you choose.”

“Living by my wits is an old habit of mine, young sir, but I suspect you and your brother are my best opportunity to find something beyond that.” He studied Jimmy for a moment, as if weighing risks against possible rewards, then said, “You and your brother are two men of some position, I suspect. If so, and if I serve you to a good ending, then perhaps I may salvage something from what has so far been a horrible turn of fate.” He fell silent for a moment again, then said, “If you will have me in your service, I will go with you.”

Jimmy half shrugged. “I guess that makes you my servant in fact, then. Tell you what you must do. Should anything happen to me, return as best you may to the East. Long before you reach the Kingdom Army you will almost certainly be apprehended by Kingdom advanced scouts. Probably Hadati hillmen or Krondorian Pathfinders. If it’s Hadatis, see if there’s a man named Akee with them. If Pathfinders, ask for Captain Subati. Have either of those men take you to Owen Greylock or Eric von Darkmoor and tell them everything you’ve seen so far. Without a name, you’ll be taken for a Keshian deserter or looter or something, and it might be a long time before anyone heard your story. And they must know what we’ve seen.”

“But what have we seen?” said Malar, genuinely perplexed.

“I’m not sure, which is why we must get inside the city. But whatever it is, it’s not something we anticipated.”

“That’s bad.”

Jimmy grinned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because the unanticipated is always bad.”

Jimmy’s grin broadened. “Always?”

“Always. There is no such thing as a pleasant surprise.”

“I remember this girl once—”

“Did she end up breaking your heart?”

Jimmy nodded with a smile now rueful. “That she did.”

“You see. If you can anticipate, you can stay beyond harm’s reach.”

“You sound like a man of experience,” suggested Jimmy.

Malar’s eyes narrowed. “More than most men know, young sir.”

Jimmy looked around. The shadows had deepened as the sun had lingered in the west, and now the sky above was turning a stunning shade of violet as night approached. “It’s dark enough we won’t be noticed, I’m thinking.” He led Malar into the rear of the old inn, having to carefully pick his way across a section of timbers, what was left from a collapsed doorway and wall section, as well as part of the ceiling above. The roof was gone, and blackened timbers above showed starkly against the darkening sky. They moved cautiously, then Jimmy said, “It’s around here somewhere.”

He knelt and looked around. He moved some smaller debris covered in thick soot, raising a stench of wet charcoal. “Some of the wood is rotting.”

Malar said, “There is a ring of iron there, young sir.”

“Give me a hand,” said Jimmy as he cleared the top of the trapdoor.

As the two men pulled, Jimmy said, “This used to be the back room at an inn controlled by the Mockers.”

“Mockers?”

“Thieves,” said Jimmy. “I thought their fame reached into the vale.”

“The only thieves with whom I had contact were those who used quill and parchment, not dagger and guile. Businessmen.”

Jimmy laughed. “My brother would agree; he used to work for the worst of the lot, Rupert Avery.”

“That’s a name I have heard, young sir. My late master had cause to curse him more than once.”

They got the trap moved and swung it back, letting it fall. The opening yawned at them like a black pit. Jimmy said, “I wish we had some light.”

“You expect to travel in such gloom?” said Malar, a note of incredulity in his voice.

“There is no light on the brightest day down there.” He found what he was looking for, the ladder down, and as he swung himself down onto the topmost rung, he said, “There are lights down there if one but knows where to look.”

“If you know where to look,” Malar muttered under his breath.

They carefully descended into the darkness.

Dash winced, but not from the cold; rather he flinched at the sound of a lash striking a man down below. He, Gustaf, Talwin, and a few other men he had come to know were laboring atop the wall just to the north of Krondor’s main gate. Dash glanced over at Gustaf, who nodded, indicating everything was all right. Suddenly they both turned. A man screamed a few yards off as he lost his footing; in that brief instant, the man knew with dread certainty he was going to fall and no amount of will or prayer would keep him alive. His anguish and terror filled the afternoon air as he toppled sideways and fell to his death on the cobbles below. Gustaf flinched at the sound of the body striking the unyielding rock. They were repairing the battlements and the footing was treacherous, made doubly so by loose stones and constant fog in the mornings and evenings.

“Keep your wits about you,” said Dash.

“You don’t have to tell me that twice,” said Gustaf.

Dash chanced a look over the wall and saw the usual confusion of the foulbourgh, soldiers milling around, street vendors, and the other human flotsam drawn into this eddy of the previous year’s war. Somewhere out there, he fervently wished, his brother Jimmy was getting the information needed to alert Owen Greylock that something strange was taking place in Krondor.

Given the lack of resources, General Duko was doing an admirable job of restoring the city to its earlier status, at least from a military point of view. The merchants and other residents of Krondor would see years pass before the city came close to returning to its former prosperity. Too much damage had occurred for that to be anything but a distant dream. But from a soldier’s point of view, Krondor would be close to its previous level of defensibility in less than a year’s time, perhaps as quickly as nine or ten months.

Dash wished mightily he could get loose of this work gang, scout around, and find out what was going on, but the reality of the situation was that any man who wasn’t an invader was a slave. Whatever Dash’s father had been thinking, it would have made more sense to have sent along one of the men who had traveled to Novindus with Erik von Darkmoor, someone who spoke the language and had a fair chance of passing for one of the men from the continent across the sea.

Even if he got free, Dash knew his only hope was to get beyond the wall, blend into the populace there, and find his way to the East, where he was certain his father had other agents waiting for sight of either brother.

Dash was certain his father had sent other agents into the city, and throughout the surrounding countryside. It would be unlike him not to. Besides, thought Dash as he helped hoist a large rock up to the battlements, the ghost of Duke Arutha’s father, Lord James, would haunt him if he didn’t. As Dash bruised knuckles on the harsh stone and began putting mortar into place, he thought that his grandfather’s ghost would be welcome about now. Certainly, if anyone could puzzle out what was happening in Krondor it would be the legendary Lord James.

Jimmy cursed in the darkness as he bruised his shins against an unexpected stone. “Is the young gentleman certain he hasn’t lost his way?” came Malar’s voice out of the blackness.

Jimmy said, “Keep quiet. It’s certain we’re not the only ones down here. And yes I know where we are,” he said. “We turn right and another dozen paces on the right should be the place we’re looking for.” As if to prove the point, he turned to the right and moved into a small passage. Malar kept both hands on the right wall as he awkwardly followed.

After a few minutes they moved slowly through the gloom, then suddenly Jimmy said, “We’re here.”

“Where is here, sir?” asked Malar.

“One of the many hiding places for …” A sound of rustling, as if something was being moved, came from where Jimmy stood. Then Malar shielded his eyes as a small spark was struck, blindingly bright after the long time spent in the dark.

The torch was dry and caught at once, and Jimmy said, “Let’s see what we have here.” He rummaged through the contents of the hiding place, a false stone in the wall at waist height.

“How did you know where to look?” asked Malar.

“My grandfather had reason to spend some time in the sewers.” He glanced at Malar. “He was a city employee.”

“A sewer worker?”

“At times,” said Jimmy. “Anyway, he told me that from whatever thieves’ entrance into the city, you move to the first intersection, then to the right, and about twelve paces to the right, a cache would be found. Seems the Mockers wanted to make sure that if they got chased down into the darkness, they could find light and some tools.” He waved at the cache. “Observe.” He patted each item as he named it. “A good length of rope. A large breaker bar. A water skin. A dagger, torches, or a lantern.”

“A lantern with a shutter would prove safer,” said Malar.

“True,” agreed Jimmy, “but as we don’t have one, we must settle for what is at hand. There may be other caches still intact, and perhaps we can find a lantern there.”

He glanced around in the murk and said, “Gods!”

Malar said, “What?” concern obvious in his tone.

“Look at this mess.”

“Sir, it’s a sewer,” replied Malar, irritation in his voice.

“I know that. But look at the walls and the water.”

Malar saw then what Jimmy meant. While expecting moss-covered stones and brackish water, he didn’t expect to see every surface covered in soot. He glanced at his own hands and said, “Sir, I think we must bathe once we get above, else we shall surely be noticed.”

Jimmy glanced at his servant and said, “If I’ve scratched my chin as much as you, it is certain I look like a chimney sweep.”

Malar said, “You’re filthy, sir.”

Jimmy said, “Well, no one said this would be easy.”

As he set off, he heard Malar mutter, “No one said it would be impossible, either.”

Dash nodded and Gustaf jumped. He landed behind the big stone they were attempting to move, and ducked out of sight of the guards. He held a piece of broken crockery he had secreted in his shirt two days before and quickly sawed at a key rope in the net used to haul the stones.

The rope net was a clever device that could be placed around the stone, fitted under the corners as men used levers to raise them. Once hoisted aloft, a quick pass of two ropes beneath the stone put on a second lifting net, and once above the intended destination, the two ropes were removed, and the stone lowered a few inches as the webbing loosened, dropping the stone. Dash knew a practiced crew of stone masons could do this with a tolerance of a mere fraction of an inch. With Dash’s crew, they were happy to get the stone within an inch of ideal tolerance. The only masons in Krondor were Duko’s engineers, and there was a severe language problem with most of the workers.

Gustaf stepped around from behind the stone, nodding to Dash. “Haul away,” he shouted.

Dash stepped back as two men readied the ropes to be passed under the stone, and watched. The stone lifted two feet in the air, then suddenly tilted as a loud snap sounded. The strand Gustaf had cut had parted, and now the stone hung a few feet off the ground, spinning slowly. The two men with the support ropes backed away.

“Get it down!” shouted a voice from below, and suddenly the rock was dropped.

“No!” said the foreman, too late, as men who should have slowly lowered the stone released the rope. Instead of settling quietly to the ledge, the rock bounced a bit then teetered, as Dash had hoped, then slowly started to fall.

“Look out!” cried a man near Dash as men started scrambling out of the way.

“Come on,” Dash said to Gustaf as confusion erupted.

They hurried past a guard standing still in fascination as the rock slid outward, overhanging the parapet, slowly moving to balance a moment in the air, then start its dramatic fall to the cobbles below.

Dash, Gustaf, and some other men hurried down a flight of stone steps, as if intent on helping those below. But at the base of the wall, Dash moved quickly to his right, into what appeared to be a slight gap in the stones. The others ducked into the gap after him.

The ancient wall of Krondor was hollow in places, storage sheds used to house grain, water, and weapons against siege. Many of the old storage rooms had been used during the last war, but several had been left empty, like these along the easternmost wall.

Dash had waited a week to find this one, an ideal exit from captivity if he had judged correctly. Either there was a sewer entrance here, or a passage to another abandoned storage area that had one. The only danger would be if they were caught ducking into this room, or if the passage to the next room was blocked by fallen masonry. They would be missed at the head count done each meal break and that was only an hour off.

In the gloom, it was difficult to find the entrance, but Dash managed. Below a heavy layer of ash and dust lay a wooden pallet, used to keep grain off the damp stones. Below that was a man-sized hole, covered with a simple iron grate. Dash whispered, “Give me a hand,” and two other men stooped next to him.

In the faint light coming in through the broken wall, Dash could make out the profiles of Gustaf and Talwin. Gustaf was what he appeared to be, but Talwin had Dash concerned. Yet here he was risking broken fingers to get the grating up, without any hint of betrayal.

The grate came up and was moved out of the way. Dash started to lower himself down, and said, “It’s going to be difficult, dropping into the dark, but you should hit water about seven, eight feet below you, so expect that. Face the same way I am and move to your right. You won’t see a thing, but I know my way around down there.”

He let go, which was among the most courageous acts of his life, as every fiber of his being screamed to hang onto the stone and not fall into darkness. For a brief instant it felt as if he had made some terrible misjudgment, for it seemed as if he fell through blackness for a long time, yet only a moment after letting go his feet struck water. He bent his knees and hit the stones under the water and lost his balance. He fell forward, his head going completely under the foul water, and he came up, blowing hard to keep anything in that sewer out of his nose and mouth. His grandfather had warned him about that, claiming that many thieves had fallen in the sewer only to later sicken and die from it.

He quickly stepped to his right, and a moment later another man fell through the hole into the darkness. “Here,” said Dash, and the man moved toward him in the blackness.

Then two other men came through, and Dash said, “Who’s here?”

“Gustaf,” said the second man down.

“Talwin,” said the next voice.

“Reese,” said the third, and Dash remembered the tall quiet man with whom Talwin spoke from time to time. “I saw you three move and took the moment. No sense standing around like sheep.”

Dash doubted that; he was certain Talwin had alerted Reese something was afoot, but he didn’t care to debate that now. “Good,” he said aloud. “We can use all the help we can getting out of here.”

“Now what?” said Gustaf. “We’re in the darkest pit I’ve seen and the foulest smelling, and what are we to do next?”

Dash said, “This is part of the old sewer under the wall. If we keep moving back toward the city center, we’ll find a way out of Krondor.”

“Why not just move away from the city if we’re under the wall?” asked Reese.

“Because this”—Dash’s hand struck the stone next to which he stood—“is the outer limit of the sewer. To get on the other side of the wall you better be able to chew rock.”

“Damn,” said Gustaf. “I thought we’d slip out under the wall or something when you told me of the sewers.”

“They never connected the sewer in the foulbourgh with the inner city. It would make it too easy for an invader to slip in.” Dash muttered, “As it is, a good crew of sappers could still get in within weeks if they knew this was here. There’s one breach to the other side of this wall, but we must go into the city to eventually get there.”

“Well, which way do we go?” asked Talwin.

Glancing up at the faint light of the hole above, Dash oriented himself. “Get over here.”

The men gathered near him. “Gustaf, put your right hand on my right shoulder.” He felt the mercenary’s strong hand take a grip of his tunic. “Talwin, do the same to Gustaf, and Reese bring up the rear. Listen for my instructions.” Dash put his right hand on the wall and said, “Let’s go, slowly. And if you lose your grip, sing out.”

They moved off into the gloom.

Jimmy turned suddenly and put his hand over Malar’s mouth as he let the torch fall to the stone walkway next to the sewer. As he hoped, the torch began to fail and flicker, allowing Jimmy to step on it, putting out the light. Malar had the presence of mind not to be too shocked by the move, and he endured standing there with Jimmy’s hand over his mouth.

When Jimmy removed it, Malar heard what Jimmy had, men moving cautiously down another tunnel, nearby. Whispering as quietly as possible, Jimmy said, “Someone’s coming.”

Malar nodded.

They stood motionless, listening to the faint sound of men moving slowly. Then one spoke. His voice was muffled and distant and nothing of what was said came through, but Jimmy would have bet a purse of gold they were invaders on patrol. Something about the quality of the speech hinted at an accent. They waited until the sound died out, as the strangers moved away.

Jimmy knelt and felt around in the dark until he located the torch. It was still hot to the touch. He struck a spark with flint and got the flame going again and said, “We may have to lose this if we run into another patrol.”

“You mean walk around down here blind!” said Malar, obviously upset at the thought.

“I know my way around here pretty well,” said Jimmy, expressing a confidence he didn’t feel. “Besides, if we’re apprehended by the invaders, we’re either dead men or prisoners, and I’d rather take my chances retracing our route back to the other side of the wall than those two choices.”

“Agreed, yet your words fill me with little confidence, young sir.”

Jimmy said nothing, but glanced around the corner, making sure that no one had quietly snuck up on them. “This way,” he said, leading Malar toward a large yawning tunnel entrance that opened up across from where they stood. This required them to step down into the filthy water. They slogged through the slowly moving mass of floating char, and less savory debris, and entered the blackness.

Dash felt fingers dig into his shoulder as the sound of men echoed from a distance. In the blackness they couldn’t tell from which quarter the sound originated. Nerves were frayed and Dash was concerned one of the three men would panic. Gustaf seemed solid, if nervous, Talwin was quiet, but Reese was given to blurting out pointless things, either questioning how much farther they’d have to move in the gloom, or expressing his apprehensions.

There were places along the way where light came down from above, faint cracks in the street above, or a broken culvert admitting some illumination. Dash was always surprised how bright these areas looked after complete darkness, but knew it was an illusion. He could only see a dozen yards or so on either side of a source of light, and once past, they fell back into a gloom darker than any night he had endured.

The first place he had hoped to find some torches or a lantern according to his grandfather’s description had provided no secret cache of useful items. If there had been a secret stone in the corner he couldn’t find it. Not the least bit immodest, Dash knew it wasn’t there, for if it had been, he would have found it.

The second location was already empty. Someone had emptied it. Dash didn’t know if it had been stripped of its contents during the fall of the city or days, even hours before he reached it.

He was leading the men northward as much as he could, knowing his best chance for escape was around the area formerly known as Fishtown. It was one of the few places in Krondor you could enter the bay and with a little swimming find yourself outside the walls of the city. Dash didn’t know if the other men could swim, and for the most part he didn’t care. While he wanted to see these three men to safety if possible, he’d willingly sell them out to get his information back to the Prince.

Keeping one hand on the wall, he led them deeper into the darkness.

Jimmy motioned toward the faint light. Malar nodded, whispering, “A way out, young sir?”

“Perhaps. Boost me up on your shoulders so I can take a look.”

Malar knelt, and when Jimmy put his left boot on the servant’s shoulders, Malar stood, grabbing Jimmy’s ankles to support him as he was lifted to a point just below the light. Jimmy fought for balance a moment, but Malar kept his motion steady, and Jimmy kept his position as he grabbed a support in the floor above him to keep from falling.

“Great!” said Jimmy. “It’s a cellar door, off its hinges.” Jimmy got his fingers in the crack and pushed. “I can’t get any leverage.” He said, “Let go,” and as Malar complied, Jimmy jumped down to stand before his servant. “No way to get it open.”

“Are there no stairs in this accursed dungeon?”

Jimmy chuckled. “Hardly a dungeon; a maze, no doubt. But you’re right and I’m an idiot.” He sighed theatrically. “There are several places with stone steps up to basements.” He looked around in the gloom, barely illuminated by the faint flickering of his torch. “If I’m not mistaken, one isn’t too far from here. Pray to whatever gods you worship that the top of the steps is unblocked.”

Malar muttered an almost silent benediction and followed behind Jimmy.

Dash heard something ahead of him in the dark and whispered, “Don’t move!”

The men behind him stopped their forward motion as sounds around them echoed. “What is—” began Talwin.

He never finished as Reese struck him from behind, knocking him from his feet. “Here!” he shouted.

Suddenly men were swarming in the dark and lanterns uncovered, blinding Dash momentarily. He blinked trying to see beyond the brilliant lights, but could only see dark shapes hurrying toward him. Thinking of nothing else to do, he leaped forward, trying to dodge between two of the shapes. One man lunged at him, missing, while the other was slow in turning, with Dash past him before he could be intercepted.

Dash slogged as quickly through the knee-deep water as he could, and behind a pair of lanterns he saw movement. Dodging to his right, he rushed to another potential exit as arms grabbed him from behind, dragging him down into the water.

Dash turned, kicking hard, and felt his foot strike the man’s leg. Dash scuttled backwards in the water, and another man seized him. A voice in the gloom said, “They’re making too much noise! Shut them up!”

Dash felt pain for a brief moment as someone struck him hard behind the ear with a billy club, then he sank into unconsciousness.

Jimmy pushed the trap up and with relief he found that it moved. He glanced around under the slight opening he created, and seeing no movement, he heaved. The large wooden trap swung over, to crash noisily against the floor behind him. He hurried up into the dark room as a cloud of soot exploded into the air from the trap.

Malar sneezed as he came up. The room was the back storage area of a tannery near the river to the north of the city, and it had taken Jimmy most of the day and into the evening to discover it.

The roof of the building was gone, probably accounting for its being abandoned, as the nights would still be cold. Jimmy looked around and saw lights in a few buildings nearby, but nothing close by. Malar could be seen in the faint light inside the building. “If I’m as dirty as you, we’d better stay out of sight.”

“Good advice, young sir,” agreed the servant. “You are dirtier than a coal seller. One glance at us, and any fool could tell we had been somewhere we should not be.”

A sound caused Jimmy to hold up his hand. “What—”

At once he pulled his sword, as men came swarming into the room, over the burned-out wall and through the single door. Only a fool would fight, as more than a dozen swords were leveled in their direction. Jimmy made a clear gesture of letting the sword fall from his hand as he stepped back.

Hands roughly grabbed him and tied his arms behind, while two men did the same to Malar. They all wore rough fighting garb, leather, and gambesons, but no metal armor, which would make noise and warn away someone coming up through the trapdoor.

With a heavy accent, a man came to stand before the two and said, “Watch a rat hole long enough, and a rat peers out, eh?” Glancing at Malar, he said, “Or two.” To the men he said, “Bring them along,” and Jimmy and Malar were hustled out the door and down the street.

Dash waited in silence. He had recovered his wits as he was taken to what he presumed had once been an underground storage shed. There was no light. He had explored his environment by touch and on a couple of occasions wished he hadn’t.

It was a roughly twelve-by-twelve-foot room, with a single door barred from the other side. He felt up and down both edges, but all hinges and locks were on the other side. He was inside until someone released him. From the stench, several rodents had recently died in the room. Had he eaten in the last two days, he probably would have added to the mess, but his captors would have to be satisfied with subjecting him to a fit of the dry heaves.

After several painful minutes of gagging, he had managed to overcome the impulse. Now, about two hours later, he judged, he barely noticed the odor unless he thought about it.

Mostly he was attempting to chart his best possible course. That he was in this dark room rather than being hauled before one of General Duko’s officers suggested to Dash that he was a prisoner of someone besides the invaders. The first possibility to occur to him was that he had been captured by Kingdom soldiers hiding from the invaders. If so, he could quickly identify himself and recruit them.

More likely, he was in the clutches of outlaws, and in that case, he would have to bargain. His companions were missing, probably locked away in a similar room somewhere nearby.

Suddenly light shone around the edges of the door and he could hear footfalls approaching. As bright as the light seemed through the cracks, when the door was opened, it blinded him. A voice from without said, “You awake?”

“Yes,” said Dash, finding his voice was harsh from dryness. “Any chance of water?”

“Let’s see if we let you live, first,” came the gruff answer.

A pair of hands reached in and yanked Dash to his feet, and he was pulled into a larger room. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the lantern, he glanced around the room. It was indeed the basement of a burned-out inn or hotel, and he had been locked in a storage closet. There were ample signs of life in the building, for crates and bales of goods were stacked around the room.

A half dozen men surrounded him, none with weapons evident. It was obvious they felt confident enough that they could keep him from escaping. As he blinked against the light from the lantern, he noticed that one man did hold a large billy, and he was sure he would use it if Dash made any sign of attempting to flee.

“What now?” said Dash.

“Come along,” said the man with a lumpy visage.

Dash said nothing and followed, walking behind two men, with two more guarding the rear. The last man stayed in the storage room, for what reason Dash could only imagine.

Dash was led down a long dark tunnel, one with a lantern at each end, featureless and damp. He listened, but only heard the sound of boot leather and nails on stone. If they were close to the city streets above, those streets were deserted.

The man in front pushed open a door, allowing the others to enter a very large room. It had a dozen torches guttering in sconces. A wooden table, not too badly charred, had been hauled down from the destroyed tavern above-ground and now served as the site of what Dash took to be some sort of court or tribunal.

At the head of the long table sat an old man. He looked deformed, or crippled, as he hunched over with left shoulder lower than the right, his left arm in a sling. Around his head he wore a scarf, covering his left eye. Below it, Dash saw the man’s face was scarred, badly burned. A young woman stood to his right. Dash looked at her closely. Under other circumstances she would have warranted a second glance, as she was tall, slender, and under the soot and mud, still attractive, with dark hair and eyes. But in these circumstances, what commanded Dash’s attention was her fashion – dressed like a man and armed to the teeth; he saw a sword, daggers in belt and boots, and he was certain she had more weapons secreted on her, such being the practice of thieves. She wore a dirty white shirt, now almost charcoal color, a leather vest, men’s riding breeches, and a red scarf tied around her head. Dark hair fell from under the scarf, and down her back.

With a surprisingly deep voice, she said, “You stand accused.”

Dash summoned as much confidence as he could manage in such circumstances and said, “No doubt.”

The lumpy-faced man said, “Before you’re convicted, have you anything to say in your defense?”

Dash shrugged. “Would it do any good?”

The old man chuckled and the man who had first apprehended Dash glanced his way. “Probably not,” he said, “but it won’t hurt.”

“May I first inquire of what crime I’m being accused?”

The lumpy-faced man again glanced at the old man, who waved a curt gesture of permission. “You stand accused of trespass. You were found someplace you were not given permission to pass.”

Dash blew out a long breath. “So that’s it, then. Mockers.”

The young woman glanced at the old man, who motioned with his good hand for her to come close. He whispered in her ear, and she said, “Why do you think us thieves, Puppy?”

“Because smugglers would have cut my throat and been on their way, and Duko’s guards would have had me under questioning up there.” He pointed upward. “You’ve separated me from my companions, which means you’re trying to find conflicts in our stories, and one of my companions brought you down on us; Reese seems more likely to be a thief than anything else I can imagine.” Glancing around the room, he said, “So this is what’s left of Mother’s?”

The old man said something, and the woman said, “What do you know of Mother’s? You’re not one of us.”

“My grandfather,” said Dash, knowing that at this point he had nothing to lose and everything to gain with the truth.

“What about him? Who is your grandfather?”

“Was,” said Dash. “My grandfather was Jimmy the Hand.”

Several people spoke at once, and the old man signaled for silence. The young woman leaned over and then repeated his words. “Your name?”

“Dashel Jamison. My father is Arutha, Duke of Krondor.”

Without waiting, the girl said, “So you’ve come spying for the King.”

Dash attempted a grin. “Well, the Prince, actually. But yes, I’m here to scout out Duko’s defenses, so that Patrick can retake Krondor.”

The old man waved a badly burned hand and spoke to the woman, who said, “Come closer, Puppy.”

Dash did as he was told and came to stand before the old man and the young woman. The old man’s one good eye studied Dash’s face for a long moment as the woman held a lantern close to it, so every detail could be seen.

Finally, the old man spoke loud enough for all to hear. “Leave us.” His voice sounded close to ruined, dry gravel being scraped, a strangled sound.

Everyone but the woman did, instantly and without hesitation, and the old man said, “Well, then. It is a small world, boy.”

Dash leaned over to study the burned features before him and he said, “Do I know you, sir?”

“No,” said the old man slowly, as if every word hurt. “But I know you by name and lineage, Dashel, son of Arutha.”

“Am I to know your name, sir?”

The woman glanced at the old man, but his one good eye stayed fastened upon Dash. “I’m your great-uncle, boy, that’s who I am. I’m the Upright Man.”