Krondor the Assassins (7 page)

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 51

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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 traveled 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 toward 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 gray 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 52

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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 toward 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 53

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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 toward 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 54

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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 color 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 savory 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 toward 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 gray-shot hair. His angular face showed irritation at having to explain.

‘‘She studied with a sisterhood in a nearby abbey for more hours 55

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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 56

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gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?’’

James’s face lost any hint of humor. ‘‘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 rumors 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.

57

THREE

RECEPTION

m

J

AMES waited.

A court page knocked upon the door, his youthful expression neutral as befitted a lad of twelve stationed just outside the royal apartments. An answering voice bid James enter, and he waited as two pages pushed open the ornate wooden doors. Inside, the Prince took breakfast with his family, the fractious twins poking at one another while attempting to avoid parental notice. A scolding look from their mother indicated their failure and they went back to a pretense of model behavior. The little Princess was happily singing a song of her own making while she purposefully put spoon to a bowl of hot breakfast mush.

Princess Anita smiled at James as he presented himself to the family and bowed. ‘‘Our squire finally appears,’’ said Arutha dryly. ‘‘I trust we’re not inconveniencing you this morning?’’

James smiled back at the Princess as he straightened, then turned to the Prince and said, ‘‘I was dressed in a quite inappropriate fashion for a meal with the royal family, Highness. I am sorry to be so tardy.’’

Arutha indicated for James to stand at his right hand, where 60

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he was expected to wait on his ruler’s pleasure unless out on some errand or another. James did so and took a moment to rest in the glow of the only thing in his life that felt like family to him.

The Prince of Krondor and his squire enjoyed a relationship that was eccentric and unique. At times they were comrades as much as master and servant, while at other times their bond was almost brotherly. Yet there was always this one thing between them: James never forgot that Arutha was his Prince and he was Arutha’s loyal servant.

‘‘You look tired,’’ observed the Prince.

‘‘It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the comfort of a warm bed and a good night’s sleep, sir,’’ James replied. ‘‘Last night included.’’

‘‘Well, was it worth it?’’

James said, ‘‘In one way, very much. In another, no.’’

Glancing at his wife and children, Arutha looked at James and softly said, ‘‘Do we need to speak in private?’’

James said, ‘‘I judge it inappropriate table conversation, if that’s the answer you seek, Highness.’’

Arutha said, ‘‘Retire to my private office and wait. I will join you in a few minutes.’’

James did as he was told and walked the short distance to Arutha’s private office. Inside he found it as it always was, ordered and clean. He eased his fatigued body into a chair near the Prince’s writing desk and sat back.

James lurched awake as Arutha entered a short while later.

‘‘Sleeping?’’ asked the Prince with amusement as James came to his feet.

‘‘It was a
very
long and tiring ride home, Highness, followed by another night without sleep.’’

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Arutha waved James back into his chair and said, ‘‘Relax a bit while you talk, but don’t nod off again.’’

‘‘Sire,’’ said James as he sat. ‘‘Three of my informants have gone missing.’’

Arutha nodded. ‘‘From what the good sheriff tells me, we have a rash of killings here in Krondor again, and this time it looks as if there’s no pattern. But the disappearance of your informants tells us someone knows more about us than we do about him, and doesn’t want us improving our knowledge.’’

James said, ‘‘I don’t see any pattern either.’’

‘‘Not yet,’’ said the Prince. There was a knock at the door, and Arutha called out, ‘‘A moment.’’ To James he said, ‘‘That would be Gardan with his retirement documents.’’

‘‘He is leaving, then?’’ asked James.

Arutha nodded. ‘‘I’m sorry to see him go, but he’s earned his rest. He’ll go home to Crydee and spend his last years with his grandchildren, and I can’t think of a better fate for any man. And I suspect he’s correct in his accusation that I don’t leave him much to do, really. He suggests I appoint someone with administrative talents to the post rather than a military man as long as I insist on personally supervising the army. And this conversation stays in this room.’’