Magician (83 page)

“Three things this man told me
Lord Dulanic has disappeared from Krondor, gone the night Guy left.
There’s some business of his having retired to nameless estates
to the north, now that Guy’s Viceroy, but the scribe thought
that unlikely. The second thing was news of Lord Barry’s
death.”

Arutha’s face showed shock. “The
Prince’s Lord-Admiral dead?”

“This man told me Barry had died
under mysterious circumstances, though there’s no official
announcement planned. Some eastern lord, Jessup, has been given
command of the Krondonan fleet.”

“Jessup is Guy’s man,”
said Arutha. “He commanded the Bas-Tyra squadrons of the King’s
fleet.”

“And lastly, the man made a
display of knowing some secret concerning a search for someone he
only called ‘the Viceroy’s royal cousin.’ ”

Amos swore. “I don’t know
how, but someone’s marked you. With Erland and his family
virtual captives in the palace, there’s hardly a chance another
royal cousin’s come wandering into Krondor in the last few
days, unless you’ve a few out and about you’ve not told
us of.”

Arutha ignored Amos’s feeble
humor. In the span of time it took for Longbow to tell his tale, all
his plans for aiding Crydee were dashed. The city was firmly in
control of those either loyal to Guy or indifferent to who ruled in
the King’s name. There was no one in the city he could turn to
for help, and his failure in bringing aid home was a bitter thing
Quietly he said, “Then there’s no other course but to
return to Crydee as soon as possible.”

“That may not be so easy,”
said Amos. “There’s more strange things occurring. I’ve
been in places where a man can usually make contact with those needed
for a dishonest task or two, but everywhere I’ve made
inquiries—discreet, have no doubt—I come up against only
hard silence. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the
Upright Man’s closed up shop and all the Mockers are now
serving in Guy’s army. I’ve never seen such a collection
of dumb barmen, ignorant whores, uninformed beggars, and tongueless
gamblers. You don’t need to be a genius to see the word’s
gone out. No one is to talk to strangers, no matter how promising a
transaction’s being offered. So we can look for no aid in
getting free of the city, and if Guy’s agents know you’re
in Krondor, there’ll be no lifting of the blockade or opening
of the gates until you’ve been found, no matter how loudly the
merchants scream.”

“We’re deep in the snare,”
agreed Martin.

“But if Guy’s men only
suspect I’m in Krondor, they may tire of the search.”

“True,’’ agreed Amos,
“and after a while, the Mockers may open up as well. Should
they agree to help—for a significant price, you can be
certain—we’ll have powerful help in leaving the city.”

Arutha balled his fist and struck the
pallet upon which he sat. “Damn Bas-Tyra I’d gladly
murder him this instant. Not only does he imperil the west, he risks
a greater schism between the two realms by taking the Principality
under his own banner. Should anything happen to Erland and his
family, it’s almost certainly civil war.”

Amos slowly shook his head. “A
bollixed mission this, and through no fault of yours, Arutha.”
He sighed. “Still, we can’t be startled into panic.
Friend Martin may have misunderstood the scribe’s last remark,
or the man may have been speaking simply to hear himself talk. We’ll
have to be cautious, but we can’t bolt and run. Should you
vanish from sight completely, someone might take notice. Best if you
stay close to the inn, but act as you have been, for the time being.
I’ll continue to make attempts at reaching someone who may have
ways to get us clear of the city—smugglers, if not the
Mockers.”

Arutha rose from the pallet and said,
“I’ve no appetite, but we’ve eaten together in the
common room every night. I expect we’d best go down for supper
soon.”

Amos waved him back to his bed. “Stay
awhile longer. I’m going to run down to the docks and visit the
ship. If Martin’s scribe was not just breaking wind, they’ll
certainly search the ships in the harbor. I’d better warn Vasco
and the crew to be ready to go over the side if necessary and find
someplace to store your chest. We aren’t due to be hauled out
for refitting for another week, so we must act with care. I’ve
run blockades before. I wouldn’t want to risk it in a hulk as
leaky as the Wind of Dawn, but if I can’t find another ship . .
.” At the door he turned back to face Arutha and Martin. “It’s
a black storm, boys, but we’ve weathered worse.”

Arutha and Martin sat quietly as Amos
entered the common room. The seaman pulled out a chair and called for
ale and a meal. Once he was served, he said, “Everything is
taken care of. Your chest is safe as long as the ship is left
moored.”

“Where did you hide it?”

“It’s snugly wrapped in
oilcloth and tied securely to the anchor.”

Arutha looked impressed. “Underwater?”

“You can buy new clothes, and
gold and gems don’t rust.”

Martin said, “How are the men?”

“Grumbling over being in port
another week and still aboard ship, but they’re good lads.”

The door to the inn opened and six men
entered. Five took chairs near the door while one stood surveying the
room. Amos hissed, “See that rat-faced fellow who just sat
down? He’s one of the boys who’ve been watching the docks
for the last week. Look’s like I’ve been followed.”

The man who remained standing spotted
Amos and approached the table. He was a plain-looking man, of open
countenance. His reddish-blond hair was flyaway around his head, and
he wore a common sailor’s clothing. He clutched a wool cap in
hand as he smiled at them.

Amos nodded, and the man said, “If
you’re the master of the Wind of Dawn, I’d have words
with you.”

Amos raised an eyebrow, but said
nothing. He indicated the free chair and the man sat. “Name’s
Radburn. I’m looking for a berth, Captain.”

Amos looked about, seeing Radburn’s
companions were pretending not to notice what was transpiring at the
table. “Why my ship?”

“I’ve tried others. They’re
all full up. Just thought I’d ask you.”

“Who was your last master, and
why did you leave his service?”

Radburn laughed, a friendly sound.
“Well, I last sailed with a company of barge ferrymen, taking
cargo from ship to shore in the harbor. Been stuck doing that for a
year.” He fell silent as the serving wench approached. Amos
ordered another round of ale, and when one was set before Radburn, he
said, “Thank you, Captain.” He took a long pull and wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand. “Before I came to be
beached, I sailed with Captain John Avery, aboard the
Bantamma
.”

“I know the Little Rooster, and
John Avery, though I haven’t seen him since I was last in
Durbin, five or six years back.”

“Well, I got a little drunk, and
the captain told me he’d have none who drank aboard his ship I
drink no more than the next man, Captain, but you know Master Avery’s
reputation, being an abstentious follower of Sung the White.”

Amos looked at Martin and Arutha, but
said nothing Radburn said, “These your officers, Captain?”

“No, business partners.”
When it was clear Amos was going to say nothing more, Radburn let the
topic of identities drop. Amos finally said, “We’ve been
in the city little more than a week, and I’ve been busy with
personal matters. What news?”

Radburn shrugged. “The war goes
on Good for the merchants, bad for the rest. Now we’ve the
business with Kesh. Before the troubles was along the Far Coast, but
now . . . Krondor might not prove such a healthy spot if the Viceroy
doesn’t chase the dogs of Kesh back home. Otherwise, there’s
the usual gossip . . .” He glanced around, as looking for
anyone who might overhear. “. . . and some not so usual.”

Amos lifted his mug to his lips saying
nothing. “Since the Viceroy’s come,” said Radburn
quietly, “things haven’t been the same in Krondor. An
honest man isn’t safe on the streets anymore, what with Durbin
slavers running about and the press gangs almost as bad. That’s
why I need a ship, Captain.”

“Press gangs!” Amos
exploded. “There hasn’t been a press gang in a Kingdom
city in thirty years.”

“Once was, but now things have
changed again. You get a little drunk and don’t find a safe
berth for the night, the press gang comes along and slaps you into
the dungeon. It just isn’t right, no sir. Just because a man’s
between ships doesn’t give anyone the right to ship him out
with Lord Jessup’s fleet for seven years. Seven years of
chasing pirates and fighting Quegan war galleys!”

Amos’s eyes narrowed. “How
is it that Guy rules in Krondor? We’ve heard stories, but they
seem confused.”

Radburn nodded. “Right you are,
Captain. For it is confusing. A month ago, Lord Guy rides in with his
army behind, flags a’wavmg, drums beating, and the rest. The
Prince, so they say, welcomes him and treats him real friendly, even
though du Bas-Tyra is carrying the King’s writ naming him
Viceroy. The Prince even helps him, they say, until this business of
the press gangs and such comes to his ears.” Lowering his voice
more, he said, “I heard that when he complained, Guy locks him
up in his rooms. Nice rooms, I expect, but same as a cell if you
can’t leave. So I hear.”

Arutha was so outraged by the story, he
was on the verge of speaking. Amos gripped his arm quickly, warning
silence, then said, “Well, Radburn, I can always use a good man
who’s sailed with John Avery. I’ll tell you what. I’ve
one more trip to the ship to make tonight, and there’re some
personal belongings in my room I’ll want aboard. Come along and
carry them.”

Amos rose and, giving the man no time
to object, gripped him by the arm and propelled him toward the
stairs. Arutha shot a glance at the group who entered with Radburn.
They seemed unaware for the moment of what was transpiring across the
crowded common room as Amos took Radburn up the stairs, Arutha and
Martin following behind.

Amos hustled Radburn down the hall and,
once through the door to their room, spun and delivered a staggering
blow to Radburn’s stomach, doubling him over. A brutal knee to
the face, and Radburn lay stunned upon the floor.

“What is this all about?”
said Arutha.

“That man’s a liar. John
Avery’s a marked man in Kesh. He betrayed the Durbin captains
to a Quegan raiding fleet twenty years ago. Yet Radburn didn’t
bat an eye when I said I saw Avery in Durbin six years ago. And he’s
too free in showing disrespect to the Viceroy. His story stinks like
a week-dead fish. We go out the door with him, and inside of two
blocks a dozen men or more will be upon us.”

“What shall we do?” said
Arutha.

“We leave. His friends will be up
those stairs in a minute.” He pointed to the window. Martin
stood by the door as Arutha ripped aside a dirty canvas shade and
pushed open the wooden shutters. Amos said, “Now you see why I
chose this room.” Less than a yard below the window’s
ledge was the roof of the stable.

Arutha stepped out, Amos and Martin
following. They hurried carefully down the steeply sloping roof until
they reached the edge. Arutha leaped down, landing quietly, followed
a moment later by Martin. Amos landed more heavily, but suffered only
a minor bruise to his dignity.

They heard a cough and an oath, and
looked up to see a bloodied face at the window. Radburn shouted,
“They’re in the courtyard!” as the three fugitives
started for the gate.

Amos swore. “I should have cut
his throat.”

They ran to the gate, and as they
entered the street, Amos grabbed at Arutha. A group of men were
running down the street toward them. Arutha and his companions fled
the opposite way, ducking into a dark alley.

Hurrying along between the blank walls
of two buildings, they cut across a busy street, overturning several
pushcarts, and ducked into another alley, the cart owners’
curses following. They continued to run, the sounds of pursuit never
far behind, following a twisting maze of back alleys and side streets
through darkened Krondor.

Turning a corner, they found themselves
intersecting a long narrow street, little more than an alley, flanked
on both sides by tall buildings Amos rounded the corner first and
motioned for Arutha and Martin to halt. In low tones, he said,
“Martin, hurry down to the corner and take a look around.
Arutha, go the other way.” He pointed toward a spot where dim
light could be seen. “I’ll stand watch here. If we become
separated, make for the ship. It’ll be a desperate chance,
breaking the blockade, but should you win free, have Vasco make for
Durbin. Your gold will buy you enough protection there to get the
ship refitted and you back to Crydee. Now go.”

Arutha and Martin ran down the street
in opposite directions, and Amos stood watch behind. Abruptly shouts
came down the narrow street, and Arutha looked back. At the other end
of the street he could see the dim figure of Martin struggling with
several men. He started back, but Amos shouted, “Go on I’ll
help him. Get away!”

Arutha hesitated, then resumed his run
toward the distant light. He was panting when he reached the corner
and nearly skidded to a halt as he entered a well-traveled, brightly
lit avenue. From carts decorated with lanterns, hawkers sold their
wares to passing citizens out for a stroll after supper. The weather
was mild—there looked to be little chance of snow this
winter—and large numbers of people were about. From the
condition of the buildings and the fashions of those in the area,
Arutha knew he was in a more prosperous section of the city.

Arutha stepped into the street and
forced himself to walk at a leisurely pace. He turned and made a
display of examining a garment seller’s wares as several men
appeared from the street he had just fled. He tugged a garish red
cloak from among the goods and swirled it about his shoulder, pulling
the hood over his head. “Here now, what do you think you’re
doing?” asked a dried-faced old man in a reedy whisper.