Master and Fool (73 page)

Behind Crayne, one
of the horses nickered softly. They had brought six mounts to the city between
them, and Andris had laid a makeshift ramp down to the storage bay so their
presence could be concealed.

Before Tawl had a
chance to say anything, Borlin spoke up again. "There's things we'll need
to purchase tomorrow," he said. "New bridles, stirrup straps,
saddles. At the moment the horses are a dead giveaway. Everything on them is
yellow and black. If one of us is going to wait outside the palace with them,
then their tack needs to be changed."

Everyone grunted
in agreement with this. "Same with us, too," continued Borlin.
"We took a big chance coming into the city looking the way we do. We all
need to get some discreet clothes, and you and Jack need some chain mail for
under your tunics."

Tawl looked at
Jack. "What do you think? Should we wait until tomorrow night?"

Up until now, Jack
had just been an observer at the meeting. The knighthood was a closed rank and
he was just an inexperienced outsider. He knew nothing of tactics and predawn
raids. He wasn't a fighter-though he could fight-he was someone with one
specific job to do. He had to murder Kylock. Up to this point, Jack had
deliberately pushed the details to the back of his mind; details were the
things that frightened him, the things that made the whole situation seem real.
And hopeless.

What Crayne and
Borlin said made good sense, and Jack agreed with them, but they hadn't come up
with the real reason why they shouldn't enter the palace tonight. Only
he
knew
that.

He wasn't ready.

The journey here
had been one mad, breathless gallop, and Jack hadn't had a moment to think. He
rode, he slept, he rode some more. Always there was the knowledge he was
drawing closer to Bren, but never once had he stopped to consider what he would
do once he arrived. He needed tonight to prepare himself. Not for the
details-there was no way to plan for the unknown-but the reality of the
situation. It was time he came to terms with what had to be done. The responsibility
was his alone.

"I say we go
in tomorrow night," he said.

Tawl looked down,
disappointed, but the faces of the other men visibly relaxed, and Jack realized
he had misjudged them. They didn't think he was an inexperienced outsider after
all: they would have moved tonight on his sayso. It was a sobering thought, and
as the night drew on and plans were made, refined, and then finalized, it
became the first of many.

They left the
dyemaker's shop at midnight: Jack, Tawl, Crayne, Nabber, and Hervo who, besides
Borlin, was the best marksman in the party. By turns, it had been sleeting,
raining, spitting, and drizzling all day, and the streets were thick with
sludge. Like they did when they entered the city, they had split up into groups
to avoid any unwanted attention. Andris was head of the second group, Borlin
head of the third.

Only half an hour
before, Jack had put chain mail on for the first time in his life. It was
heavy, confining and it itched like mad. It was like wearing a rack of cutlery
next to your skin. Tawl said it would have helped if the mail had been
custom-made, but personally Jack couldn't see it: if anything, it was a relief
that the metal rings ended at his stomach, not his vitals.

Nabber had been
forced into wearing mail, too, and was currently walking with an exaggerated
stagger. "It'll be wet in the dungeons," he said, holding his palms
up to catch the rain. "All the water that can't find its way around the
palace ends up running through it."

"That's
good," murmured Tawl. "No guards will want to be down there if it's
running with water."

Hervo grunted.
Like Borlin, he wasn't a large man, but his arms were as thick as a butcher's
block and his eyes were as sharp as a cleaver. He was carrying his bow in an
oilskin bag under his arm, and his arrows were tucked into his tunic. Jack had
watched Hervo preparing himself earlier: he had kissed each arrow before
putting them into his quiver. Crayne said he had chosen Hervo because although
he was first and foremost an archer, he was also an expert with the long-knife.

Crayne himself was
a study in concealed weaponry. Subtle but deadly bulges broke the line of his
tunic, his britches, his sleeves, and his boots. Knives, throwing spars, a
sword, a small crowbar, and a coil of metal rope were just the items that Jack
had spotted. The leader of the party was quiet as they walked through the city,
his face drawn into hard-earned lines, his gaze never resting in one place. On
the few occasions he did speak, it was to whisper terse, oneline orders in a
voice well used to command.

Tawl seemed
content to let him take the lead. Whether that would remain the case when they
were actually in the palace was another matter entirely. Jack couldn't imagine
Tawl even listening to orders once he caught sight of Melli. "Are you sure
you know how to get to the nobles' quarters?" asked Tawl for what must
have been the fourth time that day.

"'Course I
do," said Nabber with an indignant squeak. "I even think I know the
annex old Thomydraws mentioned. There's quite a few areas leading from the
nobles' quarters, but if I remember rightly, only one of them is out of the way
enough to conceal furtive coming and goings."

Tawl was quiet
after that. The remark Madame Thornypurse made about Melli being near her time
had affected him deeply. Jack had seen it last night in the alley, and he saw
it now as they made their way across the city.

The knight's face
was a shield of taut flesh, and on both sides of his body, his hands were
curled into fists.

Like Tawl, Jack
had chosen not to load himself down with weapons. A sword and two knives, one
concealed. Jack had strapped his second knife against the lining of his boot.

He could feel it
there now, the covered blade pressing into his skin with every step forward.

"Andris will
be starting out any minute now," said Crayne. "He should be less than
an hour behind us."

"Aye, he'll
keep good time," said Hervo in his soft, drawling voice. "It's Borlin
who'll be dashing ahead of the game. He hates to be kept waiting." Hervo
laughed softly and even Crayne managed a smile. Obviously a tale or two there, thought
Jack.

Borlin and the
other two men in his group, would bring the horses across the city. Two archers
and one swordsman, their job was to wait at the entrance to the tunnels
-the
swordsman with the horses and the archers concealed at shooting distance---and
provide cover for the escape. Andris, Gervhay, and the last archer were to wait
on a prearranged street comer near the palace until Nabber appeared, gain
access to the tunnels, and follow Crayne's party up through the palace,
covering their backs, keeping the escape route clear and watching out for
trouble.

That was the plan.
Everyone knew it, most of the night had been spent in fine-tuning and coming up
with various contingencies, and now they were about to put it into action.

They made good
time crossing the city. There were fewer blackhelms to avoid than the night
before, and the bad weather and the lateness of hour combined to make
the
streets
almost deserted. Nabber was in charge of choosing the route, and Jack had to
admit it was a good one: dark alleyways, sleazy back streets, deserted
courtyards. The pocket knew his stuff. Earlier Jack had pulled Nabber aside and
asked him where Baralis and Kylock's chambers might be located. Nabber, always
pleased to show off his knowledge, had told him the exact location of Baralis'
chambers and the possible location of Kylock's-the old duke's quarters. Jack
had asked Nabber not to mention this to the others, and the pocket had sworn an
oath to that effect, spitting upon his palms and calling upon Borc to strike
him down with the ghones if he broke it.

Jack didn't so
much mind the others knowing, it was more that he didn't want to distract them
from their mission. They had enough to deal with already. His plan was simply
to slip away once Melli was safely in hand.

"Almost here
now," said Nabber with a theatrical whisper. "Remember, it'll be wet
down here, so hold all your necessaries above your heads."

They came to a
halt at the end of an alleyway. The two walls to either side were running with
water, and the eaves of overhanging buildings were sending streams of run-off
pouring onto the road. It was very dark. The surface of the road was more dirt
than cobbles, and it was heavily cambered.

"Are you sure
Andris will be able to find this place?" The dark form that was Crayne's
head moved from side to side. "It's further out of the way than I
thought."

"No
problem," said Nabber. "He knows where Cabling Street is, and as long
as he makes it there, I'll find him." As he spoke, Nabber handed his sack
to Tawl. Inside were two oil lamps, and Tawl set about lighting them. Nabber
crouched down and started brushing away the dirt near the wall. "The
drain's here, I know it," he murmured. "Must have got clogged up.
Here, Jack, give me a hand."

Jack knelt down
beside him and thrust his fingers into the mud. After a moment, he felt the
cold hardness of metal. By this time Tawl had the lamps lit and everyone helped
to clear the drain. "How far are we from the palace?" asked Jack,
trying to pry the drain grille open.

"Not far at
all. Less than a quarter league due east." With his little finger, Nabber
cleared the mud from around the edge of the drain. "Got the bar,
Crayne?" he said. "This is going to need a good wrenching. Last time
I was here, all of this dirt was on the other side of the alley. Must have
moved south for the winter like the birds."

Crayne whipped out
the contents of one of his bulges and went to work. Jack and Tawl helped him
get a grip, Nabber supervised, and Hervo stood watch at the end of the alley.
After a while the grille was loosened, and Crayne managed to pry it open.
Everyone was soaked and muddy. Crayne took a hand of mud and rubbed it into his
face. He ordered everyone else to do likewise. "Once we hit the palace,
it's lamps out. Understood?" He waited for each of them to nod "You
go first, Jack. After that it's Nabber, me, then Tawl. Hervo, you're bringing
up the rear."

Tawl held the lamp
out while Jack lowered himself into the murky darkness of the drain. A sharp,
rotting smell wafted upward. Jack felt a cold stream of air whipping around his
ankles. He gripped the ground to either side of the drain more firmly and
lowered himself deeper. His feet plunged into icy water, sending a shock wave
coursing up his spine. Feet, ankles, calves, knees, thighs were all engulfed by
the freezing flow. Jack didn't want to release his grip. He still couldn't feel
the bottom with his feet.

"Go on,
Jack," cried Nabber. "It can't be much deeper." Jack took a deep
breath and let go. He dropped less than a hand's length before hitting the
bottom. His feet landed in a thick layer of mud. Reaching up, he took
the
lamp
from Tawl, and then stepped away to give Nabber room to be lowered The lantern
revealed a roughly circular passage. Stone slabs lined the walls and ceilings,
and earth and roots had forced their way through the masonry, splitting stones,
and providing runways for seeping mud and rainwater.

The water level
reached Jack's hips, and already he could feel his toes numbing. The water
itself was dark brown and thick with mud and refuse. As Jack moved away from
the opening, the mud on the bottom sucked at his feet, turning every step into
a struggle of balance and coordination. Pull too slowly and he wouldn't be able
to break free from the bottom, pull too fast and he could go splashing head-first
into the water. And from the smell of it, he most definitely didn't want that
to happen.

By the time the
others were down, Jack was shaking from head to foot. It was freezing. Nabber's
teeth were chattering loudly-he was up to his chest in water-and even Tawl was
showing signs of the cold, crossing his arms over his chest to stop himself
from shivering. Hervo held his bow and quiver above his head, and Crayne's many
bulges had apparently moved upward toward his neck.

"Let's
go," he said.

"Right,"
said Nabber in Jack's ear. "We wade down here a while till we come to the
first passage on the left." Jack nodded and began to make his way forward.
Each step was a fight against the suction of the mud and the numbness of his
limbs. The surface of the water was thick with grease. White gobs of animal fat
bobbed up and down with each ripple. Jack felt top-heavy and awkward. He took
great lurching steps like a drunkard. Below the water he was almost weightless,
but above his chest was artificially heavy due to the chain mail.

The sound of water
dripping was everywhere. Echoes seemed louder than the noises they mimicked,
and the wind howled through the tunnels like a wolf.

The light from the
lantern bounced off the moss-covered walls, picking up a green glow. Jack's
hand was shaking and the lantern shook with it, sending quick shadows and light
flashes careening from ceiling to water.

"Here!"
cried Nabber. "Turn left."

Jack had been lost
in his own thoughts, hypnotized by the light. He had stepped right past the
turnoff. Backtracking a few steps, he was aware that the numbness in his limbs
was moving upward. He suddenly realized that the journey was a lot harder on
Nabber: half his chest was submerged in the freezing water. Once the pocket had
guided them to the palace and shown them the way up to the nobles' quarters, he
had to come back through the drains for Andris.

Jack sped his pace
up after that. He found that a light running step actually stopped his feet
from miring in the mud. It got his blood pumping, too, and helped stop the,
numbness from spreading up his legs. The water in the second tunnel was a
fraction lower than the first, and as they made their way along it, the level
dropped even farther. Suddenly Jack's foot hit stone. He stopped dead, raising
his hand to halt the others. "There's something blocking the way."