Krondor: The Assassins

  James took a deep breath and said, ‘‘Yes, Walter. Though you could have gotten my attention in a gentler manner than smacking me in the head.’’

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  The deep voice chuckled. ‘‘I told you he’d tumble to this, you twits. Let’s get the blindfold off him.’’

  James blinked as his vision returned, and he saw three men standing over him in what could only be a basement. Large barrels and crates were stacked against the windowless wall, and several large piles of goods were covered with dusty canvas.

  The man with the deep voice said, ‘‘How you been, Jimmy?’’

  ‘‘Fair enough, Walter, until about . . . what? An hour ago?’’

  Walter picked James up by the shoulders and turned him.

  He pulled off the ties that had restricted his hands and said,

  ‘‘Sorry about that, but you were getting difficult to keep up with.’’

  ‘‘If you wanted to talk, Walter, there are other ways.’’

  The man named Walter glanced at his companions. ‘‘Things aren’t the way they once was, Jimmy. Lots of troubles in the city.’’ Walter Blont was one of the Mockers’ more effective bashers, trained by Ethan Graves. He was normally a man of even temper who went about his work in a journeyman fashion, without anger or spite. He had a plain round face, and a thatch of black hair now shot through with gray.

  James took a moment and looked at Blont’s companions.

  Both looked the part of Guild bashers: thick necks, heavy shoulders and legs like tree trunks. Either one would probably be able to break a man’s skull with a bare fist. Neither man looked particularly bright, but James knew looks could be deceptive.

  Both men were unfamiliar to him, but he was certain that these were not the two men who were following him when he went into the ale-house. ‘‘Those weren’t your men who were tailing me?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said Walter. ‘‘They were so fixed on following you, they didn’t notice we were following them.’’ He grinned, his 103

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  crooked yellow teeth making him look even more menacing than when he didn’t smile. ‘‘There are all sorts of new gangs in Krondor these days. Bashers and strong-arms arrive every week by ship and caravan. Someone’s building up a serious army.’’

  James sat down on a crate and said, ‘‘Start at the beginning, Walter.’’

  Walter sat down on another crate and rubbed his chin, thinking. ‘‘Mostly, it started a few months ago. You heard of this bloke they call the Crawler?’’

  James nodded, then wished he hadn’t as his head throbbed.

  ‘‘Well, we’ve been running up against his men on and off for months now. At first they were just pesky. Then things got nasty.’’

  Walter glanced at his companions. ‘‘We’re about all that’s left of the bashers. A few nights ago, someone broke into Mother’s—’’

  ‘‘Someone got to Mother’s without being stopped?’’ interrupted James in amazement.

  ‘‘Took out each of the sentries as they came, hard and fast and no time for dawdling. Me and Josh and Henry here was out and about, and we got jumped in the sewers. We got the best of the four lads who tried to take us out.’’ He waved to the man on his left. ‘‘Josh got a dagger scraped across his ribs for his troubles, and Henry had to sew up my shoulder with a sailmaker’s needle and some thread. We found Mother’s in ruins and have been lying low since then.’’

  The man named Henry added, ‘‘It’s a war out there, squire.

  The sewers are worse than any battlefield I’ve seen.’’

  ‘‘Soldier?’’ asked James.

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  ‘‘Once,’’ said Henry. ‘‘Long time back.’’

  James nodded again, and winced. ‘‘I’ve got to stop doing that.’’

  ‘‘Sorry about the bash, but you’re such a slippery lad, it was the only way I knew to get you here,’’ said Walter.

  James grimaced. His head was going to hurt for a while.

  ‘‘You could have sent me a note.’’

  ‘‘Hardly; and besides, we’re not traveling too much by the usual routes, what with the cut-throats and assassins haunting the sewers.’’

  ‘‘Assassins?’’ asked James. ‘‘Nighthawks?’’

  ‘‘Maybe. Didn’t see no black outfits like they was wearing before,’’ said Walter, ‘‘but these boys was mean and didn’t play at killing.’’

  ‘‘They’s very serious on the subject,’’ said Henry.

  Walter nodded. ‘‘We’ve dodged them because almost no one knows of this place. It was a bit of a gamble going up after you, but one of the beggar lads who’s been smuggling us food saw you out and about today and said you were coming this way, so we took a chance. Time was you could have traveled the entire city and have no one catch sight of you.’’

  James grinned ruefully, ‘‘I still can, but these days I have little reason to hide. I work for the Prince, remember?’’

  ‘‘That’s to the heart of it, then. We need help.’’

  ‘‘Who, the Mockers?’’

  ‘‘What’s left of them,’’ Walter said grimly.

  ‘‘What’s the Upright Man propose?’’ James knew that Walter would never presume to speak for the Mockers without the leader’s permission. Walter must be his messenger of last resort.

  The three men exchanged glances, and Walter said, ‘‘You haven’t heard, then?’’

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  ‘‘Heard what?’’

  ‘‘Rumor is the Upright Man is dead.’’

  James sat back and let out a slow breath. ‘‘That puts paid to a lot of things, doesn’t it?’’

  Walter shrugged. ‘‘You don’t get where he did without making lots of enemies. Someone’s hoisting a tankard in celebration if it’s true, that’s a fact.’’

  ‘‘Who’s running the Mockers?’’

  ‘‘No one,’’ said Walter. ‘‘We’re probably all that’s left of the bashers. Maybe there are one or two other lads lying low like us. Most of them died when Mother’s was hit. They killed everyone, Jimmy. They killed the pickpockets and the beggars, the whores and the street boys.’’

  ‘‘They murdered the street boys?’’ James said in disbelief.

  ‘‘I think I saw young Limm and two or three others dodging down a culvert later that night but I can’t be sure it was them.

  I didn’t investigate because they was on the run from half a dozen men. Maybe they got away, but anyone who wasn’t fast enough to dodge out of there, or lucky enough to have been somewhere else when they hit, was killed. Word spread fast and those that could got out of the city or went to ground.’’

  Henry added, ‘‘These weren’t dock-brawlers did this, squire, or even bashers like us. These were killers, who didn’t even give you a moment to think or speak or ask what was what.

  They were cutting throats and dropping everyone—men, women, children—on one side of the building before those on the other side even knew there was a fight. It’s been a fair couple of nights of hunt or be hunted in the sewers, I can tell you. We’ve been hiding here since then.’’

  James glanced around. ‘‘This is the smugglers’ hideout?’’

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  ‘‘You’ve been here before?’’ asked Walter.

  ‘‘A couple of times, when we were working with Trevor Hull and his gang. Back when Bas-Tyra was regent.’’

  ‘‘I remember,’’ said Walter. ‘‘Even most of the Mockers don’t know how to find it, and since the spot above where the old mill burned down’s been paved over with that new road, it’s impossible to find from above.’’

  ‘‘Anything in those crates to eat?’’

  ‘‘If there is, it’s long since turned,’’ answered the man named Josh.

>   ‘‘This place hasn’t been used since Hull turned Prince’s man and started sailing for the Crown.’’

  James looked around. ‘‘How many others do you think know of this place?’’

  Walter shrugged. ‘‘Not many. Assuming any of them lived after the raid. Hull’s men did most of the slippin’ in and out, and just a few of us in the bashers.’’

  ‘‘Then let’s keep this our little secret.’’ James stood and his knees wobbled. Putting his hand on the wall, he steadied himself and said, ‘‘What of the clock?’’

  ‘‘An hour after sundown, or thereabouts,’’ answered Henry.

  ‘‘Damn,’’ said James. ‘‘I have to get back to the palace, and you’ve put me twice the distance I was when I started.’’

  ‘‘Best get up to the watch station two streets over, and get some guards to go back with you to the palace.’’

  ‘‘That will take too long,’’ said James. ‘‘Besides, I know a way that will get me within a block of the palace without anyone seeing me.’’

  Walter smiled, for the first time. ‘‘Well, there was always that about you, wasn’t there? You could find ways around no 107

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  one else could. That’s why you were always able to take those extra little jobs without the Nightmaster’s writ.’’

  James returned the smile. ‘‘Me, work without permission from the Nightmaster?’’ he said with mock gravity. ‘‘What, and risk you and your lads finding me and roughing me up? I would never do that.’’

  ‘‘Well, it’s good to see you’ve kept your humor,’’ said Henry, as he looked from Josh to Walter. Then he looked at James.

  ‘‘What are we to do?’’

  ‘‘Stay here. I’ll try to be back before the morning with some food and drink for you.’’

  ‘‘Why would you do that?’’ asked Josh.

  ‘‘Because you asked,’’ answered James. ‘‘And, as of now, you’re working for me.’’

  ‘‘But our oath to the Mockers—’’ began Josh.

  ‘‘—is only valid if there are Mockers,’’ finished James. He started walking to the wall farthest from the sewer entrance.

  ‘‘If, by some miracle of fate, the Upright Man returns, you’ll not be bound by me. I know what it is to break oath with him.

  Few survive. But if he doesn’t turn up, well, I’ve got something you can do to earn your keep and stay on the good side of the law.’’

  ‘‘Good side of the law?’’ asked Josh.

  ‘‘Fancy that,’’ remarked Henry.

  James pointed his finger at each man in turn. ‘‘You need all the friends you can get, and right now I may be the only one you have.’’

  Walter nodded once. ‘‘You’ve got the right of that, Jimmy.’’

  ‘‘It’s Squire James, from now on.’’

  ‘‘Yes, squire. I see,’’ answered Walter.

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  for. He tripped a latch and a door, fashioned to look like a random cluster of stones in the wall, creaked open.

  ‘‘I didn’t know that was there!’’ said Walter.

  ‘‘Few do,’’ James replied. As he was about to enter, he added,

  ‘‘Look, if I’m not back in a couple of days, assume the worst and you’re on your own. In that case, I suggest you find the sheriff and tell him what you know. Means is a tough boot, but he’s fair.’’

  ‘‘Don’t know about the fair part, but I’ll grant you tough,’’

  said Walter. ‘‘We’ll think about that if we have to.’’

  James nodded, and went through the door. He pulled it closed behind him and felt along in the utter darkness. He knew it was only one hundred steps up an inclined passage to a trap that had been laid into the floor of what had once been a root cellar in the house next to the burned-out mill. Fortunately for James, that part of the house hadn’t been paved over, and was shielded from curious eyes by heavy weeds and brush.

  Once he was above ground, he moved through the darkness, avoiding the larger thoroughfares as he made his way toward the palace district. He reached the city gate just north of the palace itself, and hurried through, passing a surprised-looking guard who recognized him and who appeared about to ask a question, though James didn’t linger to hear it.

  James reached the small square, which served to separate the palace proper from the city, and hurried toward the gate.

  The two guardsmen on duty seemed about to order him to halt when they recognized him. One said, ‘‘Squire James? Is there trouble?’’

  ‘‘Always,’’ answered James, signaling for the gate to be opened. One of the soldiers hurried to accommodate him, and James swept past him without another comment.

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  James reached the top of the steps to the palace and waved over the first page he spied. ‘‘Carry word to the Prince that I have returned and will join him as soon as I can make myself presentable.’’

  The page wrinkled his nose at the sewer aroma that trailed James like a palpable miasma, then remembered his court training. ‘‘Squire!’’ he acknowledged, and hurried off as quickly as he could.

  James almost ran to his room, stripping off his clothing.

  He’d take a complete bath later, but for the time being the best he could manage was a quick wash with a cloth dipped in the water basin.

  Ten minutes later, James emerged from his quarters, to find the same page had return from the Prince. ‘‘Squire!’’ said the young boy. ‘‘His Highness says he will await you in his offices.’’

  James hurried to Arutha’s offices, knocked, and entered when bidden. Inside, James found a very uncomfortable-looking young man in a city constable’s uniform standing near the door, while the Prince sat behind his desk.

  ‘‘This young fellow was looking for you,’’ said Arutha, indicating the constable with a nod of his head. ‘‘When no one could find you, Gardan sent him to me. The constable said you were due to meet him on some matter the sheriff and you deemed important. He was somewhat distressed you were not where you agreed to be.’’

  James smiled and said, ‘‘As well he might, for I was being held against my will.’’

  Arutha’s face remained impassive but there was a slight hint of amusement in his voice as he said, ‘‘It appears you saved me the difficulty of ordering out the guard to rescue you.’’

  ‘‘My captors and I came to an agreement.’’

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  Arutha indicated he should sit. Before he did, James looked at the young man and said, ‘‘You’re Jonathan Means?’’

  ‘‘Yes, squire,’’ answered the young constable. He was perhaps the same age as William, yet there was already evident about him a toughness that James knew well from years of dodging city constables. In the presence of the Prince he might appear to be an awkward boy, but in a brawl Jonathan Means could hold his own, James was certain.

  Arutha said, ‘‘I’ll listen to your tale of escape later. What I need to know is, what is going on in my city?’’

  James said, ‘‘Nothing good. As Jonathan and the other constables can no doubt testify, there’s been a rash of killings lately that appear to make no sense. As you observed, these killings seem random, but I think the pattern is there. We’re just not seeing it.’’

  ‘‘You have some sense of things, though, right?’’ asked Arutha.

  James nodded. ‘‘The Crawler. It appears he has made another bid to dislodge the Mockers, and from what I saw and heard, he may have accomplished that goal.’’

  Arutha mused aloud. ‘‘Does it matter if one band of thugs and pickpockets supplants another? People will still be bullied and robbed.’’

  ‘‘Setting aside my familiarity with the Mockers and friendship for many of them, still, there is a difference.
The Mockers are thieves. They come in a variety of forms, from those who will deftly cut your purse from your belt without disturbing your ruminations on which silk scarf to buy in the market, to those who will simply bang you over the head as you stagger home after too much ale. They number beggars, street boys, whores, and those who, like myself once, are adept at entering 111

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  homes and stealing whatever has value without awakening the occupants. But they’re not killers.’’

  ‘‘I’ve heard otherwise,’’ said Arutha.

  ‘‘Oh, from time to time a basher will hit someone too hard, or someone will awake and find a thief in the home. A struggle will ensue and someone gets stuck with a dagger, but the intent is never to kill. The Upright Man was very specific in that; murder brings down far more attention than he wanted for the Mockers.’’

  Arutha considered his one long-ago contact with the man he suspected was the Upright Man. His instinct told him James was right. ‘‘What about this Crawler and his men?’’

  James considered his words a moment, then said to Jonathan, ‘‘Did the sheriff tell you why I asked you to the palace?’’

  ‘‘No, he just said you’d requested a constable come to the palace and I was the one.’’

  ‘‘I asked him for someone who had a knack for getting information out of folks without having to hold their feet to the fire.’’

  For the first time since entering the office, the young man ventured a slight smile. ‘‘I’ve a snitch or two who trust me.’’

  James regarded the young man for a long moment, then came to a decision. ‘‘I’m going to need help, Highness. I’ve got Jonathan’s father and Captain Guruth sorted out for a while on who is in charge of which area of the city.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said Arutha.

  James went on to describe what he had seen as he had explored the city, and went into some detail about the two men who had followed him before Walter had snared him, and then into Walter’s description of the men who had raided Mother’s. ‘‘So if I’m going to do Your Highness any good out 112