Krondor_ The Assassins Part 6

"How does Arutha's business involve me getting an ale?"

James grinned. "I have to poke around a few places, and the cover story of being out with a friend jumping from tavern to inn is just the thing."

Sighing in resignation and trying hard not to imagine Swordmaster McWirth's reaction to whatever plan James had in mind, William fell in beside his friend and they left the garden.

FOUR - Surprises

William kept his eyes forward.

He knew his every movement was being closely scrutinized by Swordmaster McWirth. The old soldier had always paid slightly more attention to William's progress over the last year than with the other cadets, but with his commission set for the end of this week, it seemed lately that every single gesture and word was being evaluated.

William tried to attribute it to his having been an exceptional student, perhaps the best swordsman with the long two-handed sword in the garrison, as well as a proficient student of tactics and strategy. He also considered that his odd situation of being a royal cousin by adoption might have contributed to his being a "special project" of the swordmaster's. But no matter how he tried to please the old teacher these last few days, there was always something lacking in his efforts. Either a thrust was a hair's breadth too low during sword practice, or his decision to reinforce a position in field training was a bit premature. William wondered briefly if the swordmaster had something against him personally, but then pushed aside the thought as McWirth came to stand before him. In a friendly tone, the old soldier said, "Late night, cadet?"

William still felt sand in his eyes from too little sleep, but he tried to will aside any shred of fatigue that clung to his bones. "Sir! Late enough, swordmaster!" he said as briskly as he could.

"Tired, cadet?"

"No, swordmaster!"

"Good," said McWirth, raising his voice so that the company of cadets could hear him, "because today we're going on an exercise. Some very bad men have surrounded the village of Tratadon and we must ride very fast and rescue the daughters of Tratadon from the clutches of these evil men." Again, he looked at William and added, "Of course these particular bad men are garrison regulars who would love to embarra.s.s a bunch of fuzzy-cheeked cadets, so just make sure they're disappointed."

As one, the cadets shouted, "Yes, swordmaster!"

"Swords and saddles in fifteen minutes!" cried the swordmaster.

William was ofif at a run with his companions and stole a quick glance up to the palace wing where he suspected his friend James was still sleeping. He was on the verge of a silent curse when he remembered that James hadn't forced him to stay at the Rainbow Parrot, and that the girl, Talia, was very attractive. He really liked the way she smiled at him.

The thought was fleeting; for once he reached the armory to collect his armor and weapons, he got too busy to think of anything but the coming exercise.

James glanced down at the courtyard where the cadets were scurrying toward the armory to be fitted out for the day's exercise. He had forced himself to remain awake while reading the day's schedule and knew that William and the others had a grueling day ahead of them. Tratadon was a ten-hour forced march and the squad sent out to play the part of bandits the night before would be well and firmly dug in. McWirth was making sure his lads knew exactly the sort of trouble they were most likely to encounter in their work.

"Squire?" came a soft voice, gently preventing James's reverie from slipping into a fatigued doze.

"Yes?" James replied to the young page, forcing himself to wakefulness.

"His Highness waits in his private office."

James nodded, forcing aside the warm fatigue that made him feel like sleeping every time he stopped moving. As they reached the side door to Arutha's office, another page opened the door so that James could march in without slowing his pace.

Arutha sat at his desk. He indicated two mugs and a large pot and said, "Please."

James poured and was greeted by the aroma of dark, Keshian coffee. As he added a single spoonful of honey to the Prince's mug, he said, "To think I couldn't stand coffee a few years ago. Now I wonder how one gets through the morning without it."

Arutha nodded as he took the offered mug. "Or chocha."

James shrugged at mention of the Tsurani morning beverage. "Never developed a taste for it. Too bitter and spicy."

Arutha waved James to a chair and said, "I've got court in fifteen minutes, but you're not attending today. I need you to do two things, one trivial, one not so."

James nodded but said nothing.

Arutha continued. "Duke Radswil and his family wish to hunt. You will instruct our huntmaster to ready a party to accompany the Prince of Olasko to the mountains for a day's hunting the day after tomorrow."

"That's the trivial," suggested James.

Arutha nodded. "Find your missing agents if possible, and see if you can discover the source of all this mayhem in our city. That will involve a rather delicate sort of diplomacy on your part, for you must first begin at the city jail with a social call on Sheriff Means."

"Now do I get to find out why he was waiting for us when we got back to Krondor?"

Arutha regarded his young friend with an appraising look. "You haven't ferreted out that gossip by now?"

James stifled a yawn. "I've been too busy."

Arutha drained his mug and stood. James stood as well. "We have some problems between the City Watch and the sheriffs men. The sheriff was here complaining in part about Guard Captain Guruth's soldiers, especially the squad over in the poor quarter."

"Ah," said James. "A jurisdictional dispute."

"Something like that. Traditionally the City Guard concerns itself with keeping the security of the city, while the constables of the sheriffs office are more concerned with crimes, but lately the two have been clashing over trivial issues. There's always been a little rivalry, but now it's getting out of hand."

"What would you like me to do, Highness?"

As Arutha moved toward the door opening into the great hall, he said, "I want it stopped before it turns into open brawling between constables and guardsmen. See if you can devise a way in which both sides turn their attention to the murders in Krondor and stop this wrangling." Arutha left his private office for morning court, and James standing alone.

James lingered for a moment, savoring the last gulp of warm coffee, then turned and headed for the outside hallway. He had a lot to do, and as usual, not much time in which to do it.

Krondor early in the morning was James's favorite place and time. As he left the palace he was once more struck by the vibrancy of the Prince's city. The sun had risen in the east an hour earlier and already the city was teeming with activity. Wagons were rolling toward the gates to meet arriving or departing caravans, or toward the docks to pick up cargo delivered by ships in the harbor. The stream of workmen already about their jobs was increased by merchants on their way to open shops, customers heading toward those shops, and a thousand other citizens and visitors.

A breeze off the harbor carried the salt tang of the ocean and James breathed deeply, feeling revived. By noon the day's warmth would reveal every decaying fruit rind, meat sc.r.a.p, discarded bone, and less savory by-product of human occupation. James had been city born and bred, and the stench of a warm day near the tanneries and dyers, or the pungency of the cattle pens and poultry yards, was taken for granted, fading into the background so that it went mostly unnoticed. But the absence of such stench was certainly appreciated.

He took another deep breath in grat.i.tude as an ox cart trundled past, and at that moment, one of the oxen displayed his kind's tendency for flatulence, relieving himself with an heroic discharge. James's nose wrinkled and he hurried away from the spot, knowing that the G.o.ds' sense of humor was mean-spirited, and demonstrated thousands of times a day in minor human misery and inconvenience. Had it happened to someone else, he would judge the moment highly comic.

James hurried through the Royal Market, which wasn't truly a royal venue, but named such because it was the market closest to the palace. The hawkers already had their wares on display and shoppers were making their way around the stalls, inspecting the goods offered for sale.

He moved down High Street, avoiding the jam of wagons and carts at several intersections. Idly he thought that one good use of the constables would be to stand at the intersections sorting out the traffic mess in the morning. By mid-day things would have died down a bit, but right now there were at least half a dozen rights brewing as teamsters, farmers, and delivery men all shouted insults at each other.

James ducked through the heavy press of citizens and travelers and reached the next corner to find that a fight had erupted. Two wagons had obviously become tangled when a cart had overturned, causing a horse to shy, back up, then flip over its wagon. Two city constables were hurrying across and just as James reached the scene, someone shoved him aside shouting, "Make way!"

James staggered into a young woman who was carrying a basket of grain, which was dumped in the street when she fell. She shrieked angry demands for repayment. He obliged with a muttered apology, and turned to defend himself from the next stupid thug.

It turned out to be Captain Guruth, commander of the City Guard. He was a burly man with a black beard, dark eyes, and a deep voice with a naturally threatening tone, which was used effectively as he roared, "What is going on?"

Instantly the onlookers quietened, but the two combatants continued their fisticuffs. Two guardsmen hurried past their captain and set to with spear b.u.t.ts just as the constables arrived to lend a hand. Quickly the two struggling men were subdued and the captain turned once, surveying the crowed. "Everyone! Get about your business or we'll find a place for you in the palace dungeon!"

Quickly the crowd dispersed and Guruth turned to James. "Squire?" he said, his tone indicating he expected an explanation for James's presence at the scene of this altercation.

James was feeling set-upon, what with being shoved aside by the guardsmen, and being addressed in that particular tone, as if he were an intruder in the city of his birth. "I'm on the Prince's business," he said, dusting himself off.

The captain offered a gruff laugh, deep and short, then said, "Well, then, you'd best be about it, while I sort out this mess."

"Actually, my mission concerns yourself and the sheriff. If you'd be so kind as to accompany me to his office," said James, walking away without seeing if the captain followed.

James heard the captain issue orders for his men to let the constables take care of the matter and to fall in. The sound of boots on stone in regular rhythm told James that the captain and his men were close behind. He picked up the pace slightly, ensuring that the captain and his men would have to step lively to keep up with him. The sheriffs office was not too far from the scene of the altercation, near the Old Market Square.

The office served as the entrance into the city jail, which was below ground, a large bas.e.m.e.nt divided by bars and doors, making eight cells, two large ones, and six cells used to isolate prisoners from the general jail population. At almost any time of the day or night, half a dozen drunks, petty thieves, brawlers, and other troublemakers would be found locked up, waiting the pleasure of the Prince's magistrate.

The two floors above were occupied with living quarters for the deputies who did not have families in the city. Sheriff Wilfred Means looked up from a table he used as a desk and said, "Captain, squire," with a polite nod of his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The expression on his face showed it was anything but a pleasure. The conflicts between the City Watch and the City Guard had created enough friction between the sheriff and the captain to keep things chilly between them, and Means had absolutely no use for James.

That att.i.tude went back to James's boyhood, when Jimmy the Hand was a thorn in the side of the city's constables. No matter what rank James achieved, he was certain the sheriff would always consider him a thief at heart, and as such, suspect.

James quickly discarded several different approaches to reconciling the conflict. Arutha had told him what to do, but left how to do it up to James. One thing about both the captain and sheriff, James conceded to himself: both were honorable men, so he decided it was best to approach them directly.

"We have a problem, gentlemen," said James.

The captain and sheriff exchanged glances and each made it clear to the other neither knew what was coming next. "Problem?" asked the captain.

"Because you both have overlapping, but different areas of authority in the city, each of you may lack certain information the other possesses. But I'm sure you know that lately there has been an unusually high number of murders in the city."

The sheriff snorted. "The very reason I came to meet the Prince when he returned, squire," he said with a note of derision.

James let the tone go by. "His Highness," he said, "is concerned that there is more to this spate of murders than may at first be apparent."

Captain Guruth said, "That hardly seems likely. The body count is high, but there seems no apparent connection."

The sheriff again let his feelings show. "You're a soldier, Guruth. Your lads are fine in a donnybrook, but none of them has the knack for sniffing around and finding out things. That's what the City Watch does best."

James barely contained an explosive laugh. There were snitches in the employ of the City Watch, but they were often paid by the Mockers to give false information, and anyone who was truly in their pay was likely to turn up floating in the bay.

James said, "I do not know what His Highness has said to each of you regarding his most recent activities in confronting the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the Nighthawks."

"Nighthawks!" Guruth shouted. He swore an oath, then said, "They're like weeds in a garden. I thought we had destroyed them ten years ago when we burned down the House of Willows!"

James realized then something he had forgotten. Guruth had been a young soldier, probably a sergeant or lieutenant when Arutha and James had led a squad of soldiers that had destroyed the Nighthawks' headquarters in Krondor, the bas.e.m.e.nt below one of the finest brothels in the city. There they had found a moredhel, and there they had witnessed the power of the dark elves' wizard-king, Murmandamus, for every Nighthawk who had been slain had risen from the dead to fight anew.

Those who had struggled in the cellar below the House of Willows that night and survived would never forget that fight. Many of those who had entered the sewers below the city to seek out that nest had died in the flames of that battle.

Guruth looked at James and said, "You know what I mean, squire."

James nodded. "Yes, I remember." Sighing, James said, "But as we learned on the road to Armengar, and again at Kenting Rush, the Nighthawks are numerous and as soon as you destroy one nest, another springs up somewhere else."

The sheriff said, "So we've a.s.sa.s.sins loose in the city, then?" He had not been in that struggle ten years before, but he had heard enough details to regard James and Guruth with a modic.u.m of respect.

James said, "It appears likely, though no one who's reported a murder has specifically stated seeing a Nighthawk."

"No surprise there," admitted the sheriff. 'They don't usually want to be seen. Lots of folks think they use magic."

"Not far from the truth," said James. "At least when they were in league with Murmandamus they had those Black Slayers with them at times, and they were certainly using dark powers." The Black Slayers had been magical guards of Murmandamus. What James remembered most about them was that they were very difficult to kill. James shrugged. "But the lot we disposed of over in Kenting Rush last month had no magicians in league with them from what we found. And they all died like mortal men."

Guruth gave James a half-smile and said, "But you burned the bodies anyway."

James returned the smile and said, "We did, indeed. No point taking chances."

"What does the Prince require of us?" asked the sheriff, now convinced there were dire matters at hand.

James had no specific instructions, but now that he had the captain and the sheriff considering a common enemy, he decided it would serve to make peace between them. "His Highness is concerned about the possibility of these Nighthawks being agents of a foreign power." James looked at the captain. "It would do well for you to remove your men from inside the city and concentrate on the gates and step up patrols in the neighboring villages and in the foulbourgh. Double the guards at the city gates and inspect any wagon, cart or pack animal if it looks suspicious. And any man or group of men who can't properly identify themselves and their reason for coming to Krondor should be held and interrogated." To the sheriff, he said, "With all the captain's men outside the wall, you'll have to step up your patrols inside the city. And you need to send half a dozen men to help the customs office inspect cargo and pa.s.sengers coming into the city by sea."

In less than a minute, James had created enough work to have every constable and guardsman in the city cursing the day he was born. But James knew that, as busy as both companies would be, they'd have little time to wrangle over who had jurisdiction over every altercation they encountered.

James made a mental note to stop at the Customs Office and let the staff know there were six constables coming to help them inspect cargo and pa.s.sengers. He said, "More instructions will be sent to you as the Prince sees fit."

The captain asked, "Anything else, squire?"

"No, captain, but I do need to speak to the sheriff alone for a moment."

"Then I'll be on my way. I need to post a new duty roster and instruct the guards they'll be operating outside the city for the time being." He gave James and the sheriff a casual salute, and left the office.

The sheriff looked at James expectantly. "Squire?" he asked after the captain left.

"You mentioned to the captain that your constables were able to sniff around, so I'm wondering: is one of your lads particularly talented when it comes to getting information on what's going on in the city?"

Means leaned back, stroking a mustache that was no longer ginger, but gray streaked with white. His hair still had some brown in it, but it too was mostly gray and white. Yet the sheriffs eyes showed he had lost nothing where it counted: he could still lay a trap for a thief and he was still a dangerous man with either sword or bludgeon. Finally he said, "There's young Jonathan. He's about as good at getting a snitch to talk as I've seen."

James said, "No disrespect, sheriff, but can you trust him? History being what it is, and all that."

The sheriff said, "No offense, squire. I understand what you mean." The Nighthawks had proven adept at infiltrating the army and even the palace in the past. "You can trust the lad. He's my youngest son."

"Well, then," said James with a grin, "I guess I can. Is he here?"

"No, he's off duty until dusk. Shall I have him come find you at the palace?"

"Please. I should be back before the changing of the guard at sundown. Have him come to the Knight-Marshal's office. If I'm not there, I'll leave word where he can find me."

"May I ask what you need one of my constables for, squire?"

James grinned. "Our past differences have kept us from working together, sheriff. I intend to remedy that." Then the grin faded. "I've seen enough black murder in my days to last a hundred lifetimes. I'd like to find out what's behind all these seemingly random deaths and put an end to them."