Krondor the Betrayal (21 page)

James conducted them down the long roadway which led to the docks and pointed to an inn in front of which hung a sign made from an old ship’s anchor, painted white. A modest stabling yard stood to the side, and when James rode in, a 141

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grubby-looking boy hurried over. ‘‘Pick their feet, give them hay and water, and rub them down,’’ said James as he dismounted.

The boy nodded, and James said, ‘‘And tell whoever’s interested that I would consider it a personal courtesy if these animals were here in the morning.’’ He made a small gesture with his thumb, and the boy nodded slightly.

‘‘What was that?’’ asked Owyn.

As they entered the Anchorhead Inn, James said, ‘‘Just a word dropped in the proper ear.’’

‘‘I mean the thing with the thumb and fingers.’’

‘‘That’s what let the boy know I deserved being listened to.’’

The common room was seedy and dark, and James looked around at its clientele. Sailors and dockhands, soldiers of fortune looking for an outward-bound ship, ladies of negotiable virtue, and the usual assortment of thugs and thieves. James took them to a table in the rear, and said, ‘‘Now we watch.’’

‘‘For what?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘For the right person to show up.’’

‘‘How long do we wait?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘In this hole? A day, two at the outside.’’

Gorath shook his head. ‘‘You humans live like . . . animals.’’

‘‘It’s not so bad once you’ve gotten used to it, Gorath,’’ said James. ‘‘It’s a fair improvement over some places I’ve called home.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘That is an odd claim for one who serves a prince of his race.’’

‘‘Agreed,’’ conceded the Squire, ‘‘but nonetheless true for being strange. I have had an unusual opportunity to improve my situation.’’

‘‘The opposite is my fate,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I was a clan chieftain; I was sought out in council and was counted among the leaders of my people. Now I am sitting in squalor with the enemy of my race.’’

James said, ‘‘I am no one’s enemy lest he harm me or mine first.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘I can believe that, Squire, though it strains my senses to hear myself saying it; yet I can’t say that for most of your race.’’

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James said, ‘‘I never claimed to speak on behalf of most of my race. If you’ve noticed, we’re often a great deal more busy killing one another than we are causing problems for the Nations of the North.’’

Suddenly Gorath laughed. Both Owyn and James were startled by the sound, surprisingly musical and full. ‘‘What’s so funny?’’ asked Owyn.

Gorath’s smile faded, and he said, ‘‘Just the thought that if you were a little more efficient killing one another, I wouldn’t have to worry about a murderous dog like Delekhan.’’

At mention of the would-be conqueror, James was reminded of the importance of unraveling the knotted cord of who was behind which plot. So far he had decided that this Crawler, whoever he might be, was more a problem for the Upright Man and his Mockers, and Prince Arutha, and whatever other local nobles he was plaguing, but his part in Delekhan’s plans was coincidence, not design.

The Nighthawks were obviously working with either the Crawler, the moredhel, or both. And what caused James to worry was that they might be again the pawns of the Pantathian Serpent Priests. At some point James would bring up the serpents with Gorath, but not here in this public a place.

The barmaid, a stout woman who had probably been a whore in her youth, but now could not rely on her faded looks to earn her livelihood, came over and, with a suspicious look at Gorath, asked their pleasure. James ordered ale, and she left. James returned to his musing.

There was another player in this, some faction who were orchestrating all this turmoil in the Kingdom, either the Pantathians or someone else, and that was what had James concerned. Going over what Gorath had told Arutha and James several times, he said, ‘‘I would give a great deal to know more about those you call The Six.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Little is known of them, save by Delekhan’s closest advisors, and I know of no one who has actually met them. They are powerful, and have provided my people with weapons in abundance. But Delekhan’s enemies have been disappearing suddenly. I was called to council and taken on the 143

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road to Sar-Sargoth, and locked away in the dungeon by Narab, Delekhan’s chief advisor.’’

James said, ‘‘You didn’t mention that part before.’’

‘‘You didn’t ask about what I had been doing before I met Locklear,’’ said Gorath.

‘‘How did you escape?’’

‘‘Someone arranged it,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I’m not sure who, but I suspect it was an old . . . ally. She is a woman of some influence and power.’’

James was suddenly interested. ‘‘She must have a great deal of influence to get you free right under Delekhan’s nose.’’

‘‘There are many close to Delekhan who will not openly oppose him but would be pleased if he failed; Narab and his brother are among them, but as long as The Six serve Delekhan, they will as well. Should anything befall Delekhan before he consolidates the tribes, any alliance he has forged will disin-tegrate. Even his wife and son are not fully trusted by him, and for good reason. His wife is Chieftain of the Hamandien, the Snow Leopards, one of the most powerful clans after Delekhan’s own, and his son has ambitions that are obvious.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘Sounds like a happy family.’’

Gorath chuckled at that, his tone ironic. ‘‘My people rarely trust those who are not of our own family, tribe, or clan. Beyond that are political alliances, and they are sometimes as fugitive as dreams. We are not a trusting people by nature.’’

‘‘So I have determined,’’ said James. ‘‘Then, for the most part, neither are we.’’ He slowly stood up. ‘‘Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.’’

He passed the barmaid, who ignored him as she brought the ale to the table, which forced Owyn with ill humor to pay for the drinks from his meager purse. Gorath found this amusing.

James crossed to where a man had emerged from the back room, dark skin and beard marking him as one of Keshian ancestry. ‘‘Can I help you,’’ he asked with an appraising look.

By his accent, he was a Keshian by birth. He was thin, and James assumed dangerous, and while his close-cropped beard was greying, he was probably still vigorous enough to be a deadly opponent.

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James said, ‘‘You’re the owner of this establishment?’’

‘‘I am,’’ he said. ‘‘I am Joftaz.’’

Lowering his voice, James said, ‘‘I am here representing interests that are concerned with some downturns in their business of late. There are difficulties stemming from the activities of men who have been most recently both up in Romney and to the west.’’

Joftaz regarded James with an appraising eye. ‘‘Why mention this to me?’’

‘‘You live in a place where many pass through. I thought perhaps you might have heard something or seen someone.’’

Joftaz laughed in a jovial manner that was entirely unconvincing. ‘‘My friend, in my line of work, given where we are, it is in my interest to hear nothing, notice no one, and say little.’’

James studied the man a moment. ‘‘Certain information would have value.’’

‘‘How much value?’’

‘‘It would depend on the information.’’

Joftaz looked around, and said, ‘‘The wrong thing said in the wrong ear could end a man’s life.’’

‘‘Daggers have points,’’ said James, ‘‘and so do you.’’

‘‘On the other hand, I do find myself in need of some help in a delicate matter, and for the right man I could possibly remember a few things I’ve heard or faces I’ve seen.’’

James nodded. ‘‘Would this delicate matter be aided by a sum of gold?’’

Joftaz smiled. ‘‘I like your thinking, young man. What may I call you?’’

‘‘You may call me James.’’

For an instant the man’s eyes flickered, and he said, ‘‘And you are from . . . ?’’

‘‘Most recently, the village of Sloop, and before that Romney.’’

‘‘Then the men you seek who had been recently in Romney are involved in some matter up there?’’

‘‘Some matter, but before we discuss what I need to know, I need to know the price.’’

Joftaz said, ‘‘Then, my young friend, we are at something of 145

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an impasse, for to tell you any of my need is to tell you all my need, and as they say, ‘In for a copper, in for a gold.’ ’’

James smiled, and said, ‘‘I’m hurt, Joftaz. What must I do to win your trust?’’

‘‘Tell me why you seek these men.’’

‘‘I seek them as nothing more than a link in a chain. They may lead me to another, one with whom I have some serious issues. He is one behind murder and treason, and I will have him to the hangman or dead at my feet; either is fine with me.’’

‘‘You’re the King’s man, then?’’

‘‘Not directly, but we both respect my employer.’’

‘‘Then swear by Ban-ath you will not betray me, and we shall strike a bargain.’’

James’s grin broadened. ‘‘Why by the God of Thieves?’’

‘‘Who better? For a pair of thieves such as we.’’

‘‘By Ban-ath, then,’’ said James. ‘‘What is your need?’’

‘‘I need you to steal something from the most dangerous man in Silden, my friend. If you can do that, I will help you find the men for whom you are looking. Assuming you survive, of course.’’

James blinked. ‘‘Me, steal? Why would you think I would steal for you?’’

‘‘I have lived enough years to know where eggs come from, young man.’’ He smiled. ‘‘If you are willing to swear by Ban-ath, you’ve walked the dodgy path before.’’

James sighed. ‘‘I would be foreswearing my oath to speak truly if I denied such.’’

‘‘Good. To the heart of the matter then. There is just a short walk from here a house, in which dwells a man, by name Jacob Ishandar.’’

‘‘A Keshian?’’

‘‘There are many from Kesh who reside here.’’ He touched himself on the chest. ‘‘Such as I.

‘‘But this man and others like him have but recently come to Silden, less than two or three years ago. They work on behalf of one who is a spider, sitting at the heart of a vast web, and like the spider, he senses any vibration along that web.’’

James nodded. ‘‘You speak of one known as the Crawler?’’

Joftaz inclined his head, indicating that this was the case.

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‘‘This was never what one might call a peaceful community, but it was orderly after a fashion. With the Crawler’s men—

Jacob and two called Linsey and Franklin—came bloodshed and pain beyond what is reasonable for men in our line of work to endure.’’

‘‘What of the local thieves, and those with ties to Rillanon and Krondor?’’

‘‘All gone, save myself. Some have fled, others . . . disappeared. Any thief I contacted in Silden today would be working for the Crawler. Being Keshian by birth, I think these men did not recognize me for one such as those they sought to destroy. There are still a few of us in Silden who survived, but we conduct no business except what we do in the open, such as my inn. Should these interlopers’ enterprises fail, there will be enough of us returning here to reclaim what was taken from us.’’

James scratched his chin as he thought. ‘‘Before I agree, let me show you something.’’ He produced the silver spider. ‘‘Do you know this?’’

‘‘I have seen such before,’’ he said. ‘‘They are rare, and when one comes my way I take notice. They are crafted by a smith in a village in the Peaks of Tranquillity. Those that reach the Kingdom come from Pointer’s Head or Mallow Haven.’’ He took it from James’s hand and inspected it. ‘‘I’ve seen bad copies, but these are far finer. You can’t work silver like this and have it endure unless you have the knack.’’

‘‘Odd sort of bird buys an item like this.’’

Joftaz smiled. ‘‘Night birds, for the most part. You play a dangerous game, my friend. You are just the man I seek.’’

‘‘Well, then, can you tell me who you sold this one to?’’

‘‘Yes, I can, and more.’’ Joftaz lost his smile. ‘‘But not until you conduct some business for me.’’

‘‘Then to specifics.’’

‘‘This man I mentioned, Jacob Ishander, is chief among those recently come from Kesh. He has in his possession a bag’’—he held his hands apart, indicating a bag the size of a large coin purse or belt pouch—‘‘and the contents of that bag are worth enough to underwrite his operation here in Silden for the next year.’’

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‘‘And you want me to steal that bag?’’

Joftaz nodded.

‘‘I would think you able to undertake such a task yourself,’’

said James.

‘‘Perhaps, but I must continue to live here in Silden, success or failure. Should you fail, I will still be here.’’

‘‘I see. What’s in the bag?’’

‘‘Heart of Joy,’’ said Joftaz.

James closed his eyes a moment. Joy was a common drug in the poor quarters of most cities in Kesh, and showed up from time to time in Krondor and other port cities in the Kingdom. A small amount consumed in wine or water would in-duce a pleasant euphoria for up to a night. A slightly larger dose would transport the user to a state of happiness that could last days. If the dose was too large, the user would be rendered unconscious.

Heart of Joy was a different thing. It was the essence of the drug, compounded in such a way as to make it easy to transport. When sold, it would be mixed in with a harmless powder, often powdered sugar or even flour, anything that would dissolve. By weight it was worth a thousand times more than Joy when sold on the streets of the city.

‘‘A bag that size is worth—’’

‘‘Enough to ensure that Jacob will have to run for his life when the Crawler finds out, and any who might be held responsible as well, say Linsey and Franklin, will flee along with him.’’

James filled in, ‘‘Leaving a void into which you can step to reestablish business locally in a fashion more to your liking.’’

Narrowing his eyes, James added, ‘‘And he who finds it will find anxious buyers willing to say nothing about where the drug came from, realizing enormous profits.’’

With a smile, Joftez said, ‘‘Well, there is that.’’