Im just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. Weve just come out of a tavern.
Were well past it now. If you act too drunk, youll attract attention. I think its time for a miraculous recovery.
Youre taking all the fun out of this, Sparhawk, Kalten complained. He stopped staggering and straightened his white-plumed hat.
They moved on through the busy streets with Sparhawk trailing respectfully behind his friend as a good squire would.
When they reached another intersection, Sparhawk felt a familiar prickling of his skin. He set down his wooden box and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his smock.
Whats the matter? Kalten asked, also stopping.
The case is heavy, my Lord, Sparhawk explained in a voice loud enough to be heard by passers-by. Then he spoke in a half-whisper. Were being watched, he said as his eyes swept the sides of the street.
The robed and hooded figure was in an upper floor window, partially concealed behind a thick green drape. It looked very much like the one that had watched him in the rain-wet streets the night he had first arrived back in Cimmura.
Have you located him? Kalten asked quietly, making some show of adjusting the collar of his pink cloak.
Sparhawk grunted, raising the box to his shoulder again. Upper floor window over the chandlers shop.
Lets be off then, my man, Kalten said in a louder voice. The days wearing on. As he started on up the street, he cast a quick, furtive glance at the green-draped window.
They rounded another corner. Odd-looking sort, wasnt he? Kalten noted. Most people dont wear hoods when theyre indoors.
Maybe hes got something to hide.
Do you think he recognized us?
Its hard to say. Im not positive, but I think he was the same one who was watching me the night I came into town. I didnt get a good look at him, but I could feel him, and this one feels just about the same.
Would magic penetrate these disguises?
Easily. Magic sees the man, not the clothes. Lets go down a few alleys and see if we can shake him off in case he decides to follow us.
Right.
It was nearly noon when they reached the square near the west gate where Sparhawk had seen Krager. They split up there. Sparhawk went in one direction and Kalten the other. They questioned the keepers of the brightly coloured booths and the more sedate shops closely, describing Krager in some detail. On the far side of the square, Sparhawk rejoined his friend. Any luck? he asked.
Kalten nodded. Theres a wine merchant over there who says that a man who looks like Krager comes in three or four times a day to buy a flagon of Arcian red.
Thats Kragers drink, all right. Sparhawk grinned. If Martel finds out that hes drinking again, hell reach down his throat and pull his heart out.
Can you actually do that to a man?
You can if your arms long enough, and if you know what youre looking for. Did your wine merchant give you any sort of hint about which way Krager usually comes from?
Kalten nodded. That street there. He pointed.
Sparhawk scratched at his horse-tail beard, thinking.
If you pull that loose, Sephrenias going to turn you over her knee and paddle you.
Sparhawk took his hand away from his face. Has Krager picked up his first flagon of wine this morning? he asked.
Kalten nodded. About two hours ago.
Hes likely to finish that first one fairly fast. If hes drinking the way he used to, hell wake up in the mornings feeling a bit unwell. Sparhawk looked around the busy square. Lets go on up that street a ways where there arent quite so many people and wait for him. As soon as he runs out of wine, hell come out for more.
Wont he see us? He knows us both, you know.
Sparhawk shook his head. Hes so shortsighted that he can barely see past the end of his nose. Add a flagon of wine to that, and he wouldnt be able to recognize his own mother.
Kragers got a mother? Kalten asked in mock amazement. I thought he just crawled out from under a rotten log.
Sparhawk laughed. Lets go find someplace where we can wait for him.
Can we skulk? Kalten asked eagerly. I havent skulked in years.
Skulk away, my friend, Sparhawk said.
They walked up the street the wine merchant had indicated. After a few hundred paces, Sparhawk pointed towards the narrow opening of an alley. That ought to do it, he said. Lets go do our skulking in there. When Krager goes by, we can drag him into the alley and have our little chat in private.
Right, Kalten agreed with an evil grin.
They crossed the street and entered the alley. Rotting garbage lay heaped along the sides, and some way farther on was a reeking public urinal. Kalten waved one hand in front of his face. Sometimes your decisions leave a lot to be desired, Sparhawk, he said. Couldnt you have picked someplace a little less fragrant?
You know, Sparhawk said, thats what Ive missed about not having you around, Kalten that steady stream of complaints.
Kalten shrugged. A man needs something to talk about. He reached under his azure doublet, took out a small, curved knife and began to strop it on the sole of his boot. I get him first, he said.
What?
Krager. I get to start on him first.
What gave you that idea?
Youre my friend, Sparhawk. Friends always let their friends go first.
Doesnt that work the other way around, too?
Kalten shook his head. You like me better than I like you. Its only natural, of course. Im a lot more likeable than you are.
Sparhawk gave him a long look.
Thats what friends are for, Sparhawk, Kalten said ingratiatingly, to point out our little shortcomings to us.
They waited, watching the street from the mouth of the alley. It was not a particularly busy street, for there were but few shops along its sides. It seemed rather to be given over largely to storehouses and private dwellings.
An hour dragged by, and then another.
Maybe he drank himself to sleep, Kalten said.
Not Krager. He can hold more than a regiment. Hell be along.
Kalten thrust his head out of the opening of the alleyway and squinted at the sky. Its going to rain, he predicted.
Weve both been rained on before.
Kalten plucked at the front of his gaudy doublet and rolled his eyes. But Thparhawk, he lisped outrageously. You know how thatin thpotth when it getth wet.
Sparhawk doubled over with laughter, trying to muffle the sound.
They waited once more, and another hour dragged by.
The suns going to go down before long, Kalten said. Maybe he found another wine shop.
Lets wait a little longer, Sparhawk replied.
The rush came without warning. Eight or ten burly fellows in rough clothing came charging down the alley with swords in their hands. Kaltens rapier came whistling out of its sheath even as Sparhawks hand flashed to the hilt of his short sword. The man leading the charge doubled over and gasped as Kalten smoothly ran him through. Sparhawk stepped past his friend as the blond man recovered from his lunge. He parried the sword stroke of one of the attackers and then buried his sword in the mans belly. He wrenched the blade as he jerked it out to make the wound as big as possible. Get that box open! he shouted at Kalten as he parried another stroke.
The alleyway was too narrow for more than two of them to come at him at once; even though his sword was not as long as theirs, he was able to hold them at bay. Behind him he heard the splintering of wood as Kalten kicked the rectangular box apart. Then his friend was at his shoulder with his broadsword in his hand. Ive got it now, Kalten said. Get your sword.
Sparhawk spun and ran back to the mouth of the alley. He discarded the short sword, jerked his own weapon out of the wreckage of the box, and whirled back again. Kalten had cut down two of the attackers, and he was beating the others back step by step. He did, however, have his left hand pressed tightly to his side, and there was blood coming out from between his fingers. Sparhawk rushed past him, swinging his heavy sword with both hands. He split one fellows head open and cut the sword arm off another. Then he drove the point of his sword deep into the body of yet a third, sending him reeling against the wall with a fountain of blood gushing from his mouth.
The rest of the attackers fled.
Sparhawk turned and saw Kalten coolly pulling his sword out of the chest of the man with the missing arm. Dont leave them behind you like that, Sparhawk, the blond man said. Even a one-armed man can stab you in the back. Besides, it isnt tidy. Always finish one job before you go on to the next. He still had his left hand tightly pressed to his side.
Are you all right? Sparhawk asked him.
Its only a scratch.
Scratches dont bleed like that. Let me have a look.
The gash in Kaltens side was sizeable, but it did not appear to be too deep. Sparhawk ripped the sleeve off the smock of one of the casualties, wadded it up, and placed it over the cut in Kaltens side. Hold that in place, he said. Push in on it to slow the bleeding.
Ive been cut before, Sparhawk. I know what to do.
Sparhawk looked around at the crumpled bodies littering the alley. I think we ought to leave, he said. Somebody in the neighbourhood might get curious about all the noise. Then he frowned. Did you notice anything peculiar about these men? he asked.
Kalten shrugged. They were fairly inept.
Thats not what I mean. Men who make a living by waylaying people in alleys arent usually very interested in their personal appearance, and these fellows are all clean-shaven. He rolled over one of the bodies and ripped open the front of his canvas smock. Isnt that interesting? he observed. Beneath the smock the dead man wore a red tunic with an embroidered emblem over the left breast.
Church soldier, Kalten grunted. Do you think that Annias might possibly dislike us?
Its not unlikely. Lets get out of here. The survivors might have gone for help.
The chapterhouse then or the inn?
Sparhawk shook his head. Somebodys seen through our disguises, and Annias would expect us to go to one of those places.
You could be right about that. Any ideas?
I know of a place. Its not too far. Are you all right to walk?
I can go as far as you can. Im younger, remember?
Only by six weeks.
Younger is younger, Sparhawk. Lets not quibble about numbers.
They tucked their broadswords under their belts and walked out of the mouth of the alley. Sparhawk supported his wounded friend as they moved out into the open.
The street along which they walked grew progressively shabbier, and they soon entered a maze of interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. The buildings were large and run-down, and they teemed with roughly dressed people who seemed indifferent to the squalor around them.
Its a rabbit warren, isnt it? Kalten said. Is this place much farther? Im getting a little tired.
Its just on the other side of that next intersection.
Kalten grunted and pressed his hand more tightly to his side.
They moved on. The looks directed at them by the inhabitants of this slum were unfriendly, even hostile. Kaltens clothing marked him as a member of the ruling class, and these people at the very bottom of society had little use for courtiers and their servants.
When they reached the intersection, Sparhawk led his friend up a muddy alley. They had gone about halfway when a thick-bodied man with a rusty pike in his hands stepped out of a doorway to bar their path. Where do you think youre going? he demanded.
I need to talk to Platime, Sparhawk replied.
I dont think he wants to hear anything you have to say. If youre smart, youll get out of this part of town before nightfall. Accidents happen here after dark.
And sometimes even before dark, Sparhawk said, drawing his sword.
I can have a dozen men here in two winks.
And my broken-nosed friend here can have your head off in one, Kalten told him.
The man stepped back, his face apprehensive.
Whats it to be, neighbour? Sparhawk asked. Do you take us to Platime, or do you and I play for a bit?
Youve got no right to threaten me.
Sparhawk raised his sword so that the fellow could get a good look at it. This gives me all sorts of rights, neighbour. Lean your pike against that wall and take us to Platime now!
The thick-bodied man flinched and then carefully set his pike against the wall, turned, and led them on up the alley. It came to a dead end a hundred paces farther on, and a stone stairway ran down to what appeared to be a cellar door.
Down there, the man said, pointing.
Lead the way, Sparhawk told him. I dont want you behind me, friend. You look like the sort who might make errors in judgement.
Sullenly, the fellow went down the mud-coated stairs and rapped twice on the door. Its me, he called. Sef. There are a couple of nobles here who want to talk to Platime.
There was a pause followed by the rattling of a chain. The door opened and a bearded man thrust his head out. Platime doesnt like noblemen, he declared.
Ill change his mind for him, Sparhawk said. Step back out of the way, neighbour.
The bearded man looked at the sword in Sparhawks hand, swallowed hard, and opened the door wider.
Pass right along, Sef, Kalten said to their guide.
Sef went through the door.
Join us, friend, Sparhawk told the bearded man when he and Kalten were inside. We like lots of company.
The stairs continued down between mouldy stone walls that wept moisture. At the bottom, the stair opened out into a very large cellar with a vaulted stone ceiling. There was a fire burning in a pit in the centre of the room, filling the air with smoke, and the walls were lined with roughly constructed cots and straw-filled pallets. Two dozen or so men and women in a wide variety of garments sat on those cots and pallets drinking and playing at dice. Just beyond the fire pit a huge man with a fierce black beard and a vast paunch sprawled in a large chair with his feet thrust out towards the flames. He wore a satin doublet of a faded orange colour, spotted and stained down the front, and he held a silver tankard in one beefy hand.
Thats Platime, Sef said nervously. Hes a little drunk, so you should be careful, my Lords.
We can deal with it, Sparhawk told him. Thanks for your help, Sef. I dont know how wed have managed without you. Then he led Kalten on around the fire pit.