Summoning all his strength the young thief pulled himself up into the shaft, and in a dangerous move, released his hold on the top of the grate, dropped his hands to his side, and pushed upward. He slapped his palms backwards and braced his back against the wall of the chimney, and pulled his feet up, jamming them acrobatically against the far wall. He heard the scrape of steel on iron as someone shoved a sword through the grating. Limm knew that had he hesitated, he would have been impaled on the point of that long blade.
A voice swore and said, He vanished up that chimney!
Another voice said, Hes got to come out somewhere on the level above!
For an instant Limm could feel the shirt on his back move as the material slipped against the wall and his bare feet skidded on the slimy stones. He pressed harder with his feet and prayed he could hold his position. After an instant of downward movement, he stopped.
Hes gone! shouted one of the men who had been chasing him. If he was going to fall, hed have been out of there by now!
The boy recognized the voice of the leader. Head back up to the next level and spread out! Theres a bonus for whoever kills him! I want that rat dead before morning!
Limm moved upward, one hand, one foot, another hand, another foot, by inches, slipping down an inch for every two he gained. It was slow going and his muscles cried out for a pause, but he pressed on. A cool whiff of air from above told him he was close to the next level of the sewers. He prayed it was a large enough pipe to navigate, as he had no desire to attempt another passage downward and back through that grate.
Reaching the lip of the shaft, he paused, took a deep breath and turned, snatching at the edge. One hand slipped on something thick and sticky, but the other hand held firm. Never one for bathing, nevertheless he looked forward to scrubbing this muck off and finding clean clothing.
Hanging in the silence, the boy waited. He knew it was possible that the men who had pursued him might appear in a few moments. He listened.
Impulsive by nature, the boy had come to learn the dangers of acting rashly in dangerous situations. Seven boys had come to Mothers, the Mockers safe haven, at roughly the same time, within a few weeks of one another. The other six were now dead. Two had died by accident: falling from the rooftops. Three had been hanged as common thieves during crack-downs by the Princes magistrates. The last boy had died the previous night, at the hands of the men who now sought Limm, and it was his murder the young thief had witnessed.
The boy let his racing heart calm and his straining lungs recover. He pulled himself up and into the large pipe, and moved off in the darkness, a hand on the right wall. He knew he could negotiate most of the tunnels hereabout blindfolded, but he also knew it only took one wrong turn or missing a side tunnel in passing to become completely lost. There was a central cistern in this quarter of the city, and knowing where he was in relationship to it provided Limm with a navigational aid as good as any map, but only if he kept his wits about him and concentrated.
He inched along, listening to the distant sound of gurgling water, turning his head this way and that to ensure he was hearing the sound coming down the sewer and not a false echo bouncing off nearby stones. While he moved blindly, he thought about the madness that had come to the city in recent weeks.
At first it had seemed like a minor problem: a new rival gang, like others that had shown up from time to time. Usually a visit from the Mockers bashers, or a tip to the sheriffs men, and the problem went away.
This time, it had been different.
A new gang showed up on the docks, a large number of Keshian thugs among them. That alone wasnt worth notice; Krondor was a major port of trade with Kesh. What made this group unusual was their indifference to the threat posed by the Mockers. They acted in a provocative fashion, openly moving cargo into and out of the city, bribing officials and daring the Mockers to interfere with them. They seemed to be inviting a confrontation.
At last the Mockers had acted, and it had been a disaster. Eleven of the most feared bashers the enforcers among the Guild of Thieves had been lured into a warehouse at the end of a semi-deserted dock. They had been trapped inside and the building set afire, killing all eleven. From that moment on, warfare had erupted deep in Krondors underworld.
The Mockers had been driven to ground, and the invaders, working for someone known only as the Crawler, had also suffered, as the Prince of Krondor had acted to restore order to his city.
Rumour had it some men dressed as Nighthawks members of the Guild of Assassins had been seen weeks before in the sewer, bait to bring the Princes army in after them, with the final destruction of the Mockers as the apparent goal. It was a foregone conclusion that had the Princes guard entered the sewers in sufficient numbers, everyone found down below the streets assassins, false Nighthawks, or Mockers all would be routed out or captured. It was a clever plan, but it had come to naught.
Squire James, once Jimmy the Hand of the Mockers, had foiled that ruse, before vanishing into the night on a mission for the Prince. Then the Prince had mustered his army and moved out and again the Crawler had struck.
Since then, the two sides had stayed holed up, the Mockers at Mothers, their well-disguised headquarters, and the Crawlers men at an unknown hideout in the north docks area. Those sent to pinpoint the exact location of the Crawlers headquarters failed to return.
The sewers had become a no-mans land, with few daring to come and go unless driven by the greatest need. Limm would now be lying low, safe at Mothers, save for two things: a terrible rumour, and a message from an old friend. Either the rumour or the message alone would have made Limm huddle in a corner at the Mockers hideout, but the combination of the two had forced him to act.
Mockers had few friends; the loyalty between thieves was rarely engendered by affection or comity, but from a greater distrust of those outside the Guild and fear of one another. Strength or wit earned one a place in the Brotherhood of Thieves.
But occasionally a friendship was struck, a bond deeper than common need, and those few friends were worth a bit more risk. Limm counted fewer than a handful of people for whom he would take any risk, let alone at such a high price should he be caught, but two of them were in need now, and had to be told of the rumour.
Something moved in the darkness ahead and Limm froze. He waited, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The sewer was far from silent, with a constant background noise made up of the distant rumble of water rushing through the large culvert below that took the citys refuse out past the harbour mouth, a thousand drips, the scrabble of rats and other vermin and their squeaky challenges.
Wishing he had a light of any sort, Limm waited. Patience in one his age was rare outside the Mockers, but a rash thief was a dead thief. Limm earned his keep in the Mockers by being among the most adroit pickpockets in Krondor, and his ability to calmly move among the throng in the market or down the busy streets without attracting attention had set him high in the leaderships estimation. Most boys his age were still working the streets in packs, urchins who provided distraction while other Mockers lifted goods from carts, or deflected attention from a fleeing thief.
Limms patience was rewarded, as the faint echo of a boot moving on stone reached him. A short distance ahead, two large culverts joined in a wade. He would have to cross through the slowly-flowing sewage to reach the other side.
It was a good place to wait, thought the boy thief. The sound of him moving through the water would alert anyone nearby and theyd be on him like hounds on a hare.
Limm considered his options. There was no way around that intersection. He could return the way he came, but that would cost him hours of moving through the dangerous sewers under the city. He could avoid crossing the transverse sewer by skirting around the corner, hugging the wall to avoid being seen, and moving down that passage to his right. He would have to trust that darkness would shelter him and he could remain silent enough to avoid detection. Once away from the intersection, he could be safely on his way.
Limm crept along, gingerly placing one foot ahead of the other, so as to not dislodge anything or step on an object that might betray his whereabouts. Fighting the impulse to hurry, he kept his breathing under control and willed himself to keep moving.
Step by step he approached the intersection of the two passages, and as he reached the corner at which he would turn, he heard another sound. A small scrape of metal against stone, as if a scabbard or sword blade had ever-so-lightly touched a wall. He froze.
Even in the dark, Limm kept his eyes closed. He didnt know why, but shutting his eyes helped his other senses. He had wondered at this in the past, and finally stopped trying to figure out why it was so. He just knew that if he spent any energy trying to see, even in the pitch black, his hearing and sense of touch suffered.
After a long, silent, motionless period, Limm heard a rush of water heading towards him. Someone, a shopkeeper or city worker, must have purged a cistern or opened one of the smaller sluices that fed the sewer. The slight noise was the only mask he needed to resume moving, and he was quickly around the corner.
Limm hurried, still cautious but now feeling the need to put some distance between himself and whoever guarded the intersection behind him. He silently counted his steps and when one hundred had passed he opened his eyes.
As he expected, ahead was a faint dot of light, which he knew was a reflection coming down from an open grating in the West Market Square. There wasnt enough light by which to see well, but it was a point of reference and confirmed what he already knew about his whereabouts.
He moved quickly and reached the crossway that ran parallel to the one he had been travelling before encountering the silent guard. He eased into the foul sewage and crossed the now-moving stream of refuse, reaching the opposite walkway without making much sound.
Limm was quickly up and on his way again. He knew where his friends were holed up and knew that it was a relatively safe place, but given the time and circumstances, nothing was truly safe any more. What had once been called the other Thieves Highway, the rooftops of Krondor, was now as much an open war zone as the sewers. The citizens of the city of Krondor might be blissfully ignorant of this silent warfare above their heads and below their feet, but Limm knew that if he didnt encounter the Crawlers men along the way, he risked the Princes soldiers, or murderers posing as Nighthawks. No man unknown to him was trustworthy, and a few whom he knew by name could be trusted only so far these days.
Limm stopped and felt the wall to his left. Despite moving by his own silent count, he discovered with satisfaction that he had been less than a foot off estimating the whereabouts of the iron rungs in the wall. He started to climb. Still blind, he felt himself enter a stone chimney, and quickly knew he was at the floor of a cellar. He reached up and felt the latch. An experimental tug showed it to be bolted from the other side.
He knocked: twice rapidly, then a pause, then twice again, another pause and a final, single knock. He waited, counting to ten, then repeated the pattern in reverse order, one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, and two again. The bolt slid open.
The trap swung upward, but the room above was as dark as the sewer below. Whoever was waiting preferred to wait unseen.
As Limm cleared the floor of the room, rough hands hauled him through, the trap shutting quickly behind him. A feminine voice whispered, What are you doing here?
Limm sat down heavily upon the stone floor, fatigue sweeping over him. Running for my life, he said softly. Catching his breath, he continued. I saw Sweet Jackie killed last night. Ugly basher working for the Crawler. He snapped his fingers. Cracked his neck like youd break a chickens, while his mates stood watching. Didnt even give Jackie a chance to beg or say a prayer, nothing. Just put him out of the way like a cockroach. He was close to weeping as he told them and as relief at being relatively safe for the first time in hours washed over him. But thats not the worst of it.
A lantern was lit by a large man with a grey beard. His narrow gaze communicated volumes: Limm had better have compelling reasons for violating a trust and coming to this hideout. What else? he asked.
The Upright Man is dead.
Ethan Graves, one-time leader of the Mockers bashers, for a time a brother of the Order of Ishap, and now fugitive from every court of justice in the Kingdom, took a moment to accept the news.
The woman, named Kat, was half her companions age, and an old friend to Limm. She asked, How?
Murdered, is the rumour, said Limm. No one is saying for certain, but its held without doubt hes dead.
Graves sat down at a small table, testing the construction of the small wooden chair with his large frame. How would anyone know? he asked rhetorically. No one knows who he is was.
Limm said, Heres what I know. The Daymaster was still working when I came to Mothers last night, and he was holed up in the back with Mick Giffen, Reg deVrise, and Phil the Fingers.
Graves and Kat exchanged glances. Those named were the most senior thieves in the Mockers. Giffen had succeeded Graves as leader of the bashers, deVrise oversaw those who burgled and fenced goods, and Phil was in charge of pickpockets, smash-and-grab gangs, and the urchins who ran the streets of Krondor.
Limm continued. The Nightmaster never showed. Word went out and we started looking for him. Just before dawn, we heard they found the Nightmaster floating in the sewers near the dock. His head was all bashed in.
Kat almost gasped. No one would dare touch him.
Graves said, No one in the know. But someone who didnt care about the Mockers wrath would.
Heres the dicey part, said Limm. The Daymaster says the Nightmaster was supposed to meet with the Upright Man. Now, as I understand things, if the Upright Man is supposed to meet with you, and you dont show, hes got ways of sending word to the Daymaster or Nightmaster. Well, no word was heard. So the Daymaster sends one of the boys, Timmy Bascolm, if you remember him they nodded and Timmy turns up dead an hour later.
So the Daymaster heads out with a bunch of bashers and an hour later they come running back to Mothers and hole up. Nobodys saying anything, but word spreads: the Upright Mans gone.
Graves was silent for a minute, then said, He must be dead. Theres no other explanation for this.
And there are bully boys to make a strong man faint chasing through the sewers, last night, so Jackie and I figure the hunt is on and our best bet is to lie low somewhere. We got run to ground last night near Five Points both Kat and Graves knew the region of the city sewers by that name so after they killed Jackie, I figured my best bet was to get here, with you.