Locklear said, Ill be good.
See that you are, instructed James.
He left his friend and hurried to his own quarters. Being a member of the Princes court merited James a room of his own, but since he was only a squire, it was a modest one; a bed, a table for writing or eating a solitary meal, and a double door wooden wardrobe. James closed the door to his room, locking it behind him, and undressed. He was wearing travel clothing, but it was still too conspicuous for what he needed to do. Opening his wardrobe, he moved aside a bundle of shirts in need of laundry, and beneath those he found what he was looking for. A dark grey tunic and dark blue trousers, patched and mended and looking far dirtier than they actually were. He dressed in those, pulled on his oldest boots and slipped a well-made but plain-looking dagger into his boot-sheath. Then once again looking like a creature of the streets, he slipped out through the door of his quarters, avoiding servants and guards as he made his way down into the palace cellar.
Soon he was moving through a secret passage that connected the palace with the city sewers, and as night fell on Krondor Jimmy the Hand once more moved along the Thieves Highway.
The sun had set by the time James reached the transition point between the sewer under the palace and the city sewer system. The sky above might still be light for a while, but beneath the streets it was as dark as night. During the day there were places in the sewer where illumination filtered down from above, tunnels close to the surface where culverts had broken through, others below streets where missing stones or open drains admitted daylight.
But after sundown, the entire system was pitch-black, save for a few locations with light sources of their own, and only an expert could move through the maze of passages safely. From the moment he left the palace, James knew exactly where he was.
While a member of the Guild of Thieves, the Mockers, James had learned every trick of survival that harsh circumstance, opportunity, and keen native intelligence had presented to him. He moved silently to a stash he had prepared and moved a false stone. It was fashioned from cloth, wood, and paint, and in light far brighter than any likely to ever be present here, it would withstand inspection. He set the false stone down and retrieved a shuttered lantern from the stash. The hidey-hole held an extra set of picks, as well as a number of items unlikely to be welcome inside the palace proper: some caustic agents, climbing equipment, and a few non-standard weapons. Old habits died hard.
James lit the lantern. He had never considered keeping a lantern in the palace, for fear someone might observe him making the transition between the palace sewer and the one under the city. Guarding the secret of how the palace could be reached through the sewers was paramount. Every drawing on file in the palace, from the original keep through the latest expansion, showed the two systems as entirely separate, just as the citys sewer was divided from the one outside the city walls. But smugglers and thieves had quickly rendered royal plans inaccurate, by creating passages in and out of the city.
James trimmed the wick, lit it, and closed the shutters until only a tiny sliver of light shone, but it was enough for him to navigate his way safely through the sewer. He could do it with no light, he knew, but it would slow him down to a painful near-crawl to have to feel his way along the walls the entire way, and he had a good distance to travel this night.
James did a quick check to ensure he had left nothing exposed for anyone to chance across. He considered the never-ending need for security which created this odd paradox: the Royal Engineers spent a lot of time and gold repairing the citys sewers and just as quickly the Mockers and others damaged them to have a furtive passage free of royal oversight. James often was the one responsible for identifying a new breach. Occasionally he was guilty of hiding one, if it suited his purposes more than it compromised the palaces security.
Thinking that there was a great deal more to being a responsible member of the Princes court than he had imagined when he had first been put in the company of squires, the former thief hurried on towards his first appointment.
It was almost dawn when James started looking for his last contact. The squire was having trouble keeping his concerns in check. The first three informants he had sought were missing. The docks were unnaturally silent, devoid of even the boisterous noise usually marking the areas inns and taverns. The poor quarter was clearly a no mans land, with many of the Mockers usual bolt-holes and accesses blocked off and sealed.
Of the Mockers, James had seen nothing. That alone was not completely unusual. He wasnt the only one adroit at travelling through the sewers and streets unnoticed. But there was something different about this night. There were others who used the sewers. Beggars who werent Mockers had places where they could sleep unmolested. Smugglers moved cargo short distances from secret landings built into the larger outflows into the harbour to basements farther in the city. With such activities came noises: small, unnoticed unless one was trained to recognize them for what they were, but usually they were there. Tonight everything was silent. Only the murmur of water, the scurrying of rats and the occasional rattle of distant machinery, waterwheels, pumps, and sluice gates echoed through the tunnels.
Anyone in the sewers was lying low, James knew. And that meant trouble. Historically, in times of trouble, the Mockers would seal off sections of the sewers, especially near the poor quarter, barring the passages to Mockers Rest, the place called Mothers by members of the Guild of Thieves. Armed bashers would take up station and wait for the crisis to pass. Others not belonging to the guild would also hole up until the trouble passed. Outside those enclaves and safe areas, anyone in the tunnels was fair game. The last time James had remembered such a condition had been during the year following the end of the Riftwar, when Princess Anita had been injured and Arutha had declared martial law.
The more he had travelled through the sewers below and the streets above, the more James was convinced something equally dire had occurred while he had been out of the city on the Princes business. James looked around to see that he was unwatched and moved to the rear of the alley.
A pair of old wooden crates had been turned towards a brick wall to offer some shelter against the elements. Inside that crate lay a still form. A swarm of flies took off as James moved the crate slightly. Before he touched the mans leg, James knew he wasnt sleeping. Gingerly he turned over the still form of Old Edwin, a one-time sailor whose love of drink had cost him his livelihood, family, and any shred of dignity. But, James thought, even a gutter-rat like Edwin deserved better than having his throat cut like a calf at slaughter.
The thick, nearly-dried blood told James he had been murdered earlier, probably around dawn the day before. He was certain that his other missing contacts had met a similar fate. Either whoever was behind the troubles in the city was killing indiscriminately and Jamess informants had been exceedingly unfortunate or someone was methodically murdering off Jamess agents in Krondor. Logic dictated the latter as the most likely explanation.
James stood and looked skyward. The night was fading, as a grey light from the east heralded the dawns approach. There was only one place left he might find answers without risking confronting the Mockers.
James knew that some agreement between the Prince and Mockers had been reached years before when he had joined Aruthas service, but he never knew the details. An understanding of sorts had arisen between James and the Mockers. He stayed out of their way and they avoided him. He came and went as he pleased in the sewers and across the roofs of the city when he needed, and they looked the other way. But at no time had he any illusion that he would be warmly welcomed should he attempt to return to Mockers Rest. You were either a Mocker or you werent, he knew, and for nearly fourteen years he had not been a Mocker.
James put aside concerns about braving a visit to Mothers and turned towards the one other place he might find some news.
James returned to the sewer and made his way quickly to a spot below a particular inn. It sat on the border between the poorest quarter of the city and a slightly more respectable district, one inhabited by workmen and their families. A rank covering of slime hid a secret release, and once it was tripped, James felt a slight grinding as a section of stone swung aside.
The stone was made of plaster over heavy canvas, covering a narrow entryway to a short tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, with the secret door closed behind him, James opened the shutters of the lantern. He was almost certain he knew of every trap along the short passage, but as the key word was almost he took great caution as he traversed the tunnel.
At the far end he found a thick oaken door, on the other side of which he knew rose a short flight of stairs leading to a cellar below an inn. He inspected the lock and when he was satisfied nothing had changed, he picked it adroitly. When it clicked open, he pushed it gingerly aside against the possibility of a new trap on the other side of the door. Nothing happened and he quickly mounted the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, he entered the dark cellar, thick with barrels and sacks. He moved through the maze of stores and climbed the wooden steps up to the main floor of the building, opening into a pantry, behind the kitchen. He opened the door.
A young womans scream split the air and a moment later a crossbow bolt flew through the space James had occupied the instant before. The young man rolled on the floor as the bolt splintered the wooden door and James came to his feet with his hands held palm out as he said, Easy, Lucas! Its me!
The innkeeper, a former soldier in his youth, was halfway around the kitchen, the crossbow set aside as he was drawing his sword. He had grabbed the crossbow and fired through the door, across the kitchen, upon hearing the scream. He hesitated a moment, then returned his sword to its scabbard as he continued moving towards James.
He circled around a butchers block. You idiot! he hissed, as if afraid to raise his voice. You trying to get yourself killed?
Honestly, no, said James as he stood up.
Dressed like that, sneaking at my cellar door, howd I know it was you? You should have sent word you were coming that way, or waited an hour and come in the front door like an honest man.
Well, I am an honest man, said James, moving from the kitchen, past the bar and into the empty common room. He glanced around, then sat down in a chair. More or less.
Lucas gave him a half-smile. More than some. What brings you crawling around like a cat in the gutter?
James glanced over at the young girl who had followed him and Lucas into the commons. She had regained her composure as the intruder was revealed to be a friend of the innkeeper. Sorry to startle you.
She took a breath and said, Well, you did a good job of it. She stood upright, and her high colour from the fright put her fair complexion in contrast to her dark hair. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.
James asked, The new barmaid?
My daughter, Talia.
James sat back. Lucas, you dont have a daughter.
The proprietor of The Rainbow Parrot sat down opposite James and said, Run to the kitchen and see nothings burning, Talia.
Yes, father, she said, leaving.
I have a daughter, Lucas said to James. When her mother died I sent her to live with my brother on his farm near Tannerbrook.
James smiled. Didnt want her to grow up in this place?
Lucas sighed. No. It gets rough in here.
Feigning innocence, James said, Why, Lucas. I never noticed.
Pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, Lucas said, Far less savoury characters than you have graced that chair, Jimmy the Hand.
James held up his hands as if surrendering. Ill concede as much. He glanced towards the kitchen door as if somehow seeing through it. But she doesnt sound like any farm girl Ive heard before, Lucas.
Lucas sat back, ran his bony hand through his grey-shot hair. His angular face showed irritation at having to explain. She studied with a sisterhood in a nearby abbey for more hours than she milked cows. She can read, write, and do sums. Shes a smart lass.
James nodded in appreciation. Laudable. Though I doubt your average customer will appreciate those qualities as much as the more obvious ones.
Lucass expression darkened. Shes a good girl, James. Shes going to marry a proper man, not some scruffy well, you know the type. Ill have a dowry set by and He dropped his voice so as not to be heard in the kitchen. James, youre the only one I know who knows some proper lads, being in the palace and all. At least since Laurie ran off and got himself named duke in Salador. Can you arrange for my girl to meet the right kind of boy? Shes been back in the city only a few days and already I feel as green as a raw recruit on his first day of training. With her brothers dead in the war, shes all Ive got. He glanced around the well-tended but rough common room and said, I want her to have more than this.
James grinned. I know. Ill see what I can do. Ill bring a couple of the more likely fellows down for a drink and let nature take its course.
But not Locklear! said Lucas. You keep him away.
James laughed. No worries. Hes probably riding out the gate this very minute, heading for a long tour of duty in Tyr-Sog.
Talia came back into the room and said, Everything is ready, father.
Thats a good lass, he replied. Open the door, then, and let anyone in whos waiting for breakfast.
As she moved off, Lucas said to James, All right then. You didnt get yourself almost killed sneaking in from the sewers to gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?
Jamess face lost any hint of humour. Theres a war underway in the sewers, Lucas. And someones killed some friends of mine. Whats going on?
Lucas sat back and nodded. I knew youd come asking one of these days. I thought it would be sooner.
I just got back into the city last night. I was off with the Prince doing some things.
Lucas said, Well, Arutha would do well to look closer to home for trouble, for he has heaps of it here free for the asking. I dont know the truth of it, but according to the rumours men are killing freely in the sewers and along the waterfront. Citizens and Mockers alike are dying. I hear of Keshians setting up shops in buildings once owned by Kingdom merchants, and new bully gangs working along the docks. No one knows whats going on, save the Mockers who have gone to ground and are hiding out. Ive not seen one in a week. Most of my regulars come later and leave earlier, wanting to be home safe before dark.