A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  One such man, a sailor by the look of him, drunken and belligerent, barred Jimmy’s passage through the room. “Here and now, such a fine young gentleman as yourself’ll be having a spare coin or two to buy a drink in celebration of little Princes, wouldn’t you think?” He rested his hand upon his belt dagger.

  Jimmy adroitly sidestepped the man and was half past him, saying, “No, I wouldn’t.” The man reached for Jimmy’s shoulder and tried to halt him. Jimmy came around in a fluid movement, and the man found the point of a dirk leveled at his throat. “I said I don’t have any extra gold.”

  The man backed away, and several onlookers laughed. But others began to circle the squire. Jimmy knew at once he had made an error. He’d had no time to scrounge up clothing to fit his present environment, but he could have made a show of turning over a half-empty purse to the man. Still, once begun, such a confrontation could not be aborted. A moment before, Jimmy’s purse had been at risk, now it was his life.

  Jimmy backed up, seeking to place his back to a wall. His expression was hard and revealed no hint of fear, and a few who surrounded him suddenly understood that here was someone who knew his way about the docks. Softly he said, “I’m looking for Trevor Hull.”

  At once the men stopped advancing upon the boy. One turned and indicated with his head a back door. Jimmy hurried toward it and pulled aside the hanging cloth cover.

  A group of men sat gambling in a large, smoke-filled room. From the pile of betting markers on the table, it was for high stakes. The game was lin-lan, common to the southern Kingdom and northern Kesh. A colorful display of cards was unfolded and players bet and dealt in turn, determining odds and payoffs by which cards were turned. Among the gamblers were two men, one with a scar from forehead to chin, running through a milk-white right eye, and the other a bald, pock-faced man.

  Aaron Cook, the bald man and first mate on the customs cutter Royal Raven, looked up as Jimmy pushed toward the table. He nudged the other man, who sat regarding his cards with disgust, throwing them down. When he saw the youth, the man with the white eye smiled, but as he took note of Jimmy’s expression, the smile faded. Jimmy spoke loudly, over the noise in the room. “Your old friend Arthur wants you.”

  Trevor Hull, one time pirate and smuggler, knew at once whom Jimmy meant. Arthur was the name Arutha had used when Hull’s smugglers and the Mockers had joined forces to get Arutha and Anita out of Krondor while Guy du Bas-Tyra’s secret police had been combing the city for them. After the Riftwar, Arutha had pardoned Hull and his crew for past crimes and had enlisted them in the Royal Customs Service.

  Hull and Cook stood as one and left the table. One of the other gamblers, a heavyset merchant of some means by his dress, spoke around a pipe. “Where are you off to? The hand’s not played out.”

  Hull, his shock of grey hair fanning out around his head like a nimbus, shouted, “It is for me. Hell, I only have a run in blue and a pair of four counts to play,” and he reached back and turned over all his cards.

  Jimmy winced as men around the table began to curse and throw in their cards. The nature of the game was such that as soon as he revealed his hand, play was disrupted. The only fair thing would be to leave the bets out and redeal the entire hand, a prospect not appreciated by those with good cards left to play. In the common room, as they headed for the door, Jimmy observed, “You’re a mean man, Hull.”

  The old smuggler turned customs officer laughed an evil laugh. “That fat fool was ahead, and on my gold. I just wanted to take some wind out of his sails.”

  Outside of the inn, they hurried along the streets, past celebrants, as the festival began to pick up while afternoon shadows lengthened.

  —

  Arutha stood looking down at the maps on the table. The maps were from his archives, provided by the royal architect, and showed the streets of Krondor in detail. Another, showing the sewers, had been used before in the last raid against the Nighthawks. For the past ten minutes Trevor Hull had been carefully studying them all. Hull had headed the most prosperous gang of smugglers in Krondor before taking service with Arutha, and the sewers and back alleys had been his means of bringing contraband into the city.

  Hull conferred with Cook, then rubbed his chin. His finger pointed at a spot on a map where a dozen tunnels came together in a near-maze. “If the Nighthawks were living down in the sewers, the Upright Man would have spotted them before they could have dug in. But it may be they’re using the tunnels as a way in and out of”—his finger moved to another spot on the map—“here.” His finger lingered over a portion of the docks resembling a crescent along the bay. Halfway along the curve the docks ended and the warehouse district began, but also nestled against the water was a small section of the Poor Quarter, like a pie-shaped wedge driven between the more prosperous trading areas.

  “Fish Town,” said Jimmy.

  “Fish Town?” echoed Arutha.

  “It’s the poorest section of the Poor Quarter,” said Cook.

  Hull nodded. “It’s called Fish Town, Divers’ Town, Dockside, and other things as well. Used to be a fishing village a long time ago. As the city grew northward along the bay, it was surrounded by businesses, but there’re still some fisher families living there. Mostly lobstermen and mussel rakers who work the bay, or clam diggers who work the beaches north of the city. But it’s also located near the tanners, dyers, and other foul-smelling sections of Krondor, so no one who can afford better lives there.”

  Jimmy said, “Alvarny said the Upright Man thought they were hiding in a place that smells. So he thinks of Fish Town as well.” Jimmy shook his head as he considered the map. “If the Nighthawks are hiding in Fish Town, finding them will be difficult. Even the Mockers don’t control Fish Town as firmly as they do the rest of the Poor Quarter and docks. There’s a lot of places to get lost in there.”

  Hull agreed. “We used to run in and out near there, through a tunnel to a landing once used to carry cargo into the harbor from some merchant’s basement.” Arutha studied the map and nodded: he knew where that landing lay. “We used a number of different locations, moving things in and out, varying where we kept them from time to time.” He looked up at the Prince. “Your first problem is the sewers. There are maybe a dozen conduits leading up from the docks to Fish Town. You’ll have to block each one. One of them is so big you’ll need to block it with a crew in a boat.”

  Aaron Cook said, “The trouble is we don’t know where in Fish Town they’re hiding.”

  “If that’s where they are,” said Arutha.

  Cook said, “I doubt if the Upright Man would even mention it had he not a good notion that they’re down there somewhere.”

  Hull nodded agreement. “That’s a fact. I can’t think of any other place in the city they could be hiding. The Upright Man would’ve pinned down the location as soon as a Mocker caught a glimpse of the first Nighthawk. Even though the thieves use a lot of the sewers to skulk about in, there are parts they don’t pass through much. And Fish Town is worse. The old fisher families are independent and tough, almost clannish. If someone took up residence in one of the old shacks near the docks, kept to himself…Even the Mockers only get silence from the Fish Town folk when they ask questions. Should the Nighthawks have infiltrated slowly, no one but the locals might have a hint. It’s a regular warren there, little streets all twisted about.” He shook his head. “This part of the map’s useless. Half the buildings shown here are burned down. Shacks and hovels built anywhere there’s room. It’s a mess in there.” He looked at the Prince. “Another name for Fish Town is the Maze.”

  Jimmy said, “Trevor’s right. I’ve been in Fish Town as much as anyone in the Mockers, and that’s not much. There’s nothing worth stealing in there. But he’s wrong about one thing. The biggest problem isn’t blocking escape routes. It’s locating the Nighthawks. There are a lot of honest folks living in that part of town, and you just can’t ride in and kill everyone. We’ve got to find their hideout.” He considered. “
From what I know of the Nighthawks, they’ll want some place that’s first of all defensible, then easy to flee. They’ll probably be here.” His finger pointed to a spot on the map.

  Trevor Hull said, “It’s a possibility. That building is nestled against those two walls, so they’ve only two fronts to cover. And there’s a network of tunnels below the streets there, and those tunnels are all small and difficult to navigate unless you’ve been there before. Yes, it’s a likely place.”

  Jimmy looked at Arutha. “I’d better go change.”

  Arutha said, “I don’t like the need, but you’re the best equipped to scout.”

  Cook looked at Hull, who nodded slightly. “I could come along.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “You know parts of the sewers better than I, Aaron, but I can slip in and out without making the water ripple. You haven’t the knack. And there’s no possible way you can get into Fish Town unnoticed, even on a noisy night like this. I’ll be safer if I go alone.”

  Arutha said, “Shouldn’t you wait?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “If I can locate their warren before they know they’ve been discovered, we may be able to clean them out before they know what hit them. People do funny things sometimes, even assassins. It being a festival day, their sentries will probably not expect someone nosing around. With the city in celebration, there will be lots of noises throughout the night. Odd and out-of-place sounds will be less likely to alert anyone in the sewer below that building. And if I have to poke around aboveground, a strange poor boy in Fish Town isn’t as likely to be noticed this night as much as other nights. But I need to go at once.”

  “You know best,” said Arutha. “But they’ll react should they discover someone’s seeking them out. One glimpse by any Nighthawk that recognizes you and they’ll come straight after me.”

  Jimmy noticed Arutha didn’t seem troubled by that fact alone. It seemed to Jimmy the Prince wouldn’t mind an open confrontation. No, Jimmy knew what bothered him was his concern for the safety of others. “That goes without saying. But chances are excellent they’re coming after you tonight anyway. The palace is lousy with strangers.” Jimmy looked out the window at the late afternoon sunset. “It’s almost seven hours after noon. If I were planning an attack on you, I’d wait about another two or three hours to get someone into the palace, just when the celebration is at its height. Performers and guests will be going in and out of the gates. Everyone will be half-drunk, tired from a day-long celebration, and feeling very relaxed. But I wouldn’t wait much after that or your guards might notice a late arrival entering the grounds. If you stay alert you should be safe enough while I snoop around. I’ll report back as soon as I have a hint.”

  Arutha indicated permission for Jimmy to withdraw. Quickly Trevor Hull and his first mate followed, leaving a troubled, seething Prince alone with his thoughts. Arutha sat back, balled fist held before his mouth as his eyes stared off into nothing.

  He had faced the minions of Murmandamus near the Black Lake, Moraelin, but the final contest was yet to come. Arutha cursed himself for becoming complacent over the last year. When he had first returned with Silverthorn, the key to saving Anita from the effects of the Nighthawks’ poison, he had been nearly ready to return at once to the north. But the affairs of court, his own marriage, the trip to Rillanon to attend his brother’s wedding to Queen Magda, then Lord Caldric’s funeral, the birth of his sons, all these had come and gone without his attending to the business north of the Kingdom. Beyond the great ranges lay the Northlands. There lay the seat of his enemy’s power. There Murmandamus marshaled his forces. And from that seat far to the north he was reaching down again to touch the life of the Prince of Krondor, the Lord of the West, the man fated by prophecy to be his undoing, the Bane of Darkness. Should he live. And again Arutha found himself struggling within the confines of his own demesne, the battle carried to his own door. Striking his palm with his fist, Arutha voiced a low, harsh curse. To himself and whatever gods listened, he vowed that when this business in Krondor was finished, he, Arutha conDoin, would carry the struggle northward to Murmandamus.

  —

  The darkness hid a thousand treasures amid a million pieces of worthless garbage. The waters in the sewers flowed slowly, and often large clumps of debris would gather in a jam called a tof. The tofsmen who picked over such floating refuse earned their living gleaning valuables lost into the sewers. They also kept the refuse flowing by breaking up the jams of garbage that threatened to back up the sewers. Little of this concerned Jimmy, save that a tofsman was standing less than twenty feet away.

  The young squire had dressed all in black, save for his old, comfortable boots. He had even purloined an executioner’s black hood from the torture chamber. Beneath the black he wore more simple garb, needed to blend into the Poor Quarter. The tofsman looked directly at the boy several times, but for all his peering, Jimmy did not exist.

  For the better part of a half hour, Jimmy had stood motionless in the deep shadows of an intersection, while the old tofsman picked over the smelly mess passing by. Jimmy hoped this wasn’t the man’s chosen location to work, otherwise he could be there for hours. Jimmy even more fervently hoped the tofsman was real and not a disguised Nighthawk lookout.

  Finally the man wandered off, and Jimmy relaxed, though he did not move until the tofsman had ample time to vanish down a side tunnel. Then, with stealth bordering on the unnatural, Jimmy crept along the tunnel toward the area below the heart of Fish Town.

  Down a series of tunnels he traveled silently. Even as he stepped into water, he managed to disturb it only slightly. The gifts of nature—lightning-fast reflexes, astonishing coordination, and the ability to make decisions, to react nearly instantaneously—had been augmented by training from the Mockers and forged in the harshest furnace: the daily life of a working thief. Jimmy made each move as if his life depended upon remaining undetected, for it did.

  Down the dark conduits of the sewers he journeyed, his senses extended into the darkness. He knew how to ignore the faint sounds coming down from the streets above and how the slight echoes of rippling water rebounding from the stonework should sound; the slightest variation would warn of anyone lurking out of view. The noisome air of the sewer masked any potentially warning odors, but the air was almost motionless, so he would have a betraying hint of movement close by should anyone suddenly come at him.

  A sudden shift in the air, and Jimmy froze. Something had changed, and the boy immediately shrank down into the sheltering darkness of a low, overhanging brickwork, as a fresher breath of air passed. From a short distance ahead, he heard the faint grind of boot leather on metal and knew someone was descending a ladder from the street above. A slight disturbance in the water caused the boy to tense. Someone had stepped into the sewer and was walking in his direction, someone who moved almost as silently as he.

  Jimmy hunkered down, as small as he could make himself in the dark, and watched. In the gloom, black against black, he could half-see, half-sense a figure moving toward him. Then, from behind, light showed and Jimmy could see the approaching man. He was slender, wearing a cloak, and armed. He turned and whispered harshly, “Cover that damn lantern.”

  But in that instant, Jimmy could see a face well known to him. The man in the sewer was Arutha—or at least resembled him enough to fool any but his closest intimates.

  Jimmy held his breath, for the bogus Prince was passing only a few feet away. Whoever followed shut the lantern, and darkness enveloped the tunnel, hiding Jimmy from discovery again. Then he heard the second man pass. Listening for sounds indicating others, Jimmy waited until he felt certain no one else was coming. He quickly, but quietly, rose from his hiding spot and went to where the two men had emerged from the gloom. Three tunnels intersected, and he would have to spend time determining which had provided entrance to the sewers for the false Prince and his companion. Jimmy weighed his options briefly, then placed the need to follow the pair above the need to discover the entrance to
the sewer employed.

  Jimmy knew this part of the sewers as well as any in Krondor, but if he fell too far behind he would lose them. He slipped through the dark, listening at each intersection for the sounds that told him where his quarry moved.

  Through the murky passages under the city the boy hurried, slowly overtaking the two men. Once he caught a glimpse of light, as if the shuttered lantern had been uncovered slightly so the travelers might gain their bearings. Jimmy followed after it.

  Then Jimmy rounded a corner, and a sudden movement in the air gave warning. He dodged and felt something pass close to where his head had been, accompanied by a grunt of exertion. He pulled his dirk and turned toward the sound of breathing, holding his own breath. Fighting in the dark was an exercise in controlled terror. Each man could die from an overactive imagination as he sought a clue to the exact position of his opponent. Sounds, illusory movement seen from the corner of the eye, a feeling about where the foe stood, all could cause a miscue that would give away a location, bringing sudden death. Both men stood frozen for a long moment.

  Jimmy sensed a scurrying and instantly recognized the presence of a rat, a large one by the sound, moving away from trouble. He aborted a lunge in that direction before it was begun. But his opponent lashed at the sound, striking the stone. The ring of steel on masonry was all Jimmy needed and he thrust with his dirk, feeling the point strike deep. The man stiffened, then with a low sigh collapsed into the water. The combat had taken three blows, from the first at Jimmy in the dark to the one that ended it.

  Jimmy pulled his dirk free and listened. There was no sign of the man’s companion. The youngster swore silently. While he was free of another attack, it had also allowed the other man freedom to escape. Jimmy sensed a source of heat nearby and almost burned his hand on the metal lantern. Uncovering the shutter, he examined his foe. The man was a stranger, but Jimmy knew he was a Nighthawk. No other possible explanation could account for his presence in the sewers with an exact double for the Prince. Jimmy checked the body and found the ebon hawk worn next to the skin and the black poison ring. There was no longer any doubt: the Nighthawks were back. Jimmy steeled himself for bloody work and quickly cut open the man’s chest, removing the heart and casting it into the sewer. With the Nighthawks one never knew which were likely to rise again and serve their master, so it was best to take no chances.