As if to prove his words, from the east came the sounds of marching men. Then a few minutes later the first company of Bas-Tyra’s foot soldiers came into view. Arutha and his companions watched them march past the open gate of the inn’s courtyard. Lanterns gave the soldiers a strange, otherworld appearance as they marched in columns down the street. They stepped in cadence, their golden-eagle banners snapping above their heads Martin said, “They are well-schooled troops.”
Arutha said, “Guy is many things, most of them unpleasant, but one thing cannot be argued: he is the finest general in the Kingdom. Even Father is forced to admit that, though he’ll say nothing else good about the man. Were I the King, I would send the Armies of the East under his command to fight the Tsurani. Three times Guy has marched against Kesh, and three times he has thrashed them. If the Keshians do not know he’s come west, the very sight of his banner in the field may drive them to the peace table, for they fear and respect him.” Arutha’s voice became thoughtful in tone. “There is one thing. When Guy first came to be Duke of Bas-Tyra, he suffered some sort of personal dishonor—Father never told what that shame was—and took to wearing only black as a badge of sorts, earning him the name Black Guy. That type of thing takes a strange brand of personal courage. Whatever else can be said of Black Guy du Bas-Tyra, none will call him craven.”
While the soldiers continued to pass below, Arutha and his companions watched in silence. Then, with the sun rising in the east, the last soldiers disappeared along the streets to the harbour.
* * *
The morning after Guy’s army had marched, it was announced the city was sealed, the gates closed to all travelers and the harbor blockaded. Arutha judged it a normal practice, to prevent Keshian agents from leaving the city by fast sloop or fast horse to carry word of Guy’s march. Amos used a visit to the Wind of Dawn to view the harbor blockade and discovered it was a light one, for Guy had ordered most of the fleet to stand off the coast at sea ambush, watching for any Keshian flotillas should Kesh learn the city was stripped of her garrison. The city was now policed by city guards in Guy’s livery, as the last Krondorian soldiers departed for the north Rumor had it Guy would also send the garrison at Shamata to the front once the fighting with Kesh had been settled, leaving every garrison in the Principality manned by soldiers loyal to Bas-Tyra.
Arutha spent most of his time in taverns, places of business, and the open markets most likely to be frequented by those from the palace. Amos prowled near the docks or in the city’s seedier sections, especially the infamous Poor Quarter, and began making discreet inquiries about the availability of ships. Martin used his guise as a simple woodsman to blunder into any place that looked promising.
Nearly a week went by this way, with little new information being unearthed. Then, late the sixth day after Guy had quit the city, Arutha found himself being hailed in the middle of the busy square by Martin.
“Arthur!” shouted the hunter as he ran up to Arutha. “Best come quickly.” He set off toward the waterfront and the Sailor’s Ease.
Back at the inn they found Amos already in the room, resting upon his pallet before his nightly sojourn into the Poor Quarter. Once the door was closed, Martin said, “I think they may know Arutha’s in Krondor.”
Amos bolted upright as Arutha said, “What? How . . . ?”
“I wandered into a tavern near the barracks, just before the midday meal. With the army gone from the city, there was little business. One man did enter, just as I was readying to leave. A scribe with the city’s Quartermaster, he was fit to burst with a rumor and in need of someone to tell it to. So, with the aid of some wine, I obliged him by playing the simple woodsy, and by showing respect for so important a personage.
“Three things this man told me Lord Dulanic has disappeared from Krondor, gone the night Guy left. There’s some business of his having retired to nameless estates to the north, now that Guy’s Viceroy, but the scribe thought that unlikely. The second thing was news of Lord Barry’s death.”
Arutha’s face showed shock. “The Prince’s Lord-Admiral dead?”
“This man told me Barry had died under mysterious circumstances, though there’s no official announcement planned. Some eastern lord, Jessup, has been given command of the Krondonan fleet.”
“Jessup is Guy’s man,” said Arutha. “He commanded the Bas-Tyra squadrons of the King’s fleet.”
“And lastly, the man made a display of knowing some secret concerning a search for someone he only called ‘the Viceroy’s royal cousin.’ ”
Amos swore. “I don’t know how, but someone’s marked you. With Erland and his family virtual captives in the palace, there’s hardly a chance another royal cousin’s come wandering into Krondor in the last few days, unless you’ve a few out and about you’ve not told us of.”
Arutha ignored Amos’s feeble humor. In the span of time it took for Longbow to tell his tale, all his plans for aiding Crydee were dashed. The city was firmly in control of those either loyal to Guy or indifferent to who ruled in the King’s name. There was no one in the city he could turn to for help, and his failure in bringing aid home was a bitter thing Quietly he said, “Then there’s no other course but to return to Crydee as soon as possible.”
“That may not be so easy,” said Amos. “There’s more strange things occurring. I’ve been in places where a man can usually make contact with those needed for a dishonest task or two, but everywhere I’ve made inquiries—discreet, have no doubt—I come up against only hard silence. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the Upright Man’s closed up shop and all the Mockers are now serving in Guy’s army. I’ve never seen such a collection of dumb barmen, ignorant whores, uninformed beggars, and tongueless gamblers. You don’t need to be a genius to see the word’s gone out. No one is to talk to strangers, no matter how promising a transaction’s being offered. So we can look for no aid in getting free of the city, and if Guy’s agents know you’re in Krondor, there’ll be no lifting of the blockade or opening of the gates until you’ve been found, no matter how loudly the merchants scream.”
“We’re deep in the snare,” agreed Martin.
“But if Guy’s men only suspect I’m in Krondor, they may tire of the search.”
“True,’’ agreed Amos, “and after a while, the Mockers may open up as well. Should they agree to help—for a significant price, you can be certain—we’ll have powerful help in leaving the city.”
Arutha balled his fist and struck the pallet upon which he sat. “Damn Bas-Tyra I’d gladly murder him this instant. Not only does he imperil the west, he risks a greater schism between the two realms by taking the Principality under his own banner. Should anything happen to Erland and his family, it’s almost certainly civil war.”
Amos slowly shook his head. “A bollixed mission this, and through no fault of yours, Arutha.” He sighed. “Still, we can’t be startled into panic. Friend Martin may have misunderstood the scribe’s last remark, or the man may have been speaking simply to hear himself talk. We’ll have to be cautious, but we can’t bolt and run. Should you vanish from sight completely, someone might take notice. Best if you stay close to the inn, but act as you have been, for the time being. I’ll continue to make attempts at reaching someone who may have ways to get us clear of the city—smugglers, if not the Mockers.”
Arutha rose from the pallet and said, “I’ve no appetite, but we’ve eaten together in the common room every night. I expect we’d best go down for supper soon.”
Amos waved him back to his bed. “Stay awhile longer. I’m going to run down to the docks and visit the ship. If Martin’s scribe was not just breaking wind, they’ll certainly search the ships in the harbor. I’d better warn Vasco and the crew to be ready to go over the side if necessary and find someplace to store your chest. We aren’t due to be hauled out for refitting for another week, so we must act with care. I’ve run blockades before. I wouldn’t want to risk it in a hulk as leaky as the Wind of Dawn, but if I can’t find anothe
r ship . . .” At the door he turned back to face Arutha and Martin. “It’s a black storm, boys, but we’ve weathered worse.”
Arutha and Martin sat quietly as Amos entered the common room. The seaman pulled out a chair and called for ale and a meal. Once he was served, he said, “Everything is taken care of. Your chest is safe as long as the ship is left moored.”
“Where did you hide it?”
“It’s snugly wrapped in oilcloth and tied securely to the anchor.”
Arutha looked impressed. “Underwater?”
“You can buy new clothes, and gold and gems don’t rust.”
Martin said, “How are the men?”
“Grumbling over being in port another week and still aboard ship, but they’re good lads.”
The door to the inn opened and six men entered. Five took chairs near the door while one stood surveying the room. Amos hissed, “See that rat-faced fellow who just sat down? He’s one of the boys who’ve been watching the docks for the last week. Look’s like I’ve been followed.”
The man who remained standing spotted Amos and approached the table. He was a plain-looking man, of open countenance. His reddish-blond hair was flyaway around his head, and he wore a common sailor’s clothing. He clutched a wool cap in hand as he smiled at them.
Amos nodded, and the man said, “If you’re the master of the Wind of Dawn, I’d have words with you.”
Amos raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He indicated the free chair and the man sat. “Name’s Radburn. I’m looking for a berth, Captain.”
Amos looked about, seeing Radburn’s companions were pretending not to notice what was transpiring at the table. “Why my ship?”
“I’ve tried others. They’re all full up. Just thought I’d ask you.”
“Who was your last master, and why did you leave his service?”
Radburn laughed, a friendly sound. “Well, I last sailed with a company of barge ferrymen, taking cargo from ship to shore in the harbor. Been stuck doing that for a year.” He fell silent as the serving wench approached. Amos ordered another round of ale, and when one was set before Radburn, he said, “Thank you, Captain.” He took a long pull and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Before I came to be beached, I sailed with Captain John Avery, aboard the Bantamma.”
“I know the Little Rooster, and John Avery, though I haven’t seen him since I was last in Durbin, five or six years back.”
“Well, I got a little drunk, and the captain told me he’d have none who drank aboard his ship I drink no more than the next man, Captain, but you know Master Avery’s reputation, being an abstentious follower of Sung the White.”
Amos looked at Martin and Arutha, but said nothing Radburn said, “These your officers, Captain?”
“No, business partners.” When it was clear Amos was going to say nothing more, Radburn let the topic of identities drop. Amos finally said, “We’ve been in the city little more than a week, and I’ve been busy with personal matters. What news?”
Radburn shrugged. “The war goes on Good for the merchants, bad for the rest. Now we’ve the business with Kesh. Before the troubles was along the Far Coast, but now . . . Krondor might not prove such a healthy spot if the Viceroy doesn’t chase the dogs of Kesh back home. Otherwise, there’s the usual gossip . . .” He glanced around, as looking for anyone who might overhear. “. . . and some not so usual.”
Amos lifted his mug to his lips saying nothing. “Since the Viceroy’s come,” said Radburn quietly, “things haven’t been the same in Krondor. An honest man isn’t safe on the streets anymore, what with Durbin slavers running about and the press gangs almost as bad. That’s why I need a ship, Captain.”
“Press gangs!” Amos exploded. “There hasn’t been a press gang in a Kingdom city in thirty years.”
“Once was, but now things have changed again. You get a little drunk and don’t find a safe berth for the night, the press gang comes along and slaps you into the dungeon. It just isn’t right, no sir. Just because a man’s between ships doesn’t give anyone the right to ship him out with Lord Jessup’s fleet for seven years. Seven years of chasing pirates and fighting Quegan war galleys!”
Amos’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that Guy rules in Krondor? We’ve heard stories, but they seem confused.”
Radburn nodded. “Right you are, Captain. For it is confusing. A month ago, Lord Guy rides in with his army behind, flags a’wavmg, drums beating, and the rest. The Prince, so they say, welcomes him and treats him real friendly, even though du Bas-Tyra is carrying the King’s writ naming him Viceroy. The Prince even helps him, they say, until this business of the press gangs and such comes to his ears.” Lowering his voice more, he said, “I heard that when he complained, Guy locks him up in his rooms. Nice rooms, I expect, but same as a cell if you can’t leave. So I hear.”
Arutha was so outraged by the story, he was on the verge of speaking. Amos gripped his arm quickly, warning silence, then said, “Well, Radburn, I can always use a good man who’s sailed with John Avery. I’ll tell you what. I’ve one more trip to the ship to make tonight, and there’re some personal belongings in my room I’ll want aboard. Come along and carry them.”
Amos rose and, giving the man no time to object, gripped him by the arm and propelled him toward the stairs. Arutha shot a glance at the group who entered with Radburn. They seemed unaware for the moment of what was transpiring across the crowded common room as Amos took Radburn up the stairs, Arutha and Martin following behind.
Amos hustled Radburn down the hall and, once through the door to their room, spun and delivered a staggering blow to Radburn’s stomach, doubling him over. A brutal knee to the face, and Radburn lay stunned upon the floor.
“What is this all about?” said Arutha.
“That man’s a liar. John Avery’s a marked man in Kesh. He betrayed the Durbin captains to a Quegan raiding fleet twenty years ago. Yet Radburn didn’t bat an eye when I said I saw Avery in Durbin six years ago. And he’s too free in showing disrespect to the Viceroy. His story stinks like a week-dead fish. We go out the door with him, and inside of two blocks a dozen men or more will be upon us.”
“What shall we do?” said Arutha.
“We leave. His friends will be up those stairs in a minute.” He pointed to the window. Martin stood by the door as Arutha ripped aside a dirty canvas shade and pushed open the wooden shutters. Amos said, “Now you see why I chose this room.” Less than a yard below the window’s ledge was the roof of the stable.
Arutha stepped out, Amos and Martin following. They hurried carefully down the steeply sloping roof until they reached the edge. Arutha leaped down, landing quietly, followed a moment later by Martin. Amos landed more heavily, but suffered only a minor bruise to his dignity.
They heard a cough and an oath, and looked up to see a bloodied face at the window. Radburn shouted, “They’re in the courtyard!” as the three fugitives started for the gate.
Amos swore. “I should have cut his throat.”
They ran to the gate, and as they entered the street, Amos grabbed at Arutha. A group of men were running down the street toward them. Arutha and his companions fled the opposite way, ducking into a dark alley.
Hurrying along between the blank walls of two buildings, they cut across a busy street, overturning several pushcarts, and ducked into another alley, the cart owners’ curses following. They continued to run, the sounds of pursuit never far behind, following a twisting maze of back alleys and side streets through darkened Krondor.
Turning a corner, they found themselves intersecting a long narrow street, little more than an alley, flanked on both sides by tall buildings Amos rounded the corner first and motioned for Arutha and Martin to halt. In low tones, he said, “Martin, hurry down to the corner and take a look around. Arutha, go the other way.” He pointed toward a spot where dim light could be seen. “I’ll stand watch here. If we become separated, make for the ship. It’ll be a desperate chance, breaking the blockade, but should yo
u win free, have Vasco make for Durbin. Your gold will buy you enough protection there to get the ship refitted and you back to Crydee. Now go.”
Arutha and Martin ran down the street in opposite directions, and Amos stood watch behind. Abruptly shouts came down the narrow street, and Arutha looked back. At the other end of the street he could see the dim figure of Martin struggling with several men. He started back, but Amos shouted, “Go on I’ll help him. Get away!”
Arutha hesitated, then resumed his run toward the distant light. He was panting when he reached the corner and nearly skidded to a halt as he entered a well-traveled, brightly lit avenue. From carts decorated with lanterns, hawkers sold their wares to passing citizens out for a stroll after supper. The weather was mild—there looked to be little chance of snow this winter—and large numbers of people were about. From the condition of the buildings and the fashions of those in the area, Arutha knew he was in a more prosperous section of the city.
Arutha stepped into the street and forced himself to walk at a leisurely pace. He turned and made a display of examining a garment seller’s wares as several men appeared from the street he had just fled. He tugged a garish red cloak from among the goods and swirled it about his shoulder, pulling the hood over his head. “Here now, what do you think you’re doing?” asked a dried-faced old man in a reedy whisper.
Affecting a nasal voice, Arutha said, “My good man, you don’t expect me to purchase a garment without seeing if it fits?”
Suddenly confronted by a buyer, the man became unctuously friendly. “Oh no, certainly, sir.” Looking at Arutha in the ill-tailored cloak, he said, “It’s a perfect fit, sir, and the color suits you well, if I may say.”
Arutha chanced a glance at his pursuers. The man called Radburn stood at the corner, blood dried upon his face and his nose swollen, but still able to direct his men’s search. Arutha adjusted the cloak, a great, cumbersome thing that hung nearly to the ground. In a display of fussiness, he said, “You think so? I wouldn’t care to appear at court looking like a vagabond.”
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