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‘How’s business?’ Kalten asked her.
‘Slow. It’s always slow in the morning.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to offer a girl something to drink?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Why not?’ Kalten replied. ‘Tavern keeper,’ he called, ‘bring the lady one, too.’
‘Thanks, my Lord,’ the whore said. She looked around the tavern. This is a sorry place,’ she said with a certain amount of resignation in her voice. ‘I wouldn’t even come in here – except that I don’t like to work the streets.’ She sighed. ‘Do you know something?’ she said. ‘My feet hurt. Isn’t that a strange thing to happen to someone in my profession? You’d think it would be my back. Thanks again, my Lord.’ She turned and shuffled back to the table where she had been sitting.
‘I like talking with whores,’ Kalten said. ‘They’ve got a nice, uncomplicated view of life.’
‘That’s a strange hobby for a Church Knight.’
‘God hired me as a fighting man, Sparhawk, not as a monk. I fight whenever He tells me to, but the rest of my time is my own.’
The tavern keeper brought them tankards of beer and a plate with bread and cheese on it. They sat eating and talking quietly.
After about an hour the tavern had attracted several more customers – sweat-smelling workmen who had slipped away from their chores and a few of the keepers of nearby shops. Sparhawk rose, went to the door and looked out. Although the narrow back street was not exactly teeming with traffic, there were enough people moving back and forth to provide some measure of concealment. Sparhawk returned to the table. ‘I think it’s time to be on our way, my Lord,’ he said to Kalten. He picked up his box.
‘Right,’ Kalten replied. He drained his tankard and rose to his feet, swaying slightly and with his hat on the back of his head. He stumbled a few times on the way to the door and he was reeling just a bit as he led the way out into the street. Sparhawk followed him with the box once again on his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you overdoing that just a little?’ he muttered to his friend when they turned the corner.
‘I’m just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. We’ve just come out of a tavern.’
‘We’re well past it now. If you act too drunk, you’ll attract attention. I think it’s time for a miraculous recovery.’
‘You’re 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.
‘What’s 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. ‘We’re 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 chandler’s shop.’
‘Let’s be off then, my man,’ Kalten said in a louder voice. ‘The day’s 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, wasn’t he?’ Kalten noted. ‘Most people don’t wear hoods when they’re indoors.’
‘Maybe he’s got something to hide.’
‘Do you think he recognized us?’
‘It’s hard to say. I’m not positive, but I think he was the same one who was watching me the night I came into town. I didn’t 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. Let’s 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. ‘There’s 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.’
‘That’s Krager’s drink, all right.’ Sparhawk grinned. If Martel finds out that he’s drinking again, he’ll reach down his throat and pull his heart out.’
‘Can you actually do that to a man?’
‘You can if your arm’s long enough, and if you know what you’re 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, Sephrenia’s 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.’
‘He’s likely to finish that first one fairly fast. If he’s drinking the way he used to, he’ll wake up in the mornings feeling a bit unwell.’ Sparhawk looked around the busy square. ‘Let’s go on up that street a ways where there aren’t quite so many people and wait for him. As soon as he runs out of wine, he’ll come out for more.’
‘Won’t he see us? He knows us both, you know.’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘He’s so shortsighted that he can barely see past the end of his nose. Add a flagon of wine to that, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize his own mother.’
‘Krager’s got a mother?’ Kalten asked in mock amazement. ‘I thought he just crawled out from under a rotten log.’
Sparhawk laughed. ‘Let’s go find someplace where we can wait for him.’
‘Can we skulk?’ Kalten asked eagerly. ‘I haven’t 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. ‘Let’s 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. ‘Couldn’t you have picked someplace a little less fragrant?’
‘You know,’ Sparhawk said, ‘that’s what I’ve 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?’
‘You’re my friend, Sparhawk. Friends always let their friends go first.’
‘Doesn’t that work the other way around, too?’
Kalten shook his head. ‘You like me better than I like you. It’s only natural, of course. I’m a lot more likeable than you are.’
Sparhawk gave him a long look.
‘That’s 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. He’ll be along.’
Kalten thrust his head out of the opening of the alleyway and squinted at the sky. ‘It’s going to rain,’ he predicted.
‘We’ve 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 sun’s going to go down before long,’ Kalten said. ‘Maybe he found another wine shop.’
‘Let’s 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. Kalten’s rapier came whistling out of its sheath even as Sparhawk’s 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 man’s 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. ‘I’ve 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 fellow’s 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. ‘Don’t leave them behind you like that, Sparhawk,’ the blond man said. ‘Even a one-armed man can stab you in the back. Besides, it isn’t 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.
‘It’s only a scratch.’
‘Scratches don’t bleed like that. Let me have a look.’
The gash in Kalten’s 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 Kalten’s side. ‘Hold that in place,’ he said. ‘Push in on it to slow the bleeding.’
‘I’ve 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.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Men who make a living by waylaying people in alleys aren’t 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. ‘Isn’t 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?’
‘It’s not unlikely. Let’s get out of here. The survivors might have gone for help.’
‘The chapterhouse then – or the inn?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Somebody’s 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. It’s not too far. Are you all right to walk?’
‘I can go as far as you can. I’m younger, remember?’
‘Only by six weeks.’
‘Younger is younger, Sparhawk. Let’s 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.
‘It’s a rabbit warren, isn’t it?’ Kalten said. ‘Is this place much farther? I’m getting a little tired.’
‘It’s 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. Kalten’s 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 you’re going?’ he demanded.
‘I need to talk to Platime,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘I don’t think he wants to hear anything you have to say. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of this part of town before nightfall. Accidents happen here after dark.’
