Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘‘Yes, I can, and more.’’ Joftaz lost his smile. ‘‘But not until you conduct some business for me.’’

  ‘‘Then to specifics.’’

  ‘‘This man I mentioned, Jacob Ishander, is chief among those recently come from Kesh. He has in his possession a bag’’—he held his hands apart, indicating a bag the size of a large coin purse or belt pouch—‘‘and the contents of that bag are worth enough to underwrite his operation here in Silden for the next year.’’

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  ‘‘And you want me to steal that bag?’’

  Joftaz nodded.

  ‘‘I would think you able to undertake such a task yourself,’’

  said James.

  ‘‘Perhaps, but I must continue to live here in Silden, success or failure. Should you fail, I will still be here.’’

  ‘‘I see. What’s in the bag?’’

  ‘‘Heart of Joy,’’ said Joftaz.

  James closed his eyes a moment. Joy was a common drug in the poor quarters of most cities in Kesh, and showed up from time to time in Krondor and other port cities in the Kingdom. A small amount consumed in wine or water would in-duce a pleasant euphoria for up to a night. A slightly larger dose would transport the user to a state of happiness that could last days. If the dose was too large, the user would be rendered unconscious.

  Heart of Joy was a different thing. It was the essence of the drug, compounded in such a way as to make it easy to transport. When sold, it would be mixed in with a harmless powder, often powdered sugar or even flour, anything that would dissolve. By weight it was worth a thousand times more than Joy when sold on the streets of the city.

  ‘‘A bag that size is worth—’’

  ‘‘Enough to ensure that Jacob will have to run for his life when the Crawler finds out, and any who might be held responsible as well, say Linsey and Franklin, will flee along with him.’’

  James filled in, ‘‘Leaving a void into which you can step to reestablish business locally in a fashion more to your liking.’’

  Narrowing his eyes, James added, ‘‘And he who finds it will find anxious buyers willing to say nothing about where the drug came from, realizing enormous profits.’’

  With a smile, Joftez said, ‘‘Well, there is that.’’

  ‘‘So, if I get that bag, you put the Crawler’s agents in Silden out of business and make yourself a fortune in the process.’’

  ‘‘If all goes well.’’

  James said, ‘‘We’ll be in the corner, my friends and I. When you are ready, tell me where I must go and what I must know.’’

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  ‘‘We close the common room at midnight. Wait until I do, then we shall see about your needs.’’

  James returned to the table, and Owyn said, ‘‘What did you find out?’’

  ‘‘That nothing in life is ever free,’’ said James, sitting down and leaning his chair back against the wall, settling in for a long afternoon’s wait.

  The house was apparently deserted, its occupant away on some errand. Gorath was instructed to stand a few doors down, watching for anyone coming up from the docks. Owyn stood on the other side of the street, watching in the other direction. Both agreed to cooperate, both expressing their doubts as to the wisdom of this enterprise.

  James quickly inspected the door for obvious alarms and found none. He judged the lock an easy enough one to pick, but just for reassurance, he ran his thumb along the doorjamb.

  Unexpectedly he found a crack in the wood, which moved under his thumb. Carefully he pushed on it, and heard a slight click from within. Pushing harder, he moved the wood. From behind it protruded a piece of metal.

  James removed a brass key from a hiding place in the wood.

  He almost laughed. It was an old, very simple trick, and served two purposes: the key was never lost if the owner was in a hurry leaving someplace else, and it disarmed whatever trap waited inside. In the daylight, James expected he could have looked for hours and not seen it, but an old thief had once taught him to trust his other senses, including touch. Running the thumb over the doorjamb occasionally brought splinters as its only reward, but the sound of that click made the hours James had spent fishing splinters out of his thumb with a steel needle worth it.

  James still knelt as he pushed the door open slightly, ready for anything that would alert him to another trap. By kneeling, any crossbow bolt aimed at the door should fly overhead.

  The door slid open easily, and no device sent death his way.

  He moved quickly through the door and closed it behind him.

  He inspected the room without moving. He never knew where someone would hide valuables, but most people were predict-149

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  able. This time, however, he considered the owner of this place was not ‘‘most people,’’ but someone who would do something unpredictable. So his first choice was to look for something out of place.

  The room was undistinguished. A simple table, a large breakfront clothes closet, and a bed. A door to a rear yard where the outhouse would be. A fireplace, above which rested potted plants on a wide mantel, and next to that a door leading into a small kitchen.

  Then it registered on James. Potted plants? He moved to inspect them. They were dry and dying, and he knew the reason why. He couldn’t remember the name of the variety, but Princess Anita had struggled to raise the same plants in her garden in Krondor. She had remarked that they were difficult to grow in soil with as much salt as the soil near the palace, and that they demanded a great deal of sunlight.

  Silently, James asked, why would a leader of a gang of cutthroats in a pesthole like Silden have potted plants on his mantel? He carefully lifted the pots, one at a time, until he picked up the one on the far right. It was lighter than the rest. He lifted the plant and it came away, devoid of dirt on the roots.

  Under it he found a bag, and he returned the plant to the pot and opened the bag. In the dim light coming from the sole window to the house he saw what he expected to see, a slightly yellowish powder.

  He tied the bag and moved quickly to the door. One backward glance reassured him he hadn’t inadvertently touched anything. He slipped through the door and closed it behind him. He locked it, and returned the key, resetting whatever trap had awaited the unwary on the other side.

  He motioned without looking at either of his friends, and they returned to the Anchorhead Inn. As they neared the door at the rear, left open for them by Joftaz, James felt a flush of excitement. No matter how high he might someday rise in the King’s service, there was a part of him that would always be Jimmy the Hand.

  Inside he handed over the bag to Joftaz, and said, ‘‘Well, then, your part of the bargain.’’

  Joftaz admired the bag of powder a moment, then put it 150

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  behind the bar. ‘‘To find the owner of that spider, you must seek out the trader Abuk. I have sold four such as this to him over the last two years.’’

  James produced the spyglass. ‘‘What about this?’’

  Joftaz admired the glass and held it up to his eye. His eye widened, and he put down the glass, glancing around the room. ‘‘This is a dangerous thing, my friend.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘It shows secrets, and some secrets are worth killing to preserve or to learn.’’ He handed the spyglass back to James. ‘‘I have heard of such as these. They are modest-looking, but valuable. You pierce illusions, see traps and hiding places with a glass like that. I have heard of such glass being fashioned for generals to pierce the fog and smoke on the battlefield.’’

  ‘‘Do you know who might have sold this?’’

  ‘‘Again I say, Abuk. Had this item come to you from any other source, I would not guess, but if you found it near the spider, I suspect they were both sold by him, and to the same man.’’

  ‘‘Then we need a room for the night, my
new old friend, and then we’re off in search of Abuk.’’

  They shook hands, and Joftaz said, ‘‘You serve your king well, my new old friend, for not only do you seek out Nighthawks who do black murder in the darkest hour of the night, you have rid Silden of the plague of the Crawler. Jacob and his companions will be on the first ship bound for distant lands once word of this reaches their employers. Now, I’ll show you to your rooms, then I must find a certain rumormonger to spread word that three Keshian gentlemen now residing in Silden have just sold a great deal of Heart of Joy to a smuggler bound for the island Kingdom of Roldem.’’

  Joftaz took them up to a room and bid them good night, and informed them that they should expect to encounter Abuk on the road between Silden and Lyton, as he was due back from there in the next few days. James settled in and quickly fell asleep, feeling at last he was making some progress in unraveling these mysteries.

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  Nine

  •

  Suspect T HE MULES LUMBERED UP THE ROAD.

  There was no mistaking the wagon as it hove into sight around a bend, a day’s ride east of Silden. The green wagon had huge red letters on the side, proclaiming ‘‘Abuk.

  Trader in fine wares.’’ The driver was a large, bull-necked man with an impressive mane of flaming red hair and a long beard that reached to his belt. If a dwarf could grow to more than six feet in height, this is what he’d look like, thought James as they halted before the wagon.

  ‘‘You’re the trader, Abuk?’’ asked James loudly.

  The trader reined in his team of mules. ‘‘It’s what is written in large letters on the side of this wagon, stranger, so either you can’t read or you’re oblivious to the obvious. I am Abuk.’’

  James grimaced at the remark about the obvious. ‘‘Well, you could have stolen his rig.’’

  ‘‘True, and I could have cut his hair and beard to create my disguise, as well. But I didn’t.’’ He regarded the three riders before him. ‘‘What may I do for you?’’

  ‘‘We are in the market for some information.’’

  Abuk said, ‘‘Information is often my most profitable commodity.’’

  James walked his horse close enough to the buckboard of the wagon to hand over the silver spider. ‘‘Can you tell me to whom you sold this?’’

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  ‘‘Yes, ‘‘ said Abuk. ‘‘For the sum of a hundred golden sovereigns, I can.’’

  James grinned, and there was nothing but menace in his smile. ‘‘Or we could arrange for you to have a discussion with the Royal Interrogator regarding your part in the death of fifty of the King’s Own Royal Lancers.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ demanded the startled Abuk. ‘‘Fifty Royal Lancers were murdered?’’

  ‘‘In Romney,’’ supplied Owyn.

  The trader was silent a moment, calculating his chances of survival against his potential for profit, if James was any sort of judge of men. Finally he said, ‘‘I take no responsibility for that act; I merely sell goods which are not banned by law.’’

  He handed the spider back to James. ‘‘This is one of two I sold in the North. A poor imitation was sold to a man named Michael Waylander in the village of Sloop. He is a prominent member of the Glazers’ Guild in the City of Romney. The other was sold to a man whose name I do not know, but I know he is from the North.’’

  James showed Abuk the spyglass. ‘‘What of this?’’

  ‘‘You have proven the man you seek is the one I described, for he also purchased this glass. I sold both items to him at the Queen’s Row Tavern in Malac’s Cross, and you might inquire there of the innkeeper, who seemed to know this man.

  He was an exceptional chess player, by what I overheard.’’

  ‘‘If you met him in Malac’s Cross, why then did you say he was from the North?’’

  ‘‘Because I overheard the innkeeper ask him if he was returning to the North, and the man said he was indeed heading home.’’

  James did not looked pleased. ‘‘We must then return to Malac’s Cross.’’

  Abuk said, ‘‘I might be able to save you a journey, for a small fee.’’

  James asked, ‘‘How small?’’

  ‘‘A dozen golden sovereigns, I think.’’

  ‘‘Five, I think, and I forget your name when I speak to the King’s Inquisitor.’’

  ‘‘Done,’’ said Abuk.

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  James gave him the money, and the man said, ‘‘Now that I recall, he did mention the town of Kenting Rush.’’

  James looked at Owyn, who nodded. ‘‘I know it. It’s north of my uncle Corvallis’s home in Cavell Village.’’

  Abuk looked at Owyn. ‘‘Your uncle is the Baron Corvallis?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Yes, he is.’’

  ‘‘I know him,’’ said Abuk. ‘‘He’s a man of ill humor, if you don’t mind me saying so.’’

  Owyn grinned. ‘‘No one who knows him will argue that.’’

  ‘‘If we are done?’’ asked Abuk to James. James indicated they were, and the vivid green wagon started forward again.

  After Abuk was safely away, James turned to Owyn. ‘‘What do you think? Malac’s Cross or north to Kenting Rush?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Kenting Rush is a small town, barely more than a dozen shops and inns. Mostly farmers and small estates in the area. There can’t be too many men matching the description of the man we seek in residence there.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘Good, because time is growing short. It’s been more than a month since I left my homeland, and Delekhan’s power grows while we seek out information. It would do us no good to discover his plans by witnessing them executed.’’

  ‘‘A good point,’’ said James, turning his horse around. ‘‘Let us head north.’’ He urged his mount forward and set off at a brisk trot. A few minutes later they overtook and passed Abuk, and with a wave of farewell, continued down the road.

  The passage between their encounter with Abuk and the turnoff to the City of Romney went without a hitch. They paused in Romney to change horses and see if things were calming down there.

  Michael Waylander, Damon Reeves, and Arle Steelsoul had heeded the Earl’s warning and appeared within days of the message being delivered. They were now locked in earnest negotiations with the other guild leaders to end the struggle between the rival guilds in the city, and order was slowly returning to Romney.

  The next morning, James, Gorath, and Owyn departed on fresh horses and hurried north through the rolling farmland that bordered the River Rom. The towns and villages along 154

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  the river were undistinguished, much like the village of Sloop, bearing names like Greenland, Hobbs, Tuckney, Prank’s Stone, and Farview. For days they rode, always alert, and by keeping a steady pace, they reached the area south of Cavell Village.

  Several times they had passed bands of armed men, but none had offered them challenge, and they arrived without incident.

  Rounding a bend in the road, they crossed a small bridge that took them over a swift-running stream. James looked down and observed, ‘‘This is deep.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Deeper than it looks. More than one idiot’s been drowned trying to swim across. It’s a feeder to the River Rom, coming down from the mountains over there.’’ He pointed to the west, where bluffs rose. ‘‘Let me show you something,’’ he added as he turned his horse off the road.

  They followed an old dirt roadway, grown over by grass in several places, obviously unused for a long time. Gorath said,

  ‘‘I see fresh tracks. Someone has ridden here lately.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Undoubtedly. I’ll show you why when we round this bend.’’

  They rode around a sharp turn, where a bluff rose up to a cliff top overhead, and halted. Before them an impressive-looking waterfall thundered down from the cliffs, exactly three hundred feet above. On both sides the gorge rose steeply
, and was covered with thick forests.

  ‘‘Cavell Run,’’ said Owyn.

  ‘‘What’s that?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘It’s the name of the stream. It’s also what we call the tunnels under the old keep.’’ He pointed to the top of the cliffs, and by squinting James could make out the grey edifice that rested atop the cliffs.

  ‘‘How did you know about this?’’

  Owyn turned his horse back, and said, ‘‘When I was a boy, we came here several times. I used to play with my cousin Ugyne in the run. They’re a huge set of tunnels and caves under the keep. Used for storage in ancient times, but mostly abandoned now.’’ He pointed backwards as they left sight of the waterfall. ‘‘There’s even a bolt-hole behind the waterfall if you know where to look. Ugyne and I found it from the inside of the run when I was nine and she was eight. We stripped 155

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  off and went swimming. We almost froze to death; the water is all snowmelt running down the ridges from the mountains above. Ugyne got a pretty heavy whipping from her father, too. My uncle has never curbed his temper as long as I’ve known him.

  ‘‘But it still didn’t keep Ugyne and me from playing up there.’’

  James asked, ‘‘How many know about the run?’’

  ‘‘Most of the locals know there are tunnels under the old keep. A few might even suspect there’s a bolt-hole under the waterfall. But I doubt anyone outside the family, the old guard commander, and maybe one or two of the older servants has any idea where it is. It’s pretty well hidden.’’

  They continued on toward Cavell Village, arriving at midaf-ternoon. As they turned off the road and moved to within sight of the place, James said, ‘‘For a village it looks rather prosperous.’’

  Owyn laughed. ‘‘I guess. It was a village for a couple of hundred years, but became a busy farming center about fifty years ago. Since the fire in the keep forced my uncle to move into the village, about three years ago, all business is conducted down here. I think he and his household account for a third of the houses here in the village.’’