Krondor: The Assassins

by Raymond E. Feist

  Something moved in the darkness ahead and Limm froze.

  He waited, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The sewer was far from silent, with a constant background noise made up of the distant rumble of water rushing through the large culvert below that took the city’s refuse out past the harbor mouth, a thousand drips, the scrabble of rats and other vermin and their squeaky challenges.

  Wishing he had a light of any sort, Limm waited. Patience in one his age was rare outside the Mockers, but a rash thief was a dead thief. Limm earned his keep in the Mockers by being among the most adroit pickpockets in Krondor, and his ability to calmly move among the throng in the market or down the busy streets without attracting attention had set him high in the leadership’s estimation. Most boys his age were still working the streets in packs, urchins who provided distraction while other Mockers lifted goods from carts, or deflected attention from a fleeing thief.

  Limm’s patience was rewarded, as the faint echo of a boot moving on stone reached him. A short distance ahead, two large culverts joined in a wade. He would have to cross through the slowly-flowing sewage to reach the other side.

  It was a good place to wait, thought the boy thief. The 22

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  sound of him moving through the water would alert anyone nearby and they’d be on him like hounds on a hare.

  Limm considered his options. There was no way around that intersection. He could return the way he came, but that would cost him hours of moving through the dangerous sewers under the city. He could avoid crossing the transverse sewer by skirting around the corner, hugging the wall to avoid being seen, and moving down that passage to his right. He would have to trust that darkness would shelter him and he could remain silent enough to avoid detection. Once away from the intersection, he could be safely on his way.

  Limm crept along, gingerly placing one foot ahead of the other, so as to not dislodge anything or step on an object that might betray his whereabouts. Fighting the impulse to hurry, he kept his breathing under control and willed himself to keep moving.

  Step by step he approached the intersection of the two passages, and as he reached the corner at which he would turn, he heard another sound. A small scrape of metal against stone, as if a scabbard or sword blade had ever-so-lightly touched a wall. He froze.

  Even in the dark, Limm kept his eyes closed. He didn’t know why, but shutting his eyes helped his other senses. He had wondered at this in the past, and finally stopped trying to figure out why it was so. He just knew that if he spent any energy trying to see, even in the pitch black, his hearing and sense of touch suffered.

  After a long, silent, motionless period, Limm heard a rush of water heading toward him. Someone, a shopkeeper or city worker, must have purged a cistern or opened one of the smaller sluices that fed the sewer. The slight noise was the only mask 23

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  he needed to resume moving, and he was quickly around the corner.

  Limm hurried, still cautious but now feeling the need to put some distance between himself and whoever guarded the intersection behind him. He silently counted his steps and when one hundred had passed he opened his eyes.

  As he expected, ahead was a faint dot of light, which he knew was a reflection coming down from an open grating in the West Market Square. There wasn’t enough light by which to see well, but it was a point of reference and confirmed what he already knew about his whereabouts.

  He moved quickly and reached the crossway that ran parallel to the one he had been travelling before encountering the silent guard. He eased into the foul sewage and crossed the now-moving stream of refuse, reaching the opposite walkway without making much sound.

  Limm was quickly up and on his way again. He knew where his friends were holed up and knew that it was a relatively safe place, but given the time and circumstances, nothing was truly safe any more. What had once been called the other Thieves’

  Highway, the rooftops of Krondor, was now as much an open war zone as the sewers. The citizens of the city of Krondor might be blissfully ignorant of this silent warfare above their heads and below their feet, but Limm knew that if he didn’t encounter the Crawler’s men along the way, he risked the Prince’s soldiers, or murderers posing as Nighthawks. No man unknown to him was trustworthy, and a few whom he knew by name could be trusted only so far these days.

  Limm stopped and felt the wall to his left. Despite moving by his own silent count, he discovered with satisfaction that he had been less than a foot off estimating the whereabouts of 24

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  the iron rungs in the wall. He started to climb. Still blind, he felt himself enter a stone chimney, and quickly knew he was at the floor of a cellar. He reached up and felt the latch. An experimental tug showed it to be bolted from the other side.

  He knocked: twice rapidly, then a pause, then twice again, another pause and a final, single knock. He waited, counting to ten, then repeated the pattern in reverse order, one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, and two again. The bolt slid open.

  The trap swung upward, but the room above was as dark as the sewer below. Whoever was waiting preferred to wait unseen.

  As Limm cleared the floor of the room, rough hands hauled him through, the trap shutting quickly behind him. A feminine voice whispered, ‘‘What are you doing here?’’

  Limm sat down heavily upon the stone floor, fatigue sweeping over him. ‘‘Running for my life,’’ he said softly. Catching his breath, he continued. ‘‘I saw Sweet Jackie killed last night.

  Ugly basher working for the Crawler.’’ He snapped his fingers.

  ‘‘Cracked his neck like you’d break a chicken’s, while his mates stood watching. Didn’t even give Jackie a chance to beg or say a prayer, nothing. Just put him out of the way like a cockroach.’’

  He was close to weeping as he told them—and as relief at being relatively safe for the first time in hours washed over him. ‘‘But that’s not the worst of it.’’

  A lantern was lit by a large man with a gray beard. His narrow gaze communicated volumes: Limm had better have compelling reasons for violating a trust and coming to this hideout. ‘‘What else?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘The Upright Man is dead.’’

  Ethan Graves, one-time leader of the Mockers’ bashers, for a time a brother of the Order of Ishap, and now fugitive from 25

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  every court of justice in the Kingdom, took a moment to accept the news.

  The woman, named Kat, was half her companion’s age, and an old friend to Limm. She asked, ‘‘How?’’

  ‘‘Murdered, is the rumor,’’ said Limm. ‘‘No one is saying for certain, but it’s held without doubt he’s dead.’’

  Graves sat down at a small table, testing the construction of the small wooden chair with his large frame. ‘‘How would anyone know?’’ he asked rhetorically. ‘‘No one knows who he is . . . was.’’

  Limm said, ‘‘Here’s what I know. The Daymaster was still working when I came to Mother’s last night, and he was holed up in the back with Mick Giffen, Reg deVrise, and Phil the Fingers.’’

  Graves and Kat exchanged glances. Those named were the most senior thieves in the Mockers. Giffen had succeeded Graves as leader of the bashers, deVrise oversaw those who burgled and fenced goods, and Phil was in charge of pickpockets, smash-and-grab gangs, and the urchins who ran the streets of Krondor.

  Limm continued. ‘‘The Nightmaster never showed. Word went out and we started looking for him. Just before dawn, we heard they found the Nightmaster floating in the sewers near the dock. His head was all bashed in.’’

  Kat almost gasped. ‘‘No one would dare touch him.’’

  Graves said, ‘‘No one in the know. But someone who didn’t care about the Mockers’ wrath would.’’

  ‘‘Here’s the dicey part,’’ said Limm. ‘‘The Daymaster says the Nightmaster was su
pposed to meet with the Upright Man.

  Now, as I understand things, if the Upright Man is supposed to meet with you, and you don’t show, he’s got ways of sending 26

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  word to the Daymaster or Nightmaster. Well, no word was heard. So the Daymaster sends one of the boys, Timmy Bas-colm, if you remember him—’’ they nodded ‘‘—and Timmy turns up dead an hour later.

  ‘‘So the Daymaster heads out with a bunch of bashers and an hour later they come running back to Mother’s and hole up. Nobody’s saying anything, but word spreads: the Upright Man’s gone.’’

  Graves was silent for a minute, then said, ‘‘He must be dead.

  There’s no other explanation for this.’’

  ‘‘And there are bully boys to make a strong man faint chasing through the sewers, last night, so Jackie and I figure the hunt is on and our best bet is to lie low somewhere. We got run to ground last night near Five Points—’’ both Kat and Graves knew the region of the city sewers by that name ‘‘—so after they killed Jackie, I figured my best bet was to get here, with you.’’

  Graves said, ‘‘You want to leave Krondor?’’

  The boy said, ‘‘If you’ll take me. There’s a war on, for truth, and I’m the last of my band alive. If the Upright Man is dead, all bets are off. You know the rules. If the Upright Man isn’t here, it’s every man for himself and make what deal you can.’’

  Graves nodded. ‘‘I know the rules.’’ His voice lacked the rough, commanding edge Limm had come to know as a boy in the Mockers, when Graves was first among the bashers. Still, Graves had saved Limm several times, from freebooting thugs and the Prince’s men alike. Limm would do whatever Graves said.

  After a moment of reflection, Graves spoke. ‘‘You stay here, boy. No one in the Guild knows you’ve helped Kat and me, and the truth is, I’m fond of you. You were always a good lad, 27

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  as far as that goes. Too full of yourself, but what boy isn’t at times?’’ He shook his head in regret. ‘‘Out there it’ll be every hand against us—Mockers, Prince’s men, or the Crawler’s. I’ve got a few friends left, but if the blood is running in the sewers, who knows how long I can count on them?’’

  ‘‘But everyone else thinks you’ve escaped!’’ objected Limm.

  ‘‘Just me and Jackie knew, ‘cause you told us so we could fetch you food. Those notes you sent out, to the Temple, and some of your friends, to that magician you traveled with . . .’’ He waved his hand as if trying to recall the name.

  ‘‘Owyn,’’ Graves supplied.

  ‘‘Owyn,’’ repeated Limm. ‘‘Word spread through the city you’d fled to Kesh. I know at least a dozen bashers were sent outside the walls to track you down.’’

  Graves nodded. ‘‘And an equal number of monks from the Temple, too, I warrant.’’ He sighed. ‘‘That was the plan. Lie low here while they looked for us out there.’’

  Kat, who had remained silent throughout, said, ‘‘It was a good plan, Graves.’’

  Limm nodded.

  Graves said, ‘‘I figured another week or ten days, and they’d come back, each thinking some other had just missed sight of us, then we’d walk down to the docks one night, get on a ship, and sail off to Durbin, just another merchant and his daughter.’’

  ‘‘Wife!’’ said Kat, angrily.

  Limm grinned.

  Graves shrugged and spread his hands in a sign of surrender.

  ‘‘Young wife,’’ he said.

  She put her arms around his neck and said, ‘‘Wife,’’ softly.

  Limm said, ‘‘Well, you play the parts well enough, but right now getting to the docks is no small order.’’ He glanced around 28

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  the cellar. ‘‘What about just going out the door, up there?’’ He pointed to the ceiling.

  Graves said, ‘‘Sealed off. That’s why I built this place as a hideout. The building upstairs is abandoned, roof beams collapsed. The man who owned it died, so it belongs to the Prince for back taxes. Fixing up old buildings is not very high on the Prince’s list of things to do, it seems.’’

  Limm nodded in approval of the scheme. ‘‘Well, how long do you think we should stay?’’

  ‘‘You,’’ said Graves, rising, ‘‘are staying in the Kingdom.

  You’re young enough to make something of yourself, boy. Get off the dodgy path and find a master. Apprentice in a craft or become a serving man.’’

  ‘‘Honest work?’’ said Limm, as he jumped to his feet. ‘‘When did a Mocker seek honest work?’’

  Graves pointed a finger at him. ‘‘Jimmy did.’’

  ‘‘Jimmy the Hand,’’ agreed Kat. ‘‘He found honest work.’’

  ‘‘He saved the Prince’s life!’’ objected Limm. ‘‘He was made a member of the court. And there’s a death mark on his head!

  He couldn’t return to the Mockers if he begged.’’

  Graves said, ‘‘If the Upright Man is dead, that mark is erased.’’

  Softly Limm asked, ‘‘What should I do?’’

  Graves said, ‘‘Lie low for a while, until things get quiet, then leave the city. There’s a man named Tuscobar, once a trader from Rodez. He has a shop in a town called Biscart, two days’ fast walk up the coast. He owes me a favor. He also has no sons, so there is no one to apprentice for him. Go there and ask him to take you to service. If he objects, just tell him

  ‘Graves clears all debts if you do this.’ He’ll understand what it means.’’

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  ‘‘What does he do?’’ asked Limm.

  ‘‘He sells cloth. He makes a good living, as he sells to nobles for their daughters.’’

  Limm’s expression showed he was less than taken with the notion. ‘‘I’d rather go to Durbin and take my chances with you.

  What are you going to do there?’’

  ‘‘Turn honest,’’ said Graves. ‘‘I have some gold. Kat and I are going to open an inn.’’

  ‘‘An inn,’’ said Limm, his eyes alight. ‘‘I like inns.’’ He got down on his knees in an overly dramatic pleading. ‘‘Let me come! Please! I can do many things in an inn. I can tend fires, and show customers to their rooms. I can haul water and I can mark the best purses for cutting.’’

  ‘‘An honest inn,’’ said Graves.

  Some of the enthusiasm left Limm’s expression. ‘‘In Durbin?

  Well, if you say so.’’

  Kat said, ‘‘We’re going to have a baby. We want him to grow up honest.’’

  Limm was speechless. He sat in wide-eyed astonishment.

  Finally, he said, ‘‘A baby? Are you daft?’’

  Graves exhibited a wry smile and Kat’s brown eyes narrowed as she said, ‘‘What’s daft about a baby?’’

  Limm said, ‘‘Nothing, I guess, if you’re a farmer or a baker or someone who can expect a fair chance at living to old age.

  But for a Mocker . . .’’ He let the thought go unfinished.

  Graves said, ‘‘What’s the clock? We’ve been cut off from sunlight so long I have no sense of it.’’

  ‘‘It’s nearly midnight,’’ said Limm. ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘With the Upright Man dead, or even just the rumor of it, things will be happening. Ships that would otherwise have 30

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  stayed in Krondor will be leaving the docks before the morning tide.’’

  Limm fixed Graves with a questioning look. ‘‘You know something?’’

  Graves stood up from the small chair and said, ‘‘I know lots of things, boy.’’

  Limm jumped to his feet. ‘‘Please take me with you. You’re the only friends I’ve got, and if the Upright Man’s dead, who knows who’ll come to rule in his place. If it’s that Crawler, most of us are dead anyway, and even if it’s one of our own, who’s to s
ay what my life is worth?’’

  Graves and Kat understood. The peace within the Mockers was imposed from the top down, and it would never be mis-taken for friendship. Old grudges would surface and old scores would be settled. More than one Mocker would die not knowing for which past transgression he was paying the ultimate penalty. Graves sighed in resignation. ‘‘Very well. Not much for you here, I’ll grant, and another pair of eyes and nimble fingers might prove worthwhile.’’ He glanced at Kat, who nodded silently.

  ‘‘What’s the plan?’’

  ‘‘We need to be at the docks before the dawn. There’s a ship there, a Quegan trader, the Stella Maris. The captain is an old business acquaintance of mine. He was lying low, claiming a refit was needed, against the time when we could smuggle ourselves out of here. He’ll sail for Durbin as soon as we board.’’

  Kat said, ‘‘Lots of ships will be leaving on the morning tide, so another won’t cause too much notice.’’

  Limm look excited. ‘‘When do we head to the docks?’’

  ‘‘An hour before dawn. It’ll still be dark enough for us to 31

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  stay in shadows, but enough of the town will be awake and about so we won’t attract much attention.’’

  Kat smiled. ‘‘We’ll be a family.’’

  Limm’s narrow young face took on a sour expression.

  ‘‘Mother?’’

  Kat was barely ten years older than Limm, so she said,

  ‘‘Big sister.’’

  Limm said, ‘‘We have one problem, though.’’

  Graves nodded. ‘‘Getting to the street.’’

  Limm sat back, for he knew that there could be no plan, ruse, or providential miracle that would get them safely to the docks. They would simply have to leave this hideout and risk a short walk through a dark tunnel which might house a dozen murderers or sewer rats. And they wouldn’t know which until they left. Limm was suddenly tired and said, ‘‘I think I’ll sleep for a bit.’’