Flight of the Nighthawks

by Raymond E. Feist

  “In short, if there is to be a coup d’état it will most likely happen then. The Inner Legion will be in the city, but the Royal Charioteers and the Imperial Army will not be.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with. Any idea where Tal might have gone to ground?”

  “No. Talk to your man Pasko, or go to the Merry Juggler, the inn where he was staying. Track him down and see if he has found anything.

  “Talk to our friends in the north, too, do whatever it takes, Kaspar.

  Help me keep this Empire intact, and if your brother- in - law won’t have you back in Olasko, I’ll see that Sezioti makes you a prince of the Empire.”

  Kaspar smiled. “Thanks, but my appetite for power seems to be a thing of the past. I find that working on behalf of our friends in the north gives me ample cause for rising each morning, and no man can ask more than that.” He bowed and left the room.

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  He signaled to Pasko who was waiting quietly on a bench outside the room, and the old servant fell into step with him. “I’m going to an inn called the Merry Juggler. You go wherever you need to go if unexpected trouble occurs. Something went sour last night, and our friends have gone to ground . . . assuming they haven’t got themselves killed.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I need to speak to Tal and Caleb, and sooner is better than later.”

  Pasko nodded and hurried off, turning down a corridor that would eventually take him to the lower city via the servants’ entrance.

  Kaspar hurried to the office of the Keeper of the Imperial Household, to request that a mount be readied for him as soon as possible. He wondered if he could find another mug of coffee somewhere, and perhaps a bread roll or slice of ham to eat before he went riding out to confront chaos.

  The warehouse was surrounded by guards loyal to the Conclave. Inside, Tal watched dispassionately as Amafi continued to question the assassin. It had taken a great deal of luck as well as skill to carry the unconscious man to a safe house, and they had barely reached this deserted warehouse before dawn.

  But now they were secure, at least for a while, and the prisoner could make as much noise as he wished and no one would be the wiser. And despite his refusal to talk, he had been making a great deal of noise for over two hours.

  Amafi turned away from the man, who had been bound by leather ties to a heavy wooden chair, which was in turn tied to a supporting beam in the middle of the room. It had been necessary after he had tried to break his own skull against the dirt floor. Fortunately for Tal, all it had done was render the assassin unconscious for less than an hour.

  Amafi said softly, “We have reached a place where both he and I must rest, Magnificence.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated that Tal should walk with him to the far side of the warehouse.

  When they were some distance from the prisoner, Amafi said,

  “Torture is an art form, Magnificence. Anyone can beat a man into 2 4 4

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  insensibility. Anyone can inflict enough pain so that the prisoner becomes nearly mindless.”

  “Where are we with him?”

  “This man has been trained, Magnificence, and he is a fanatic. He would rather die in agony than betray his clan. So the trick is to convince him that the agony will be endless. Then he will talk.

  “But when he talks, he must also believe that the truth is his only escape from pain, from betrayal, and from whatever drives his silence.

  For if he is too resilient, he will still speak lies. And if he is too damaged, he will just say whatever he thinks we wish to hear.”

  Tal nodded. He took no enjoyment from watching Amafi infl ict pain, but he had seen much death and suffering since his childhood that it disturbed him only a little. He always remembered that those he opposed were at the heart of what had befallen his people—they had caused the near obliteration of the Orosini. He also had a family in Opardum that would suffer, along with everyone else on Midkemia, should the Conclave fail.

  “What do we need to do?”

  “First, I need some of the men outside to cover the windows, so it is always dark in here. We must confuse his sense of time, so that he thinks he’s been here longer than he has. I should return to the inn and secure a change of clothing or two for us, so that we can confuse him about the passage of time that way, too. Lastly, we need to bring in some food and wine—brandy would be better—so that we can soothe him when it becomes necessary.”

  “Do what you must.”

  Amafi hurried out of the warehouse, and Tal walked over to where the semiconscious prisoner sat, befouled by blood and his own body waste. Tal and he exchanged a long look, and neither man spoke.

  Caleb groaned as he sat up. The boys had been trying to stay calm all day, but without any way to judge the passing of time in the small room, the minutes dragged by.

  Tad and Zane had already reached the point of confrontation due 2 4 5

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  to their frayed nerves, but Jommy had broken up the scuffle before it could really start.

  The girl had returned with another meal and said, “It won’t be long before they’ll decide where to move you,” but she would not stay with them or answer any more questions.

  Now that Caleb had recovered, the boys told him of what happened at the Three Willows. He said, “So, we were not half as clever as we thought we were.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Tad.

  “Not as bad as I look,” said Caleb. “I took two cuts in the shoulder, but neither was deep. I got a slice across the scalp, and although such wounds bleed like mad, it looks far worse than it is—and we were safely away when I slipped and I don’t remember much, save some of the lads carrying—” He glanced around. “Wherever are we?”

  Tad told him and Caleb nodded. “Now, how did you three get here?”

  The boys told him about the four assassins, and Caleb said, “Had they meant you dead, you’d be dead. They were herding you so that you would lead them here.” His voice showed his concern.

  “We lost them,” said Jommy, with a grin. “I steered them into the Bakers’ Boys, and like the bullies they are, they decided to have some fun with those assassins. I glanced back as we cleared the other side of the square and the Bakers’ Boys were doing a right job of stomping the two who chased us.”

  “I’m surprised the Bakers’ Boys aren’t all dead,” said Caleb.

  “Surprise works wonders,” said Jommy.

  “And stupidity. You could have gotten those boys killed, Jommy.”

  Jommy lost his grin. “Well, I wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’ for saving these two lads, but I didn’t expect criticism. Would you rather it had been us instead of them?”

  Caleb put his hand up, signaling his surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t there.”

  “What do we do now, Caleb?” asked Tad.

  “I need to rest for a few more days, but not here. We’ve put these people in enough danger already. So, we need to find ourselves a place 2 4 6

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  to hide out.” He ran his hand through his long hair and found it matted with dried blood. “And I need to clean up.”

  He sat, trying to catch his breath for a few minutes, then said, “I need to clean up.”

  “You said that already,” said Zane.

  Caleb nodded. “If they know where we are—”

  “They don’t,” said Tad. “If they knew where we were, they’d have been here by now.”

  “Yes,” said Caleb. “I . . . you’re right.”

  Jommy said, “Why don’t you lie down again, mate? I’ll keep an eye on things.”

  Caleb lay down, and within minutes he was asleep.

  “Well, then,” said Jommy, “I think this is as good a time as any to ask why so many people want to kill us.” He fixed Tad and Zane with a neutral expression and sat back in the single chair, waiting for an answer.

  Two more meals cam
e and went before Caleb roused again. The boys had judged the time to be mid - morning sometime when he sat up with a groan, and said, “My head must be broken.”

  “Not so’s we could see,” answered Jommy. “Wait here.” The older boy stood up and worked his way past Tad and Zane, who were still sitting on the floor, and left the room.

  “Where’s he going?” Caleb asked.

  “Don’t know,” answered Zane. “Maybe to piss?”

  “You haven’t been outside, have you?” asked Caleb as he stood up, using the back of the recently vacated chair as support.

  “No,” said Tad. “They’ve got a chamber pot outside the door.”

  The door opened. Jommy entered and set a porcelain bowl on the table. He pulled a folded towel out of it, and handed it to Caleb. He poured water into the bowl from a matching pitcher. “You said you needed to clean up,” he said to Caleb.

  Caleb pulled off his blood - spattered shirt and began to wash.

  Jommy said, “There’s fresh clothing for you, too. I’ll get ’em.”

  Jommy left and returned moments later with a clean shirt and a 2 4 7

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  new hat. “You seemed to have lost your hat, Caleb, so I asked our host if he could find you a new one.”

  “Thanks,” said Caleb. “It’ll help hide the mess.”

  “Now,” said Zane. “We were talking about what to do next when you passed out last time, Caleb.”

  “I’m a little vague on what was said, but if I remember things correctly, you were almost taken by four men, right?”

  “That’s right,” said Jommy. “And from what these two have told me, we’re hip deep in crocs, and the swamp started to rise.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked Caleb.

  Tad and Zane exchanged glances, but it was Jommy who answered. “Enough to know that I’m either with you to the end or a dead man the second I try to leave the city, Caleb. I’m not sure I understand most of what they said, and I’ll leave it to you to fill me in on what you think I should know, but understand something about me, mate: I won’t let you down. You’ve treated me more than square, and you’ve fed me when all I did was keep these two from being treated like drums at a festival. Now, don’t blame the lads too much for telling me; I convinced them that if I was going to get myself killed, then I deserved to know why.”

  Tad said, “It’s only fair, Caleb.”

  Caleb looked at Jommy. “You’ve brought yourself a lot of danger.”

  The boy from Novindus shrugged. “I’ve been in and out of danger ever since Rolie and me left home. It could easily have been me who died. So, what’s a little more danger? I figure you’re good blokes, and if I’m going to throw my lot in with someone, it might as well be good blokes.

  “So, that’s settled. Now, where do we go from here?”

  “An inn not far away. I’ll need you”—he pointed to Zane—“to go ahead of us. It’s not far and you shouldn’t have any trouble getting there; if they’re still out hunting, our enemies will be looking for three lads, not one. Your dark hair makes you the obvious choice to go—you look the most like a Keshian here. I’ll tell you what to say.

  We’ll follow along in a while.”

  Zane listened as Caleb gave him instructions. After he had left, 2 4 8

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  Caleb told Jommy and Tad, “I need to go somewhere before I join you. If I do not arrive at the inn by first light tomorrow, go to the innkeeper and tell him you must leave the city on the fi rst caravan north. Go to the caravanserai, but do not travel with the caravan.

  It is a code; someone will be there who can take you home quickly.

  Understood?”

  “Where are you going?” asked Tad.

  “To see a man about what went wrong last night—”

  “Two days ago,” Tad corrected.

  “Very well, two days ago,” said Caleb. “Someone knew we were coming, Tad, and we were given a proper thrashing. I’m sorry to lose so many good men, but what I need to discover now is how they knew we were coming and how they knew that you boys would be at the Willows, and if any other mischief has been done while I’ve been unconscious.”

  “Be careful, Caleb,” said Tad. “I don’t want to have to tell Mum you’re dead.”

  Caleb said, “That makes two of us, son. Now, wait for a few minutes and then go where I told Zane to go. Jommy, you first, and Tad, you leave shortly after. If anyone’s looking for you, they’ll be looking for three boys together, not a single one on some errand. May Ruthia smile on you,” he said, invoking the Goddess of Luck.

  “You, too, Caleb,” said Jommy.

  After Caleb left, Jommy said to Tad. “You’ve got yourself a hell of a dad there, mate.”

  Tad just nodded.

  Caleb had gathered his hair on the top of his head and stuck it under his hat. He wore a cheap cloak that hid his leather vest and trousers.

  He didn’t plan on being in public for long, but he didn’t want to run the risk of being spotted. Without a corpse to prove he was dead, Varen’s men would certainly be on the lookout for him.

  He had left the safe house, surprised it was midday—he had lost all track of time since he had entered the sewers two days before. He worked his way through the city, just another outland traveler not 2 4 9

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  dressed for the Keshian heat, but hardly the first foreigner to insist on wearing such outlandish garb.

  Caleb’s first stop had been a modest moneylender with a shop on the edge of a minor plaza. After that he visited a swordmaker, where he purchased a new blade. Then he had headed to his present location—an alleyway leading into one of the more unsavory parts of the city.

  He had lurked in the shadows for nearly an hour, before what he’d been waiting for appeared: a young boy—but not too young; he had no use for urchins, he needed a youthful, inexperienced thief or beggar

  As the youth passed him, Caleb reached out and grabbed his collar. Pulling him backward, he almost lost the boy as he tried to wriggle out of his tunic. Caleb tripped him and then put his boot on the boy’s chest.

  He was scrawny, with black hair and dark eyes, and his skin could have been the color of cocoa, but it was hard to tell under all the dirt on his face. He wore a simple gray tunic and shorts matching in fi lthiness, and his feet were bare.

  “Mercy, master!” he cried. “I have done you no harm!”

  “No,” said Caleb, “and I shall do you none, if you do me one service.”

  “Name it, master, and I will serve.”

  “How do I know you won’t run off the moment I lift my boot?”

  “I swear on all the gods, master, and by my grandmother, blessings upon her, and in the name of the Emperor, blessings be upon him!”

  Caleb took a coin out of his purse and held it up. The boy’s expression instantly turned from terror to overt greed. Caleb removed his foot and the boy was up in a bound. He reached for the coin, but Caleb pulled it away. “After you have served me.”

  “Master, but how shall I know that I will be rewarded when the task is done?”

  “Shall I take an oath on my grandmother?” asked Caleb.

  “No, of course not, but—”

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  “No argument, Little Lord of Lice,” Caleb answered in idiomatic Keshian. “If you do not do as I ask, then another shall see my gold.”

  He knew that a single gold piece was more than the boy could steal or beg in half a year.

  “What must I do?”

  “What is your name?”

  “If it pleases you, master, I am called Shabeer.”

  “Go hence, Shabeer, and carry a message for me, then return here with an answer.”

  “And if the answer displeases you, master?”

  “You shall still be rewarded.”

  “Then what is the message, and to whom do I carry it?”

  “I must meet with wh
oever speaks for the Ragged Brotherhood. I need to speak with he who may bind the thieves and beggars of Kesh to a bargain. Much gold may be had, though there is equal danger.”

  “In matters words of gold and danger, there is someone, master.”

  “Then go at once and I will remain here, but know that I have powerful friends. Treachery will bring you death; faithful service will bring you gold.”

  “I hear and obey, master,” said the boy, and he scampered off.

  Caleb faded back into the shadows and waited.

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  SEVENTEEN

  I n t e l l i g e n c e

  Tal moved silently through the sewer.

  He had no doubt about the authenticity of the message he had received earlier that day from Caleb and had been relieved to discover he was alive. Caleb had relayed messages between him and Kaspar, and now the three of them were to meet.

  Tal’s only concern was the location of the meeting. He was following a filthy beggar boy named Shabeer through a river of sewage in a huge culvert under the slaughterhouse district of the City of Kesh. “My eyes are bleeding,” said Tal.

  “In truth, master?” asked the boy, concerned that if anything went amiss on this journey it would be considered his fault. The other foreign master had been generous beyond imagining and the beggar boy was desperate to keep him happy.

  Flight of the Nighthawks

  “No, just a manner of speaking.”

  “You get used to it, here, master,” said the boy.

  “How long does that take?”

  “A year, two maybe.”

  Tal would have laughed, but he was trying hard not to breathe too deeply. He had been in several places over the years that he had judged to be unequaled in stench—Kaspar’s prison, known as the Fortress of Despair, being foremost among them—but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming smell of this Keshian sewer.

  He appreciated the reason for holding the meeting here—the slaughterhouses, tanners, and other malodorous enterprises had been sectioned off near the edge of the lake, so they were far from the residential areas of Kesh, and lay on the lee side of the city so that the prevailing breezes blew the stench away. But the entire area still reeked.