by Alexey Pehov
Apart from the main road that leads to the Lettuce Gates of Al’sgara, Dovetown was an insane maze of alleys, lanes, side streets, and thoroughfares. If you were not a local, it was easy to get lost. The majority of this part of Newtown (the dirtiest, by the way, of all those that have grown up under the Outer wall) consisted of one-story buildings placed at random, with no sense of order. So any kind of reasonable route was out of the question. There were homes, stores, workshops, stables, cattle yards, and the Abyss knew what else. The Viceroy really was a fool for having drawn out the question of fortifying Dovetown for so long. After all, only a fool could hope that Nabator and Sdis would bypass Al’sgara altogether.
I wasn’t planning on taking a long stroll through the district. I had absolutely nothing to accomplish here; my goal was beyond the walls. So I kept to the main road, taking no turns, merely looking from side to side. Over the past seven years, this suburb had grown in breadth, taking over the entire right shore of the Ors, and it had become even more dirty, chaotic, and unpleasant. I held no love for this little neighborhood, even though I had to work in it a few times for the guild. Those who settle here don’t have enough money, experience, success, or luck to move beyond the Wall, as it was simply called here. I stuck to the main street so that I could get to the Lettuce Gates as soon as possible.
I noticed the man walking behind me accidentally.
By an ancient shop that sold all sorts of rubbish, I had to duck so as not to hit my head on the iron sign. It turned out brilliantly, even though the shopkeeper smothered me with abuse for stumbling into his wares. When I turned around to say something vile in reply, I saw the sneaker who was tailing me out of the corner of my eye. I’d had the honor of beholding this short lad when I exited the ferry. He’d been leaning against the wheel of a wagon sunk into the mud, blinking from the morning sun hitting his face. A man like any other. I didn’t notice anything unusual about him, so I ignored him. But I shouldn’t have.
I didn’t show that I’d observed my shadow and turned onto the next curving side street. I stretched until my back cracked, “accidentally” turned around—and my tracker had disappeared. Was it really as it seemed, and he was simply walking the same route as I? Odd. It had been a long time since my intuition failed me.
For the next several minutes I rode along the side street as it curved in front of a line of wooden houses on the right, until it led me back to the main street. My unknown friend was already here, hanging about a shop that sold sausages.
Gotcha!
We made brief eye contact. As soon as I rode a few dozen yards away, the lad once again trudged after me.
Not too smart!
I started whistling a dissolute tune, trying to figure out who had set a tail on me. Why was he following me and what did he want? Had he taken a liking to Stallion and decided to deprive a visitor of his superfluous livestock? Or was it something else? This is the first time I’d ever seen him, that’s for sure. Who would he be running to after he found out where I’d stopped? Joch? Mols? Bounty hunters? The Walkers? Or did he prefer to do it all on his own, without worrying about others’ greedy mouths? That’s what I would do. But that’s me, and that is him. After observing how the greenhorn followed me, I came to the conclusion that this was one bird who didn’t fly very high. In any case, he didn’t possess a talent for surveillance. Nor any brains either, if he had the brilliant idea to take me on alone. Even old Midge wasn’t prone to such idiotic behavior.
I’d have to ask this man a few questions. Just letting him go might be fraught with serious consequences, especially if the half-wit got it into his head to ask around about a certain man’s arrival in town.
It was less than two blocks to the gate, and I decided not to wait. I directed Stallion to the first more or less decent inn I knew. I liked the owner of the establishment—he wasn’t too much of a crook. So I quickly rented a room and a stall in the stables, paying a month in advance, and asked him to look after my horse and to give him the bag of oats I’d promised him. Then I told him I wouldn’t be back anytime soon and limped out onto the street.
My tail was waiting for me. I had to go in the opposite direction of the one I desired. By the Wall there was little chance of coming across a vacant passageway where no one would interrupt our conversation, but I’d find a likely place closer to the river. And there I’d get to ask some questions.
* * *
Knari, nicknamed Hamster, had a good memory for faces. So he almost jumped up when he saw the blond man who was arriving on the ferry take a black horse from its pen. The lad could barely force himself to sit in place as he tried not to look at the newcomer. Despite the fact that almost ten years had passed since the time when he, still a very young boy, had caught a glimpse of the man while he was talking to Stump, there was not the slightest doubt—it was Gray.
Knari had heard that a whole lot of money was being offered for the Giiyan’s head but until today he hadn’t believed he was alive. Seven years had passed since they found the burnt bodies of Gray and his girlfriend, and until last month no one had any doubt that the people who had ordered the hit on the Walker had done away with the assassins. Now though, upon catching sight of the Giiyan, Knari not only believed that the man was alive, but he believed in his own lucky star as well.
He waited until the horseman rode away from the river and then hastened after him, at first fearing that the Giiyan would notice him. But minute after minute passed, and the rider had no idea he had a tail. Knari sneered contemptuously—turns out Gray wasn’t such a dangerous man after all. As always, rumors were exaggerated far more than they should be. And it seemed like he didn’t have any weapons on him: no bow, no sword. True, he could be hiding a knife under the fabric of his dirty green jacket, but Hamster wasn’t all that worried. He’d heard over and over that the Giiyan was a great shot, but no one had ever given any indication that he could do his work with another weapon. Plus, Knari had two knives on him—a throwing knife up his sleeve and a straight Nabatorian knife under his shirt. He’d used the latter many times, and he rightly considered himself a consummate master of knife fighting.
At one point Gray left the main street, but Hamster didn’t bother to follow him. He knew that those side streets would lead the Giiyan out onto the main street and that it was better to wait than to take a risk. He didn’t have to wait long. From the side street the rider appeared, looked around in surprise, clearly not understanding how he got there, and after a short hesitation directed his horse toward the Lettuce Gates.
Hamster came to a decision. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he’d found the blond. Neither Mols nor Joch. The crumbs they’d pay him for the news were nothing compared to the five thousand sorens he’d get for the murder of this dolt. That Gray was a dolt, he had no doubt. Knari had no idea where the rumors that he was dangerous had come from. Judging from all he saw, he’d be easy to take care of. Then he could bring his head to Joch in exchange for the reward. The littlest thing was required for a cushy life—to wait for an opportune moment and cut the blond’s throat.
Who, by the way, was acting like a complete hayseed. He was looking around ceaselessly, as if he’d never been in a city before. Then he did something completely idiotic; he decided to stop at some rundown inn, as if he couldn’t just go through the Wall and find decent lodgings in Outer City. Apparently, he was really bad with money.
When Gray leaped from his horse, Knari was delighted to see something he hadn’t noticed at the ferry landing—the man was quite lame in his left leg. He wouldn’t be able to move very quickly at all. Knari had it in the bag.
He prepared himself for a long wait, but that’s not how it happened. The blond left the inn quite quickly and, still limping, headed toward the river. After a while he turned off the main street, and now Knari had to work so as not to lose sight of his victim, nor to be seen by him.
Gray wandered aimlessly through the streets for some time, getting deeper and deeper into Dovetown. There were fewer p
eople around, and the stench of sewage and garbage thrown into the street became stronger. Then Hamster heard the cries of seagulls and realized that they had strayed into the fishing quarter, not far from where the Ors emptied into the sea.
Suddenly the assassin stopped (Knari had to cling to a wall) and then turned into a narrow alley between two houses. He had to wait a moment so that he wouldn’t come face-to-face with Gray if he decided to turn back.
He didn’t.
So without wasting any more time, Knari went after him. He passed into the alleyway and walked forward a few steps; then he stopped short. He was in a small channel that was enclosed on two sides by the walls of the stone houses. Fifteen steps in front of where Knari now stood, the river began. Gray wasn’t there.
It seemed that the blond had managed to dupe him. He’d jumped into the river and now he could be anywhere. The Abyss! He’s gone. Disappeared without a trace. Knari cursed.
“Hey,” came a soft voice from behind him. “Aren’t you looking for me?”
Hamster didn’t choke, and as soon as his throwing knife slid out of his sleeve into his palm, he whipped around and flicked the weapon with his wrist without raising his arm. The Giiyan turned out to be far more skilled than his unfortunate stalker thought. He was no longer in the same place and the throw was for nothing.
Knari swore a second time and grabbed his knife.
“Not smart,” said Gray.
A small axe appeared in his hands and then everything happened very quickly. The blond was no longer limping and he moved so fast that Hamster missed the moment when his enemy appeared next to him. The unlucky killer lunged at Gray’s stomach with his knife, but by some miracle he had already turned to the side, and at the same moment Knari felt a strong blow fall on his right wrist. The Nabatorian knife fell into the muck. The lad stared dully at his useless weapon and then turned his gaze to his hand. His wrist was disfigured. His little and ring fingers were missing.
Only now did the pain come.
He groaned, but even then he didn’t lose his self-control. He reached for the knife lying on the ground with his left hand and instantly felt a terrible pain in his right knee. His vision went dark; he howled and, without understanding how it came to be, he found himself on the ground.
“Are you from the guild?” The blond didn’t raise his voice.
Hamster had enough stubbornness to tell the Giiyan off in fairly colorful language. Another wave of pain pierced his hand.
“It seems like it’s your intent to do stupid things. Tell me who sent you and we’ll part as friends.”
Knari was gasping for breath, and a deluge of tears was rolling down his cheeks. He’d never experienced anything like this. Finally, through his coughing and tears he managed to gasp, “My friends will be here at any moment, and then you’ll be done for.”
He raised himself up on his elbows and a crushing blow came down on his nose. Something crunched ominously. His face instantly became hot and wet. Blood started dripping down his lips and into his beard. Knari had no strength left to scream, so he whimpered softly.
“You’re being stubborn for nothing, lad.” The Giiyan was standing right over him. “I’ll still find out what kind of beast you are and who feeds you.”
Again, the pain in his crippled hand.
“I don’t like doing this, but you leave me no choice. You still have one finger on your right hand and five on your left. I had to hone my skills in Sandon. Believe me, the Highborn screamed even louder than you. I promise you, it will be quite unpleasant. And don’t lie and tell me that you have help—I saw that you were working alone. No one will interfere with us. Sooner or later you’ll tell me everything.”
* * *
I was just concluding my conversation with the sheep when some conscientious person called a patrol of watchmen. I had to finish the hapless killer off quickly and get out of there. I missed the guardians of order literally by a minute. I heard the clatter, dove into a convenient doorway, and five watchmen ran past me. I waited for a moment and then walked away. I needed to leave the fishermen’s quarter as soon as I could.
Fairly swiftly but without drawing attention to myself, I made my way to the main street and then headed for the Wall at a leisurely pace. From here the Lettuce Gate was a stone’s throw away.
You could say that I was lucky. The lad had been working without support and had been too stupid and greedy to run for help. He decided to do it all by himself. A small fry, one of Mols’s hangers-on. Hopefully the head of the guild wouldn’t be too upset that I cut up one of his employees. Unlikely, as old Mols didn’t take too kindly to those who tried to conduct business behind his back.
The most important thing I learned from my chat with that stupid, stubborn ass was that it was nothing more than chance that he ran into me. No one was waiting for me in Al’sgara. And he’d heard nothing of Layen.
The Lettuce Gates were the last ones in the southern Wall and the closest to the sea and the river. Unlike the other five gates that led into the city, there was rarely a crowd near these and it was much quicker to pass through them. The Guardsmen there had never been known for their vigilance or zeal.
The sun was high in the sky and the outer Wall was no longer rose-colored, but had taken on its customary yellow-gray color. Though the Sculptor had not had a hand in its construction it looked sufficiently solemn and reliable. It rose high above me, built from massive stone blocks. It would not be easy to take such a wall by storm, and if you did, there were five more fortified walls beyond it, and three of them had been built by the strongest mage in the history of the Empire. The enemy would have a very difficult time getting into Al’sgara. Of course, that was unless someone decided to let them in. It’s well known that most towns and castles fall not by storm, but by hunger, disease, and the fools who rush to open the gates and throw themselves on the mercy of the victors. The capital of the south might be saved by the fact that even if the first walls fell or traitors allowed the enemy into the Outer City, the inhabitants could always take cover behind the next stage of defense. Hightown and Second City, where the main warehouses, the palace of the Viceroy, the Tower of the Walkers, and the Guards’ barracks were located, were practically impossible to take by force. Probably the only thing that could cause Al’sgara to fall was hunger. And that’s why a continuous stream of wagons full of provisions was flowing into the Gates. Apparently, the city elders were buying up all the food in the province.
During the time I was away, some changes had occurred. Six guards had been added. In addition, a few swordsmen in full armor were standing by the gate, and beyond them was a crowd of a dozen crossbowmen. No one was paying them any heed, and they were playing dice on a barrel of reska. If there was this much security at the entrance of the gatehouse, then I was willing to swear by my right hand that there was just as much on the other side of the Wall. If not more.
The Guardsmen, irritable from the heat, examined each approaching wagon critically. As they should. The Abyss knows what the Whites might bring into the city. The undead or one of those Fish. If it burst somewhere in Hightown, there would be hell to pay.
I stood in a barely moving line. I wasn’t too happy about that, of course, but in this case I preferred not to rush things. There was no reason to attract attention to myself.
Today, it seems, everyone was talking only about the war. Each rumor was more absurd than the next. While I was waiting my turn, I had more than enough time to get tired of these conversations.
When only five people remained in the line ahead of me, I noticed someone I should have taken note of from the very beginning. Behind the dice-playing crossbowmen, hidden in the dense shadows of one of the two massive gates, stood a middle-aged woman wearing a blue mantle with a red circle on her chest. She was talking unreservedly to the captain of the Guards and casting intent looks at the people walking by her.
A Walker!
Things were taking a bad turn. I had to keep as far away as possible fr
om bearers of the spark despite the fact that seven years had gone by. Certain people have long memories. I’d learned that well enough this morning, when that filthy little toad got on my tail. He’d seen me only once, and he recognized me even though I’d acquired a beard during my travels from Dog Green.
Leaving the line would be too conspicuous; then they’d really notice me.
“State your name, where you’re from, your destination,” the exhausted Guardsman asked me.
It was too late to run.
“I’m a craftsman. Pars the carpenter. From Oglad. I’m here by invitation.”
I named one of the less important lords of the city council. As I expected, he didn’t bother to check.
“Do you know the way?”
“I’ve been here before.”
“Then get going.” The soldier lost all interest in me.
I thanked him and entered the coolness of the gatehouse. The Walker slid her eyes over me and continued her conversation with the captain. I breathed a sigh of relief. The first thing she checked for was the Gift, and only then did she examine faces. I was lucky.
There was a massive corridor running through the Wall. Footbridges trailed along under the ceiling, where archers could be placed if the enemy swept through the outer gates. There were arrow loops in the walls, and two raised steel portcullises. After fifty paces I got through the corridor, passed by the interior gates, which were in no way inferior in terms of strength to the exterior gates, and found myself in Outer City. As I’d assumed, there were just as many guards at the exit of the Lettuce Gates as at the entrance. If a commotion suddenly arose near where the Walker was standing, then the lads here would have time to either go help or lower the portcullises.
My beloved city can sleep peacefully. For the time being, at any rate.
* * *
My goal lay beyond the second wall, between the harbor and Birdtown. This part of Al’sgara was called Birdtown because a community of Je’arre had lived there for quite some time. Their neighborhood began at the top of a giant hill and slowly descended toward the sea.
