Shards of a Broken Crown (11 page)

“But what
have we seen?” said Malar, genuinely perplexed.

“I’m
not sure, which is why we must get inside the city. But whatever it
is, it’s not something we anticipated.”

“That’s
bad.”

Jimmy grinned.
“Why do you say that?”

“Because
the unanticipated is always bad.”

Jimmy’s
grin broadened. “Always?”

“Always.
There is no such thing as a pleasant surprise.”

“I
remember this girl once—”

“Did she
end up breaking your heart?”

Jimmy nodded
with a smile now rueful. “That she did.”

“You see.
If you can anticipate, you can stay beyond harm’s reach.”

“You sound
like a man of experience,” suggested Jimmy.

Malar’s
eyes narrowed. “More than most men know, young sir.”

Jimmy looked
around. The shadows had deepened as the sun had lingered in the west,
and now the sky above was turning a stunning shade of violet as night
approached. “It’s dark enough we won’t be noticed,
I’m thinking.” He led Malar into the rear of the old inn,
having to carefully pick his way across a section of timbers, what
was left from a collapsed doorway and wall section, as well as part
of the ceiling above. The roof was gone, and blackened timbers above
showed starkly against the darkening sky. They moved cautiously, then
Jimmy said, “It’s around here somewhere.”

He knelt and
looked around. He moved some smaller debris covered in thick soot,
raising a stench of wet charcoal. “Some of the wood is
rotting.”

Malar said,
“There is a ring of iron there, young sir.”

“Give me a
hand,” said Jimmy as he cleared the top of the trapdoor.

As the two men
pulled, Jimmy said, “This used to be the back room at an inn
controlled by the Mockers.”

“Mockers?”

“Thieves,”
said Jimmy. “I thought their fame reached into the vale.”

“The only
thieves with whom I had contact were those who used quill and
parchment, not dagger and guile. Businessmen.”

Jimmy laughed.
“My brother would agree; he used to work for the worst of the
lot, Rupert Avery.”

“That’s
a name I have heard, young sir. My late master had cause to curse him
more than once.”

They got the
trap moved and swung it back, letting it fall. The opening yawned at
them like a black pit. Jimmy said, “I wish we had some light.”

“You
expect to travel in such gloom?” said Malar, a note of
incredulity in his voice.

“There is
no light on the brightest day down there.” He found what he was
looking for, the ladder down, and as he swung himself down onto the
topmost rung, he said, “There are lights down there if one but
knows where to look.”

“If you
know where to look,” Malar muttered under his breath.

They carefully
descended into the darkness.

Dash winced, but
not from the cold; rather he flinched at the sound of a lash striking
a man down below. He, Gustaf, Talwin, and a few other men he had come
to know were laboring atop the wall just to the north of Krondor’s
main gate. Dash glanced over at Gustaf, who nodded, indicating
everything was all right. Suddenly they both turned. A man screamed a
few yards off as he lost his footing; in that brief instant, the man
knew with dread certainty he was going to fall and no amount of will
or prayer would keep him alive. His anguish and terror filled the
afternoon air as he toppled sideways and fell to his death on the
cobbles below. Gustaf flinched at the sound of the body striking the
unyielding rock. They were repairing the battlements and the footing
was treacherous, made doubly so by loose stones and constant fog in
the mornings and evenings.

“Keep your
wits about you,” said Dash.

“You don’t
have to tell me that twice,” said Gustaf.

Dash chanced a
look over the wall and saw the usual confusion of the foulbourgh,
soldiers milling around, street vendors, and the other human flotsam
drawn into this eddy of the previous year’s war. Somewhere out
there, he fervently wished, his brother Jimmy was getting the
information needed to alert Owen Greylock that something strange was
taking place in Krondor.

Given the lack
of resources, General Duko was doing an admirable job of restoring
the city to its earlier status, at least from a military point of
view. The merchants and other residents of Krondor would see years
pass before the city came close to returning to its former
prosperity. Too much damage had occurred for that to be anything but
a distant dream. But from a soldier’s point of view, Krondor
would be close to its previous level of defensibility in less than a
year’s time, perhaps as quickly as nine or ten months.

Dash wished
mightily he could get loose of this work gang, scout around, and find
out what was going on, but the reality of the situation was that any
man who wasn’t an invader was a slave. Whatever Dash’s
father had been thinking, it would have made more sense to have sent
along one of the men who had traveled to Novindus with Erik von
Darkmoor, someone who spoke the language and had a fair chance of
passing for one of the men from the continent across the sea.

Even if he got
free, Dash knew his only hope was to get beyond the wall, blend into
the populace there, and find his way to the East, where he was
certain his father had other agents waiting for sight of either
brother.

Dash was certain
his father had sent other agents into the city, and throughout the
surrounding countryside. It would be unlike him not to. Besides,
thought Dash as he helped hoist a large rock up to the battlements,
the ghost of Duke Arutha’s father, Lord James, would haunt him
if he didn’t. As Dash bruised knuckles on the harsh stone and
began putting mortar into place, he thought that his grandfather’s
ghost would be welcome about now. Certainly, if anyone could puzzle
out what was happening in Krondor it would be the legendary Lord
James.

Jimmy cursed in
the darkness as he bruised his shins against an unexpected stone. “Is
the young gentleman certain he hasn’t lost his way?” came
Malar’s voice out of the blackness.

Jimmy said,
“Keep quiet. It’s certain we’re not the only ones
down here. And yes I know where we are,” he said. “We
turn right and another dozen paces on the right should be the place
we’re looking for.” As if to prove the point, he turned
to the right and moved into a small passage. Malar kept both hands on
the right wall as he awkwardly followed.

After a few
minutes they moved slowly through the gloom, then suddenly Jimmy
said, “We’re here.”

“Where is
here, sir?” asked Malar.

“One of
the many hiding places for. . .” A sound of rustling, as if
something was being moved, came from where Jimmy stood. Then Malar
shielded his eyes as a small spark was struck, blindingly bright
after the long time spent in the dark.

The torch was
dry and caught at once, and Jimmy said, “Let’s see what
we have here.” He rummaged through the contents of the hiding
place, a false stone in the wall at waist height.

“How did
you know where to look?” asked Malar.

“My
grandfather had reason to spend some time in the sewers.” He
glanced at Malar. “He was a city employee.”

“A sewer
worker?”

“At
times,” said Jimmy. “Anyway, he told me that from
whatever thieves’ entrance into the city, you move to the first
intersection, then to the right, and about twelve paces to the right,
a cache would be found. Seems the Mockers wanted to make sure that if
they got chased down into the darkness, they could find light and
some tools.” He waved at the cache. “Observe.” He
patted each item as he named it. “A good length of rope. A
large breaker bar. A water skin. A dagger, torches, or a lantern.”

“A lantern
with a shutter would prove safer,” said Malar.

“True,”
agreed Jimmy, “but as we don’t have one, we must settle
for what is at hand. There may be other caches still intact, and
perhaps we can find a lantern there.”

He glanced
around in the murk and said, “Gods!”

Malar said,
“What?” concern obvious in his tone.

“Look at
this mess.”

“Sir, it’s
a sewer,” replied Malar, irritation in his voice.

“I know
that. But look at the walls and the water.”

Malar saw then
what Jimmy meant. While expecting moss-covered stones and brackish
water, he didn’t expect to see every surface covered in soot.
He glanced at his own hands and said, “Sir, I think we must
bathe once we get above, else we shall surely be noticed.”

Jimmy glanced at
his servant and said, “If I’ve scratched my chin as much
as you, it is certain I look like a chimney sweep.”

Malar said,
“You’re filthy, sir.”

Jimmy said,
“Well, no one said this would be easy.”

As he set off,
he heard Malar mutter, “No one said it would be impossible,
either.”

Dash nodded and
Gustaf jumped. He landed behind the big stone they were attempting to
move, and ducked out of sight of the guards. He held a piece of
broken crockery he had secreted in his shirt two days before and
quickly sawed at a key rope in the net used to haul the stones.

The rope net was
a clever device that could be placed around the stone, fitted under
the corners as men used levers to raise them. Once hoisted aloft, a
quick pass of two ropes beneath the stone put on a second lifting
net, and once above the intended destination, the two ropes were
removed, and the stone lowered a few inches as the webbing loosened,
dropping the stone. Dash knew a practiced crew of stone masons could
do this with a tolerance of a mere fraction of an inch. With Dash’s
crew, they were happy to get the stone within an inch of ideal
tolerance. The only masons in Krondor were Duko’s engineers,
and there was a severe language problem with most of the workers.

Gustaf stepped
around from behind the stone, nodding to Dash. “Haul away,”
he shouted.

Dash stepped
back as two men readied the ropes to be passed under the stone, and
watched. The stone lifted two feet in the air, then suddenly tilted
as a loud snap sounded. The strand Gustaf had cut had parted, and now
the stone hung a few feet off the ground, spinning slowly. The two
men with the support ropes backed away.

“Get it
down!” shouted a voice from below, and suddenly the rock was
dropped.

“No!”
said the foreman, too late, as men who should have slowly lowered the
stone released the rope. Instead of settling quietly to the ledge,
the rock bounced a bit then teetered, as Dash had hoped, then slowly
started to fall.

“Look
out!” cried a man near Dash as men started scrambling out of
the way.

“Come on,”
Dash said to Gustaf as confusion erupted.

They hurried
past a guard standing still in fascination as the rock slid outward,
overhanging the parapet, slowly moving to balance a moment in the
air, then start its dramatic fall to the cobbles below.

Dash, Gustaf,
and some other men hurried down a flight of stone steps, as if intent
on helping those below. But at the base of the wall, Dash moved
quickly to his right, into what appeared to be a slight gap in the
stones. The others ducked into the gap after him.

The ancient wall
of Krondor was hollow in places, storage sheds used to house grain,
water, and weapons against siege. Many of the old storage rooms had
been used during the last war, but several had been left empty, like
these along the easternmost wall.

Dash had waited
a week to find this one, an ideal exit from captivity if he had
judged correctly. Either there was a sewer entrance here, or a
passage to another abandoned storage area that had one. The only
danger would be if they were caught ducking into this room, or if the
passage to the next room was blocked by fallen masonry. They would be
missed at the head count done each meal break and that was only an
hour off.

In the gloom, it
was difficult to find the entrance, but Dash managed. Below a heavy
layer of ash and dust lay a wooden pallet, used to keep grain off the
damp stones. Below that was a man-sized hole, covered with a simple
iron grate. Dash whispered, “Give me a hand,” and two
other men stooped next to him.

In the faint
light coming in through the broken wall, Dash could make out the
profiles of Gustaf and Talwin. Gustaf was what he appeared to be, but
Talwin had Dash concerned. Yet here he was risking broken fingers to
get the grating up, without any hint of betrayal.

The grate came
up and was moved out of the way. Dash started to lower himself down,
and said, “It’s going to be difficult, dropping into the
dark, but you should hit water about seven, eight feet below you, so
expect that. Face the same way I am and move to your right. You won’t
see a thing, but I know my way around down there.”

He let go, which
was among the most courageous acts of his life, as every fiber of his
being screamed to hang onto the stone and not fall into darkness. For
a brief instant it felt as if he had made some terrible misjudgment,
for it seemed as if he fell through blackness for a long time, yet
only a moment after letting go his feet struck water. He bent his
knees and hit the stones under the water and lost his balance. He
fell forward, his head going completely under the foul water, and he
came up, blowing hard to keep anything in that sewer out of his nose
and mouth. His grandfather had warned him about that, claiming that
many thieves had fallen in the sewer only to later sicken and die
from it.

He quickly
stepped to his right, and a moment later another man fell through the
hole into the darkness. “Here,” said Dash, and the man
moved toward him in the blackness.

Then two other
men came through, and Dash said, “Who’s here?”

“Gustaf,”
said the second man down.