Shards of a Broken Crown (47 page)

“There is
something out there,” said Pug. “Something I haven’t
encountered for years.”

“What?”

“I’m
not sure,” said Pug. “When I know, I will tell you.”
Pug said nothing more. Both knew of the existence out in the cosmos
of a great evil, the Nameless One, who was at the root of all the
troubles they had been facing for the previous century. And that evil
had human agents, men whom Pug had encountered more than once in the
past. Pug kept his thoughts to himself, but there had been one agent
of Nalar, a mad magician named Sidi, who had created havoc fifty
years before. Pug thought the man dead, but now he wasn’t sure.
If it wasn’t Sidi he sensed out there, it was another like him,
and either possibility left Pug feeling dread and fear. Dealing with
these forces was a task beyond any Pug had imagined while he was a
Great One of the Assembly, or during his early days of creating
Stardock.

It was a task
that more than once left Pug feeling defeated before he had even
begun. He thanked the gods that he had Miranda, for without her, he
would long before have given himself up to despair.

Dash looked up
and saw a face he knew. “Talwin?” The former prisoner
walked past the two constables sitting at the table drinking coffee
and getting ready for their next patrol. “Can I speak to you in
private?” asked the man who had vanished right after Dash
escaped from Krondor.

“Sure,”
said Dash, standing up and waving the man to a far corner of the
converted inn. When they were out of earshot of the constables, Dash
said, “I wondered what happened to you. I left you and Gustaf
outside a tent when I went in to report, and when I came back out I
found only Gustaf.”

Talwin reached
inside his tunic and pulled out a faded parchment, obviously old.
Dash read:

To whoever
reads this:

The bearer
of this document will be identified by a mole on his neck and a scar
on the back of his left arm. He is a servant of the crown and I
request all aid and assistance asked be given to him without
question.

Signed,

James, Duke
of Krondor

Dash’s
eyebrows rose. He glanced at Talwin and saw the man pointing to the
mole on his neck, then rolling up his left sleeve to show the scar on
his arm.

“Who are
you?” Dash asked quietly.

“I was
your grandfather’s agent, and your father’s after him.”

“Agent?”
asked Dash. “One of his spies, you mean.”

“Among
other things,” said Talwin.

“And I
don’t suppose Talwin is your real name,” said Dash.

“It
serves,” said Talwin. Lowering his voice he said, “As
Sheriff of Krondor you need to know that I am responsible for
intelligence within the Western Realm, now.”

Dash nodded.
“Knowing my grandfather, he didn’t hand out a lot of
cartes blanches, so that makes you a very important spy. Why didn’t
you show this to me before?”

“I don’t
carry it on me; I had to go dig it out of its hiding place. If I’m
searched and it’s found on me by the wrong people, I’m
dead.”

“So why
now?”

“This city
is barely intact, and while it appears to be crawling back from
oblivion, it’s very vulnerable. Your job is to insure order,
and my job is to ferret out enemy agents.”

Dash was silent
for a moment. “Very well. What is it you need?”

“Cooperation
between us. Until the palace staff is restored and I can work out of
there unseen, I need to work someplace where I can be seen poking
around in all parts of the city without people asking too many
questions.”

“You need
a job as a constable,” supplied Dash.

“Yes. When
the present danger is over and the city more secure than it is, I’ll
move back to the palace and get out of your hair. Right now I need to
be a constable.”

“Do you
report to me?” asked Dash.

“No,”
said Talwin. “I report to the Duke of Krondor.”

“There is
no Duke of Krondor,” said Dash.

“Not at
present, but until there is, I report to Duke Brian.”

Dash inclined
his head to show that made sense. “Have you alerted him to your
existence?”

“Not yet,”
said Talwin. “The fewer people who know of me, the better.
Rumor has it the King is sending Rufio, Earl Delamo, from Rodez to
take the office. If true, I’ll let him know who I am as soon as
he arrives.”

Dash said, “I’m
not happy with having a constable here under false colors, but I know
the business. Just make sure if there’s anything going on out
there I should know about, you tell me.”

“I’ll
do that,” said Talwin.

“Now, what
else do you need from me?”

“I need to
know who killed your two men.”

Suddenly Dash
had an insight. “You mean who killed your two agents, don’t
you?”

Talwin nodded.
“How did you guess?”

“The
Mockers. Someone told me I needed to find out what Nolan and Riggs
did before joining up.”

“They
spent a lot of time working the docks for your grandfather and your
father. We kept low during the fall of the city and managed to stay
alive. I was captured and stuck on the damn work gang until you
showed up. I couldn’t risk showing anyone I knew the way out,
and I couldn’t get free of guards and other prisoners, but when
you organized that break, it was a godsend. Getting us past the
Mockers was a bonus.”

“Glad to
be of service,” Dash said dryly.

“Nolan and
Riggs were also in work gangs, and they got sprung when Duko made his
deal with the Prince. I put them into your service because I need to
get my network reestablished.” He looked pained as he said,
“They were my last two agents in this city.”

“So you
have to start from scratch.”

“Yes,”
said Talwin. “It’s the only reason you’re being
told all this.”

Dash said, “I
understand. Look, circumstances say we must work together. Someone
killed one of my better snitches when I started asking about who
murdered your men.”

“Someone
in Krondor doesn’t want us too close,” said Talwin.

“Anyway,
we don’t have enough warm bodies to do all the jobs that need
to be done. Sniff around and I won’t bother you with a regular
beat. If anyone asks, you’re my deputy and on errands for me. I
think we’d better quickly get another man in on this.”

“Who?”

“Gustaf is
as rock-solid as he can be.”

“Not my
idea of an agent,” said Talwin dubiously.

“Not mine,
either,” admitted Dash, “but we can’t all be sneaky
bastards. I want a third person knowing what’s going on so if
we both end up dead he can run off to Brian Silden and let him know
why. I don’t think we want him crawling through the sewers.”

“Agreed,
but we need some people crawling through the sewers.”

Dash grinned.
“Not really. We just need to make a deal with the right
people.”

“Mockers?”

“They
think another gang is trying to move in, but you and I know better.”

Talwin nodded.
“Agents from Kesh or from Queg.”

“Or both.”

“But
whoever they are, we have to root them out and quickly, because if
word gets out to either of those nations that we’re sitting
here with less than five hundred men under arms in the entire city,
we could all be dead before the snows fall next winter.”

“I’ll
take care of the Mockers,” said Dash. “You find yourself
some agents. I don’t want to know who they are, unless you
stick them in here as constables.”

“Agreed.”

“I assume
you’re using intermediaries.”

“Safe
assumption.”

“Make a
list and give it to me. I’ll hide it in my room in the palace.”
He grinned. “I actually manage to get back there once a week to
change clothes and bathe. I’ll leave a sealed message with Lord
Brian, an ‘open upon my death’ message telling where the
list is.”

Talwin said,
“When the network is reestablished, I’ll want the list
destroyed.”

“Gladly,”
said Dash, “but what good are agents out there going to do if
you and I are both gone and there’s no one to get the
information to the crown?”

“I
understand,” said Talwin.

“Come with
me,” said Dash.

He took Talwin
back to the center of the room. To the two resting constables, he
said, “This is Talwin. He’s been appointed the new
Deputy. He’ll work the desk when I’m not here. You two,
take him around and show him what things are like, then do what he
tells you.”

Talwin nodded,
and Dash fetched him a red armband. When the agent left, Dash sat
down and returned to work. He idly wondered how many other little
surprises were out there, left in place by his grandfather and
father.

Jimmy said, “The
fancy fellow on the very hot stallion is a gentleman named Marcel
Duval, Squire of the King’s Court, and a very close friend to
the eldest son of the Duke of Bas-Tyra.”

“Hot”
stallion appeared to be correct, for the black stud snorted and pawed
the ground and appeared to be ready to dump his rider at any moment.
The Squire didn’t attempt to get off until an orderly ran over
and took the animal’s bridle. Then he dismounted quickly,
putting distance between himself and the horse.

Duko laughed.
“Why did he pick that fractious creature?”

“Vanity,”
said Jimmy. “You see a lot of that east of Malac’s
Cross.”

“And what
company is that?” asked Duko.

“His own
private guard. Many nobles in the East indulge themselves with such
companies. They’re very pretty on parade.”

Looking at the
company of soldiers that accompanied the Squire, it was obvious it
was a unit designed for parade, not combat. Each man sat astride a
black horse, nearly identical in size, and all without a marking.
Each soldier wore buckskin-colored leggings tucked into knee-high
black cavalier boots, the large knee flaps of which were rimmed in
scarlet cord. The color was an exact match to their red tunics, which
were trimmed in black whipcord at shoulders, sleeve, and collar.
Their polished steel breastplates appeared to be trimmed in brass,
and each man had a short yellow cape slung over the left shoulder.
Atop their heads they endured steel round helms, trimmed in white
fur, with polished steel neck chains. Each man carried a long lance
of lacquered black wood tipped with brilliantly polished steel.

Duko couldn’t
resist laughing. “They’re going to get dirty.”

Suddenly Jimmy
started to laugh, and he could barely contain himself as the Squire
walked up the steps of the inn to the front door. As the door opened,
one of Duko’s old soldiers said, “A gentleman to see you,
m’lord.”

Duko walked over
to Duval, his hand extended, saying, “Squire Marcel. Your
reputation precedes you.”

It was protocol
for the Squire to introduce himself to the Duke, and Duval was taken
completely off guard. He stood there, unsure of whether to take the
Duke’s proffered hand or bow, so he gave a rapid and awkward
bow, and reached out to take the Duke’s hand just as it was
being withdrawn. Jimmy almost hurt himself trying not to laugh.

“Ah . . .
Your Grace,” said the flustered squire from Bas-Tyra. “I’ve
come to place my sword at your disposal.” He saw Jimmy standing
off to one side, and said, “James?”

“Marcel,”
Jimmy said with a slight bow.

“I didn’t
know you were here, Squire.”

“It’s
Earl, now, actually,” said Duko.

Marcel’s
eyes widened, which heightened his comic appearance. For while he was
dressed exactly like his men, he had elected to wear a larger helm,
with stylized wings on each side. He had a round face, with a large
waxed mustache that stuck out on either side.

“Congratulations,”
said Marcel.

Jimmy couldn’t
resist. “I received the office upon my father’s death,”
he said seriously.

Marcel Duval had
the decency to blush a furious red color, stammer and appear close to
tears over the gaffe. “I’m so sorry . . . m’lord,”
he said with a tone so apologetic it bordered on the comical.

Jimmy swallowed
a laugh and said, “Glad to see you, Marcel.”

Duval ignored
the remark, totally defeated socially. He turned to Duko and,
mustering as military a manner as he could, said, “I have fifty
lancers at your disposal, m’lord!”

Duko said, “I’ll
have my sergeant get your men billeted, Squire. As long as you’re
in my command, you’ll carry the rank of lieutenant. Join us for
supper.” Duko shouted, “Matak!”

The old soldier
who opened the door, said, “Yes?”

“Show this
officer and his men a place they can pitch their tents.”

“Yes,
m’lord,” said the old soldier, holding open the door to
allow Duval to flee.

When he was
gone, Jimmy laughed, and Duko said, “I take it you didn’t
get along with him before?”

“Oh,
Marcel is harmless, if a bore,” said Jimmy. “When we were
boys in Rillanon, he was always trying to intrude into social
situations to which he had not been invited. I think he was trying to
get on Patrick’s good side.” Jimmy sighed. “It was
Patrick who couldn’t stand him, actually. Francie, Dash, and I
got along well enough with him.”

“Francie?”
asked Duko.

Jimmy’s
expression clouded over, as memory of her suddenly inserted itself in
his consciousness. “The Duke of Silden’s daughter,”
Jimmy supplied.

“Well, he
has fifty men. We’ll get them into shape, and if nothing else,
they’ll be very obvious on patrol, so the Keshians will know
they’re around.”

“They’ll
be hard to miss in those scarlet tunics,” said Jimmy.

A knock came at
the door and it opened, and a messenger hurried in. Handing a packet
to Jimmy, he said, “Messages from Land’s End, m’lords.”

Jimmy took them,
opened the packet, and Duko waved the messenger outside. Jimmy
quickly sorted out those messages that were urgent and other
communiques that could wait, then opened the first. “Damn,”
he said as he skimmed the letter. The Duke was learning to read the
King’s tongue, but it was more efficient to let Jimmy read and
sum up for him. “Another raid and this time two villages south
of Land’s End were sacked. Captain Kuvak is withdrawing from
patrolling there, as the villagers have fled and they no longer
require the Earl’s protection.”