Shards of a Broken Crown (50 page)

“Right,”
said Dash. “If he’s a Keshian agent, he’s either
already left for Kesh, to let them know how bad things are in the
city, or he’s down in Port Vykor doing more harm.”

“Send word
to Duko, and if your brother has arrived there safely, let me know.”

“Are you
quitting the constabulary today?” asked Dash as he pulled on
his boots and moved to the door.

“I think
so. Once the new Duke is in his office, I need to repair the damage
done during the war. There are agents who reported to me who don’t
know I’m still alive. There are agents I don’t know are
dead yet. Your grandfather had a marvelously devious mind and created
a thing of beauty. It may take me the rest of my life, but eventually
I’ll get the intelligence network he made back in place.”

“Well, as
long as I’m the Sheriff of Krondor, if you need help, let me
know.”

“I will,”
said Talwin, following Dash through the door.

Talwin turned
without another word and moved back toward the rooms in which the
prisoners were kept, while Dash hurried toward the Knight-Marshal’s
office, where all incoming military messages would be logged before
being sent to Prince Patrick, or north to Lord Greylock. If Jimmy had
sent word, it would be there. Dash picked up the pace and was almost
running when he reached the door.

The
sleepy-looking clerk looked up and said, “Yes, Sheriff?”

“Has there
been a message from Port Vykor in the last day or two?”

The clerk looked
over a long scroll upon which the most recent messages were logged.
“No, sir, none in the last five days.”

Dash said, “If
one arrives anytime soon, inform me at once. Thank you.” He
turned around and started back toward his room. Then he glanced
outside and saw the sun was rising. Putting aside fatigue, he turned
and started toward the door to the courtyard and the way back to the
New Market Jail. He had a great deal of work to do and it couldn’t
wait on worrying about his brother.

“Sheriff
Puppy,” came the voice through the window.

Dash came awake.
He had spent a long day keeping the city under control and had
retired to the little room in the rear of the old inn he used for
sleeping.

“Trina?”
he asked as he stood up to look through the shutters. Opening them,
he saw the young woman’s face illuminated by moonlight.

Grinning, he
stood there in his under-trousers. His shirt, trousers, and boots lay
in a heap beside his straw mattress. “Why do I doubt you came
to my window because you couldn’t bear to be away from me?”

She smiled back
and took a moment to look him up and down, then said, “You’re
a pretty enough boy, Sheriff Puppy, but I like my men with a little
more experience.”

Dash started
getting dressed. “I feel like I’ve got enough experience
for a man three times my age,” he said. “As much as I
enjoy bantering with you, why did you wake me?”

“We’ve
got a problem.”

Dash grabbed his
sword, handed it to Trina, then with a single vault, grabbed the
upper sill of the window and hauled himself through. Landing on the
ground next to her, he said, “We as in ‘you and me,’
or as in ‘the Mockers’?” as he took back his sword
and buckled it around his waist.

“As in the
entire city of Krondor,” she replied. Suddenly, and apparently
impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I
wasn’t mocking you about being pretty.”

Dash reached out
and put his hand behind her head, drawing her to him. He kissed her
deeply and lingeringly. When he let her go, he said, “I’ve
known a lot of women, despite my youth, but you’re unique.”
He looked into her eyes a moment, then said, “Let me know when
I’ve got enough experience.”

Softly she said,
“I’m a thief and you’re the Sheriff of Krondor.
Wouldn’t that be a match?”

Dash grinned.
“Have I ever told you about my grandfather?”

She shook her
head in irritation. “We don’t have time for this.”

“What’s
the problem?”

“We’ve
found that bunch who’ve been using the sewers, and who probably
killed your men.”

“Where?”

“Near that
point where Kirby was found, over by Five Points. There’s a big
tannery that was burned to the ground during the battle, but it’s
got a subbasement, a big one, and a long water entrance to the bay,
as well as the usual sewer dumps.”

“I want to
see this.”

“I thought
you would.” He started walking away when Trina said, “Dash?”

He stopped and
turned around. “What?”

“The Old
Man.”

“How is
he?”

She shook her
head slightly. “Not much longer.”

“Damn,”
said Dash, and he surprised himself at how sad knowing that his
grandfather’s brother was dying made him. “Where is he?”

“Someplace
safe. He won’t see you.”

“Why?”

“He won’t
see anybody but me and one or two others.”

Dash paused,
then said, “Who’s going to take over?”

The girl
grinned. “I would tell the Sheriff?”

Seriously, Dash
said, “You will if you get into enough trouble.”

“I’ll
think on this,” said Trina.

They hurried
through the night, and when they reached the abandoned northern
quarter of the city nearest to the old tanneries and slaughterhouses,
Trina led Dash through a series of back alleys and abandoned
buildings. Dash memorized the route and realized that it had been
cleared by the Mockers so they would have a fast avenue of escape.

They reached a
burned-out row of shanties, barely more than a few charred walls and
portions of roofs, bordering a large watercourse, a stone-lined
channel that would flood during the rainy season, or that could be
fed by water gates off the river that bordered the northeast corner
of the city. In summer, with the gate destroyed, only a little water
ran through the very center of the manmade stream. Trina jumped over
it nimbly and Dash followed her, marveling at just how lithe she was.
She wore her usual man’s shirt and black leather vest, tight
leggings and high boots. Dash could see she was both strong and fast.

She headed
straight toward a large open pipe in the far bank. It was old,
fire-hardened clay, circled by a heavy iron band. Pieces of the clay
had fallen away over the years, where the pipe extended from the
bank, and a three-foot length of metal could be seen at the upper lip
of the pipe. With a prodigious leap, she vaulted to where she could
grip the bar and swung herself into the pipe, vanishing from view.

Dash waited a
moment to let her get clear, then duplicated her leap. He discovered
why as he swung over broken crockery, glass, and jagged metal.
Landing behind Trina, he said, “Not the normal garbage one
expects.”

“It
discourages the idly curious.”

She moved on
without another word, and Dash followed her.

They moved
deeper into the sewer network, the woman leading the way surely,
though there was almost no light filtering down through the
burned-out buildings above. At the first turn right, she turned and
stopped, felt around, and produced a lamp. Dash smiled, but remained
silent. The system still hadn’t changed.

She lit it and
shuttered it. The tiny bit of light that was allowed to escape would
provide ample illumination for their purposes, and someone more than
a dozen feet away would have to be looking directly at the light
source to notice it.

Trina led Dash
deep into the sewer system until they reached a confluence of two
large pipes entering a third, with two smaller—though big
enough for a person to crab-walk through—emptying into the
large circular cavern. This was Five Points. Trina pointed at the
upper left of the two smaller pipes. As he poised to jump, she
whispered, “Trip wire.”

Dash pulled
himself up and moved slowly and quietly in the dark, feeling around
before him in case there might have been any additional alarms added.
Trina would have warned him had there been one she knew about, but
Dash’s grandfather had impressed on him that people who took
things for granted in these situations were called corpses.

As he inched
along, he found himself thinking of Trina. He had known many women
since the age of fifteen, being handsome, noble, and the grandson of
the most powerful man after the King in the nation. Twice he had been
infatuated to the point of thinking he might be in love, but both
times the notion had quickly passed. But something about this woman
thief, with her mannish clothing, unkempt hair, and piercing stare
caught his imagination. It had been quite some time since he had
known a woman and that was part of it, but there was something more,
and he wondered if circumstances would ever permit more than a casual
flirtation.

Dash froze. He
was alone in the dark looking for traps, and he was daydreaming about
a woman. He scolded himself and heard his grandfather’s voice
in his mind. The old man would have had a great deal to say about
this sort of inattention.

Dash took a deep
breath and began moving again. After a few minutes he heard a sound
ahead. It was little more than a whisper, but Dash waited. It came
again, and with effort he made out what appeared to be a low
conversation.

He inched
forward again. Suddenly he halted. Ahead of him he sensed something.
He put his hand out and felt a line. He didn’t move when his
palm came into contact with it. He waited, listening for an alarm, a
sound, a voice, anything that would tell him he had alerted whoever
had placed this line across the duct. When silence continued unbroken
for a long while, he moved his hand back, waiting again.

He touched it
again, as gently as possible, and ran his finger to the right. He
encountered a metal eye, driven into the side of the duct, and there
the line was tied. He moved his finger to the left and found another
eyelet, but this time the line was threaded through and ran forward
in the direction he was heading.

He felt over and
under the line to make sure there wasn’t a second, and when he
was satisfied this was the only line across the way, he moved back.
With a little squirming, he got on his back and crawled under the
line. When he was past the line, he again got up into his kneeling
position and continued his careful progress.

Soon he saw a
dim light ahead and he worked toward it. Again he heard voices and
again the conversation was just below his ability to hear it. He
moved slowly forward.

He reached a
large catch basin, with a big grating overhead, and above him he
could hear boots on the stone. From the stench at this end of the
pipe, it was obvious the men had been using the catch basin to
relieve themselves and didn’t have enough water to flush the
pipe easily.

“What is
that?” came a voice from above and Dash froze.

“It’s
a baked meat roll. It’s got spices and onions, baked into a
bread crust. I got it at the market.”

“What kind
of meat?”

Dash moved
closer.

“Beef!
What do you think?”

“Looks
like horse to me.”

“How could
you tell by looking at it?”

“You
better let me taste it. Then I can tell.”

Dash moved
around and craned his neck. He could see movement, and a pair of
boots. Much of his view was cut off by a chair, near the catch basin
grate, and the man who sat on it.

“Cow,
horse, what does it matter?”

“You just
want some because you didn’t bring anything to eat.”

“I didn’t
know we’d be spending our lives waiting here.”

“Maybe the
others ran into some trouble?”

“Could be,
but orders are clear enough. Wait here.”

“Did you
at least bring some cards?”

Dash settled in.

Near dawn, Dash
lowered himself out of the large pipe at Five Points. He found
himself disappointed that Trina wasn’t waiting. He knew she
probably left a moment after he entered the pipe, but he still wished
she had lingered.

He found that
feeling irrational alongside the distress he was experiencing over
what he had found.

Not wishing to
stay too long, he hurried through the pipes and back toward the New
Market Jail. He knew that as soon as he got there, he was going to
have to change clothing, then hurry to the palace. This wasn’t
a matter for the Sheriff and his constables, but Brian Silden and the
army.

Dash forced
himself to calmness, but if what he had overheard was any indication,
someone was readying a staging area. Inside the city itself, a nest
of soldiers was being prepared, soldiers who would appear within the
walls of Krondor at some future date, and Dash was certain that date
was not far off.

The door opened.

Nakor entered,
shaking his head as he said, “No, no, no. This won’t do.”

Rupert Avery
looked up from the plans unrolled before him. He was standing on the
newly refinished floor of what had once been Barret’s Coffee
House, watching workers repair the walls and roof above. “What
won’t do, Nakor?” he asked.

Nakor looked up,
surprised at being addressed. “What? What won’t do?”

Roo laughed.
“You were the one muttering that something wouldn’t do!”

“Was I?”
asked Nakor, looking surprised. “How odd.”

Roo shook his
head in amusement. “You, odd? Perish the thought.”

Nakor said,
“Never mind. I need something.”

“What?”
asked Roo.

“I need to
get a message to someone.”

“Who?”

“Pug.”

Roo motioned
Nakor away from the workers and said, “I think you need to
start at the beginning.”

“I had a
dream last night,” said Nakor. “I don’t have many
of them, so when I do, I try to pay attention.”

“All
right,” said Roo. “I’m with you so far.”

Nakor grinned.
“I don’t think so. But that’s all right. There’s
something going on. There are three pieces here, all seemingly
separate, but they’re all the same thing. And they all look to
be about one thing, but they’re about another. And after the
odd thing that happened, I need to talk to Pug.”