Shards of a Broken Crown (51 page)

Roo said, “I
am no longer with you.”

“That’s
all right,” said Nakor, squeezing Roo’s upper arm in a
reassuring fashion. “Anyway, do you know where Pug is?”

“No, but I
can ask at the palace. Someone there might. Don’t you have some
sort of magic . . . trick you can do that would get Pug’s
attention?”

“Maybe,
but I don’t know if the damage would be worth it.”

“I don’t
want to know,” said Roo.

“No, you
don’t,” agreed Nakor. He looked around, as if noticing
the work for the first time. “What is this, then?”

“No one’s
seen the old owner since the fall of the city, so either he’s
dead or not coming back. Even if he shows up, we’ll work out a
deal.” Roo waved his hand around in an arc. “I’m
trying to restore this exactly as it was before the war. I’m
very fond of this place.”

“As you
should be,” said Nakor with a grin. “You made a great
deal of wealth here.”

Roo shrugged.
“That’s part of it, but more importantly, this is where I
made myself.”

“You’ve
come a long way,” said Nakor.

“More than
I could have imagined,” said the one-time death cell prisoner.

“How is
your wife?”

“Getting
large,” he said, motioning with his hands as he grinned.

“I heard a
rumor that you arrived in town with Lord Vasarius of Queg as a
prisoner.”

Roo said, “He
wasn’t my prisoner.”

“Is it a
good story?”

Roo said, “It’s
a
very
good story.”

“Good,
then you can tell me sometime, but first I need to ask about Pug.”

Roo put down his
plans and said, “Tell you what. I could do with a bit of a
stretch, so let’s walk over to the New Market Jail and visit
with Dash Jamison.”

“Fine,”
said Nakor, and they left the coffeehouse.

Everywhere they
looked the city was slowly returning to the life they had known
before the war. Each day another building was restored and another
shop opened. More goods were coming into the city via the ferry
outside of Fishtown, or over the caravan routes. Rumor had it a large
caravan from Kesh would arrive within the week, the first since
before the fighting. As war hadn’t formally been declared,
trade between the Kingdom and Kesh was resuming. If the Wreckers
Guild could continue raising ships, the harbor would be navigable the
following spring, and fully restored within a year after that.

Moving through
the crowd, Nakor said, “This city is like a person, don’t
you see?”

“It was
beat up pretty badly,” agreed Roo, “but it’s coming
back.”

“More,”
said Nakor. “There are cities that have no . . . I don’t
know what to call it, an identity perhaps. A sense of being someplace
different. Lots of those in the Empire. Very old cities with lots of
history, but one day is much like the next. Krondor is a very lively
place in comparison.”

Roo laughed. “In
a manner of speaking.”

They reached the
market and saw the New Market Jail, now sporting a fresh coat of
paint and bars on all the visible windows. Entering the door, they
found a harried-looking clerk, who looked up and said, “Yes?”

“We’re
looking for the Sheriff,” said Nakor.

“He’s
out in the market, somewhere, and will be back here, sometime.
Sorry,” he said, returning to his paperwork.

Roo motioned for
Nakor to move outside. They stood on the porch looking at the press
of people in the market. Vendors had organized themselves into a
rough series of aisles, with the outer edge of the market a sort of
random pattern of blankets with goods laid atop, carts overloaded
with produce, men carrying boards covered with trinkets, and the
furtive denizens who offered less than legitimate wares. Roo said,
“He could be anywhere.”

Nakor grinned.
“I know how to get his attention.”

Before Nakor
could step down from the porch, Roo put a restraining hand on his
shoulder. “Wait!”

“What?”

“I know
you, my friend, and if you think you’re helping out by starting
a riot so that every constable in the market comes running, think
again.”

“Well, it
would be effective, wouldn’t it?”

“Do you
remember an old proverb?”

“Several.
Which one do you have in mind?”

“The one
about not using an ax to remove a fly from a friend’s nose.”

Nakor’s
grin broadened, and he laughed. “I like that one.”

“Anyway,
the point is, we should be able to find Dash without starting a
riot.”

“Very
well,” said Nakor. “Lead on.”

Roo and Nakor
entered the press of humanity in the market. Roo knew that Krondor
still had less than half its former population, yet it seemed even
more crowded than before, mostly due to the largest portion of that
population thronging to the market. While work was underway
throughout the city, in every neighborhood, the business of daily
life was confined for the most part to the market.

Roo and Nakor
made their way past wagon after wagon with late spring and early
summer harvest: squash, corn, grain in sacks, and even some rice up
from above Land’s End. Fruit was offered and so was wine and
ale. A number of prepared food vendors filled the air with aromas
both savory and pungent. Nakor sneezed as they passed one vendor of
pakashka
, a bread pocket filled with meats, onions, peppers,
and pods. “That man has so much spice on that meat my eyes want
to pop!” he said, hurrying by.

Roo laughed.
“Some people like their meats hot.”

“I learned
a long time ago,” said Nakor, “that too much spice often
masks bad meat.”

“As my
father said,” returned Roo, “if there’s enough
spice on it, it doesn’t matter if the meat’s bad.”

Nakor laughed.
They turned the comer and saw a group of men standing before a large
wagon being used as makeshift tavern. Two barrels had been set up at
each end of the wagon, and a board was set atop them to serve as a
bar. Two dozen men idly stood around, drinking and laughing. As Nakor
and Roo drew near, they quieted down and watched the two men pass.

After they had
moved down the street, Nakor said, “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

He motioned over
his shoulder. “Those men.”

“What
about them?”

Nakor stopped
and said, “Turn around and tell me what you see.”

Roo did as he
was asked, and said, “I see a bunch of workmen drinking.”

Nakor said,
“Look closer.”

Roo said, “I
don’t see . . .”

“What?”

Roo scratched
his chin. “There’s something strange, but I can’t
quite tell what it is.”

Nakor said,
“Come with me,” and led Roo off the way they had been
heading. “First of all, those aren’t workers.”

“What do
you mean?”

“They’re
dressed like workers, but they’re not. They’re soldiers.”

“Soldiers?”
said Roo. “I don’t understand.”

“You have
more work than you have workers, correct?”

“Yes,”
said Roo. “That’s true.”

“So what
are workmen doing standing around at this hour of the day drinking
ale?”

“I. . .”
Roo stopped. After a moment, he said, “Damn. I thought they
were simply having their midday meal.”

“That’s
the second thing, the midday meal isn’t for another hour, Roo.
And did you see how they stopped talking when we got too close? And
how everyone around them gives them a wide berth?”

Roo said, “Yes,
now that you point it out. So the question is, what are soldiers
doing standing around dressed like workmen getting drunk in the
morning?”

Nakor said, “No,
that’s not the question. They’re standing around dressed
like workmen getting drunk in the morning so that people will think
they’re workmen getting drunk in the morning. The question is
why are they trying to make people think they’re workmen—”

“I get the
point,” interrupted Roo. “Let’s find Dash.”

It took them
only a half hour to spy a band of men wearing the red armbands, and
when they overtook them, they found Dash leading them. Dash told his
men to continue their patrol, and said, “Nakor, Roo, what can I
do for you?”

Nakor said,
“Tell your great-grandfather I need to talk to him. But before
that, there are men at a wagon bar over there”—he pointed
to the general area where they had passed the wagon—”dressed
like workmen, but they aren’t.”

Dash nodded. “I
know. They are one of several bands like that throughout the market.”

“Oh?”
said Roo. “You know?”

Dash said, “What
sort of sheriff would I be if I didn’t?”

“The usual
sort,” said Nakor. “Anyway, if you know about those men,
we can talk about Pug.”

“What
about him?”

“I need to
see him.”

Dash’s
eyes narrowed. “And you want me to do what?”

“You’re
his great-grandson, how do you contact him?”

Dash shook his
head. “I don’t. If Father had means, he never told me. Or
Jimmy, else I’d know. Grandmother merely had to close her
eyes.”

Nakor nodded. “I
know that. Gamina could talk to him across the world at times.”

Dash said, “I
thought you’d have the means.”

Nakor said, “I
don’t see him that much, except when we’re both on the
island. Maybe he’s there.” Nakor turned toward Roo. “Can
I borrow a ship to go to Sorcerer’s Island?”

Roo said, “If
you haven’t noticed, there’s a full-blown war going on
out there!” He pointed toward the ocean. “A Free Cities
ship might sail out there without being accosted, but a Kingdom ship
is either going to run into Quegan pirates, Keshian pirates, or
Fadawah’s pirates, unless you have a fleet. I might be tempted
to lend you a ship, but I’m not lending you a fleet.”

Nakor said, “I
don’t need a fleet. One ship will be fine.”

“And the
pirates?”

“Not to
worry,” said Nakor with a grin. “I have tricks.”

“Very
well,” said Roo, “but what’s the problem?”

“Oh, I
didn’t tell you?”

“No,”
said Roo. He looked at Dash, who shrugged.

“You have
to see this,” said Nakor, setting off without bothering to see
who was following.

Roo looked at
Dash, who said, “We’d better see what this is all about.”

They hurried
after Nakor, so as not to lose sight of him, and the little man
walked briskly through the city, all the way to the eastern gate, the
one which opened on the King’s Highway.

By the time they
got to this destination, Roo was almost out of breath. “We
should have ridden.”

“I don’t
have a horse,” said Nakor. “I had a horse once, a
beautiful black stallion, but he died. That’s when I was Nakor
the Blue Rider.”

Dash said, “What
did you want to show us?”

“That,”
said Nakor, pointing to the statue he had erected a week earlier.

A dozen people
were gathered before the statue looking and gesturing.

Dash and Roo
left the road and moved to where they could see what the travelers
were looking at. Roo asked, “What is that?”

Down the face of
the statue, two red streaks could be seen below the eyes, marring the
otherwise perfect face.

Dash pushed his
way past the onlookers, and said, “It looks like blood!”

“It is,”
said Nakor. “The statue of the Lady is crying blood.”

Roo hurried over
and said, “It’s a trick, right?”

“No!”
said Nakor. “I wouldn’t stoop to cheap tricks, at least
not where the Lady is concerned. She’s the Goddess of Good, and
. . . well, I just wouldn’t.”

“All
right,” said Dash. “I’ll take your word for that,
but what’s causing this?”

“I don’t
know,” said Nakor, “but that’s nothing. You’ve
got to see the other thing.”

He hurried off
again. Dash and Roo exchanged glances, and Dash said, “I can’t
wait to see what this other thing is.”

Again they
followed the hurrying little man. Once more they entered the city
gates, crossed through the eastern quarter of the city and back
across the city toward the market. Only this time, they skirted the
market to the south and headed over toward Temple Square.

Roo was laughing
as he struggled to keep up with Nakor. “Why couldn’t he
have two marvels across the street from one another?”

Dash said, “I
have no idea.”

They reached the
empty lot between the Temples of Lims-Kragma and Guis-wa. Clerics
from several other temples were gathered nearby, peering at the crowd
gathered before a tent that was erected there.

Where Nakor had
found the tent, Dash had no idea. One day it wasn’t there, the
next day it was—a huge pavilion with enough room under it to
comfortably accommodate a couple of hundred people.

Dash firmly
shoved his way through the crowd. Some people began to object until
they saw the red armband. When they got to the entrance, Nakor and
Roo a step behind, Dash stopped, and his mouth fell open.

“Gods,”
said Roo.

Directly before
them, his back toward them, in a meditative position, sat Sho Pi and
a half dozen other acolytes of this new temple. In the center of the
tent was the young woman, Aleta. Only she was neither standing nor
sitting. She was in a position identical to Sho Pi’s: legs
crossed, hands in her lap. And she was bathed in a nimbus of pure
white light which seemed to emanate from within her, suffusing the
tent with light. But she floated six feet above the ground.

Roo put his hand
on Nakor’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll give you a
ship.”

Dash whispered,
“Why my great-grandfather? Why not ask the other temple
clerics?”

“Because
of that,” said Nakor.

Directly below
the woman something hovered. Dash and Roo hadn’t noticed it
when they first entered, because of the startling sight of the young
woman afloat. But now they could see there was a blackness hanging in
the air, a cloud of something vile and terrifying. A clear certainty
struck both Dash and Roo at the same time: the light from the young
woman was confining that black presence, keeping it penned up.