The Hidden City (36 page)

‘Go ahead and get started, Master Senga,' Krager said, eyeing the cask. ‘You've got my personal guarantee that Lord Scarpa will agree.' He reached out for the wine.

Senga stepped back.
‘After,
Master Krager,' he said firmly. ‘At the moment, I'm filled with appreciation. The gratitude comes
after
Scarpa gives his permission.'

Then Elron came hurrying across the crowded square. ‘Krager!' he said in a shrill voice. ‘Come at once! Lord Scarpa's in a rage! He's commanded us all to meet him at headquarters immediately!'

‘What's the matter?' Krager rose to his feet.

‘Cyzada just came in from Cynesga. He told Zalasta and Lord Scarpa that Klæl went to have a look at the fellow we've been following all this time! It's not Sparhawk, Krager! Whoever it is
looks
like Sparhawk, but Klæl knew immediately that it's somebody else!'

‘I
know
it's him, my Lady,' Alean insisted.

‘Alean, dear,' Ehlana said gently, ‘he doesn't look the least bit like Sir Kalten.'

‘I don't know how they've done it, but that's Kalten out there in the street,' the girl replied. ‘My heart sings every time he walks by.'

Ehlana peered through the little opening in the window. The man
looked
like an Elene, there was no question about that, and Sephrenia
was
a magician, after all.

The thought of Sephrenia filled the Queen's eyes with tears again. She straightened, quickly wiping her eyes. ‘He's gone by,' she said. ‘What makes you so sure, dear?'

‘A thousand things, my Lady – little things. It's the way he holds his head, that funny way he rolls his shoulders when he walks, his laugh, the way he hitches up his sword-belt. They've changed his face somehow, but I know it's him.'

‘You
could
be right, Alean,' Ehlana concluded a bit dubiously. I could probably pick Sparhawk out of a crowd no matter
whose
face he happened to be wearing.'

‘Exactly, my Lady. Our hearts know the men we love.'

Ehlana began to pace the floor, her fingers absently adjusting the wimple that covered her head. ‘It's not impossible,' she conceded. ‘Sparhawk's told me about all the times he disguised himself when he was in Rendor, and Styric magic might very well be able to change people's faces. And of course, if Sephrenia hadn't been able to do it, Bhelliom certainly could have.
Let's trust your heart and say that it
is
Sir Kalten out there.'

‘I
know
it is, my Lady.'

‘It
does
stand to reason,' Ehlana mused. ‘If Sparhawk's somehow found out that we're here, he'd most
definitely
want to have some of our friends close by when the rest of them come to rescue us,' She frowned as a thought came to her. ‘Maybe he
doesn't
know for sure, though. Kalten
might
just be here to look around. We have to come up with some way to let him know that we're here before he gives up and moves on.'

‘But we're imprisoned, my Lady,' the girl with the huge eyes protested. ‘If we try to call out to him, we'll put him in terrible danger.' She bent and looked out at the street again. ‘He's coming back,' she said.

‘Sing, Alean!' Ehlana exclaimed suddenly.

‘What?'

‘Sing! If anyone in the whole world would recognize your voice, Kalten would!'

Alean's eyes suddenly widened. ‘He
would!'
she exclaimed.

‘Here. Let me watch his face. Sing your soul out, Alean! Break his heart!'

Alean's voice throbbed as her clear soprano reached effortlessly up in aching song. She sang ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy', a very old ballad which Ehlana knew held special significance for her maid and the blond Pandion. The Queen looked out the window again. The roughly dressed man in the street was standing stock-still, frozen in place by Alean's soaring voice.

All doubt vanished from Ehlana's mind. It
was
Kalten! His eyes streamed tears, and his expression had become exalted, adoring.

And then he did something so unexpected that Ehlana was forced to revise her long-held opinion about his intelligence. He sat down on the mossy cobblestones
removed one shoe, and began to whistle an accompaniment to Alean's song. He
knew!
And he was whistling to let them know that he knew! Not even Sparhawk could have responded so quickly, or come up with so perfect a way to convey his understanding of the situation.

That's enough, Alean,' Ehlana hissed. ‘He got our message.'

Alean stopped singing.

‘What are you doing there?' one of the Arjunis who guarded the door demanded, coming into view.

‘Stone in my shoe,' Kalten explained, shaking the shoe he'd just removed. ‘It felt like a boulder.'

‘All right, move on.'

Kalten's altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled his shoe back on and stood up. ‘Friend,' he said in a pointed sort of way, ‘you'll be getting off guard-duty before very long, and you might just decide to stop by Senga's tavern for a few tankards of beer. I'm in charge of security there, and if you start pushing me around
here,
I might just decide that you're too rowdy to be served when you get
there.
Understand?'

‘I'm supposed to keep people away from this building,' the guard explained, quickly modifying his tone.

‘But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.' Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which Ehlana watched. ‘I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag – you know him, don't you? The one-eyed fellow with the lochaber axe?'

The guard shuddered. ‘Is he as bad as he looks?' he asked.

‘Worse. He'll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.' Kalten squared his shoulders. ‘Well, I guess I'd better be getting back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, “Tain't hordly likely that I'll make no profit
lollygaggin' around in the street.” Come on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I'll buy you a tankard of beer.' And he went off down the street, still whistling ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy'.

‘Treasure him, Alean,' Ehlana said, her heart still soaring, ‘and don't let that face deceive you. He gave me more information in two minutes than Sparhawk could have in an hour.'

‘My Lady?' Alean looked baffled.

‘He knows that we're here. He started to whistle along while you were singing. He also told me that Sir Bevier and Caalador are here with him.'

‘How did he do that?'

‘He was talking with the guard. Bevier's probably the only man in Daresia right now with a lochaber axe, and his other friend sounds just like Caalador. They know we're here, Alean, and if they know, Sparhawk knows. We might as well start packing. We'll be leaving here shortly and going back to Matherion.' She laughed delightedly and threw her arms round her maid.

Kalten tried very hard to keep his face expressionless as he walked back along the moss-covered streets toward Senga's tavern, but the excitement kept bubbling up in him, and it was very difficult to keep from laughing out loud.

Scarpa's army had cleared the northern quarters of Natayos and restored the buildings there to some degree of habitability when they had first arrived, but most of the city was still a vine-choked ruin. Senga had considered several possible sites for his tavern and had rather shrewdly decided to set up operations some distance deeper into the old city to avoid interference from officious sergeants or junior Elene officers with deep convictions and not much sense. He had chosen a low, squat building with thick walls but no roof, a deficiency
easily overcome with tent-canvas. He had considered hiring off-duty soldiers to clear the brush out of the street leading from Scarpa's main camp to the tavern door, but Caalador had persuaded him to save his money. Ther ain't no need, Senga,' the disguised Cammorian had told the harried businessman, reverting to his dialect. Them thirsty soldiers'll clear the street fer us ther very own-selfs ‘thout no money changin' hands a-tall.' The tavern crouched in the ruins, indistinguishable from nearby buildings except for its canvas roof and the crudely lettered sign reading ‘Senga's' out front.

Kalten entered the tavern through the side door and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The place was moderately crowded, even at midday, and the six aproned outlaws from Narstil's camp hustled back and forth behind a rough plank counter, drawing foamy beer and collecting money.

Kalten pushed through the noisy crowd, looking for Bevier and Caalador. He found them sitting at a table on the near side of the room. Bevier's sawed-off lochaber and Caalador's stout cudgel lay in plain sight on the table as a sort of constant reminder to the assembled revelers that while having a good time was encouraged, there
were
strictly enforced limits.

Kalten carefully lowered himself onto the bench, keeping his exuberance tightly bottled in. He leaned forward, motioning his friends closer. ‘They're here,' he said quietly.

Caalador looked around the tavern. ‘Wal,' he drawled, ‘not quite
all
of ‘em, but most likely ever'body who's off-duty.'

‘I'm not talking about this crowd, Ezek. I'm talking about the house with the barred windows. The people we've been looking for are definitely inside that house.'

‘How do you know?' Bevier demanded in an intense whisper. ‘Did you see them?'

‘I didn't have to. One of them is a very special friend of mine, and this friend recognized me – even with this face. Don't ask me how.'

‘Are you sure?' Bevier pressed.

‘Oh, yes. This friend started to sing in a voice I'd recognize in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was a very old song that has a personal meaning for the two of us. Our friends inside recognized me, there's no question about it. This friend I was just talking about only sings that song for me.'

‘I don't suppose there was any way you could let them know that you'd received their message?' Caalador asked. ‘Short of tearing down the door, I mean?'

‘No, I didn't have to tear down the door. I whistled along. I've done that before, so my friend knew what I was trying to say. Then I struck up a conversation with one of the guards, and I slipped in enough hints to let our friends inside know the things they ought to be aware of.'

Caalador leaned back in his chair. ‘Yer idee ‘bout this yere tavern's workin' out real good, Shallag. We bin a-pickin' up all sorts o' useful infermation since we settled in.'

Kalten looked around the tavern. ‘Things are quiet right now,' he said quietly. The fights probably won't start until after the sun goes down. Why don't we take a stroll back into the ruins? I think we'd better have another chat with that certain little girl. This time we've got some
good
news for her.'

‘Let's get at it,' Caalador said, rising to his feet. He pushed his way through to the counter, spoke briefly with one of the foam-soaked outlaws and then led the way outside. They went around behind the tavern and pushed their way along a vine-choked side-street that
ran on past some fallen buildings where bright-colored birds perched, squawking raucously. They went into a partially collapsed ruin, and Kalten and Caalador stood watch while Bevier cast the spell.

The Cyrinic was grinning when he came out. ‘You'd better brace yourself, Kalten,' he said.

‘What for?'

‘Aphrael plans to kiss you into insensibility the next time she sees you.'

‘I suppose I can live with that. I gather she was pleased?'

‘She almost ruptured my eardrums.'

‘Well, as she always says, “We only live to please those we love.”'

Scarpa was screaming even before he came through the door. His voice was high and shrill, his eyes bulged, and his makeshift crown was askew. He was clearly in the throes of hysterical rage. His lips and beard were flecked with foam as he burst into the room. ‘Your husband has betrayed you, woman!' he shrieked at Ehlana. ‘You will pay for his perfidy! I will have your life for this!' He started toward her, his hands extended like claws.

Then Zalasta was in the doorway. ‘No!' he barked in an icy tone.

Scarpa spun on his father. ‘Stay out of this!' he shrieked. ‘She is my prisoner! I will punish her for Sparhawk's treachery!'

‘No, actually you won't. You'll do as I tell you to do.' Zalasta spoke in Elenic, and all traces of his accent were gone now.

‘He disobeyed my orders! I will make him pay!'

‘Are you so stupid that you didn't expect this? I
told
you how devious the man was, but your mind's so clogged with cobwebs that you wouldn't listen.'

‘I gave him an
order!'
Scarpa's voice had risen to a squeal. He stamped his foot. Then he stamped the other. Then he began jumping up and down on the floor, quite literally dancing with fury. ‘I am the
emperor!
He
must
obey me!'

Zalasta did not even bother to use magic this time. He simply swung his staff and knocked his hysterical son to the floor, sending his crown rolling. ‘You sicken me,' he said in a voice loaded with contempt. I have no patience with these temper-tantrums. You are
not
the emperor. When you're in this condition, you're not even meaningful.' His face was unemotional, and his eyes were remote. ‘Have a care, Scarpa,' he said in a dreadful voice. ‘There's nothing in this world that I love now. You have freed me from all human attachments. If you annoy me, I'll squash you like a bug.'

Scarpa scrambled away from the terrible old man, his eyes suddenly rational and filled with fear.