Magician (81 page)

Amos stroked his beard. “A knotty
problem, Martin. Secrets within secrets, and such. Well, you have my
word—from friendship, not from threat—I’ll not
speak to anyone of this, save by your leave. Still, if I judge Arutha
right, he would sooner know as not.”

“That is for me to decide, Amos,
no one else. Someday perhaps I’ll tell him, or I may not.”

Amos pushed himself from the rail.
“I’ve much to do before I turn in, Martin, but I’ll
say one more thing. You’ve plotted a lonely course. I do not
envy you your journey upon it Good night.”

“Good night.” After Amos
had returned to the quarterdeck, Martin watched the familiar stars in
the sky. All the companions of his solitary travels through the hills
of Crydee looked down upon him. The constellations shone in the
night, the Beasthunter and the Beasthound, the Dragon, the Kraken,
and the Five Jewels. He turned his attention to the sea, staring down
into the blackness, lost in thoughts he had once imagined buried
forever.

“Land ho!” shouted the
lookout.

“Where away?” answered
Amos.

“Dead ahead, Captain.”

Arutha, Martin, and Amos left the
quarterdeck and quickly made their way to the bow. As they stood
waiting for land to heave into sight, Amos said, “Can you feel
that trembling each time we breast a trough? It’s that keelson,
if I know how a ship’s made, and I do. We’ll need to put
in at a shipyard for refitting in Krondor.”

Arutha watched as the thin strip of
land in the distance grew clearer in the afternoon light. While not
bright, the day was relatively fair, only slightly overcast. “We
should have time. I’ll want to return to Crydee as soon as
Erland’s convinced of the risk, but even if he agrees at once,
it will take some time to gather the men and ships.”

Martin said, dryly, “And I for
one would not care to pass the Straits of Darkness again until the
weather is a bit more agreeable.”

Amos said, “Man of faint heart.
You’ve already done it the hard way. Going to the Far Coast in
the dead of winter is only slightly suicidal.”

Arutha waited in silence as the distant
landfall began to resolve in detail. In less than an hour they could
clearly make out the sights of Krondor’s towers rising into the
air, and ships at anchor in the harbor.

“Well,” said Amos, “if
you wish a state welcome, I’d better have your banner broken
out and run up the mast.”

Arutha held him back, saying, “Wait,
Amos. Do you mark that ship by the harbor’s mouth?”

As they closed upon the harbor, Amos
studied the ship in question. “She’s a beastly bitch.
Look at the size of her. The Prince’s building them a damn
sight bigger than when I was last in Krondor. Three-masted, and
rigged for thirty or better sail from flying jib to spanker. From the
lines of her hull, she’s a greyhound, no doubt. I’d not
want to run up against her with less than three Quegan galleys. You’d
need the rowers, for those oversized crossbows she mounts fore and
aft would quickly make a hash of your rigging.

“Now we know why those Quegan
galleys were so far from home. If the Kingdom’s bringing
warships like this to the Bitter Sea, Queg’s—”

“Mark the banner at her masthead,
Amos,” said Arutha.

Entering the harbor, they passed near
the ship. On her bow was painted her name,
Royal Griffin
. Amos
said, “A Kingdom warship, no doubt, but I’ve never seen
one under any banner but Krondor’s.” Atop the ship’s
highest mast a black banner emblazoned with a golden eagle snapped in
the breeze. “I thought I knew every banner seen on the Bitter
Sea, but that one is new to me.”

“The same banner lies above the
docks, Arutha,” said Martin, pointing toward the distant city.

Quietly Arutha said, “That banner
has never been seen on the Bitter Sea before.” His expression
turned grim as he said, “Unless I say otherwise, we are
Natalese traders, nothing more.”

“Whose banner is that?”
asked Amos.

Gripping the rail, Arutha replied, “It
is the banner of the second-oldest house in the Kingdom. It announces
that my distant cousin, Guy, the Duke of Bas-Tyra, is in Krondor.”

T
he
inn was crowded.

Amos led Arutha and Martin through the
common room to an empty table near the fireplace. Snatches of
conversation reached Arutha’s ears as they took their seats. On
close inspection the mood in the room was more restrained than it had
first appeared.

Arutha’s thoughts raced His plans
for securing Erland’s help had been crushed within minutes of
reaching the harbor Everywhere in the city were signs that Guy du
Bas-Tyra was not simply guesting in Krondor, but was now fully in
control. Men of the city watch followed officers wearing the black
and gold of Bas-Tyra, and Guy’s banner flew over every tower in
the city.

When a dowdy serving wench came, Amos
ordered three mugs of ale, and the men waited in silence until they
were brought When the servingwoman was gone, Amos said, “We’ll
have to pick our way carefully now.”

Arutha’s expression remained
fixed. “How long before we can sail?”

“Weeks, at least three. We’ve
got to get the hull repaired, and the keelson replaced correctly. How
long will depend on the shipwrights. Winter’s a bad time: the
fair-weather traders haul out their ships, so they’ll be fit
come spring. I’ll begin inquiries first thing tomorrow.”

“That may take too long. If needs
be, buy another.”

Amos raised an eyebrow “You’ve
funds?”

“In my chest aboard ship.”
With a grim smile he said, “The Tsurani aren’t the only
ones who play politics with war. To many of the nobles in Krondor and
the East, the war is a distant thing, hardly imaginable. It has gone
on for nearly nine years, and all they ever see is dispatches.

“And our loyal Kingdom merchants
don’t donate supplies and ships out of love for King Rodric. My
gold is a hedge against underwriting the cost of bringing Krondorian
soldiers to Crydee, both in expenses and bribes.”

“Well then,” said Amos,
“even so it will be a week or two. You don’t usually
stroll into a ship’s brokerage and pay gold for the first ship
offered, not if you wish to avoid notice. And most of the ships sold
are fairly worthless. It will take time.”

“And,” put in Martin,
“there’re the straits.”

“That’s true,” agreed
Amos, “though we could take a leisurely turn up the coast to
Sarth and wait to time our run through the straits.”

“No,” said Arutha. “Sarth
is still in the Principality. If Guy’s in control of Krondor,
he’ll have agents and soldiers there. We won’t be safe
until we’re out of the Bitter Sea. We’ll attract less
attention in Krondor than in Sarth: strangers are not uncommon here.”

Amos looked long at Arutha, then said,
“Now, I don’t claim to know you as well as some men I’ve
met, but I don’t think you’re as concerned for your own
skin as something else.”

Arutha glanced about the room. “We’d
better find a less public place to talk.”

With a sound between a sigh and a
groan, Amos heaved himself out of his chair. “The Sailor’s
Ease is not where I’d prefer to stay, but for our purposes it
will serve.” He made his way to the long bar and spoke at
length to the innkeeper. The heavyset owner of the inn pointed up the
stairs, and Amos nodded. He signed for his companions to accompany
him and led them through the press of the common room, up the stairs,
and down a long hall to the last door. Pushing it aside, he motioned
for them to enter.

Inside they found a room with little to
recommend itself by way of comforts. Four straw-stuffed pallets
rested on the floor. A large box in the corner served as a common
closet. A crude lamp, a simple wick floating in a bowl of oil, sat
upon a rude table, it burned with a pungent odor when Longbow struck
a spark to it.

Amos closed the door as Arutha said, “I
can see what you meant about choices in rooms.”

“I’ve slept in far worse,”
answered Amos, settling down on one of the pallets. “If we’re
to keep our liberty, we’d best establish believable identities.
For the time being, we’ll call you Arthur. It’s close
enough to your own to afford a passable explanation should someone
call out your real name and cause you to turn or answer. Also, it
will be easy to remember.”

Arutha and Martin sat down, and Amos
continued. “Arthur—get used to that name—of
navigating cities you know less than a thimbleful, which is twice as
much as Martin knows. You’ll do well to play the role of some
minor noble’s son, from some out-of-the-way place. Martin, you
are a hunter from the hills of Natal.”

“I can speak the language passing
well.”

Arutha gave a half-smile. “Get
him a grey cloak and he’d make a fair ranger. I don’t
speak the language of Natal, or the Keshian tongue, so I’ll be
the son of a minor eastern noble, visiting for recreation. Few in
Krondor could know half the barons of the East.”

“Just so long as it’s not
too close to Bas-Tyra. With all those black tabards about, it would
be a pretty thing to run into a supposed cousin among Guy’s
officers.”

Arutha’s expression turned dark.
“You were correct about my concerns, Amos. I’ll not leave
Krondor until I’ve discovered exactly what Guy is doing here
and what it means for the war.”

“Even should I find us a ship
tomorrow,” said Amos, “which is unlikely, you should have
plenty of time to snoop about. Probably find out more than you’ll
want to know. The city’s a lousy place for secrets. The
rumormongers will be plying their trade in the market, and every
commoner in the city will know enough to give you a fair picture of
what’s taken place. Just remember to keep your mouth shut and
ears open. Rumormongers’ll sell you what you want to know, then
turn around and sell news of your asking to the city guard so fast
it’d make you spin to watch.” Amos stretched, then said,
“It’s still early, but I think we should have a hot meal,
then to bed. We’ve a lot of prowling about to accomplish.”
With that he rose and opened the door, and the three men returned to
the common room.

Arutha munched upon a nearly cold meat
pie. Lowering his head, he forced himself to continue consuming the
pieman’s greasy ware. He refused to consider what was contained
within the soggy crust in addition to the beef and pork the seller
claimed.

Casting a sidelong glance across the
busy square, Arutha studied the gates to Prince Erland’s
palace. Finishing the pie, he quickly crossed to an ale stand and
ordered a large mug to wash away the aftertaste. For the last hour he
had moved, seemingly without purpose, from seller’s cart to
seller’s cart, purchasing this and that, posing as a minor
noble’s son. And in that hour he had learned a great deal.

Martin and Amos came into sight, nearly
an hour before the appointed time. Both wore grim expressions and
kept glancing nervously about. Without comment Amos motioned for
Arutha to follow as they walked by. They pushed through the midday
throng and passed quickly away from the great-square district.
Reaching a less hospitable-looking though no less busy area, they
continued until Amos indicated they should enter a particular
building.

Once through the door, Arutha was met
by a hot, steamy atmosphere as an attendant came to greet them. “A
bathhouse?” said Arutha.

Without humor Amos said, “You
need to get rid of some road dirt, Arthur.” To the attendant he
said, “A steam for us all.”

The man led them to a changing room and
handed each a rough towel and a canvas bag for belongings. They
undressed, wrapped the towels about them, and carried their clothing
and weapons in the bags into the steam room.

The large room was completely tiled,
though the walls and floors were stained and showed patches of green.
The air was close and fetid. A small half-naked boy squatted in the
center of the room, before the bed of rocks that supplied the steam.
He alternately fed wood to the huge brazier below the stones and
poured water upon them, generating giant clouds of steam.

When they were seated upon a bench, in
the farthest corner of the room, Arutha said, “Why a
bathhouse?”

Amos whispered, “Our inn has very
thin walls. And a great deal of business is conducted in places such
as these, so three men whispering in the corner won’t draw
undue attention.” He shouted to the boy, “You, lad, run
and fetch some chilled wine.” Amos tossed a silver coin at the
boy, who caught it in midair. When he didn’t move, Amos tossed
him another, and the boy scampered off. With a sigh Amos said, “The
price of chilled wine has doubled since I was last here. He’ll
be gone for a while, but not too long.”

“What is this?” asked
Arutha, not taking pains to hide his ill humor. The towel itched and
the room stank, and he doubted if he’d be any cleaner for the
time spent here than if he’d stayed in the square.

“Martin and I both have
troublesome news.”

“As do I. I already know Guy is
Viceroy in Krondor. What else have you learned?”

Martin said, “I overheard some
conversation that makes me believe Guy has imprisoned Erland and his
family in the palace.”

Arutha’s eyes narrowed, and his
voice was low and angry. “Even Guy wouldn’t dare harm the
Prince of Krondor.”

Martin said, “He would should the
King give his leave. I know little of this trouble between the King
and the Prince, but it is clear Guy is now the power in Krondor and
acts with the King’s permission, if not his blessing. You told
me of Caldric’s warning when you were last in Rillanon. Perhaps
the King’s sickness has grown worse.”

“Madness, if you mean to speak
clearly,” snapped Arutha.

“To further cloud things in
Krondor,” said Amos, “it seems we are at war with Great
Kesh.”