Part 7 (2/2)
The original speaker said, ”Get him some water.”
James waited a moment, until someone pressed a water cup against his lips. He sipped slowly, wetting his throat and buying seconds to gather his wits. The fog in James's head slowly lifted.
”Feeling better?” asked the deep voice.
James took a deep breath and said, ”Yes, Walter. Though you could have gotten my attention in a gentler manner than smacking me in the head.”
The deep voice chuckled. ”I told you he'd tumble to this, you twits. Let's get the blindfold off him.”
James blinked as his vision returned, and he saw three men standing over him in what could only be a bas.e.m.e.nt. Large barrels and crates were stacked against the windowless wall, and several large piles of goods were covered with dusty canvas. The man with the deep voice said, ”How you been, Jimmy?”
”Fair enough, Walter, until about. . . what? An hour ago?”
Walter picked James up by the shoulders and turned him. He pulled off the ties that had restricted his hands and said, ”Sorry about that, but you were getting difficult to keep up with.”
”If you wanted to talk, Walter, there are other ways.”
The man named Walter glanced at his companions. ”Things aren't the way they once was, Jimmy. Lots of troubles in the city.” Walter Blont was one of the Mockers' more effective bashers, trained by Ethan Graves. He was normally a man of even temper who went about his work in a journeyman fas.h.i.+on, without anger or spite. He had a plain round face, and a thatch of black hair now shot through with gray.
James took a moment and looked at Blont's companions. Both looked the part of Guild bashers: thick necks, heavy shoulders and legs like tree trunks. Either one would probably be able to break a man's skull with a bare fist. Neither man looked particularly bright, but James knew looks could be deceptive. Both men were unfamiliar to him, but he was certain that these were not the two men who were following him when he went into the ale-house. ”Those weren't your men who were tailing me?”
”No,” said Walter. ”They were so fixed on following you, they didn't notice we we were following were following them them.” He grinned, his crooked yellow teeth making him look even more menacing than when he didn't smile. ”There are all sorts of new gangs in Krondor these days. Bashers and strong-arms arrive every week by s.h.i.+p and caravan. Someone's building up a serious army.”
James sat down on a crate and said, ”Start at the beginning, Walter.”
Walter sat down on another crate and rubbed his chin, thinking. ”Mostly, it started a few months ago. You heard of this bloke they call the Crawler?”
James nodded, then wished he hadn't as his head throbbed.
”Well, we've been running up against his men on and off for months now. At first they were just pesky. Then things got nasty.”
Walter glanced at his companions. ”We're about all that's left of the bashers. A few nights ago, someone broke into Mother's-”
”Someone got to Mother's without being stopped?” interrupted James in amazement.
”Took out each of the sentries as they came, hard and fast and no time for dawdling. Me and Josh and Henry here was out and about, and we got jumped in the sewers. We got the best of the four lads who tried to take us out.” He waved to the man on his left. ”Josh got a dagger sc.r.a.ped across his ribs for his troubles, and Henry had to sew up my shoulder with a sailmaker's needle and some thread. We found Mother's in ruins and have been lying low since then.”
The man named Henry added, ”It's a war out there, squire. The sewers are worse than any battlefield I've seen.”
”Soldier?” asked James.
”Once,” said Henry. ”Long time back.”
James nodded again, and winced. ”I've got to stop doing that.”
”Sorry about the bash, but you're such a slippery lad, it was the only way I knew to get you here,” said Walter.
James grimaced. His head was going to hurt for a while. ”You could have sent me a note.”
”Hardly, and besides, we're not traveling too much by the usual routes, what with the cut-throats and a.s.sa.s.sins haunting the sewers.”
”a.s.sa.s.sins?” asked James. ”Nighthawks?”
”Maybe. Didn't see no black outfits like they was wearing before,” said Walter, ”but these boys was mean and didn't play at killing.”
”They's very serious on the subject,” said Henry.
Walter nodded. ”We've dodged them because almost no one knows of this place. It was a bit of a gamble going up after you, but one of the beggar lads who's been smuggling us food saw you out and about today and said you were coming this way, so we took a chance. Time was you could have traveled the entire city and have no one catch sight of you.”
James grinned ruefully, ”I still can, but these days I have little reason to hide. I work for the Prince, remember?”
”That's to the heart of it, then. We need help.”
”Who, the Mockers?”
”What's left of them,” Walter said grimly.
”What's the Upright Man propose?” James knew that Walter would never presume to speak for the Mockers without the leader's permission. Walter must be his messenger of last resort.
The three men exchanged glances, and Walter said, ”You haven't heard, then?”
”Heard what?”
”Rumor is the Upright Man is dead.”
James sat back and let out a slow breath. ”That puts paid to a lot of things, doesn't it?”
Walter shrugged. ”You don't get where he did without making lots of enemies. Someone's hoisting a tankard in celebration if it's true, that's a fact.”
”Who's running the Mockers?”
”No one,” said Walter. ”We're probably all that's left of the bashers. Maybe there are one or two other lads lying low like us. Most of them died when Mother's was. .h.i.t. They killed everyone, Jimmy. They killed the pickpockets and the beggars, the wh.o.r.es and the street boys.”
”They murdered the street boys?” James said in disbelief.
”I think I saw young Limm and two or three others dodging down a culvert later that night but I can't be sure it was them. I didn't investigate because they was on the run from half a dozen men. Maybe they got away, but anyone who wasn't fast enough to dodge out of there, or lucky enough to have been somewhere else when they hit, was killed. Word spread fast and those that could got out of the city or went to ground.”
Henry added, ”These weren't dock-brawlers did this, squire, or even bashers like us. These were killers, who didn't even give you a moment to think or speak or ask what was what. They were cutting throats and dropping everyone-men, women, children-on one side of the building before those on the other side even knew there was a fight. It's been a fair couple of nights of hunt or be hunted in the sewers, I can tell you. We've been hiding here since then.”
James glanced around. ”This is the smugglers' hideout?”
”You've been here before?” asked Walter.
”A couple of times, when we were working with Trevor Hull and his gang. Back when Bas-Tyra was regent.”
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