Flight of the Nighthawks (25 page)

“And if anyone suspected you had deployed the gardeners' rope ladder, there would be someone guarding that, I think.”

“It's a trap?”

“I think so,” said Tal.

“For us?”

“It would be foolish not to assume so.”

“So the rumor of the prince's attendance and the possible attempt on his life was just bait?”

Tal nodded. “So, if I'm the target, and not the prince, what would you do?”

Amafi looked around, assessing the room with new eyes. “A direct attack in public is out of the question, Magnificence. Also, no one would be foolish enough to challenge a Champion of the Masters' Court in Roldem with a blade. Should I send three swordsmen, you would likely prevail, unless they were very, very good.

“But I would not want three others knowing whom I intended to kill…unless those three others were family.”

“Nighthawks.”

Amafi nodded. He watched the two young women and said, “I suspect those two are not Nighthawks. I would simply employ them to lure you upstairs to a quiet room where a dagger waited for you behind a curtain. Or I would persuade them to keep you here until someone else arrived.” He shrugged. “As to the manner of your de
mise, my preferred approach would be to wait outside the front door, concealed in shadow, and take my chance at striking from behind before you can draw your fabled sword.”

Tal smiled. “If memory serves, that's how we met.”

“I was not attempting to kill you, Magnificence, only to join your service. Had I wanted you dead, I think I might have been able to be more circumspect.”

“Well enough, but what about tonight? Chaos or shadows?”

Amafi looked around again, laughing as though Tal had said something funny. “I do not know. If there were more people here tonight, chaos. But there are still too many for shadows.”

“So, you think I'm safe until we depart?”

“I suspect so, Magnificence, but I would keep your wits about you and be especially cautious if you must visit the garderobe.”

“Having one's throat cut while relieving oneself would be a most undignified death.”

“It has been done.”

“The man guarding the back path, is he a Nighthawk or hired help?”

Amafi said, “It is difficult to say, Magnificence. They would not place someone to confront you there, rather someone to signal others that you have left by another route…I would wager hired help.”

“Signal who?”

Amafi said, “Certainly not those two girls.” He said, “Return to the tables and I will attempt to find out who his confederate might be.”

Tal nodded and returned to a different table than the last one, tired of watching the cheating brothers and pretending not to be annoyed by them. At this new table he found two merchants from the south and a minor palace functionary losing modest amounts of gold to two travelers from the Kingdom.

Even so, the gentlemen at the table were affable. When introductions had been made, the two travelers expressed some interest in Tal's relationship to people that they might know in Yabon.

Tal deflected their questions by stating although he was a court baron in Yabon, he had spent most of his time traveling and living in
the east, especially in the city of Roldem. This led to one of the men realizing that he was a past Champion of the Masters' Court, which while no less tedious a conversation for Tal, it did at least free him from further scrutiny regarding his fictional Yabonese background.

The hours dragged by, then roughly two hours after midnight, a party of drunken young men entered the gambling hall. Two of them quickly found girls and headed upstairs, while three others found seats at a large table where a game of knucklebones was in progress. One sat down and seemed to doze off quickly.

Amafi came to Tal's side and said, “Magnificence, a word, please?”

Tal excused himself and they moved to a deserted corner of the room. “Someone has grown impatient. You see the man who appears to doze in the corner?”

“I see him.”

“He entered with the drunken youths, but he was not with them. He is older and he feigns intoxication. Even now I think he watches from under hooded lids.”

“Is he a Nighthawk?”

“Almost certainly, for they would not send a mere underling to drive you into their arms.”

“How dangerous?”

“Very, for he would willingly die for his clan, which means that his task may be to allow you to kill him, then as you flee, others will take you outside.”

“Fanatics,” Tal said as if it were a curse word.

“What would you have me do?”

“Wait,” said Tal. He approached the two girls who had been circling the floor for hours, trying to look as if they were having a good time. They brightened up noticeably as Tal closed in on them. Both were dressed in Trueblood fashion, though it was clear from their fair skin and light eyes that they were not Trueblood. In addition to their linen kilts and torques, they wore gauzy wraps that covered their breasts, if only slightly. Their jewelery was cheap and obvious, and it was clear to Tal that both girls were not in their usual habitat. He would probably find them in a moderate brothel or haunting the
modest inns of the city on most nights. In a few years when their looks faded, they would be walking the streets in the poorer section of the city.

The taller of the two, with reddish-brown hair, said, “I was just telling my friend that if one man in the room were to come talk to us, I wished it would be you, handsome!”

They both giggled. Tal smiled and leaned forward, saying, “How would you two like to make even more gold than you've been promised?”

The girls' expressions turned to shock. Tal put his arms around their waists and pulled them slightly toward him as if getting familiar, but his grip was firm as he said, “Smile, girls; you're being watched. And those men who promised you gold after you have lured me upstairs are going to cut your throats instead. Now, what will it be? Life and gold, or do you want to see some fairly spectacular bloodshed right here, right now?”

The shorter girl with raven-dark hair looked as if she were on the verge of fainting, but the taller one said, “They promised us that no one would get hurt. They said it was a prank.”

“It's not a prank. Now, what do you have?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did they give you to poison me with?”

“Not poison,” said the shorter girl, her voice wavering with fear. “Just some drops to make you sleep. They said they were going to drag you out of here and put you on a caravan to the south. They said you had caused some trouble with a man's wife and they were going to teach you a lesson.”

Tal shook his head and laughed loudly. Then he whispered. “And you, of course, believed that.”

The redheaded girl said, “For ten gold coins, I'd believe you were Sung the Pure for the night.”

“Good, here's what I want you to do. Come upstairs with me and give me the drops.”

He motioned for Amafi to come over and said, “I'm going to spend some time with my friends, here, before playing again. Settle it with the landlord.”

Amafi bowed and went to find the owner of the establishment, while Tal stood with his arms around both girls. They ran their hands up and down his arms in a display of affection, but their eyes darted anxiously around the room. “Don't look for anyone,” whispered Tal. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Amafi returned in a moment and said, “Top of the stairs on the next floor, Magnificence, the room at the end of the hall.”

Tal took the key, knowing that the man by the garden or the one feigning sleep in the cushioned seat would have a duplicate. Tal whispered to Amafi, “Follow the sleeping man when he rises. When he reaches the door, help him enter the room.”

Tal took the girls upstairs, and once they were in the room, he motioned for them to stand in the farthest corner from the door. He was grateful that it was a large room. One immense window overlooked the garden, directly above the corner where Amafi had secreted the rope ladder. As in most Keshian homes, there was no glass in the window, just wooden shutters that could be closed to provide shade, or warmth on those rare days when the temperature fell below a comfortable level.

Tal said, “Give me the potion.”

The redhead gave him a small vial and Tal took out his own purse. “There are about three hundred gold coins in here,” he said, tossing it to the dark-haired girl. “When I tell you to, leave quickly, but do not appear to be fleeing. If you want to live to spend that gold, do not go back to your brothel or where you live—they will have someone waiting for you. Wait until the market opens at dawn and buy robes like those worn by the desert women of the Jal-Pur. Cover yourselves so only your eyes can be seen. Then, hire a guardsman from the Mercenaries' Guild—he should cost you no more than ten pieces of gold.”

While he spoke, Tal measured every angle of the room: the large bed on the floor, the two tables, one on each side, the large tray of fruits and sweets at the foot of the bed, and an earthenware crock in which pitchers of wine or ale could be cooled.

“Take passage on the first caravan north. Then, if you can find your way to the Kingdom, Queg, Roldem, or anyplace not in the Empire, you may live.”

The dark-haired girl looked on the verge of fainting again. “Leave Kesh? What will we do?”

Tal smiled. “Exactly what you've been doing since your parents threw you out, girl. Sleep with men for money. If you're wise, you'll find a rich old husband before you lose your looks. Otherwise, save your gold.

“Now, that's all the advice I have to give and I think we're about to be joined by an unwelcome visitor. You two get over by the bed and talk as if you're still playing with a customer.”

Tal went to the door and cracked it open slightly, so he could see anyone coming down the hall. He waited patiently while the girls prattled, trying hard to sound festive while being frightened.

Nearly half an hour passed before a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. As Tal suspected, it was the man who had feigned sleep.

As the man neared the halfway point in the hall, Amafi appeared behind him. Although the old former assassin had lost his appetite for killing as a livelihood, he had not lost all his skills. He ducked behind a column an instant before the Nighthawk glanced behind to see if he was being followed, and Tal marveled at the old killer's ability. He had watched him move into the shadow of that column but he couldn't see where he was now.

The Nighthawk was only a few feet from the door and Tal waved to the girls. The redhead forced a giggle and the dark-haired girl's laugh sounded, but the Nighthawk didn't appear to notice.

As he got close enough to notice that the door was slightly ajar, Amafi came out from his hiding place, and within two strides fell upon the Nighthawk.

The assassin must have sensed his approach for he turned at the last minute, a blade appearing in his hand as if by magic, and Amafi barely avoided being skewered.

Tal didn't hesitate. He reached through the door and struck the man with the hilt of his sword behind the ear, and the Nighthawk went down in a heap. Tal caught him under the arms as Amafi grabbed his feet and they carried him into the room. The man groaned as they tossed him onto the bed, and Tal quickly administered the draught.

“From what I've been told, these lads have a nasty habit of killing themselves,” said Tal. “So, not only are we going to frustrate them tonight, but let's see if we can get this one back to where we might get some answers out of him.”

“Doubtful,” said Amafi, “but we can try. What of these?” he said, inclining his head toward the girls.

“Time to go, ladies,” said Tal. “Now, if you wish to stay alive, do as I told you. You might increase your chances of survival if you invite some of those loud and annoying drunks to walk you back into the city.”

The girls nodded and left, saying nothing. “What now?” said Amafi.

Tal reached up and pulled the window sashes down. He ripped off the heavy cords that hemmed them and said, “We'll tie him up and lower him to the ground below. If we can stay close to the side of the window, the lookout at the other corner of the garden who is watching the stairs for his friend to come down may not notice us.”

“We can but try.”

They tied up the man, and Tal was first to climb out of the window. He hung by his hands and then let go, landing on his feet with a soft thud. He looked across the large opening into the main room and saw the lookout with his eyes trained inside, on the stairs.

He motioned for Amafi to lower the Nighthawk, and almost had the man dropped on his head. A moment later, Amafi landed hard on his backside next to Tal. “I'm not what I once was, Magnificence,” he whispered.

“Next time, you go first and I'll drop him on you.”

“As you say, Magnificence.” Amafi and Tal dragged the unconscious man around the corner and down the path to the outside hedge. Amafi lowered the rope ladder and quickly climbed down. Tal threw the man over his shoulder and carefully negotiated his way to the bottom of the ladder. Then with one arm, he lowered the man to where Amafi could guide his fall.

Tal leapt onto the roof of the house and said, “Do we have a fast route away from this home, Amafi?”

Amafi pointed and helped Tal sling the Nighthawk over his
shoulder, and they tiptoed across the roof of the house. Tal could hear tiles cracking under their boots and silently asked the owner of this fine home to forgive him when the next rains struck Kesh. He followed Amafi and prayed that they could reach the closest safe house without incident.

T
he door swung open.

Tad, Zane, and Jommy all looked up from their dozing, fitful attempt at resting. A girl about the same age as the lads entered the room carrying a small kettle, a stack of bowls, and under her arm, a wrapped bundle.

The three boys stood up and gave her access to the table. When she had put down her burdens, she unwrapped the bundle to display half a loaf of bread and a small wheel of cheese. “My father told me to bring these to you,” she said in a low whisper. She was plump with a pretty smile, big brown eyes, and long dark hair.

Jommy handed the utensils around. He shared out the soup and the girl went to look at Caleb. “He's lost a lot of blood,” she observed, “but his color looks better than last night and he's breathing well. If he wakes up, give him
something to eat.” She glanced into the kettle and said, “Which means leaving some of this for him, all right?”

Tad nodded and tried to talk with a mouth full of cheese. Zane said, “Thank you.”

Jommy said, “Miss, do you know what we're supposed to do next?”

She glanced around the room and said, “Wait,” then closed the door.

 

Kaspar hurried through the halls of the palace with Pasko at his heels. It was barely first-light, yet the summons had come nearly a quarter hour earlier. He had dressed without the benefit of a bath or shave and had become very used to the Keshian practice of consuming large mugs of hot coffee in the morning with the meal and after.

He reached the office of Turgan Bey who waved him into a chair and motioned for Pasko to wait outside. The Conclave agent posing as a manservant bowed and left the room, while Bey's clerk closed the doors.

“Coffee?” asked Bey, indicating a large earthenware carafe sitting on the table next to two mugs.

Kaspar poured himself some of the hot, bitter, habit-forming drink and said, “Thank you. I've become accustomed to it in the mornings since I've been here.”

Bey smiled. “It may be even more addictive than some of the drugs you buy in the market.” He motioned for Kaspar to follow him to the balcony overlooking the garden.

The night sky had given way to the soft gray light of dawn, with rose and silver hues foreshadowing the bright blue sky to come. It would be another hot day as the Empire approached the Midsummer Festival of Banapis. Kaspar had come to expect the nights to be hot and the days to be hotter. If he didn't think that he'd look ridiculous in Keshian garb, he would have already sent Pasko out for a linen kilt and a set of sandals.

Softly, Bey said, “There was some bloody work afoot last night, Kaspar.”

Kaspar said, “I've heard nothing.”

“You're hearing it now,” said Bey.

“Who died?”

“For certain, Prince Nauka.”

Kaspar said, “The Emperor's great-nephew?”

“The same, and a staunch supporter of Sezioti.” Bey shook his head and blew out a long breath as if he were trying to release his frustration. “Here's the maddening part of it; I know that Dangai is behind this.”

“You're certain he's not being used by others?”

“When Leikesha was ruler, her son Awari was being used as a dupe by One Whose Name Is Forgotten.”

Kaspar nodded. He knew enough recent Keshian history to know that as part of his punishment for treason, Lord Niromi's name was removed from every historical reference, and all Keshian families were now forbidden from ever naming a child Niromi.

Bey continued. “Dangai is no one's dupe. He has taken complete control of the Inner Legion, and if things come to a bad pass, we may even see a repeat of the last attempt to seize the throne, when Empress Leikesha's Guards battled the Inner Legion in this very palace.”

He looked out at the garden for a moment, then turned to face Kaspar again. “Do you know that over one thousand officers of the Inner Legion were cast into the Overn? The crocodiles feasted for months.” He sighed. “However, this time I do not know if the Palace Guard would stand against the Legion, for Sezioti is not a popular figure. Respected, yes, and even liked somewhat, but he's not popular.”

“Why all the bloodletting? Why not a straight appeal to the Gallery of Lords and Masters? From everything I've heard, it seems that Dangai would carry the day.”

“Because we are a nation of traditions, if not of laws.” He looked at Kaspar and said, “We have no tradition like the Great Freedom as they do in the Kingdom of Isles, and here there is no confirmation of the King by the Congress of Lords. If the Emperor, blessings upon him, names Sezioti as his heir, then Sezioti is the next Emperor, or at least he will sit upon the throne until Dangai seizes it by removing his brother's head from his shoulders.

“But I need proof, Kaspar. I need some evidence that not only is Dangai behind this, but that he is also in league with those enemies only a few of us know exist: Varen and his Nighthawks.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Much more than the death of Prince Nauka occurred last night. The Mistress of Luck is a gambling hall located atop Summer Winds Hill—one of the better districts in the city. It's also a brothel, and last night several strange things occurred there. Talwin Hawkins disappeared. He went upstairs with two whores, and was followed soon after by two men, one of them Talwin's so-called servant, the old assassin Petro Amafi, and some time soon after that, the two girls came down alone, invited some drunken louts out, and left. The room upstairs was empty, save that a cord from a curtain sash hung from the window.

“We can surmise that Hawkins avoided a trap of some sort. But I want to know who the mysterious man who went up the stairs before Amafi was. And where have Talwin Hawkins and Petro Amafi taken him?”

Kaspar said, “I have no idea.”

“Well, I suspect your man Pasko might have some means of getting word to him.”

“I'll have him go about it as soon as we're done here.”

“I have two masters, Kaspar. I serve those whom you serve, because I believe their cause is just, and in the long term your objectives also aid my other master, the Emperor. I can best serve by bringing proof of a plot to him. Not guesses, not vague circumstances, but proof.

“The other matter is that last night word reached me of an assault at an inn called the Three Willows, owned by a former Kingdom citizen by the name of Pablo Maguire. A trader from the Vale of Dreams was in residence, a man of vague nationality, seeming both Keshian and Kingdom, and with him were three boys, apprentices apparently. The master was away on business, and the boys were eating their supper when an altercation broke out.

“Why these three lads were singled out is uncertain, but it is clear that there's more going on than meets the eye.” Bey looked at Kaspar. “This Maguire isn't another of your agents, is he?”

“I'm like you, Turgan; I only get told what I need to know, and no more.”

The large old man let out a deep sigh. “I understand why our masters act as they do, but I must confess that it annoys me no end to have other agents—potential allies—close at hand and be ignorant of them.”

“It's all to a purpose,” said Kaspar. “You can't divulge what you don't know.”

“Then send your man to wherever he must be sent and start spreading the word: I need proof of Dangai's duplicity, and I need it soon, or Kesh may be plunged into a civil war.”

“What have your own agents found?”

Turgan Bey flexed his hands in frustration. “I cannot trust more than a handful of those who are purportedly in my service—too many alliances have been formed and re-formed around the succession.

“The Banapis celebration begins in less than two weeks, and the city will be thronging with visitors. The Emperor is due to make what may be his last public appearance. He will address the Gallery of Lords and Masters and then stand on a balcony waving to the crowds below, though it is unlikely that they will be able to see him.

“In short, if there is to be a coup d'état it will most likely happen then. The Inner Legion will be in the city, but the Royal Charioteers and the Imperial Army will not be.”

“I'll see what I can come up with. Any idea where Tal might have gone to ground?”

“No. Talk to your man Pasko, or go to the Merry Juggler, the inn where he was staying. Track him down and see if he has found anything.

“Talk to our friends in the north, too, do whatever it takes, Kaspar. Help me keep this Empire intact, and if your brother-in-law won't have you back in Olasko, I'll see that Sezioti makes you a prince of the Empire.”

Kaspar smiled. “Thanks, but my appetite for power seems to be a thing of the past. I find that working on behalf of our friends in the north gives me ample cause for rising each morning, and no man can ask more than that.” He bowed and left the room.

He signaled to Pasko who was waiting quietly on a bench outside the room, and the old servant fell into step with him. “I'm going to an inn called the Merry Juggler. You go wherever you need to go if unexpected trouble occurs. Something went sour last night, and our friends have gone to ground…assuming they haven't got themselves killed.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I need to speak to Tal and Caleb, and sooner is better than later.”

Pasko nodded and hurried off, turning down a corridor that would eventually take him to the lower city via the servants' entrance. Kaspar hurried to the office of the Keeper of the Imperial Household, to request that a mount be readied for him as soon as possible. He wondered if he could find another mug of coffee somewhere, and perhaps a bread roll or slice of ham to eat before he went riding out to confront chaos.

 

The warehouse was surrounded by guards loyal to the Conclave. Inside, Tal watched dispassionately as Amafi continued to question the assassin. It had taken a great deal of luck as well as skill to carry the unconscious man to a safe house, and they had barely reached this deserted warehouse before dawn.

But now they were secure, at least for a while, and the prisoner could make as much noise as he wished and no one would be the wiser. And despite his refusal to talk, he had been making a great deal of noise for over two hours.

Amafi turned away from the man, who had been bound by leather ties to a heavy wooden chair, which was in turn tied to a supporting beam in the middle of the room. It had been necessary after he had tried to break his own skull against the dirt floor. Fortunately for Tal, all it had done was render the assassin unconscious for less than an hour.

Amafi said softly, “We have reached a place where both he and I must rest, Magnificence.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated that Tal should walk with him to the far side of the warehouse.

When they were some distance from the prisoner, Amafi said, “Torture is an art form, Magnificence. Anyone can beat a man into
insensibility. Anyone can inflict enough pain so that the prisoner becomes nearly mindless.”

“Where are we with him?”

“This man has been trained, Magnificence, and he is a fanatic. He would rather die in agony than betray his clan. So the trick is to convince him that the agony will be endless. Then he will talk.

“But when he talks, he must also believe that the truth is his only escape from pain, from betrayal, and from whatever drives his silence. For if he is too resilient, he will still speak lies. And if he is too damaged, he will just say whatever he thinks we wish to hear.”

Tal nodded. He took no enjoyment from watching Amafi inflict pain, but he had seen much death and suffering since his childhood that it disturbed him only a little. He always remembered that those he opposed were at the heart of what had befallen his people—they had caused the near obliteration of the Orosini. He also had a family in Opardum that would suffer, along with everyone else on Midkemia, should the Conclave fail.

“What do we need to do?”

“First, I need some of the men outside to cover the windows, so it is always dark in here. We must confuse his sense of time, so that he thinks he's been here longer than he has. I should return to the inn and secure a change of clothing or two for us, so that we can confuse him about the passage of time that way, too. Lastly, we need to bring in some food and wine—brandy would be better—so that we can soothe him when it becomes necessary.”

“Do what you must.”

Amafi hurried out of the warehouse, and Tal walked over to where the semiconscious prisoner sat, befouled by blood and his own body waste. Tal and he exchanged a long look, and neither man spoke.

 

Caleb groaned as he sat up. The boys had been trying to stay calm all day, but without any way to judge the passing of time in the small room, the minutes dragged by.

Tad and Zane had already reached the point of confrontation due
to their frayed nerves, but Jommy had broken up the scuffle before it could really start.

The girl had returned with another meal and said, “It won't be long before they'll decide where to move you,” but she would not stay with them or answer any more questions.

Now that Caleb had recovered, the boys told him of what happened at the Three Willows. He said, “So, we were not half as clever as we thought we were.”

“Are you all right?” asked Tad.

“Not as bad as I look,” said Caleb. “I took two cuts in the shoulder, but neither was deep. I got a slice across the scalp, and although such wounds bleed like mad, it looks far worse than it is—and we were safely away when I slipped and I don't remember much, save some of the lads carrying—” He glanced around. “Wherever are we?”

Tad told him and Caleb nodded. “Now, how did you three get here?”

The boys told him about the four assassins, and Caleb said, “Had they meant you dead, you'd be dead. They were herding you so that you would lead them here.” His voice showed his concern.

“We lost them,” said Jommy, with a grin. “I steered them into the Bakers' Boys, and like the bullies they are, they decided to have some fun with those assassins. I glanced back as we cleared the other side of the square and the Bakers' Boys were doing a right job of stomping the two who chased us.”