Rise of a Merchant Prince (12 page)

“At once,” said the sergeant, and he gave orders to a soldier nearby, who saluted and spurred his mount away.

“It should be no longer than an hour, Captain. Your escort, horses, and provisions should be here quickly.”

“Good,” said Calis, motioning for Sho Pi and Nakor to follow him into the dockside inn.

A genial setting, the inn was neither the worst any of them had seen nor the best. It was what one would expect from an inn located so close to the docks: fitting for a leisurely wait, but not somewhere one would choose to frequent if better accommodations were available or affordable. Calis ordered a round of ale and they waited for the return of their escort.

Halfway through their second drink, Nakor' s attention was diverted by a sound from without. An inarticulate cry and a series of monkeylike hootings followed quickly by the sounds of a crowd laughing and jeering. He rose and looked through the closest
window. “I can't see anything. Let's go outside.”

“Let's not,” said Calis, but Nakor had already vanished through the doorway. Sho Pi shrugged and followed his master out of the inn.

Calis stood and followed, deciding it was better to see what trouble Nakor could find before he got ton deep into it.

Outside, a crowd had gathered around a man who hunkered down on his haunches as he gnawed on a mutton bone. He was easily the filthiest man Calis had ever seen. It looked—and smelled—as if the man hadn't bathed in years. Spending time in the fields made one indifferent to the level of fastidiousness required in the Prince's court, but even among common dockworkers and poor travelers, this man was a walking cesspool.

His hair was black, with touches of grey, and rank with oil and dirt. Shoulder-length, it was matted with debris and old food. His face was nearly black from dirt above an equally filthy beard, and the skin, where it showed through, was sunburned. He wore a robe so torn and ragged it seemed to have more holes than material; whatever color the robe had been was a memory, for now the shreds were stained and smeared.

Years of indifferent eating had left the man famine-thin, and there were sores on his arms and legs.

“Do the dance!” shouted one of the workers.

The crouching man growled like a beast, but when the call was repeated a few more times, he put down his nearly bare mutton bone and held out his hand. “Please,” he said, with a surprisingly plaintive tone, almost as if a child were begging. The word
came out “Plizzz.”

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Dance first!”

The ragged beggar stood and suddenly executed a furious mad twirling. Calis stopped behind Nakor, who stood watching the beggar closely. Something about the movements seemed vaguely familiar to Calis, as if hidden in the mad twirling was familiar movement. “What is this?” he said.

Nakor spoke without looking back. “Something fascinating.”

The man finished dancing and stood there, swaying with weakness, and held his hand out. Someone in the crowd threw him a half-eaten piece of bread, which landed at the beggar's feet. He instantly crouched and swept it up.

A supervisor shouted, “Here now, get back to work,” and most of the dockworkers moved away. A few others remained a moment to watch the beggar; then they started to wander off.

Calis turned to a man he took to be a local and asked, “Who is he?”

“Some crazy man,” said the stranger. “He showed up a few months ago and lives where he can. He dances for food.”

“Where did he come from?” asked Nakor.

“No one knows,” said the townsman, moving along.

Nakor went over to where the ragged man crouched and knelt down before him, studying his face. The man growled like an animal and half turned away to protect his meatless bone and crust of bread.

Nakor reached into his carry sack and pulled out an orange. He stuck his thumb in and pulled off the
peel, then handed a section to the beggar. The beggar looked at the fruit a moment, then snatched it from Nakor's hand. He tried to stuff the entire orange into his mouth at once, creating a wash of orange juice that flowed down his beard.

Sho Pi and Calis came to stand behind Nakor and Calis said, “What is this?”

“I don't know,” answered Nakor. He stood up. “But we need to take this man with us.”

“Why?” asked Calis.

Nakor looked down at the grunting beggar. “I don't know. There's something familiar about him.”

“What? You know him?” asked Calis.

Nakor scratched his chin. “He doesn't look familiar, but given all that dirt, who can say. No, I don't think I know him. But I think he may be important.”

“How?”

Nakor grinned. “I don't know. Call it a hunch.”

Calis looked dubious, but over the years Nakor's hunches had proven to be important, often critical, so he only nodded. The sound of riders approaching signaled the arrival of their own mounts and escort. Calis said, “You'll have to figure out how to convince him to get on a horse, though.”

Nakor stood, scratching his head. “Now, that would be a trick.”

Calis said, “And before anything else, we're going to have to give him a bath.”

Nakor's grinned widened. “That will be an even better trick.”

Calis returned the grin. “Then you figure out how to do it. If I must, I'll have the guards throw him into the sea.”

Nakor turned and stood considering the options
before him as the riders reached Calis.

* * *

They gathered at a modest inn in the Merchants' Quarter, a few streets over from the Poor Quarter of Krondor. The inn was under the control of the Prince of Krondor, though few who frequented it knew that fact. A back room was being used for a meeting, conducted by Robert de Loungville.

“Duncan, you and William here”—he indicated a man that Roo had never laid eyes on before—“will find your way to a small booth near the corner of Candlemaker Road and Dulanic Street. The man selling scarves and headcloths is a snitch for the Mockers. Make sure he doesn't say anything to anyone. Knock him senseless if you must.”

Roo glanced at Erik, who shrugged. A dozen men who were strangers crowded into the small room with de Loungville and those who'd had lunch with him earlier in the day. It was now an hour past supper, and most of the shops were either closed for the day or doing their evening business. Erik and Roo were to travel with Jadow and de Loungville to a shop and wait across the street. Robert had impressed on them that if he gave the word they were to get into that shop as quickly as humanly possible. He said it twice, so Roo knew de Loungville viewed that as a critical part of the night's mission.

“You, you, and you,” said Robert, pointing to three teams assigned to neutralize Mocker lookouts. “Out the back door.”

He was silent for a few minutes, then pointed to Duncan and the man named William. “Go now, out
the front.”

They left, and over the course of the next ten minutes the rest of the agents were dispatched. When the four remaining men were alone, Roo said, “Who were those other men?”

“Let's say the Prince needs a lot of eyes and ears in his city,” said de Loungville.

“Secret police,” said Jadow.

“Something like that,” said de Loungville. “Avery, you're the quickest man here; stay close to me. Erik, you and Jadow are too big to escape notice for long, so stay where I put you and don't move. Once we leave this inn, no talking. Any questions?”

There were none, and de Loungville led them out of the back of the inn. They hurried through the streets, attempting to look like nothing more than four citizens on some errand or another, urgent perhaps, but unremarkable.

They passed a booth at a corner where the Poor Quarter began and saw Duncan and the man named William engaged in deep debate with the vendor. Roo noticed that Duncan stood in such a way that his holding a sword point to the other man's ribs was difficult to ascertain, while William was ready to intercept any who might come too close to the booth.

They turned down a short street to another avenue paralleling the first, and turned the corner. With a wave of his hand, de Loungville motioned for Jadow and Erik to secrete themselves within a deep and relatively dark doorway, while he quickly moved across the street with Roo. Using hand signals, he indicated Roo should stand against the wall between a doorway and a window. De Loungville took up a position at the corner of the building, between the door and an
alleyway that ran next to the building. From within the building, Roo heard the sounds of what he took to be a merchant moving portions of his inventory around. He resisted the impulse to peek into the window and tried to look like a man simply lounging for a minute, while he kept his eyes darting around, looking for signs of trouble.

A figure swept out of the darkness, bundled in a great cloak. Vaguely, behind him, figures seemed to melt away into the darkness and Roo sensed more than saw others taking up nearby positions.

The robed man moved purposefully past Roo and took the three steps up to the door of the establishment. Roo glimpsed him as he passed and Roo's eyes widened. The man entered the shop, closing the door behind. Roo heard a voice say, “Can I help—”

“Hello,” interrupted a familiar voice.

A long silence was followed by the first voice saying, “James?”

“It's been a while,” answered Lord James, Duke of Krondor. “What? Forty years?”

“More.” There was a long silence, then the man said, “I assume your men are outside.”

“Sufficient to make sure this conversation is uninterrupted and ends when I say it ends.”

Again there was a silence, and the sound of two men moving around. What sounded like chairs being pulled across the floor ended with James saying, “Thank you.”

“I don't suppose it would do any good claiming I've long since gone straight and am nothing more than a simple merchant.”

“Claim all you want, Brian,” said James. “Thirty years ago, when I had heard a merchant named Lysle
Rigger had shown up in Krondor, I asked Prince Arutha to set agents on you like hounds on a trail. Even when I was ruling in Rillanon these last twenty years, I've had regular reports on you.”

“Rigger. I haven't used that name in years. I haven't used that name since—where was it we met?”

“We met in Lyton,” said James.

“Yes, now I remember,” came the reply. “I used it only a few times since then.”

“No matter.” James sighed audibly. “It took the Prince's men a few years to make sure they had all your bolt-holes covered and your runners identified, but once they did, it was easy enough for me to keep track of you.”

“You've better men than we thought. We're always on the lookout for agents of the Crown.”

James said, “That's because until tonight we were content to simply watch. Remember, I used to be a Mocker. There are still a few around who remember Jimmy the Hand.”

“Now what?”

“Well, you're going to have to change your name again, and do something about your appearance. If you don't, the beggars and thieves will decide it's time for a new leader.”

There was a chuckle and Roo strained to hear every word. “You know, it all goes back to that business with the Crawler. If he hadn't tried to take over the guild in the first place, we'd have had a far more orderly change than we had when the Virtuous Man took over. That was a mess.”

“So I hear,” said James. “But that's neither here nor there. What brings me to you tonight, Lysle, or
Brian if you prefer, is this: lately, you've lost control over the guild. Ton many happy little cutthroats are running around my city killing my law-abiding, tax-paying citizens. A little theft and larceny are normal for a city like Krondor, but last night one of your butchers killed a stableboy, two barmaids, and four horses as a ‘warning' to a young wine merchant that he needed to pay protection.”

“That is excessive,” agreed the man named Brian.

“So was the protection price,” said James.

“Who is the man? I'll deal with him.”

“No, I'll deal with him. If you want to keep your own head out of a noose, or more important, if you don't want your own people choosing a replacement for you before your body's cool, listen carefully.

“For some years to come I'm going to need Krondor especially quiet and free of trouble. In fact, I'm going to need it very prosperous and rich. The reasons I'm going to need things this way are none of your concern, but trust me when I say that in the long run it will benefit you and your ragged band of outlaws as much as anyone else in the city. Toward that end I'm going to find Sam Tannerson and his comrades and publicly hang them. You will find me a believable witness who saw him leaving the Inn of the Seven Flowers holding a bloody knife. Get me an earnest-faced little street urchin. A girl would be best. Someone who will have the judge convinced that Tannerson and his pals are barely worth the rope to hang them with.

“Then you'll tell your merry band of thieves that things are getting too hot for such goings-on and the next one of your bright lads to go getting creative ideas on setting examples won't live long enough to
be hung. And I mean it, Brian: if one of your murderers steps out of line, you'd better string him up before I do, or I'll close you down for good and all.”

“It's been tried before,” came the answer. “The Mockers are still in business.”

There was a long silence before James said, “I still remember the way to Mother's. If I shout out before you can reach that dagger you have secreted in your boot you'll be dead, and within an hour your Nightmaster will be under arrest and your Daymaster will be roused out of his bed and taken into custody. I'll have Mother's surrounded and closed down before sunrise. I'll have every thief who's known to my agents picked up, and while I won't get them all, or even half, I'll get enough of them. There will still be thieves and beggars in Krondor, Brian, but there will be no more Mockers.”