said Dash.
“You don’t
have to tell me that twice,” said Gustaf.
Dash chanced a
look over the wall and saw the usual confusion of the foulbourgh,
soldiers milling around, street vendors, and the other human flotsam
drawn into this eddy of the previous year’s war. Somewhere out
there, he fervently wished, his brother Jimmy was getting the
information needed to alert Owen Greylock that something strange was
taking place in Krondor.
Given the lack
of resources, General Duko was doing an admirable job of restoring
the city to its earlier status, at least from a military point of
view. The merchants and other residents of Krondor would see years
pass before the city came close to returning to its former
prosperity. Too much damage had occurred for that to be anything but
a distant dream. But from a soldier’s point of view, Krondor
would be close to its previous level of defensibility in less than a
year’s time, perhaps as quickly as nine or ten months.
Dash wished
mightily he could get loose of this work gang, scout around, and find
out what was going on, but the reality of the situation was that any
man who wasn’t an invader was a slave. Whatever Dash’s
father had been thinking, it would have made more sense to have sent
along one of the men who had traveled to Novindus with Erik von
Darkmoor, someone who spoke the language and had a fair chance of
passing for one of the men from the continent across the sea.
Even if he got
free, Dash knew his only hope was to get beyond the wall, blend into
the populace there, and find his way to the East, where he was
certain his father had other agents waiting for sight of either
brother.
Dash was certain
his father had sent other agents into the city, and throughout the
surrounding countryside. It would be unlike him not to. Besides,
thought Dash as he helped hoist a large rock up to the battlements,
the ghost of Duke Arutha’s father, Lord James, would haunt him
if he didn’t. As Dash bruised knuckles on the harsh stone and
began putting mortar into place, he thought that his grandfather’s
ghost would be welcome about now. Certainly, if anyone could puzzle
out what was happening in Krondor it would be the legendary Lord
James.
Jimmy cursed in
the darkness as he bruised his shins against an unexpected stone. “Is
the young gentleman certain he hasn’t lost his way?” came
Malar’s voice out of the blackness.
Jimmy said,
“Keep quiet. It’s certain we’re not the only ones
down here. And yes I know where we are,” he said. “We
turn right and another dozen paces on the right should be the place
we’re looking for.” As if to prove the point, he turned
to the right and moved into a small passage. Malar kept both hands on
the right wall as he awkwardly followed.
After a few
minutes they moved slowly through the gloom, then suddenly Jimmy
said, “We’re here.”
“Where is
here, sir?” asked Malar.
“One of
the many hiding places for. . .” A sound of rustling, as if
something was being moved, came from where Jimmy stood. Then Malar
shielded his eyes as a small spark was struck, blindingly bright
after the long time spent in the dark.
The torch was
dry and caught at once, and Jimmy said, “Let’s see what
we have here.” He rummaged through the contents of the hiding
place, a false stone in the wall at waist height.
“How did
you know where to look?” asked Malar.
“My
grandfather had reason to spend some time in the sewers.” He
glanced at Malar. “He was a city employee.”
“A sewer
worker?”
“At
times,” said Jimmy. “Anyway, he told me that from
whatever thieves’ entrance into the city, you move to the first
intersection, then to the right, and about twelve paces to the right,
a cache would be found. Seems the Mockers wanted to make sure that if
they got chased down into the darkness, they could find light and
some tools.” He waved at the cache. “Observe.” He
patted each item as he named it. “A good length of rope.
“You don’t
have to tell me that twice,” said Gustaf.
Dash chanced a
look over the wall and saw the usual confusion of the foulbourgh,
soldiers milling around, street vendors, and the other human flotsam
drawn into this eddy of the previous year’s war. Somewhere out
there, he fervently wished, his brother Jimmy was getting the
information needed to alert Owen Greylock that something strange was
taking place in Krondor.
Given the lack
of resources, General Duko was doing an admirable job of restoring
the city to its earlier status, at least from a military point of
view. The merchants and other residents of Krondor would see years
pass before the city came close to returning to its former
prosperity. Too much damage had occurred for that to be anything but
a distant dream. But from a soldier’s point of view, Krondor
would be close to its previous level of defensibility in less than a
year’s time, perhaps as quickly as nine or ten months.
Dash wished
mightily he could get loose of this work gang, scout around, and find
out what was going on, but the reality of the situation was that any
man who wasn’t an invader was a slave. Whatever Dash’s
father had been thinking, it would have made more sense to have sent
along one of the men who had traveled to Novindus with Erik von
Darkmoor, someone who spoke the language and had a fair chance of
passing for one of the men from the continent across the sea.
Even if he got
free, Dash knew his only hope was to get beyond the wall, blend into
the populace there, and find his way to the East, where he was
certain his father had other agents waiting for sight of either
brother.
Dash was certain
his father had sent other agents into the city, and throughout the
surrounding countryside. It would be unlike him not to. Besides,
thought Dash as he helped hoist a large rock up to the battlements,
the ghost of Duke Arutha’s father, Lord James, would haunt him
if he didn’t. As Dash bruised knuckles on the harsh stone and
began putting mortar into place, he thought that his grandfather’s
ghost would be welcome about now. Certainly, if anyone could puzzle
out what was happening in Krondor it would be the legendary Lord
James.
Jimmy cursed in
the darkness as he bruised his shins against an unexpected stone. “Is
the young gentleman certain he hasn’t lost his way?” came
Malar’s voice out of the blackness.
Jimmy said,
“Keep quiet. It’s certain we’re not the only ones
down here. And yes I know where we are,” he said. “We
turn right and another dozen paces on the right should be the place
we’re looking for.” As if to prove the point, he turned
to the right and moved into a small passage. Malar kept both hands on
the right wall as he awkwardly followed.
After a few
minutes they moved slowly through the gloom, then suddenly Jimmy
said, “We’re here.”
“Where is
here, sir?” asked Malar.
“One of
the many hiding places for. . .” A sound of rustling, as if
something was being moved, came from where Jimmy stood. Then Malar
shielded his eyes as a small spark was struck, blindingly bright
after the long time spent in the dark.
The torch was
dry and caught at once, and Jimmy said, “Let’s see what
we have here.” He rummaged through the contents of the hiding
place, a false stone in the wall at waist height.
“How did
you know where to look?” asked Malar.
“My
grandfather had reason to spend some time in the sewers.” He
glanced at Malar. “He was a city employee.”
“A sewer
worker?”
“At
times,” said Jimmy. “Anyway, he told me that from
whatever thieves’ entrance into the city, you move to the first
intersection, then to the right, and about twelve paces to the right,
a cache would be found. Seems the Mockers wanted to make sure that if
they got chased down into the darkness, they could find light and
some tools.” He waved at the cache. “Observe.” He
patted each item as he named it. “A good length of rope.
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