to work!” shouted a guard, and the four men nearest Dash and Gustaf began moving the rock back into place in the wall.
Jimmy motioned with a slight tilt of his head. Malar nodded that he understood and signaled for the boy to come over. The urchin was filthy, covered from head to toe in soot and grime. He smelled as if he had been swimming in a cesspool, and Jimmy thought him a likely source of information.
Malar spoke with the boy for a few minutes, then gave him a coin, telling him to run off. He returned to where Jimmy leaned against the wall in a pose of indifference and said, “Young sir, the boy was, indeed, working in the sewers. They pay him to crawl into the smaller culverts and pipes, ridding them of burned wood, mud, and the like.”
Jimmy shook his head slightly in irritation. “Damn. What are they doing down there?”
In a low voice, Malar said, “Apparently repairing the sewer, much as they seem to be repairing everything aboveground on the other side of the wall from all reports.”
“But why?” asked Jimmy rhetorically. “The sewers are sufficient for his army. With a little work, he can keep them flowing enough so his men don’t fall ill.” Jimmy scratched an imaginary itch on the side of his face. “But from what we’ve heard, he’s trying to put them back to the state they were in before—” He had been about to say before “Grandfather blew up the city,” but changed it to “the city was taken.”
“Perhaps this General Duko likes things orderly.”
Jimmy shook his head in baffled silence. He had read every report that had reached Darkmoor on the enemy before and after the Battle of Nightmare Ridge.
Duko was probably their best field general, and third in importance after Fadawah and Nordan. Jimmy couldn’t begin to guess what he was up to. Had he been fortifying the city for an attack from the east or south, that might have made some sense, though the defenses would still be less than ideal when Patrick’s army arrived.
Had he continued to rip Krondor apart, adding to the destruction – to deny it to the Kingdom – would have made sense. But repairing the damage done, as if he was going to occupy the city for a long time, that made no sense.
“Unless …” said Jimmy softy.
“Young sir?” asked Malar.
“Never mind.” He looked around. “It’s going to be dark in the next hour. Come with me.”
He led Malar through the busy streets in the tent city and toward an alley, really just a passage between freestanding walls, all that was left of two businesses. He ducked into the alley without waiting to see if he was being watched, and heard Malar follow.
It would be easy to become lost in Krondor, Jimmy knew from his last visit. With all the destruction, landmarks didn’t exist. Yet the patterns were the same, and if one constantly remembered where one was relative to one of the few intact recognizable features in the city, it should be possible to find one’s way. At least Jimmy hoped this was so.
He heard movement before he saw it, and ducked back, almost knocking Malar over. Someone walked along the abandoned street, coming closer. Jimmy and Malar hunkered down, fading into the darkness between the walls.
Shortly, a pair of armed men hurried by, upon what errand Jimmy could only guess. Jimmy waited, to see if they returned or if others followed. When no one else appeared after a few minutes, he moved across the road to a burned-out inn.
Hunkering down behind a section of still-standing wall, Jimmy whispered, “This inn has a Way into the sewers. If it’s not blocked, and if the sewers are still intact, we can get inside the city. Most of the sewer is cut off from out there to in there,” he said pointing toward the city, “but there is an old collapsed wall of a cistern that we can wiggle through.”
“Is that a good idea, young sir?” asked Malar. “From what we’ve heard it seems difficult to remain inside without being pressed into a work gang. At least that seems the general opinion.”
“I don’t plan on being seen,” said Jimmy. “You’re free to make your own way from here on, if you choose.”
“Living by my wits is an old habit of mine, young sir, but I suspect you and your brother are my best opportunity to find something beyond that.” He studied Jimmy for a moment, as if weighing risks against possible rewards, then said, “You and your brother are two men of some position, I suspect. If so, and if I serve you to a good ending, then perhaps I may salvage something from what has so far been a horrible turn of fate.” He fell silent for a moment again, then said, “If you will have me in your service, I will go with you.”
Jimmy half shrugged. “I guess that makes you my servant in fact, then. Tell you what you must do. Should anything happen to me, return as best you may to the East. Long before you reach the Kingdom Army you will almost certainly be apprehended by Kingdom advanced scouts. Probably Hadati hillmen or Krondorian Pathfinders. If it’s Hadatis, see if there’s a man named Akee with them. If Pathfinders, ask for Captain Subati. Have either of those men take you to Owen Greylock or Eric von Darkmoor and tell them everything you’ve seen so far. Without a name, you’ll be taken for a Keshian deserter or looter or something, and it might be a long time before anyone heard your story. And they must know what we’ve seen.”
“But what have we seen?” said Malar, genuinely perplexed.
“I’m not sure, which is why we must get inside the city. But whatever it is, it’s not something we anticipated.”
“That’s bad.”
Jimmy grinned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the unanticipated is always bad.”
Jimmy’s grin broadened. “Always?”
“Always. There is no such thing as a pleasant surprise.”
“I remember this girl once—”
“Did she end up breaking your heart?”
Jimmy nodded with a smile now rueful. “That she did.”
“You see. If you can anticipate, you can stay beyond harm’s reach.”
“You sound like a man of experience,” suggested Jimmy.
Malar’s eyes narrowed. “More than most men know, young sir.”
Jimmy looked around. The shadows had deepened as the sun had lingered in the west, and now the sky above was turning a stunning shade of violet as night approached. “It’s dark enough we won’t be noticed, I’m thinking.” He led Malar into the rear of the old inn, having to carefully pick his way across a section of timbers, what was left from a collapsed doorway and wall section, as well as part of the ceiling above. The roof was gone, and blackened timbers above showed starkly against the darkening sky. They moved cautiously, then Jimmy said, “It’s around here somewhere.”
He knelt and looked around. He moved some smaller debris covered in thick soot, raising a stench of wet charcoal. “Some of the wood is rotting.”
Malar said, “There is a ring of iron there, young sir.”
“Give me a hand,” said Jimmy as he cleared the top of the trapdoor.
As the two men pulled, Jimmy said, “This used to be the back room at an inn controlled by the Mockers.”
“Mockers?”
“Thieves,” said Jimmy. “I thought their fame reached into the vale.”
“The only thieves with whom I had contact were those who used quill and parchment, not dagger and guile. Businessmen.”
Jimmy laughed. “My brother would agree; he used to work for the worst of the lot, Rupert Avery.”
“That’s a name I have heard, young sir. My late master had cause to curse him more than once.”
They got the trap moved and swung it back,