Locklear.
James grinned. His face was youthful, though he was no longer a boy. He had curly brown hair he kept cropped short and was dressed in plain clothing, tunic, trousers, boots and cloak. He carried only a belt knife. ‘What brings you back to court? Arutha banished you for a year, if memory serves.’
‘This moredhel,’ said Locklear. ‘His name is Gorath and he brings a warning to Arutha.’ Pointing to his other companion, he said, ‘And this is Owyn, son of the Baron of Timons. He’s been of great help to me, also.’
James said, ‘A moredhel chieftain in Krondor. Well, things are getting strange hereabouts, too.’ He glanced down at the two dead men. ‘Someone has bribed a few very stupid men to play the part of Nighthawks, here in the sewers and in other parts of town.’
‘Why?’ asked Locklear.
‘We don’t know,’ said James. ‘I’m on my way to meet with some … old acquaintances of mine. To see if we can cooperate in uncovering who is behind this mummery.’
‘The Mockers,’ said Locklear. ‘We ran into one of them, a lad named Limm.’
James nodded. ‘I’m to meet with some of them shortly. I had better not disappoint them. But before I go, what are you doing down here in the sewer?’
Locklear said, ‘Someone wants Gorath dead very badly. I’ve been cut more times than a horse’s flank by a cheap butcher. We’re here because we need to get into the palace, and I’ve seen lots of very dangerous-looking men watching the entrances to the palace. When I tried to get us in by shadowing the city watch trying to enter, we found the gate damaged.’
‘Someone sabotaged it, as well as the north palace entry. The only way into the palace right now is through the sea-dock gate, or here.’
Locklear looked concerned. ‘They even had the gate jammed to keep us from reaching the palace?’
James nodded. ‘That would explain the mystery. Look, go see Arutha and I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘That’s the way?’ asked Locklear.
‘Yes,’ said James. He fished out a key and handed it to Locklear. ‘But we’ve locked the secret door so you’d have had a long wait if I hadn’t chanced by.’
‘I might have picked the lock,’ said Locklear. ‘I’ve watched you do it a few times.’
‘And pigs might fly,’ said James with a pat on his friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you back, even if under such dark clouds.’ He pointed the way he had come. ‘Make your way past two large culverts on the left, and you’ll find the ladder to the palace.’ With a departing grin, he added, ‘I suggest you bathe before calling upon Arutha.’
Locklear smiled, then laughed. For the first time in months he suddenly felt safe. They were but a short walk away from the entrance to the palace, and he knew that soon he would be enjoying a hot bath. ‘Come see me when you’ve returned,’ he said to James. ‘We have much to catch up on.’
‘I will,’ said James.
Locklear led Gorath and Owyn to the ladder that led up into the palace, a series of iron bars hammered into the stones rising a floor above. There a grate with a heavy lock had been erected, and Locklear used the key James had provided to open it. They swung aside the grate and moved into a small tunnel just above the sewers, leading into the lower basement of the palace. Locklear silently led them to a door. Once through, Owyn and Gorath saw they were in another passage, this one lit by torches in widely separated sconces, and when the door was returned to its resting place, it vanished into the stone wall.
Locklear led them to his quarters, past a pair of palace guards who only watched with interest as the Prince’s squire walked past with another youth and what looked like a tall elf.
Glancing through a window overlooking the city, Locklear said, ‘Suppertime’s in about an hour. Time for a bath and a change of clothing. We can talk to the Prince after the meal.’
Gorath said, ‘It seems so … odd to be here.’
Opening the door to his quarters, Locklear said, ‘Not nearly as odd as having you here.’ He stepped aside to admit his guests, and turned to wave at a page hurrying down a nearby hall. ‘Boy!’ he shouted.
The page stopped and turned to run toward him. ‘Sir?’ he said.
‘Send word to the Prince that I’ve returned with a message of the gravest consequence.’
The boy, who knew Locklear well, indulged himself in an observation: ‘It’ll be grave, all right; your grave, if the Prince doesn’t agree, squire.’
With a playful slap to the side of the head, Locklear sent him off. ‘And pass word I need enough hot water for three baths!’
The boy waved he had heard and said, ‘I’ll tell the staff, squire.’
Locklear turned into his room and found Owyn sitting on his bed, lying back against the wall. Gorath stood a short way off, patiently waiting. Locklear went to his wardrobe and selected some clothing. ‘We’ll send for something closer your size while we bathe,’ he said to Gorath. He took the clothing and handed a tunic and trousers to Owyn, along with fresh smallclothes, then said, ‘This way to the bath, my friends.’
At the end of the hall he found four servants pouring hot water into a large tub, while another waited. ‘In you go,’ he said to Owyn, who stripped off his filthy garments and climbed into the tub. He settled in with a satisfied ‘ah’ sound and rested back in the hot water.
Gorath said, ‘Is that third tub for me?’
‘I was going to take that one, but if you—’
‘Fill it with cold water.’
The servants exchanged glances, but Locklear nodded, so they finished filling the second tub and ran off, turning around a pair of servants hurrying from the kitchen with hot buckets. Soon they returned with cold water and started filling the tub.
Gorath stripped and climbed in, allowing them to pour the cold water over his head. He endured the cold water without comment. When they were done bathing and clean clothes had been fetched for Gorath, Owyn asked, ‘Why cold water?’
‘We bathe in mountain streams in a land that always sees ice upon the peaks,’ said Gorath. ‘This water was too warm for my taste.’
Locklear shrugged. ‘You learn something new every day.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gorath. ‘You do.’
When they were dressed, they left the bathing chamber to discover a squad of palace guards waiting for them. ‘We’re to escort you to the Prince, squire.’
Locklear dryly said, ‘No need. I know the way.’
The sergeant, a tough old veteran, ignored the young noble’s marginal rank and said, ‘The Prince thought there was a need, sir.’
He signalled and two soldiers fell in on either side of Gorath and two fell in behind him. They moved along the hall until they were ushered into the dining hall, where Prince Arutha, Princess Anita and their guests were finishing their dinner.
Arutha, ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat at the centre of the head table. He was still a young man. Despite having ruled the realm for ten years, his face was only now starting to show the lines which age and responsibility bring. He kept his chin shaved, so that he still resembled the youth who had emerged a hero of the Riftwar. His hair was mostly black with a few stray grey hairs beginning to show, but otherwise he looked much as he had when Locklear had first come to Krondor, a page boy fresh from his father’s court at Land’s End. His brown eyes settled on Locklear with a gaze that had reduced lesser men to trembling children over the years; Locklear had endured that gaze many times in the ten years he had served in Arutha’s court.
Princess Anita favoured Locklear