King of Foxes. Raymond E. Feist

noticed that a few guests were departing and decided it was safe for himself to leave as well. But halfway across the floor he heard a familiar voice. ‘Squire, a moment of your time.’

      Without turning, Tal said, ‘Constable, what an unexpected surprise.’

      Constable Dennis Drogan came to stand before Tal and with a smile and nod said, ‘Glad to see you again, Squire.’

      ‘What brings you here?’ asked Tal.

      Dennis, a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man, had a head that looked to be perfectly round. He kept his hair cropped close and seemed impervious to the effect that had, for it emphasized his left ear, which had been half bitten off during a scuffle in his youth. His nose looked as if it had been repeatedly broken over the years. Tal recognized him for what he was, a brawler, tough, unrelenting and dangerous. More so, for he was the Crown’s law in the city.

      Drogan smiled. ‘My uncle is still Bursar to the household here in the palace, and I am technically a member of the Royal Court.’

      ‘Ah, of course, but rather, what brings you here?’

      Putting his hand on Tal’s shoulder, Drogan moved him towards the door. ‘You do, Squire.’

      ‘Me?’ Tal fell into step beside the shorter man. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because people have an annoying habit of turning up dead when you’re in the city. I thought it best to have a word with you before we start accumulating corpses again.’

      Tal didn’t try to feign innocence, but he did look aggrieved. ‘Dennis, you and I have never been close friends, but we have been affable acquaintances. You know that in every instance, someone ended up dead because my life was at risk. What am I supposed to do? Stand by and say, “Oh, if I defend myself the Constable is going to be annoyed, so I’d better let them kill me”?’

      The grip on Tal’s shoulder tightened, just enough to convey emphasis without causing pain. ‘No, by all means, should your life be put at peril, defend yourself; I’m just suggesting you try to avoid finding your life at peril any time soon.’

      Caught halfway between amusement and irritation, Tal said, ‘I’ll do my best.’

      ‘That’s all I can ask.’

      Tal slipped out from under the Constable’s meaty hand and left the palace. Outside, as guests waited for carriages, Tal wended his way through the crowd and exited through one of the pedestrian gates. He was only a few yards from the palace, moving downhill on a thoroughfare lined with the homes of the wealthy, when someone fell into step beside him.

      ‘Evening, Tal,’ said a familiar voice.

      ‘Evening, Quincy,’ answered Tal without looking. He had spied the merchant from Bas-Tyra in the crowd at the palace.

      ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’

      Tal stopped and started to laugh. ‘You didn’t ambush me outside the palace to discuss the weather, my friend.’

      Quincy halted, also. ‘Well, I saw you on your way out when the Constable intercepted you; I know you walked to the gala rather than booking a carriage, so I just left before you and waited.’

      ‘How have you been, Quincy?’ Tal asked, looking at his old acquaintance under the lantern light. Quincy de Castle was in his thirties, perhaps early forties, with a rapidly-balding pate. His features were undistinguished save for his eyes, which were as close to an eagle’s as any man Tal had known. He wore fashionable, but not extravagant clothing, a jacket of a charcoal hue, double-breasted with a swallow-tail cut, and matching trousers tucked into knee-high boots. It was, as Tal knew, the latest fashion in the Kingdom of the Isles, as it was last year’s fashion in Roldem.

      ‘I have been well enough.’

      ‘Recently back from the Kingdom, I see.’

      They resumed walking. ‘Yes, the clothing. I just arrived and had no time to have new garb made. Besides, all this slavery to fashion seems very … unproductive. If someone thinks less of me for wearing last year’s style, let him. It but works to my advantage should we negotiate.’

      Quincy was one of the most astute merchants in the city. He was a native of Bas-Tyra, the second most important city in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom, and specialized in high-quality luxury goods. As a result, he numbered nobility, even royalty, among his customers and was invited to all the better social functions. Tal also suspected him of being an agent for the King of the Isles. There was something about him that made Tal wary, something very unmerchantlike in his bearing.

      ‘I see,’ said Tal. ‘You needing an edge in business seems hardly likely, but I’ll grant that taking one where you can find it is logical. Now, what is it that you wish of me?’

      ‘What makes you think I want something?’ said Quincy with a smile.

      ‘Because it’s not your habit to lurk in the shadows and leap out upon me in the night. This is hardly a chance meeting.’

      ‘Hardly. Look, I’ll get to the point. The first reason is I wish to invite you to a small gathering at Dawson’s on this coming Fifthnight. I am inviting a few likeable chaps for supper, drink, and then perhaps we’ll go on to some cards or dice.’

      ‘A note to my man would have sufficed.’

      ‘There’s another reason,’ Quincy answered as they turned a corner and started down a steeper hill towards Tal’s quarters. ‘You are to hunt with Duke Kaspar tomorrow, am I right?’

      ‘Bribing the waiting staff, are we?’

      Quincy laughed. ‘I’ve let it be known in the palace that a bit of news here or there that might prove useful would be rewarded. Now, is it true?’

      ‘Yes, tomorrow at sunrise I hunt with the Duke and his party. Why?’

      ‘If you are in the Duke’s favour, I wish you to present me to him.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Tal, stopping for a moment.

      ‘Because he really is the most difficult man to see. I can get an audience with the King more readily than I can with Duke Kaspar.’

      ‘Only because you’re selling gems to the Queen at cost.’

      ‘I lose no money and it earns me a great deal of social access. But not to Kaspar.’

      ‘Why are you so anxious to meet with Kaspar?’

      Quincy was quiet for a moment, then he resumed walking, gesturing for Tal to accompany him. As they proceeded he said, ‘Trade with Olasko is … difficult. It’s as if somehow every trading concern in the duchy has … decided to do business the same way.

      ‘They send their agents to Rillanon, Roldem, Bas-Tyra, Ran, down to Kesh, but if I send one of my agents to Opardum, it may as well be for a holiday. For no one will entertain an offer to trade. It’s always their agents, in our cities, on their terms. Take it or leave it.’

      ‘Are they bad trades?’

      ‘No, otherwise I wouldn’t care. Often they’re very good business. But the essence of commerce is regular trade routes, with goods being dependably provided. It keeps the market alive. This hit or miss … I can’t help but feel that a vast opportunity is going to waste because of these trading concerns.

      ‘I feel if I can get Duke Kaspar’s ear, perhaps convince him to speak to some of the wealthier trading concerns, or even to let me visit his court … if I come from the Duke’s court to the offices of a major trading concern, like Kasana’s or Petrik Brothers, then they would have to take my offers seriously.’

      Tal listened and nodded, as if agreeing. To himself he thought, and if you can get your agent up into Opardum, especially if he’s trading with the Duke’s chancellor, then the King of the Isles has a pair of eyes and ears near a troublesome neighbour.

      ‘I’ll see