The Diamond Throne. David Eddings

the rest of my time is my own.’

      The tavern keeper brought them tankards of beer and a plate with bread and cheese on it. They sat eating and talking quietly.

      After about an hour the tavern had attracted several more customers – sweat-smelling workmen who had slipped away from their chores and a few of the keepers of nearby shops. Sparhawk rose, went to the door and looked out. Although the narrow back street was not exactly teeming with traffic, there were enough people moving back and forth to provide some measure of concealment. Sparhawk returned to the table. ‘I think it’s time to be on our way, my Lord,’ he said to Kalten. He picked up his box.

      ‘Right,’ Kalten replied. He drained his tankard and rose to his feet, swaying slightly and with his hat on the back of his head. He stumbled a few times on the way to the door and he was reeling just a bit as he led the way out into the street. Sparhawk followed him with the box once again on his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you overdoing that just a little?’ he muttered to his friend when they turned the corner.

      ‘I’m just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. We’ve just come out of a tavern.’

      ‘We’re well past it now. If you act too drunk, you’ll attract attention. I think it’s time for a miraculous recovery.’

      ‘You’re taking all the fun out of this, Sparhawk,’ Kalten complained. He stopped staggering and straightened his white-plumed hat.

      They moved on through the busy streets with Sparhawk trailing respectfully behind his friend as a good squire would.

      When they reached another intersection, Sparhawk felt a familiar prickling of his skin. He set down his wooden box and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his smock.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Kalten asked, also stopping.

      ‘The case is heavy, my Lord,’ Sparhawk explained in a voice loud enough to be heard by passers-by. Then he spoke in a half-whisper. ‘We’re being watched,’ he said as his eyes swept the sides of the street.

      The robed and hooded figure was in an upper floor window, partially concealed behind a thick green drape. It looked very much like the one that had watched him in the rain-wet streets the night he had first arrived back in Cimmura.

      ‘Have you located him?’ Kalten asked quietly, making some show of adjusting the collar of his pink cloak.

      Sparhawk grunted, raising the box to his shoulder again. ‘Upper floor window over the chandler’s shop.’

      ‘Let’s be off then, my man,’ Kalten said in a louder voice. ‘The day’s wearing on.’ As he started on up the street, he cast a quick, furtive glance at the green-draped window.

      They rounded another corner. ‘Odd-looking sort, wasn’t he?’ Kalten noted. ‘Most people don’t wear hoods when they’re indoors.’

      ‘Maybe he’s got something to hide.’

      ‘Do you think he recognized us?’

      ‘It’s hard to say. I’m not positive, but I think he was the same one who was watching me the night I came into town. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I could feel him, and this one feels just about the same.’

      ‘Would magic penetrate these disguises?’

      ‘Easily. Magic sees the man, not the clothes. Let’s go down a few alleys and see if we can shake him off in case he decides to follow us.’

      ‘Right.’

      It was nearly noon when they reached the square near the west gate where Sparhawk had seen Krager. They split up there. Sparhawk went in one direction and Kalten the other. They questioned the keepers of the brightly coloured booths and the more sedate shops closely, describing Krager in some detail. On the far side of the square, Sparhawk rejoined his friend. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.

      Kalten nodded. ‘There’s a wine merchant over there who says that a man who looks like Krager comes in three or four times a day to buy a flagon of Arcian red.’

      ‘That’s Krager’s drink, all right.’ Sparhawk grinned. If Martel finds out that he’s drinking again, he’ll reach down his throat and pull his heart out.’

      ‘Can you actually do that to a man?’

      ‘You can if your arm’s long enough, and if you know what you’re looking for. Did your wine merchant give you any sort of hint about which way Krager usually comes from?’

      Kalten nodded. ‘That street there.’ He pointed.

      Sparhawk scratched at his horse-tail beard, thinking.

      ‘If you pull that loose, Sephrenia’s going to turn you over her knee and paddle you.’

      Sparhawk took his hand away from his face. ‘Has Krager picked up his first flagon of wine this morning?’ he asked.

      Kalten nodded. ‘About two hours ago.’

      ‘He’s likely to finish that first one fairly fast. If he’s drinking the way he used to, he’ll wake up in the mornings feeling a bit unwell.’ Sparhawk looked around the busy square. ‘Let’s go on up that street a ways where there aren’t quite so many people and wait for him. As soon as he runs out of wine, he’ll come out for more.’

      ‘Won’t he see us? He knows us both, you know.’

      Sparhawk shook his head. ‘He’s so shortsighted that he can barely see past the end of his nose. Add a flagon of wine to that, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize his own mother.’

      ‘Krager’s got a mother?’ Kalten asked in mock amazement. ‘I thought he just crawled out from under a rotten log.’

      Sparhawk laughed. ‘Let’s go find someplace where we can wait for him.’

      ‘Can we skulk?’ Kalten asked eagerly. ‘I haven’t skulked in years.’

      ‘Skulk away, my friend,’ Sparhawk said.

      They walked up the street the wine merchant had indicated. After a few hundred paces, Sparhawk pointed towards the narrow opening of an alley. ‘That ought to do it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go do our skulking in there. When Krager goes by, we can drag him into the alley and have our little chat in private.’

      ‘Right,’ Kalten agreed with an evil grin.

      They crossed the street and entered the alley. Rotting garbage lay heaped along the sides, and some way farther on was a reeking public urinal. Kalten waved one hand in front of his face. ‘Sometimes your decisions leave a lot to be desired, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you have picked someplace a little less fragrant?’

      ‘You know,’ Sparhawk said, ‘that’s what I’ve missed about not having you around, Kalten – that steady stream of complaints.’

      Kalten shrugged. ‘A man needs something to talk about.’ He reached under his azure doublet, took out a small, curved knife and began to strop it on the sole of his boot. ‘I get him first,’ he said.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Krager. I get to start on him first.’

      ‘What gave you that idea?’

      ‘You’re my friend, Sparhawk. Friends always let their friends go first.’

      ‘Doesn’t that work the other way around, too?’

      Kalten shook his head. ‘You like me better than I like you. It’s only natural, of course. I’m a lot more likeable than you are.’

      Sparhawk gave him a long look.

      ‘That’s what friends are for, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said ingratiatingly, ‘to point out our little shortcomings to us.’

      They waited, watching the street from the mouth of the alley. It was not a particularly busy street, for there were but few shops along its sides. It seemed rather