The Diamond Throne. David Eddings

right along, Sef,’ Kalten said to their guide.

      Sef went through the door.

      ‘Join us, friend,’ Sparhawk told the bearded man when he and Kalten were inside. ‘We like lots of company.’

      The stairs continued down between mouldy stone walls that wept moisture. At the bottom, the stair opened out into a very large cellar with a vaulted stone ceiling. There was a fire burning in a pit in the centre of the room, filling the air with smoke, and the walls were lined with roughly constructed cots and straw-filled pallets. Two dozen or so men and women in a wide variety of garments sat on those cots and pallets drinking and playing at dice. Just beyond the fire pit a huge man with a fierce black beard and a vast paunch sprawled in a large chair with his feet thrust out towards the flames. He wore a satin doublet of a faded orange colour, spotted and stained down the front, and he held a silver tankard in one beefy hand.

      ‘That’s Platime,’ Sef said nervously. ‘He’s a little drunk, so you should be careful, my Lords.’

      ‘We can deal with it,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Thanks for your help, Sef. I don’t know how we’d have managed without you.’ Then he led Kalten on around the fire pit.

      ‘Who are all these people?’ Kalten asked in a low voice, looking around at the men and women lining the walls.

      ‘Thieves, beggars, a few murderers probably – that sort of thing.’

      ‘You’ve got some very nice friends, Sparhawk.’

      Platime was carefully examining a necklace with a ruby pendant attached to it. When Sparhawk and Kalten stopped in front of him, he raised his bleary eyes and looked them over, paying particular attention to Kalten’s finery. ‘Who let these two in here?’ he roared.

      ‘We sort of let ourselves in, Platime,’ Sparhawk told him, thrusting his sword back under his belt and turning up his eye patch so that it no longer impaired his vision.

      ‘Well, you can sort of let yourselves back out again.’

      ‘That wouldn’t be convenient right now, I’m afraid,’ Sparhawk told him.

      The gross man in the orange doublet snapped his fingers, and the people lining the wall stood up. ‘You’re badly outnumbered, my friend.’ Platime looked around suggestively at his cohorts.

      ‘That’s been happening fairly often lately,’ Kalten said with his hand on the hilt of his broadsword.

      Platime’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your clothes and that sword don’t exactly match,’ he said.

      ‘And I try so hard to co-ordinate my attire,’ Kalten sighed.

      ‘Just who are you two?’ Platime asked suspiciously. ‘This one is dressed like a courtier, but I don’t think he’s really one of those walking butterflies from the palace.’

      ‘He sees right to the core of things, doesn’t he?’ Kalten said to Sparhawk. He looked at Platime. ‘Actually, we’re Pandions,’ he said.

      ‘Church Knights? I thought it might be something like that. Why the fancy clothes, then?’

      ‘We’re both fairly well known,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We wanted to be able to move around without being recognized.’

      Platime looked meaningfully at Kalten’s blood-stained doublet. ‘It looks to me as if somebody saw through your disguises,’ he said, ‘or maybe you just frequent the wrong taverns. Who stabbed you?’

      ‘A church soldier.’ Kalten shrugged. ‘He got in a lucky thrust. Do you mind if I sit down? I’m feeling a little shaky for some reason.’

      ‘Somebody bring him a stool,’ Platime shouted. Then he looked back at the two of them. ‘Why would Church Knights and church soldiers be fighting?’ he asked.

      ‘Palace politics.’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘They get a little murky sometimes.’

      ‘That’s God’s own truth. What’s your business here?’

      ‘We need a place to stay for a while,’ Sparhawk told him. He looked around. ‘This cellar of yours ought to work out fairly well.’

      ‘Sorry, friend. I can sympathize with a man who’s just had a run-in with the church soldiers, but I’m conducting a business here, and there’s no room for outsiders.’ Platime looked at Kalten, who had just sunk down on a stool that a ragged beggar had brought him. ‘Did you kill the man who stabbed you?’

      ‘He did.’ Kalten pointed at Sparhawk. ‘I killed a few others, but my friend here did most of the fighting.’

      ‘Why don’t we get down to business?’ Sparhawk said. ‘I think you owe my family a debt, Platime.’

      ‘I don’t have any dealings with nobles,’ Platime replied, ‘– except to cut a few of their throats from time to time – so it’s unlikely that I owe your family a thing.’

      ‘This debt has nothing to do with money. A long time ago, some church soldiers were hanging you. My father stopped them.’

      Platime blinked. ‘You’re Sparhawk?’ he said in surprise. ‘You don’t look that much like your father.’

      ‘It’s his nose,’ Kalten said. ‘When you break a man’s nose, you change his whole appearance. Why were the soldiers hanging you?’

      ‘It was all a misunderstanding. I knifed a fellow. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, so I didn’t know he was an officer in the primate’s guard.’ He looked disgusted. ‘And all he had in his purse were two silver coins and a handful of copper.’

      ‘Do you acknowledge the debt?’ Sparhawk pressed.

      Platime pulled at his coarse black beard. ‘I guess I do,’ he admitted.

      ‘We’ll stay here, then.’

      ‘That’s all you want?’

      ‘Not quite. We’re looking for a man – a fellow named Krager. Your beggars are all over town, and I want them to look for him.’

      ‘Fair enough. Can you describe him?’

      ‘I can do better than that. I can show him to you.’

      ‘That doesn’t exactly make sense, friend.’

      ‘It will in a minute. Have you got a basin of some kind – and some clean water?’

      ‘I think I can manage that. What have you got in mind?’

      ‘He’s going to make an image of Krager’s face in the water,’ Kalten said. ‘It’s an old trick.’

      Platime looked impressed. ‘I’ve heard that you Pandions are all wizards, but I’ve never seen anything like that before.’

      ‘Sparhawk’s better at it than I am,’ Kalten admitted.

      One of the beggars furnished a chipped basin filled with slightly cloudy water. Sparhawk set the basin on the floor and concentrated for a moment, muttering the Styric words of the spell under his breath. Then he passed his hand slowly over the basin, and Krager’s puffy-looking face appeared.

      ‘Now that is really something to see,’ Platime marvelled.

      ‘It’s not too difficult,’ Sparhawk said modestly. ‘Have your people here look at it. I can’t keep it there forever.’

      ‘How long can you hold it?’

      ‘Ten minutes or so. It starts to break up after that.’

      ‘Talen!’ the fat man shouted. ‘Come here.’

      A grubby-looking boy of about ten slouched across the room. His tunic was ragged and dirty, but he wore a long, red satin waistcoat that had been fashioned by cutting the sleeves off a doublet. There were several knife-holes in it. ‘What do you want?’