Krondor: The Assassins. Raymond E. Feist

him. He silently counted his steps and when one hundred had passed he opened his eyes.

      As he expected, ahead was a faint dot of light, which he knew was a reflection coming down from an open grating in the West Market Square. There wasn’t enough light by which to see well, but it was a point of reference and confirmed what he already knew about his whereabouts.

      He moved quickly and reached the crossway that ran parallel to the one he had been travelling before encountering the silent guard. He eased into the foul sewage and crossed the now-moving stream of refuse, reaching the opposite walkway without making much sound.

      Limm was quickly up and on his way again. He knew where his friends were holed up and knew that it was a relatively safe place, but given the time and circumstances, nothing was truly safe any more. What had once been called the other Thieves’ Highway, the rooftops of Krondor, was now as much an open war zone as the sewers. The citizens of the city of Krondor might be blissfully ignorant of this silent warfare above their heads and below their feet, but Limm knew that if he didn’t encounter the Crawler’s men along the way, he risked the Prince’s soldiers, or murderers posing as Nighthawks. No man unknown to him was trustworthy, and a few whom he knew by name could be trusted only so far these days.

      Limm stopped and felt the wall to his left. Despite moving by his own silent count, he discovered with satisfaction that he had been less than a foot off estimating the whereabouts of the iron rungs in the wall. He started to climb. Still blind, he felt himself enter a stone chimney, and quickly knew he was at the floor of a cellar. He reached up and felt the latch. An experimental tug showed it to be bolted from the other side.

      He knocked: twice rapidly, then a pause, then twice again, another pause and a final, single knock. He waited, counting to ten, then repeated the pattern in reverse order, one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, and two again. The bolt slid open.

      The trap swung upward, but the room above was as dark as the sewer below. Whoever was waiting preferred to wait unseen.

      As Limm cleared the floor of the room, rough hands hauled him through, the trap shutting quickly behind him. A feminine voice whispered, ‘What are you doing here?’

      Limm sat down heavily upon the stone floor, fatigue sweeping over him. ‘Running for my life,’ he said softly. Catching his breath, he continued. ‘I saw Sweet Jackie killed last night. Ugly basher working for the Crawler.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Cracked his neck like you’d break a chicken’s, while his mates stood watching. Didn’t even give Jackie a chance to beg or say a prayer, nothing. Just put him out of the way like a cockroach.’ He was close to weeping as he told them – and as relief at being relatively safe for the first time in hours washed over him. ‘But that’s not the worst of it.’

      A lantern was lit by a large man with a grey beard. His narrow gaze communicated volumes: Limm had better have compelling reasons for violating a trust and coming to this hideout. ‘What else?’ he asked.

      ‘The Upright Man is dead.’

      Ethan Graves, one-time leader of the Mockers’ bashers, for a time a brother of the Order of Ishap, and now fugitive from every court of justice in the Kingdom, took a moment to accept the news.

      The woman, named Kat, was half her companion’s age, and an old friend to Limm. She asked, ‘How?’

      ‘Murdered, is the rumour,’ said Limm. ‘No one is saying for certain, but it’s held without doubt he’s dead.’

      Graves sat down at a small table, testing the construction of the small wooden chair with his large frame. ‘How would anyone know?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘No one knows who he is … was.’

      Limm said, ‘Here’s what I know. The Daymaster was still working when I came to Mother’s last night, and he was holed up in the back with Mick Giffen, Reg deVrise, and Phil the Fingers.’

      Graves and Kat exchanged glances. Those named were the most senior thieves in the Mockers. Giffen had succeeded Graves as leader of the bashers, deVrise oversaw those who burgled and fenced goods, and Phil was in charge of pickpockets, smash-and-grab gangs, and the urchins who ran the streets of Krondor.

      Limm continued. ‘The Nightmaster never showed. Word went out and we started looking for him. Just before dawn, we heard they found the Nightmaster floating in the sewers near the dock. His head was all bashed in.’

      Kat almost gasped. ‘No one would dare touch him.’

      Graves said, ‘No one in the know. But someone who didn’t care about the Mockers’ wrath would.’

      ‘Here’s the dicey part,’ said Limm. ‘The Daymaster says the Nightmaster was supposed to meet with the Upright Man. Now, as I understand things, if the Upright Man is supposed to meet with you, and you don’t show, he’s got ways of sending word to the Daymaster or Nightmaster. Well, no word was heard. So the Daymaster sends one of the boys, Timmy Bascolm, if you remember him—’ they nodded ‘—and Timmy turns up dead an hour later.

      ‘So the Daymaster heads out with a bunch of bashers and an hour later they come running back to Mother’s and hole up. Nobody’s saying anything, but word spreads: the Upright Man’s gone.’

      Graves was silent for a minute, then said, ‘He must be dead. There’s no other explanation for this.’

      ‘And there are bully boys to make a strong man faint chasing through the sewers, last night, so Jackie and I figure the hunt is on and our best bet is to lie low somewhere. We got run to ground last night near Five Points—’ both Kat and Graves knew the region of the city sewers by that name ‘—so after they killed Jackie, I figured my best bet was to get here, with you.’

      Graves said, ‘You want to leave Krondor?’

      The boy said, ‘If you’ll take me. There’s a war on, for truth, and I’m the last of my band alive. If the Upright Man is dead, all bets are off. You know the rules. If the Upright Man isn’t here, it’s every man for himself and make what deal you can.’

      Graves nodded. ‘I know the rules.’ His voice lacked the rough, commanding edge Limm had come to know as a boy in the Mockers, when Graves was first among the bashers. Still, Graves had saved Limm several times, from freebooting thugs and the Prince’s men alike. Limm would do whatever Graves said.

      After a moment of reflection, Graves spoke. ‘You stay here, boy. No one in the Guild knows you’ve helped Kat and me, and the truth is, I’m fond of you. You were always a good lad, as far as that goes. Too full of yourself, but what boy isn’t at times?’ He shook his head in regret. ‘Out there it’ll be every hand against us – Mockers, Prince’s men, or the Crawler’s. I’ve got a few friends left, but if the blood is running in the sewers, who knows how long I can count on them?’

      ‘But everyone else thinks you’ve escaped!’ objected Limm. ‘Just me and Jackie knew, ’cause you told us so we could fetch you food. Those notes you sent out, to the Temple, and some of your friends, to that magician you travelled with …’ He waved his hand as if trying to recall the name.

      ‘Owyn,’ Graves supplied.

      ‘Owyn,’ repeated Limm. ‘Word spread through the city you’d fled to Kesh. I know at least a dozen bashers were sent outside the walls to track you down.’

      Graves nodded. ‘And an equal number of monks from the Temple, too, I warrant.’ He sighed. ‘That was the plan. Lie low here while they looked for us out there.’

      Kat, who had remained silent throughout, said, ‘It was a good plan, Graves.’

      Limm nodded.

      Graves said, ‘I figured another week or ten days, and they’d come back, each thinking some other had just missed sight of us, then we’d walk down to the docks one night, get on a ship, and sail off to Durbin, just another merchant and his daughter.’

      ‘Wife!’ said Kat, angrily.

      Limm grinned.

      Graves shrugged and spread