The Complete Darkwar Trilogy: Flight of the Night Hawks, Into a Dark Realm, Wrath of a Mad God. Raymond E. Feist

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       • CHAPTER SEVENTEEN •

       Intelligence

      TAL MOVED SILENTLY THROUGH THE SEWER.

      He had no doubt about the authenticity of the message he had received earlier that day from Caleb and had been relieved to discover he was alive. Caleb had relayed messages between him and Kaspar, and now the three of them were to meet.

      Tal’s only concern was the location of the meeting. He was following a filthy beggar boy named Shabeer through a river of sewage in a huge culvert under the slaughterhouse district of the city of Kesh. ‘My eyes are bleeding,’ said Tal.

      ‘In truth, master?’ asked the boy, concerned that if anything went amiss on this journey it would be considered his fault. The other foreign master had been generous beyond imagining and the beggar boy was desperate to keep him happy.

      ‘No, just a manner of speaking.’

      ‘You get used to it, here, master,’ said the boy.

      ‘How long does that take?’

      ‘A year, two maybe.’

      Tal would have laughed, but he was trying hard not to breathe too deeply. He had been in several places over the years that he had judged to be unequalled in stench – Kaspar’s prison, known as the Fortress of Despair being foremost among them – but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming smell of this Keshian sewer.

      He appreciated the reason for holding the meeting here – the slaughterhouses, tanners and other malodorous enterprises had been sectioned off near the edge of the lake, so they were far from the residential areas of Kesh, and lay on the lee side of the city so that the prevailing breezes blew the stench away. But the entire area still reeked.

      They reached an outflow and Shabeer stepped on an uneven stone which was a cleverly disguised toe-hold. He levered himself into the outflow, and disappeared into the darkness.

      As he was holding the lantern, Tal said, ‘Slow down, boy.’

      He followed Shabeer and had to duck to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the smaller outflow tunnel. The boy led him about two hundred yards, until they came to what appeared to be a large circular catchment area.

      Several streams of malodorous fluids trickled down from above, and Shabeer motioned for Tal to stay close to the left hand wall as he inched around to a series of iron rungs set in the brickwork.

      Tal following the climbing boy, until he pushed upon a trapdoor overhead. They emerged into a well-lit room. Caleb and Kaspar were already there, and sat opposite a large table. Next to them was an empty chair.

      As soon as Tal had cleared the trapdoor, he heard a voice from the other side of the room say, ‘Be seated, if you will.’

      The large table dominated the room. It was a rough thing of no artistry, but it was sturdy and Tal realized that its primary purpose would be to slow down those seeking to attack whoever was on the other side of it.

      That person was a large man in a striped robe, similar in fashion to those worn by the desert men of the Jal-Pur, but the wearer was no desert man. He had the neck of a bull, and his head was completely shaved. His eyebrows were so fair that it looked like he had none. His age was unfathomable – he could have been as young as twenty-nine, or as old as sixty. The single candle didn’t provide enough light for Tal to guess more closely. On either side of him stood a well-armed man: bodyguards.

      Once Tal had taken his seat, the man said, ‘You may call me Magistrate, an honorific given to me by those who dwell in the sewers and alleyways, and it will serve for now.

      ‘Your friend, Caleb, has been most generous and has bought you some of my time, my friends. Time is money as I am sure you are all aware, so let us get directly to the question: what have you to ask of the Ragged Brotherhood?’

      Caleb asked, ‘Do you speak on their behalf?’

      ‘As much as any man can,’ came the answer. ‘Which is to say, not at all.’ He looked directly at Tal. ‘We are not like your famous Mockers of Krondor, with strict oversight and iron rule, Talwin Hawkins of the Kingdom.’

      Kaspar glanced at Caleb, and the Magistrate continued, ‘Yes, we know who you are, Kaspar of Olasko.’ He pointed at Caleb. ‘You my friend, however, are known by name only, your provenance is a little murky. In any event, the Upright Man might command in Krondor –’ he put his hand on his chest and gave a slight bow, ‘– but here, I merely suggest. If it is a good suggestion, it will almost certainly be heard.

      ‘Now, what may I do for you?’

      ‘We seek the Nighthawks,’ answered Caleb.

      ‘From what I hear you found them a week ago. There was an unusually high number of corpses floating towards the Overn to feed the crocodiles, and a fair number of them were wearing black.’

      ‘We were led into a trap,’ admitted Caleb.

      ‘Likely,’ came the answer.

      Kaspar said, ‘We need intelligence. We need to know where their real nest is.’

      ‘As I said,’ replied the fat man, ‘this is not Krondor and we do not have any real organization. Kesh is divided into precincts, each has its own rules and rulers. Above ground, you’ll find the street gangs, beggars, pickpockets and enforcers – I believe they are known as “bashers”, in the north, and all answer to their own leaders. Those leaders answer to more powerful figures and each of them guards his authority jealously.

      ‘The Slaughterhouse Gang controls the area we now occupy, and to the southwest of here are the Dockstreet Boys. There are over a hundred such gangs, all with equally colourful sobriquets: the Grab-And-Runs, the Big Plaza Gang, the Sweet Hounds, the Caravan Rangers, and many others. A thief may work with impunity in one quarter, but should he be caught in another he might be dealt with harshly; such is the order of things in Kesh.

      ‘Below ground, the sewers are also divided into precincts, or small cantons, and each is home to those who exist at the sufferance of the СКАЧАТЬ