Rise of a Merchant Prince. Raymond E. Feist

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      Calis stood and followed, deciding it was better to see what trouble Nakor could find before he got too deep into it.

      Outside, a crowd had gathered around a man who hunkered down on his haunches as he gnawed on a mutton bone. He was easily the filthiest man Calis had ever seen. It looked – and smelled – as if the man hadn’t bathed in years. Spending time in the fields made one indifferent to the level of fastidiousness required in the Prince’s court, but even among common dockworkers and poor travelers, this man was a walking cesspool.

      His hair was black, with touches of grey, and rank with oil and dirt. Shoulder-length, it was matted with debris and old food. His face was nearly black from dirt above an equally filthy beard, and the skin, where it showed through, was sunburned. He wore a robe so torn and ragged it seemed to have more holes than material; whatever color the robe had been was a memory, for now the shreds were stained and smeared.

      Years of indifferent eating had left the man famine-thin, and there were sores on his arms and legs.

      ‘Do the dance!’ shouted one of the workers.

      The crouching man growled like a beast, but when the call was repeated a few more times, he put down his nearly bare mutton bone and held out his hand. ‘Please,’ he said, with a surprisingly plaintive tone, almost as if a child were begging. The word came out ‘Plizzz.’

      Someone in the crowd shouted, ‘Dance first!’

      The ragged beggar stood and suddenly executed a furious mad twirling. Calis stopped behind Nakor, who stood watching the beggar closely. Something about the movements seemed vaguely familiar to Calis, as if hidden in the mad twirling was familiar movement. ‘What is this?’ he said.

      Nakor spoke without looking back. ‘Something fascinating.’

      The man finished dancing and stood there, swaying with weakness, and held his hand out. Someone in the crowd threw him a half-eaten piece of bread, which landed at the beggar’s feet. He instantly crouched and swept it up.

      A supervisor shouted, ‘Here now, get back to work,’ and most of the dockworkers moved away. A few others remained a moment to watch the beggar; then they started to wander off.

      Calis turned to a man he took to be a local and asked, ‘Who is he?’

      ‘Some crazy man,’ said the stranger. ‘He showed up a few months ago and lives where he can. He dances for food.’

      ‘Where did he come from?’ asked Nakor.

      ‘No one knows,’ said the townsman, moving along.

      Nakor went over to where the ragged man crouched and knelt down before him, studying his face. The man growled like an animal and half turned away to protect his meatless bone and crust of bread.

      Nakor reached into his carry sack and pulled out an orange. He stuck his thumb in and pulled off the peel, then handed a section to the beggar. The beggar looked at the fruit a moment, then snatched it from Nakor’s hand. He tried to stuff the entire orange into his mouth at once, creating a wash of orange juice that flowed down his beard.

      Sho Pi and Calis came to stand behind Nakor and Calis said, ‘What is this?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ answered Nakor. He stood up. ‘But we need to take this man with us.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Calis.

      Nakor looked down at the grunting beggar. ‘I don’t know. There’s something familiar about him.’

      ‘What? You know him?’ asked Calis.

      Nakor scratched his chin. ‘He doesn’t look familiar, but given all that dirt, who can say. No, I don’t think I know him. But I think he may be important.’

      ‘How?’

      Nakor grinned. ‘I don’t know. Call it a hunch.’

      Calis looked dubious, but over the years Nakor’s hunches had proven to be important, often critical, so he only nodded. The sound of riders approaching signaled the arrival of their own mounts and escort. Calis said, ‘You’ll have to figure out how to convince him to get on a horse, though.’

      Nakor stood, scratching his head. ‘Now, that would be a trick.’

      Calis said, ‘And before anything else, we’re going to have to give him a bath.’

      Nakor’s grin widened. ‘That will be an even better trick.’

      Calis returned the grin. ‘Then you figure out how to do it. If I must, I’ll have the guards throw him into the sea.’

      Nakor turned and stood considering the options before him as the riders reached Calis.

      They gathered at a modest inn in the Merchants’ Quarter, a few streets over from the Poor Quarter of Krondor. The inn was under the control of the Prince of Krondor, though few who frequented it knew that fact. A back room was being used for a meeting, conducted by Robert de Loungville.

      ‘Duncan, you and William here’ – he indicated a man that Roo had never laid eyes on before – ‘will find your way to a small booth near the corner of Candlemaker Road and Dulanic Street. The man selling scarves and headcloths is a snitch for the Mockers. Make sure he doesn’t say anything to anyone. Knock him senseless if you must.’

      Roo glanced at Erik, who shrugged. A dozen men who were strangers crowded into the small room with de Loungville and those who’d had lunch with him earlier in the day. It was now an hour past supper, and most of the shops were either closed for the day or doing their evening business. Erik and Roo were to travel with Jadow and de Loungville to a shop and wait across the street. Robert had impressed on them that if he gave the word they were to get into that shop as quickly as humanly possible. He said it twice, so Roo knew de Loungville viewed that as a critical part of the night’s mission.

      ‘You, you, and you,’ said Robert, pointing to three teams assigned to neutralize Mocker lookouts. ‘Out the back door.’

      He was silent for a few minutes, then pointed to Duncan and the man named William. ‘Go now, out the front.’

      They left, and over the course of the next ten minutes the rest of the agents were dispatched. When the four remaining men were alone, Roo said, ‘Who were those other men?’

      ‘Let’s say the Prince needs a lot of eyes and ears in his city,’ said de Loungville.

      ‘Secret police,’ said Jadow.

      ‘Something like that,’ said de Loungville. ‘Avery, you’re the quickest man here; stay close to me. Erik, you and Jadow are too big to escape notice for long, so stay where I put you and don’t move. Once we leave this inn, no talking. Any questions?’

      There were none, and de Loungville led them out of the back of the inn. They hurried through the streets, attempting to look like nothing more than four citizens on some errand or another, urgent perhaps, but unremarkable.

      They passed a booth at a corner where the Poor Quarter began and saw Duncan and the man named William engaged in deep debate with the vendor. Roo noticed that Duncan stood in such a way that his holding a sword point to СКАЧАТЬ