Krondor: Tear of the Gods. Raymond E. Feist

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      The girl ceased hitting him, but still kept tugging. James slowly let go of her arm and held up his hands, palms out, showing that he was not going to grab her again. ‘Look, Nita, if you want to stay here that’s fine. We’re not going to hurt you,’ he said softly.

      Jazhara asked, ‘Who were you talking about, Nita? Who were the bad men?’

      The girl looked up at the mage and said, ‘They say they’re like the Yellow Shield, and all good children go with them, but they hurt me!’ Her eyes started to fill with tears, but her voice was firm.

      James asked, ‘How did they hurt you?’

      Nita looked at the former boy-thief and said, ‘They took me to the big house, and they locked me in a cage, like all the other children. Then they told me to dye cloth for Yusuf, or else they’d beat me, and some of the other children, the bad children, they took and they never came back and there were rats and squirmy things in our food and—’

      ‘This is horrible,’ said Jazhara. ‘We must act on this “Yusuf,” but first we must care for Nita.’

      ‘Well, I suppose we could take her to the palace,’ began James, turning to look at Jazhara.

      It was the chance the girl had waited for. As soon as James looked away from her, she was off, sprinting down the alley towards the street.

      James stood and watched her turn the corner, knowing that he could probably chase her down, but deciding not to. Jazhara stared at James with an unspoken question in her eyes. James said, ‘I told her she could stay with us if she wanted to.’

      Jazhara nodded. ‘Then you will do something about this?’

      James leaned down to pick up Jazhara’s purse. He dusted it off and as he handed it to her he said, ‘Of course I will. I grew up on these streets. This isn’t about duty; it’s personal.’

      Jazhara turned away from the palace and started walking back the way they had come.

      ‘Hey!’ said James, hurrying to catch up. ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘Unless this Yusuf lives in the palace, we need to go deeper into this poor section of the city, I am guessing.’

      ‘Good guess,’ said James. ‘There’s a dyer named Yusuf up in what’s called “Stink Town,” to the north – it’s where all the tanners, slaughterhouses, and other aromatic businesses are housed. But now?’

      Looking at James with a resolute expression, Jazhara said, ‘We can’t start any sooner, can we?’

      ‘Apparently not,’ replied James. Then he grinned.

      James kept his eyes moving, peering into every shadow, while Jazhara gazed resolutely forward, as if fixed upon a goal. As they walked purposefully through the Poor Quarter of Krondor, Jazhara said, ‘Do you expect trouble?’

      ‘Constantly,’ answered James, glancing down a side-street they were passing.

      The rising stench in the air told them they were close to their destination, the area of the Poor Quarter given over to those businesses best kept downwind. ‘Where do you think this Yusuf resides?’

      James said, ‘The cloth-makers are all located at the end of this street, and along two others nearby.’ Turning to look at Jazhara, he said, ‘You realize, of course, that the place will almost certainly be closed for the night?’

      Jazhara smiled. ‘Which will give us an opportunity to look around unnoticed, correct?’

      James smiled back. ‘I like the way you think, Jazhara.’

      Several times along the way they passed individuals hurrying by; the city was never truly asleep. Those who passed cast appraising glances at the pair, either as potential threats – or as possible victims.

      They reached an intersection and glanced in both directions. Off to the left, all was quiet, but to James’s surprise down the street to the right a few places were still obviously open for business. ‘The dyers’ trade must be very profitable for these establishments to be conducting business all night.’

      ‘Or they’re paying nothing for their labour,’ said Jazhara as they passed one such open establishment. The door was ajar and a quick glance inside indicated there was nothing suspicious taking place; a dyer and others – obviously members of his family – were busy preparing a large shipment of cloth. Most likely it was to be delivered at dawn to tailors who had ordered the material.

      They moved along the dimly-lit street until they reached a large, two-storey building, before which stood a large man with a sword at his belt. He watched with a neutral expression as James and Jazhara approached.

      James asked, ‘What is this place?’

      The guard answered, ‘This is the shop of the honourable Yusuf ben Ali, the illustrious cloth merchant.’

      Jazhara asked, ‘Is he in?’

      ‘No. Now, if that’s all, you’ll excuse me.’ Since the guard showed no sign of leaving, it was clear that he expected James and Jazhara to move along.

      James said, ‘I find it odd to believe your master is out at this late hour, and you are merely standing here guarding a workshop in which no one is working.’ He moved to stand before the man. ‘I am Prince Arutha’s squire.’

      Jazhara added, ‘And I his newly-appointed court mage.’

      At this the guard’s eyes flickered over to her for an instant, then he said, ‘My master is indeed within. He is working late on a shipment that must leave tomorrow on a caravan and wishes not to be disturbed by any but the most important guest. I will see if he considers you to be important enough.’ He turned his back on them, saying, ‘Follow me to my master’s office, but touch nothing.’

      They entered the building and discovered a brightly-lit display area, showing finely-woven cloth dyed in the most marvellous colours. A bolt of crimson silk was allowed to spill from a rack, the best to show off its scintillating colour. Surrounding them was indigo and bright yellow linen, cotton of every hue, all waiting for potential buyers. A door to the rear of the showroom was closed, and a narrow stairway ran up along the left wall to a single door. A large chandelier ablaze with a dozen candles hung from the ceiling.

      Beyond the viewing area, huge vats of dye stood, while large drying racks held freshly dyed cloth. James saw two children, no older than ten years, moving a rack aside to make way for another being pushed by another pair of children. The youngsters were dirty, and a few appeared to shiver beneath their thin ragged clothing. Jazhara noticed one little girl, who looked to be about seven years old, yawn, struggling to keep her eyes open as she pushed the heavy drying rack. Two guards stood watching the children.

      The guard who had accompanied them inside said, ‘Wait here. I will fetch my master.’

      James asked, ‘Isn’t it late for the children to be working?’

      The man said, ‘They are lazy. This order must be ready by noon tomorrow. Had they finished at dusk, they would be asleep in their beds now. They know this. Do not talk to them; it will only slow them down. I will return with my master.’

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