King of Ashes. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ a gifted youngster like Hatu; his thighs and hips were protesting painfully when he heard the voices again from within the shadows and paused gratefully. He straightened slowly and glanced over his shoulder, memorizing the way, in case he found himself leaving this location in a hurry. There was just enough light that he could see darker shapes in the gloom, with an occasional reflection from a source in the city below.

      Hatu knew there were tools and stones piled by the corner he had just passed, so if he had to flee and not run face-first into them, he might survive. If he could get clear of this cathedral, reach the crate he had placed near the gate across the main road, and reach the first roof … Hatu left the thought unfinished. Dwelling on too many things at once caused mistakes, like doing something stupid that was not conducive to calm observation and invisibility.

      He could still hear the faint voices of the men some distance away. The darkness was a blessing and a curse. He could barely see where to put his feet, but it sheltered him from scrutiny. Hatu turned his head slightly, trying to detect the direction from which the voices originated.

      He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he pulled himself atop the low stone course. Hatu assumed that more stones were added each day, and he silently thanked whatever deities were listening that he wasn’t trying this the following week. He lowered himself gingerly to the floor inside the cathedral, then stopped to listen again.

      Large stone pillars that would eventually support the ceiling rose from the stone floor, and from their size Hatu guessed the roof was going to be very high up and very heavy. Each pillar was three feet thick, wide enough for him to hide behind if he was careful.

      He moved as cautiously as possible, hoping the occasional noise from the street below the citadel and the early night rustling of nocturnal animals and birds would mask whatever sounds he might make: dislodging a forgotten tool, hunk of stone, or loose lump of dried mortar. It made his movements seem impossibly slow, but Hatu knew he was making steady progress towards the two mysterious men.

      The voices grew more distinct as he neared them, and he could now make out a third voice. He positioned himself behind a pillar and listened for a moment, then he crouched down and looked around the stonework. Hatu saw figures faintly outlined in the glow from a brazier. Four men knelt around the fire, speaking quietly with the two men Hatu had followed.

      The brazier was one typically used for cooking and heating, a small earthenware dish hard-fired to withstand the heat of the coals and designed to give off little light; on Coaltachin it was called a hibachi. It helped Hatu detect movement but provided no great detail; from where he watched, it appeared that the four men wore black, or at least very dark, clothing, but he could barely make out shapes, let alone identification marks.

      He judged the usefulness of lingering here: despite feeling a nagging familiarity towards the language, he could not understand what was being said, and he could hear only half of the conversation because the men kept their voices low.

      Then Hatu heard a word he recognised. It was immediately repeated by one of the men he had followed, but his inflection made it a question. Hatu’s heart skipped and he forced himself to calm in order to focus on what was being said. Squatting as low as he could, he peered further around the corner, and suddenly understood what he was hearing.

      He pulled back around the corner and flattened himself against the stonework, panic threatening to rise inside as his heart began to pound. He forced himself to stillness, keeping his breathing slow, rather than deep, a calming practice he’d learned early. Once he fully had control of himself, he peered around the corner of the pillar. His training had taught him that if anyone looked his way they wouldn’t be staring at the floor. He would then freeze and hope it was dark enough to hide. If it wasn’t dark enough, he’d know it only moments later.

      Then one of the kneeling men stood and walked to a low course of stones waiting to be hoisted up onto the growing wall and opened a shuttered lantern.

      Hatu froze, his cheek hard against the cold floor, fighting every instinct he had not to pull out of sight. He had been taught to hide behind as much cover as possible, but every fibre of his being wanted to bolt and run as fast as he could. He knew movement in low light drew the eye, while an odd shape in the gloom was less likely to garner attention. From the perspective of those in the room, should someone glance his way, his head would seem nothing more than an odd-shaped stone, but any movement would give him away. He forced himself to believe in the sense of this mantra, and slowly he realised he was safe; none of the men were looking his way. Then he slowly and silently let out his breath and continued to watch them.

      The man holding the lantern returned to the group and removed a folded paper from within a leather packet. He handed it to one of the two men Hatu had followed. Hatu felt the hair on his neck rise a second time. The four men around the brazier were also dressed like sicari, the armed assassins and spies of Coaltachin, but with slight differences, which were numerous enough to make Hatu certain they were not from his home nation.

      Again the men spoke, and the man with the document pointed to it in response and repeated the phrase containing words that Hatu recognised.

      Hatu stayed motionless, to remain part of a murky landscape. He knew that he had to leave as soon as possible and report to the false monk waiting for him.

      The man holding the paper returned it to the packet and closed the shutter on the lamp. Hatu seized the moment to move and hide once again behind the pillar. He knew that even a small change of illumination would force the eyes of those in the room to adjust and cause a brief moment of darkness; he had a very good chance to remain unseen. But he also knew that any change in light would not keep him from being heard should he make any sound.

      Back to the stone, he forced his protesting knees to push him upright, and when he was standing, his back to the sheltering pillar, he settled his mind for a moment, took control of his breathing, then stepped deeper into the darkness.

      He retraced his steps as slowly and with as much control as he could muster. As he moved further from the gathered men, each new yard fuelled his desire to simply leap over the low wall and run; only discipline gained from lifelong lessons prevented him from giving in to the impulse. When Hatu reached the wall near the unfinished doorway, he eased himself over and down, landing lightly on the balls of his feet.

      He tried to stay clear of any line of sight from within through the huge door opening but moved quickly, one step shy of a run, until he saw the crate he had left next to the building. He risked three fast steps and a jump onto the box, grabbed the eaves of the roof, and pulled himself up. If the guards at the gate noticed any noise, Hatu would be off across the roofs of the next three buildings before they had the chance to climb up and investigate.

      Hatu reached the edge of the final roof, and with no sign of pursuit, he sat. His heart felt as if it might pound out of his chest and he could barely breathe. He took some time to steady himself and, when he was ready, lowered himself to the ground and rounded the corner into the street that would return him to the market and the burned-out temple beyond. The beggar boy walked at a good pace, fast enough to look like someone with purpose: the sort of behaviour that often kept petty thieves, pickpockets, and thugs from approaching, that hinted they would do well to seek easier prey. Even a ragged beggar boy might have something worth stealing. It was early enough in the night that people still moved through the streets and the evicted drunks hadn’t yet started wandering.

      It felt as if it took hours for Hatu to find his way back to Master Bodai, but he knew it was more like minutes. Even with people on the streets, in most cities a lone figure at this time of night was likely to draw the attention of the town watch, and this city seemed under even more scrutiny than most, so he had taken his time and paused often to ensure he wasn’t seen.

      When СКАЧАТЬ