said, ‘What do you think you’re going to do?’
‘Go to the docks,’ said the boy with a grim smile.
Arutha nodded, again both pleased and surprised at the boy’s grasp of things. ‘Yes. If you must, search all night. But as soon as you can, find Trevor Hull and bring him here.’
JIMMY SEARCHED THE ROOM.
The Fiddler Crab Inn was a haunt of many who wished a safe harbour from questions and prying eyes. As the sun began to set the room was crowded with locals, so Jimmy was at once the source of curiosity, for his clothing marked him out of place. A few native to the city knew him by sight – after the Poor Quarter, the docks had been a second home to him – but no small number of those in the inn marked him as a rich boy out on the evening, perhaps one with some gold to be shaken loose.
One such man, a sailor by the look of him, drunken and belligerent, barred Jimmy’s passage through the room. ‘Here and now, such a fine young gentleman as yourself’ll be having a spare coin or two to buy a drink in celebration of the little Princes, wouldn’t you think?’ He rested his hand upon his belt dagger.
Jimmy adroitly sidestepped the man and was half past him, saying, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ The man reached for Jimmy’s shoulder and tried to halt him. Jimmy came around in a fluid movement, and the man found the point of a dirk levelled at his throat. ‘I said I don’t have any extra gold.’
The man backed away, and several onlookers laughed. But others began to circle the squire. Jimmy knew at once he had made an error. He’d had no time to scrounge up clothing to fit his present environment, but he could have made a show of turning over a half-empty purse to the man. Still, once begun, such a confrontation could not be aborted. A moment before, Jimmy’s purse had been at risk, now it was his life.
Jimmy backed up, seeking to place his back to a wall. His expression was hard and revealed no hint of fear, and a few who surrounded him suddenly understood that here was someone who knew his way about the docks. Softly he said, ‘I’m looking for Trevor Hull.’
At once the men stopped advancing upon the boy. One turned and indicated with his head a back door. Jimmy hurried toward it and pulled aside the hanging cloth cover.
A group of men sat gambling in a large, smoke-filled room. From the pile of betting markers on the table, it was for high stakes. The game was lin-lan, common to the southern Kingdom and northern Kesh. A colourful display of cards was unfolded and players bet and dealt in turn, determining odds and payoffs by which cards were turned. Among the gamblers were two men, one with a scar from forehead to chin, running through a milk-white right eye, and the other a bald, pock-faced man.
Aaron Cook, the bald man and first mate on the customs cutter Royal Raven, looked up as Jimmy pushed toward the table. He nudged the other man, who sat regarding his cards with disgust, throwing them down. When he saw the youth, the man with the white eye smiled then, as he took note of Jimmy’s expression, the smile faded. Jimmy spoke loudly, over the noise in the room. ‘Your old friend Arthur wants you.’
Trevor Hull, onetime pirate and smuggler, knew at once who Jimmy meant. Arthur was the name Arutha had used when Hull’s smugglers and the Mockers had joined forces to get Arutha and Anita out of Krondor while Guy du Bas-Tyra’s secret police had been combing the city for them. After the Riftwar, Arutha had pardoned Hull and his crew for past crimes and had enlisted them in the Royal Customs Service.
Hull and Cook stood as one and left the table. One of the other gamblers, a heavyset merchant of some means by his dress, spoke around a pipe. ‘Where are you off to? The hand’s not played out.’
Hull, his shock of grey hair fanning out around his head like a nimbus, shouted, ‘It is for me. Hell, I only have a run in blue and a pair of four counts to play,’ and he reached back and turned over all his cards.
Jimmy winced as men around the table began to curse and throw in their cards. In the common room, as they headed for the door, Jimmy observed, ‘You’re a mean man, Hull.’
The old smuggler turned customs officer laughed an evil laugh. ‘That fat fool was ahead, and on my gold. I just wanted to take some wind out of his sails.’ The nature of the game was such that as soon as he revealed his hand, play was disrupted. The only fair thing would be to leave the bets out and redeal the entire hand, a prospect not appreciated by those with good cards left to play.
Outside of the inn, they hurried along the streets, past celebrants as the festival began to pick up while afternoon shadows lengthened.
Arutha stood looking down at the maps on the table. The maps were from his archives, provided by the royal architect, and showed the streets of Krondor in detail. Another, showing the sewers, had been used before in the last raid against the Nighthawks. For the past ten minutes Trevor Hull had been carefully studying them all. Hull had headed the most prosperous gang of smugglers in Krondor before taking service with Arutha, and the sewers and back alleys had been his means of bringing contraband into the city.
Hull conferred with Cook, then the older man rubbed his chin. His finger pointed at a spot on the map where a dozen tunnels came together in a near-maze. ‘If the Nighthawks were living down in the sewers, the Upright Man would have spotted them before they could have dug in. But it may be they’re using the tunnels as a way in and out’ – his finger moved to another spot on the map – ‘here.’ His finger lingered over a portion of the docks resembling a crescent along the bay. Halfway along the curve the docks ended and the warehouse district began, but also nestled against the water was a small section of the Poor Quarter, like a pie-shaped wedge driven between the more prosperous trading areas.
‘Fish Town,’ said Jimmy.
‘Fish Town?’ echoed Arutha.
‘It’s the poorest section of the Poor Quarter,’ said Cook.
Hull nodded. ‘It’s called Fish Town, Divers’ Town, Dockside, and other things as well. Used to be a fishing village a long time ago. As the city grew northward along the bay, it was surrounded by businesses, but there’re still some fisher families living there. Mostly lobstermen and mussel rakers who work the bay, or clam diggers who work the beaches north of the city. But it’s also located near the tanners, dyers, and other foul-smelling sections of Krondor, so no one who can afford better lives there.’
Jimmy said, ‘Alvarny said the Upright Man thought they were hiding in a place that smells. So he thinks of Fish Town as well.’ Jimmy shook his head as he considered the map. ‘If the Nighthawks are hiding in Fish Town, finding them will be difficult. Even the Mockers don’t control Fish Town as firmly as they do the rest of the Poor Quarter and the docks. There’s a lot of places to get lost in there.’
Hull agreed. ‘We used to run in and out near there, through a tunnel to a landing once used to carry cargo into the harbour from some merchant’s basement.’ Arutha studied the map and nodded: he knew where that landing lay. ‘We used a number of different locations, moving things in and out, varying where we kept them from time to time.’ He looked up at the Prince. ‘Your first problem is the sewers. There are maybe a dozen conduits leading up from the docks to Fish Town. You’ll have to block each one. One of them is so big
