Raymond Feist - Krondor - The Assassins

James was lost in thought a moment. He had crossed paths with Sheriff Wilfred Means on more than one occasion when James had plied his trade as a thief. A few times he had come close to being the sheriff’s guest in the Old Town Jail. The sheriff acknowledged James as the Prince’s squire and treated him with the respect due his office; their relationship was a cold one at best. James suddenly was visited with the image of a younger Wilfred Means glaring up at James as he bolted over the rooftops of the city, the then constable’s ginger-coloured moustache almost quivering with rage at the boy’s escape.

But the sheriff was stalwart in his duty, and tried to keep crime in Krondor as much under control as possible. The city was an orderly one by most any measure James could imagine, and unlike others who held the office before him, Wilfred Means was not a man to take a bribe or barter a favour.

For him to be waiting in person to speak to Arutha as soon as he returned meant something grave had occurred, something the sheriff judged required the Prince’s immediate attention.

‘You get back to your duties,’ said James absently to William. ‘Locky and I had better catch up with Arutha.’

William said, ‘Well, Locky, I will bid you farewell, again, if you’re off for the north in the morning.’

Locklear rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Take care of this rascal, William. I would hate to see him get killed when I wasn’t around to watch.’

‘Sorry you’re going to miss the commissioning,’ said William.

James grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Willie. I’ll find you a celebration, and even without this knave’s vaunted reputation as a lodestone for the girls, we’ll find us some pretty faces to look upon you in awe as you sport your new badge of rank.’

William couldn’t help blushing at that. ‘Take care, Locky,’ he said.

Locklear bid him farewell, and as William ran off to his duties Locklear said, ‘Did you see that blush? I warrant the lad’s never been with a woman.’

James elbowed his friend in the side. ‘Not everyone is as precocious as you were, Locky.’

‘But he’s nearly twenty!’ said Locklear in mock astonishment.

‘He’s a bright lad and fair to look at. I suspect things will have changed by the time you return,’ said James.

‘You think?’

‘Certainly,’ said James as they entered the palace. ‘I’m sure I can find him an agreeable girl to bed him in the next five years.’

Locklear’s grin vanished. ‘Five years!’ With wide eyes he said, ‘You don’t think Arutha’s going to keep me up there for five years, do you?’

James laughed at his friend’s distress. As the two young men hurried along to their Prince’s chambers, Locklear threw an elbow at James – which James adroitly dodged – and for an instant they were boys again.

James and Locklear reached Arutha’s private council room just as the Prince was approaching after his brief visit with his wife and children. He moved purposefully down the small hallway that connected his family’s private apartments with the council chamber and the formal court. James hurried to fall in behind his liege lord, with Locklear one step after. A pair of court pages flanked the council chamber door, and one quickly opened it so that Arutha might enter.

Arutha arrived to greetings from Master of Ceremonies Brian de Lacy. Standing at his right hand was his assistant, Housecarl Jerome. Jerome and his supervisor bowed as one to the Prince; the housecarl gave a fleeting nod of greeting to the two squires. Jerome had been a member of the company of squires with James and Locklear as boys, and James had been the first one to stand up to the older boy, who had been the resident bully. Now Jerome was studying to succeed de Lacy as the man in charge of the daily business of the court, and serving as the chief administrator of the palace while doing so, and James was forced to admit his fussy attention to detail made him ideally suited for the job.

Arutha said, ‘I am very tired and would like to join my family for an early supper; let’s save as much as we may for formal court tomorrow. What can’t wait?’

De Lacy nodded and then looked up. He noticed who was in the room and said, ‘Shall we wait for the Knight-Marshal?’

Just then Gardan entered. ‘Apologies, Highness. I wanted to make sure the men were taking care of their mounts and weapons before I joined you.’

Arutha’s brow furrowed and his mouth turned up in a familiar half-smile. ‘You’re not a sergeant any more, Gardan. You’re the Knight-Marshal of Krondor. You have others to ensure that the men and animals are properly billeted.’

Gardan nodded in reply, then said, ‘That’s something I wish to discuss with you.’ He glanced at the nobles in the Prince’s private offices and added, ‘But it will wait until after this evening’s business. Highness?’ Arutha indicated his agreement.

De Lacy said, ‘Two communiqués from Great Kesh via courier arrived during your absence, Highness, informing the crown of matters of small urgency, yet they do require a formal response.’

Arutha waved them over to James. ‘Leave them. I’ll read them tonight and compose a reply first thing in the morning.’

De Lacy handed them to James who tucked them under his arm without looking at them.

The Master of Ceremonies looked at the sheriff, who stepped forward and bowed. ‘Highness, I fear I must report a rash of black murders have been done in your city during the time you’ve been away.’

The Prince was silent for a moment as he considered these words, then he said, ‘You speak then of something warranting my personal attention? Murder is not uncommon in our city.’

‘I do, Highness. Several men of prominence have been slain in their beds at night, throats cut while their wives slept undisturbed beside them.’

Arutha glanced at James and nodded slightly. James knew what the Prince was thinking: Nighthawks.

For nearly ten years the city had been untroubled by the Guild of Death. The assassins who had been employed by Murmandamus’s agents had vanished at the end of the Riftwar. A few months ago rumours about their return had begun to circulate. Then they had suddenly reappeared in the Kingdom. James himself had killed their current leader, but was under no illusion that the Nighthawks would just go away. If there was another cell of them here in Krondor, they already knew of the death of one called Navon du Sandau, an erstwhile merchant from Kenting Rush. Exposing his true identity had almost got James killed in a duel, and it was only by dint of hours spent practising the sword with Arutha that James had prevailed.

Looking troubled, Arutha asked the sheriff, ‘What have your men uncovered?’

‘Nothing, Highness. Of some of the victims, what you’d expect: men with enemies due to their prominence in their trade. But others were men of little significance except to their families. There is nothing of sense about these murders. They seem … random.’

Arutha sat back and weighed what he had been told. His mind turned furiously as he considered, then discarded options. Finally he said, ‘Random? It may be we simply do not understand what is behind the selection of victims. Have your men return in the morning and question the families of the victims, those who worked with them, their neighbours and anyone who may have seen them prior to their deaths. There may be some vital bit of information we are not seeing because we do not know it is important. Send a scribe with your men to record the conversations. In all of this we may discover some connection between those murdered.’ He sighed, fatigue evident in his features. ‘Return to your post, sheriff. Join me after morning court tomorrow and we’ll discuss this business at length. I’ll want your men’s reports by tomorrow evening.’ The sheriff bowed and withdrew.