‘He was right about that,’ Komier grunted sourly. ‘There wasn’t enough of him left to bury.’

‘He died well, though,’ Heldin added. ‘Do you have any fast messengers available, your Excellency? Sparhawk and Vanion are counting on us to reach Matherion as soon as possible, so we’d probably better let them know that we’re going to be delayed.’

* * *

‘His name’s Valash,’ Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor’s smocks, stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foul-smelling alley. ‘He and his two friends are Dacites from Verel.’

‘Have you been able to find out who they’re working for?’ Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa were particularly unpleasant.

‘I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,’ Stragen replied. ‘It makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old friends.’

‘I thought Ogerajin’s brains were rotting out,’ Talen objected.

‘Maybe he has lucid moments. It doesn’t really matter who sent them, though. While they’re here, they’re reporting to Krager. As closely as I can make out, they’ve been sent here to assess the damage we did to them during the Harvest Festival and to pick up any bits and pieces of information that fall to hand. They’ve got money, but they don’t want to turn much of it loose. They’re in this strictly for gain – and for the chance to seem important.’

‘Does Krager come here to get their reports?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘He hasn’t recently. Valash communicates with him by messenger. These three Dacites are seriously out of their depth here. They want to hold on to as much of the money Ogerajin gave them as they can, but they don’t want to miss anything important. They aren’t professionals by any stretch of the imagination. They spend most of their time trying to figure out some way to get information without paying for it.’

‘A swindler’s dream,’ Talen noted. ‘What did they do for a living back in Verel?’

‘They sold children to people whose tastes run in that direction,’ Stragen replied in a disgusted tone. ‘As I understand it, Ogerajin used to be one of their best customers.’

‘That puts them right at the bottom, doesn’t it?’

‘Probably even lower than that.’ Stragen glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘Valash wants to meet you two.’ Stragen pointed toward the end of the alley. ‘He’s just up those stairs. He’s renting a corner in the loft from a fellow who deals in stolen goods.’

Talen smiled a rather nasty little smile. ‘If these Dacites happened to pass too much erroneous information and false rumors on to Krager, he might just decide that they’ve outlived their usefulness, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Probably,’ Stragen shrugged.

‘That sort of stirs my creativity.’

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘I don’t like people who sell children. It’s a personal sort of thing. Let’s go meet this Valash. I’d like to find out if he’s as gullible as you say.’

They climbed a rickety outside stairway to a door that was flimsy and patched and showed some signs of having been kicked in a few times. The loft beyond the door was incredibly cluttered with all manner of worn clothing, battered furniture, and dented kitchen utensils. There were even broken farm tools gathering dust in the corners. ‘Some people will steal anything,’ Talen sniffed.

A lone candle guttered on the far side of the room, and a bony Elene sat drowsing at a table by its uncertain light. He wore a short, green brocade jacket of a Daconian cut, and his sparse, mud-colored hair stood almost straight up, looking much like a thin, dirty halo round his gaunt head. As they crossed the loft toward him, he stirred himself and quickly picked up some papers and began to shuffle them in a self-important manner. He looked up with feigned impatience as they approached. ‘You’re late, Vymer,’ he accused in a high-pitched, nasal voice.

‘Sorry, Master Valash,’ Stragen apologized in a servile tone. Tron and I were busy extricating young Reldin here from a tense situation. Reldin’s very good, but he overextends himself sometimes. Anyway, you wanted to meet my associates,’ He laid one hand on Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘This is Fron. He’s a tavern brawler, so we let him deal with any situation that can be settled with a few quick punches or a kick in the belly. The boy there is Reldin, the nimblest sneak-thief I’ve ever known. He can wriggle through mouse-holes, and his ears are sharp enough to hear ants crossing the street on the other side of town.’

‘I just want to hire him, Vymer,’ Valash said. ‘I don’t want to buy him.’ He giggled at his own joke. He smirked at them, clearly expecting them to join in his laughter. Talen, however, did not laugh. His eyes took on an icy glitter.

Valash seemed a bit abashed by their reception of his feeble joke. ‘Why are you all dressed as sailors?’ he asked, more for something to say than out of any real curiosity.

Stragen shrugged. ‘It’s a port city, Master Valash. The streets are crawling with sailors, so three more won’t attract any particular attention.’

Valash grunted. ‘Have you anything for me that I might find worth my while?’ he asked in a superior, bored tone of voice.

Talen snatched off his cap. ‘You’ll have to decide that for yourself, Master Valash,’ he whined, as he bowed awkwardly. ‘I did come across something, if you’d care to hear it.’

‘Go on,’ Valash told him.

‘Well, sir, there’s this rich Tamul merchant who owns a big house over in the fancy part of town. He’s got a tapestry on the wall of his study that I’ve had my eye on for quite some time now. It’s a very good one – lots of tiny stitches, and the color hasn’t faded very much. The only trouble is that it covers the whole wall. You can get a fortune for really good tapestry, but only if you can get it all out in one piece. It’s not worth much if you have to cut it up to carry it out. Anyway, I went into his house the other night to try and come up with some way to get it out without butchering it. The merchant was in the study, though, and he had a friend with him – some noble from the imperial court at Matherion. I listened at the door, and the noble was telling the merchant about some of the rumors running around the imperial palace. Everybody’s saying that the Emperor’s very unhappy with these people from Eosia. That attempt to overthrow the government last fall really frightened him, and he’d like to come to some kind of agreement with his enemies, but this Sparhawk person won’t let him. Sarabian’s convinced that they’re going to lose, so he’s secretly outfitted a fleet of ships all loaded down with treasure and as soon as trouble shows up on the horizon, he’s going to make a run for it. The courtiers all know about his plans, so they’re stealthily making arrangements for their own escapes when the fighting starts. Some morning very soon this Sparhawk’s going to wake up and find an unfriendly army at his gates and nobody around to help hold them off.’ He paused. ‘Was that the sort of information you wanted?’