ark shapes moved in the evening shadows.

James pointed to them, and Owyn asked, “What?”

Gorath said, “I see them.”

They had ridden south at midday, pushing the horses as much as possible, to reach the village of Sloop and deliver the Earl’s ultimatum to Steelsoul and Waylander. As sundown approached, they had crested a rise and come within sight of town. Armed men were filtering through the trees at the north end of the town, heading toward a clump of houses.

Gorath urged his horse forward, pulling his sword. James and Owyn were on his heels a moment later. They charged the men, while James started shouting, “Alarm! Raiders in the village!”

He knew that depending on the makeup of this village, the response to a call of alarm would either be for the men of the village to rush out with weapons in hand, or for doors and windows to be locked down. In the West he knew there would be a dozen men in the streets to meet the invaders in a minute. Here in the relatively calm East, he wasn’t so sure.

As they passed the first house, he saw a curious face peeking through a window. Again he shouted, “Raiders in the village! To arms!”

The man slammed his shutters, and James could imagine him barring the door as James left the house behind.

Gorath was upon the first swordsman, leaping from his horse atop the man. James considered that he probably should devote at least one afternoon teaching the dark elf how to fight effectively from horseback.

Owyn, on the other hand, had become quite adept at using his heavy staff from horseback, cracking skulls and breaking arms with quick efficiency.

Within minutes the raiders were on the run, heading back into the woods. James rode to where Gorath seemed poised to give chase, and shouted for him to halt. “It’ll be dark soon,” he said. “Even with your woodland skill, we don’t want to try chasing a half dozen angry Nighthawks into a dark forest.”

Gorath said, “Agreed,” and turned to find his horse.

James went to the house that was the obvious target of the raid and dismounted. He pounded on the door. “Open in the King’s name!” he shouted.

Through a viewing slit a pair of eyes, wide with fear, regarded him. The door opened, and Michael Waylander said, “Squire. What was all that noise about?”

James said, “It looks like someone is taking the game to a higher stake. We just chased off a band of Nighthawks coming to see you.”

Waylander turned pale. “Nighthawks?” His knees went weak, and he gripped the doorjamb to stay on his feet. “What have I gotten myself into?”

James said, “That’s what we’ve come to talk about.”

Gorath and Owyn tied their horses next to James’s and came to the door as Waylander stepped aside to admit them. It was a modest house, but James noticed at once it was well kept. There was enough wealth evident in the furnishings and appointments that it was clear Michael Waylander was very well situated for a common worker in a small village. The house, while not large, had three rooms, a bedroom visible through a door, and James saw the bed was a well carved four-poster with a mesh netting and canopy. Through the other door James could see a kitchen. Waylander sat heavily on a chair, and James sat in the other one next to a table.

“Someone wants you dead, Michael,” said James. “Who could that be?”

Waylander sat back, a look of defeat on his face. “I’m a dead man.”

“Maybe not,” said James. “I represent Prince Arutha, and while you’ve obviously irritated some powerful people, the Prince of Krondor is still the most powerful man in this nation after the King. If you cooperate, I may be able to get you under his protection.”

Waylander stared off into space a moment, as if thinking. “I’m in over my head. I’ll do whatever I must to get out of this.”

James leaned forward, and suggested, “Why don’t you start with what ‘this’ is.”

“About a year ago, some men came to me from Silden. They had an idea, and I took that idea to Arle Steelsoul.”

“What was the idea?”

“The idea was to take control of all the business along the river, from Silden to the small villages in the mountains.”

“How were they to accomplish this?” asked James.

“They said they had connections in the Riverpullers, who had told them the guild was going to raise prices for hauling cargo up the river.”

“So the guild wanted to raise their rates?”

“Yes,” said Waylander. “They’re usually cautious about that, because if the rates go too high, merchants start using wagons to send goods north along the King’s Highway.”

“But if there was a lot of trouble on the Highway, merchants would be forced to use the barges and the Riverpullers,” finished James.

“Yes.” Waylander nodded agreement. “These men said that they could ensure the Riverpullers would have no competition. Then we, Arle Steelsoul and I, would organize the other guilds in Romney and the surrounding villages to stand against the Riverpullers. When things got bad enough, the King would declare martial law, and the Riverpullers would be put out of business.”

“And what does it matter if some heads get broken along the way?” asked Owyn dryly.

“Waylander,” asked James, “what made you think the Riverpullers would be out of business if the King declared martial law?”

“We planned on having Damon Reeves, head of the Riverpullers’ Guild, murdered.” He hung his head as if ashamed at this admission. “I didn’t want that, but by the time they told me of the plan, I was in too deep. They said they’d make it look like Nighthawks did it, so that no blame would fall to us. In fact, they said they’d make it look like someone within the guild did it, to get Reeves out of the way, and the guild would fall apart from dissension within. I’ve known Damon for years; he’s an old friend, but there was nothing I could do.”

James glanced at Gorath and Owyn. “Whose idea was it to cast blame on the Nighthawks?”

“The men from Silden,” said Waylander. “Why?”

“Just that the notion is familiar to us.”

Owyn realized James was talking about the false Nighthawks in the sewers of Krondor and nodded in understanding.

“What should I do?” asked Waylander.

“Get Steelsoul, get to Romney, and sit down with the Riverpullers and make peace. If you don’t, the Earl will hang you two and Reeves, and start over with whoever replaces you.”

“The Earl’s never resorted to threats before. Why is he suddenly threatening us now?” asked Waylander.

“Because someone just murdered fifty Royal Lancers in his city,” answered James.

Waylander’s eyes widened, and his face turned ashen. “Fifty! Gods of mercy!” He gripped the table, and said, “Who could do such a thing?”

“Chance has you crossing paths with the Nighthawks, it seems,” suggested James. “And by all appearances they don’t seem all that pleased by these attempts at implicating them in deeds for which they are not responsible. No matter how clever you gentlemen thought you were being, you were being played for fools by agents of a man who is called ‘the Crawler.’ He’s attempting to dislodge the Mockers in Krondor and seems to want to control the docks in the eastern cities, as well. They were not helping you; you were being set up to create a situation where they would emerge in control after you, Reeves, Steelsoul, and anyone else inconvenient to their goals were out of the way. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Crawler’s agents hadn’t leaked the information to the Nighthawks about your attempting to hang the blame for Reeves’s murder on them.”

“As if another charge of murder is going to make them any more hunted,” Gorath observed.

“True,” said James, “but it’s been my experience that criminals take a certain pride in their own crime, but want nothing to do with blame for crimes for which they are not responsible. It’s odd, I know, but that’s the way it is.”

“You talk as if you’ve known a lot of criminals,” said Waylander.

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” James’s smile lacked even a suggestion of warmth.

“What do I do after I see the Earl?”

“I suggest you beg for leniency,” said Owyn.

James nodded. “People have died as a result of your choices, and you and Steelsoul have much to answer for. But if you help the Earl restore order and help us uncover those behind this plot, we’ll do what we can to keep you off the gibbet.”

“Maybe I should just run,” said Waylander.

“You won’t reach Silden,” said James. “They would be on you like hounds on a hare, and where would you go, anyway?”

“I have connections in Kesh,” said Waylander. “If I can get to Pointer’s Head, I can take a caravan over the Peaks of Tranquillity.”

“Well, don’t do anything rash,” said James. “If my friends and I have our way, the Nighthawks will not be a problem much longer. My advice is to see the Earl, then sit tight. I’ll get word to you when it’s safe.”

“But what about the men in Silden?”

James stood up. “They’re also a problem.”

“But I only know them by sight and first names—Jacob, Linsey, and Franklin—and they may not even be their true names.”

“Probably not,” said James. He took the spyglass and the silver spider out of his travel bag, and said, “What can you tell me about these?”

Waylander said, “The spider I got from a trader named Abuk. He travels the roads between Malac’s Cross and here, stopping in at Silden each way. I last saw him there, so he may be on his way toward us right now. He drives a painted trader’s wagon, green with his name in red letters on the side.”

Owyn winced at the description. “We can hardly miss that.”

James’s expression turned dark. “We found this spider this morning among the bodies of the dead lancers.”

Waylander said, “It can’t be the same one, then!”

“Why?” demanded James.

“I bought one from Abuk, but I gave ours to the false Nighthawks who were sent to kill Damon Reeves.”

James looked at the device, and said, “There may be more than one, but you’ll need more proof of your innocence than that.”

Waylander examined the spider, then said, “Look!” He pointed to the groove containing the poison. “I don’t know what this is, but mine had deadly nightshade in it!”

Gorath said, “Silverthorn would be hard to locate this far south.”

“But not impossible,” said James. “Still, I’m inclined to believe you. What about the spyglass?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” said Waylander, “but it’s the sort of thing Abuk trades for as well.”

James led the others to the door. “Get to the Earl, Michael,” he said. “You and Arle should be there before sundown tomorrow if you value your heads. We’re in the inn until dawn, and then we’re going south.”

“I’ll walk with you as far as Arle’s house,” said Waylander. “And then we’ll see the Earl tomorrow. Where south are you going?”

“First to Silden to find Abuk and those three men you mentioned. If we have any luck, we’ll put paid to this mess within a few days.” Waylander said nothing, and James knew it was because even if all the Nighthawks and Crawler’s men vanished overnight, there would still be crimes to pay for. But even years in a dungeon, thought James, were better than dying. At least in a dungeon there was the chance of escape.

The last thought made him smile as he headed up the road toward the inn.

As they neared the town of Silden, they slowed. A band of men were also riding toward the town, coming in from the west. “We don’t know they’re looking for us,” said James. “But as many times as you’ve been attacked, Gorath, I’d just as soon wait to see what they’re up to.”

Gorath had no disagreement, so he remained silent. The riders crossed over the bridge which arched over the River Rom into the town proper. Because it was built on a bluff that sloped down to a deep harbor, Silden had no foulbourgh outside the city walls. Rather, a series of small villages dotted the coastline around the bay of Silden, and a large village dominated the western shore of the bay, on the other side of the bridge.

They rode into the northern gate of the city, and passed a bored-looking pair of city watchmen. James turned to Owyn, and asked, “Any friends or relatives here?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” said Owyn. “Or at least none my father would admit to.”

James laughed. “I can understand that. This isn’t exactly a garden spot, is it?”

Silden was only important to two groups: those who lived in it and smugglers. The majority of trade coming up the river to the north entered through the much larger trading port of Cheam, which had spacious docks, a huge warehouse district, and was the second largest port on the north shore of the Kingdom Sea after Bas-Tyra. Silden was therefore a far more profitable destination for those seeking to conduct business without benefit of Kingdom Customs officers. They made an attempt to curtail smuggling, but with the host of villages within a day’s ride to the east and west, keeping smuggling under control was impossible. As a result, control of Silden had for years been an ongoing goal of competing criminal gangs, from the Mockers of Krondor, Keshian drug smugglers, and bully gangs from Rillanon, to an alliance of local thieves. This constant struggle had turned Silden into the closest thing to an open city seen in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom.

The Earldom of Silden, while a reasonably attractive fiefdom, with rents and income sufficient to keep a noble family in style, was an absentee office. The last Earl of Silden had died during the Riftwar, in the great attack by King Rodric IV against the Tsurani in the final year of the war. King Lyam had yet to award the Earldom to anyone, which was fine with the Duke of Cheam, who presently enjoyed the income from the property in the Earldom. James was of the opinion it should be turned into a proper Duchy and run from here in the city. A resident noble would clear up a lot of the problems of this valuable port city. He would have to mention it to the Prince when he returned, but for the moment, it was still a neglected backwater town without proper oversight.

The upshot of this situation was an almost complete absence of law and order in Silden beyond that which was enforced by the local constabulary. And from what James could tell, it ended where the market district of the city turned into the waterfront, and at a boulevard marked by a sign of four gulls in flight. One side of the street was marked by prosperous-looking shops and homes, the other by inns and warehouses. Down the middle of the street a long red line had been painted.

“What is that?” asked Gorath as they rode across it.

“A deadline,” said James. “If you’re brawling over there, no one cares. Brawl on this side, and you’re off to the work gangs.”

He motioned for them to cross the deadline, and as they entered the dock district, he said, “Ah, I love a town where they let you know how things stand with no apology.”

Gorath looked at Owyn and shrugged. Then he asked, “Why is it called a deadline?”

Owyn said, “In the past if you were caught after curfew on the wrong side by the soldiers of the King, you were hanged.”

They rode through a series of dark streets, bounded on either side by high warehouses, and crossed another fairly large street, rumbling with wagons and large men pushing carts piled high with goods. Then they were looking at the harbor below, a jumble of docks and jetties, some stone, mostly wood, pushed hard against one another. Small boats were moving in and out of the harbor. Silden was blessed with one saving grace, the high bluffs upon which the three riders now stood, which provided shelter from the harshest winter storms.

James conducted them down the long roadway which led to the docks and pointed to an inn in front of which hung a sign made from an old ship’s anchor, painted white. A modest stabling yard stood to the side, and when James rode in, a grubby-looking boy hurried over. “Pick their feet, give them hay and water, and rub them down,” said James as he dismounted.

The boy nodded, and James said, “And tell whoever’s interested that I would consider it a personal courtesy if these animals were here in the morning.” He made a small gesture with his thumb, and the boy nodded slightly.

“What was that?” asked Owyn.

As they entered the Anchorhead Inn, James said, “Just a word dropped in the proper ear.”

“I mean the thing with the thumb and fingers.”

“That’s what let the boy know I deserved being listened to.”

The common room was seedy and dark, and James looked around at its clientele. Sailors and dockhands, soldiers of fortune looking for an outward-bound ship, ladies of negotiable virtue, and the usual assortment of thugs and thieves. James took them to a table in the rear, and said, “Now we watch.”

“For what?” asked Gorath.

“For the right person to show up.”

“How long do we wait?” asked Owyn.

“In this hole? A day, two at the outside.”

Gorath shook his head. “You humans live like . . . animals.”

“It’s not so bad once you’ve gotten used to it, Gorath,” said James. “It’s a fair improvement over some places I’ve called home.”

Gorath said, “That is an odd claim for one who serves a prince of his race.”

“Agreed,” conceded the Squire, “but nonetheless true for being strange. I have had an unusual opportunity to improve my situation.”

“The opposite is my fate,” said Gorath. “I was a clan chieftain; I was sought out in council and was counted among the leaders of my people. Now I am sitting in squalor with the enemy of my race.”

James said, “I am no one’s enemy lest he harm me or mine first.”

Gorath said, “I can believe that, Squire, though it strains my senses to hear myself saying it; yet I can’t say that for most of your race.”

James said, “I never claimed to speak on behalf of most of my race. If you’ve noticed, we’re often a great deal more busy killing one another than we are causing problems for the Nations of the North.”

Suddenly Gorath laughed. Both Owyn and James were startled by the sound, surprisingly musical and full. “What’s so funny?” asked Owyn.

Gorath’s smile faded, and he said, “Just the thought that if you were a little more efficient killing one another, I wouldn’t have to worry about a murderous dog like Delekhan.”

At mention of the would-be conqueror, James was reminded of the importance of unraveling the knotted cord of who was behind which plot. So far he had decided that this Crawler, whoever he might be, was more a problem for the Upright Man and his Mockers, and Prince Arutha, and whatever other local nobles he was plaguing, but his part in Delekhan’s plans was coincidence, not design.

The Nighthawks were obviously working with either the Crawler, the moredhel, or both. And what caused James to worry was that they might be again the pawns of the Pantathian Serpent Priests. At some point James would bring up the serpents with Gorath, but not here in this public a place.

The barmaid, a stout woman who had probably been a whore in her youth, but now could not rely on her faded looks to earn her livelihood, came over and, with a suspicious look at Gorath, asked their pleasure. James ordered ale, and she left. James returned to his musing.

There was another player in this, some faction who were orchestrating all this turmoil in the Kingdom, either the Pantathians or someone else, and that was what had James concerned. Going over what Gorath had told Arutha and James several times, he said, “I would give a great deal to know more about those you call The Six.”

Gorath said, “Little is known of them, save by Delekhan’s closest advisors, and I know of no one who has actually met them. They are powerful, and have provided my people with weapons in abundance. But Delekhan’s enemies have been disappearing suddenly. I was called to council and taken on the road to Sar-Sargoth, and locked away in the dungeon by Narab, Delekhan’s chief advisor.”

James said, “You didn’t mention that part before.”

“You didn’t ask about what I had been doing before I met Locklear,” said Gorath.

“How did you escape?”

“Someone arranged it,” said Gorath. “I’m not sure who, but I suspect it was an old . . . ally. She is a woman of some influence and power.”

James was suddenly interested. “She must have a great deal of influence to get you free right under Delekhan’s nose.”

“There are many close to Delekhan who will not openly oppose him but would be pleased if he failed; Narab and his brother are among them, but as long as The Six serve Delekhan, they will as well. Should anything befall Delekhan before he consolidates the tribes, any alliance he has forged will disintegrate. Even his wife and son are not fully trusted by him, and for good reason. His wife is Chieftain of the Hamandien, the Snow Leopards, one of the most powerful clans after Delekhan’s own, and his son has ambitions that are obvious.”

Owyn said, “Sounds like a happy family.”

Gorath chuckled at that, his tone ironic. “My people rarely trust those who are not of our own family, tribe, or clan. Beyond that are political alliances, and they are sometimes as fugitive as dreams. We are not a trusting people by nature.”

“So I have determined,” said James. “Then, for the most part, neither are we.” He slowly stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He passed the barmaid, who ignored him as she brought the ale to the table, which forced Owyn with ill humor to pay for the drinks from his meager purse. Gorath found this amusing.

James crossed to where a man had emerged from the back room, dark skin and beard marking him as one of Keshian ancestry. “Can I help you,” he asked with an appraising look. By his accent, he was a Keshian by birth. He was thin, and James assumed dangerous, and while his close-cropped beard was greying, he was probably still vigorous enough to be a deadly opponent.

James said, “You’re the owner of this establishment?”

“I am,” he said. “I am Joftaz.”

Lowering his voice, James said, “I am here representing interests that are concerned with some downturns in their business of late. There are difficulties stemming from the activities of men who have been most recently both up in Romney and to the west.”

Joftaz regarded James with an appraising eye. “Why mention this to me?”

“You live in a place where many pass through. I thought perhaps you might have heard something or seen someone.”

Joftaz laughed in a jovial manner that was entirely unconvincing. “My friend, in my line of work, given where we are, it is in my interest to hear nothing, notice no one, and say little.”

James studied the man a moment. “Certain information would have value.”

“How much value?”

“It would depend on the information.”

Joftaz looked around, and said, “The wrong thing said in the wrong ear could end a man’s life.”

“Daggers have points,” said James, “and so do you.”

“On the other hand, I do find myself in need of some help in a delicate matter, and for the right man I could possibly remember a few things I’ve heard or faces I’ve seen.”

James nodded. “Would this delicate matter be aided by a sum of gold?”

Joftaz smiled. “I like your thinking, young man. What may I call you?”

“You may call me James.”

For an instant the man’s eyes flickered, and he said, “And you are from . . . ?”

“Most recently, the village of Sloop, and before that Romney.”

“Then the men you seek who had been recently in Romney are involved in some matter up there?”

“Some matter, but before we discuss what I need to know, I need to know the price.”

Joftaz said, “Then, my young friend, we are at something of an impasse, for to tell you any of my need is to tell you all my need, and as they say, ‘In for a copper, in for a gold.’ ”

James smiled, and said, “I’m hurt, Joftaz. What must I do to win your trust?”

“Tell me why you seek these men.”

“I seek them as nothing more than a link in a chain. They may lead me to another, one with whom I have some serious issues. He is one behind murder and treason, and I will have him to the hangman or dead at my feet; either is fine with me.”

“You’re the King’s man, then?”

“Not directly, but we both respect my employer.”

“Then swear by Ban-ath you will not betray me, and we shall strike a bargain.”

James’s grin broadened. “Why by the God of Thieves?”

“Who better? For a pair of thieves such as we.”

“By Ban-ath, then,” said James. “What is your need?”

“I need you to steal something from the most dangerous man in Silden, my friend. If you can do that, I will help you find the men for whom you are looking. Assuming you survive, of course.”

James blinked. “Me, steal? Why would you think I would steal for you?”

“I have lived enough years to know where eggs come from, young man.” He smiled. “If you are willing to swear by Ban-ath, you’ve walked the dodgy path before.”

James sighed. “I would be foreswearing my oath to speak truly if I denied such.”

“Good. To the heart of the matter then. There is just a short walk from here a house, in which dwells a man, by name Jacob Ishandar.”

“A Keshian?”

“There are many from Kesh who reside here.” He touched himself on the chest. “Such as I.

“But this man and others like him have but recently come to Silden, less than two or three years ago. They work on behalf of one who is a spider, sitting at the heart of a vast web, and like the spider, he senses any vibration along that web.”

James nodded. “You speak of one known as the Crawler?”

Joftaz inclined his head, indicating that this was the case. “This was never what one might call a peaceful community, but it was orderly after a fashion. With the Crawler’s men—Jacob and two called Linsey and Franklin—came bloodshed and pain beyond what is reasonable for men in our line of work to endure.”

“What of the local thieves, and those with ties to Rillanon and Krondor?”

“All gone, save myself. Some have fled, others . . . disappeared. Any thief I contacted in Silden today would be working for the Crawler. Being Keshian by birth, I think these men did not recognize me for one such as those they sought to destroy. There are still a few of us in Silden who survived, but we conduct no business except what we do in the open, such as my inn. Should these interlopers’ enterprises fail, there will be enough of us returning here to reclaim what was taken from us.”

James scratched his chin as he thought. “Before I agree, let me show you something.” He produced the silver spider. “Do you know this?”

“I have seen such before,” he said. “They are rare, and when one comes my way I take notice. They are crafted by a smith in a village in the Peaks of Tranquillity. Those that reach the Kingdom come from Pointer’s Head or Mallow Haven.” He took it from James’s hand and inspected it. “I’ve seen bad copies, but these are far finer. You can’t work silver like this and have it endure unless you have the knack.”

“Odd sort of bird buys an item like this.”

Joftaz smiled. “Night birds, for the most part. You play a dangerous game, my friend. You are just the man I seek.”

“Well, then, can you tell me who you sold this one to?”

“Yes, I can, and more.” Joftaz lost his smile. “But not until you conduct some business for me.”

“Then to specifics.”

“This man I mentioned, Jacob Ishander, is chief among those recently come from Kesh. He has in his possession a bag”—he held his hands apart, indicating a bag the size of a large coin purse or belt pouch—“and the contents of that bag are worth enough to underwrite his operation here in Silden for the next year.”

“And you want me to steal that bag?”

Joftaz nodded.

“I would think you able to undertake such a task yourself,” said James.

“Perhaps, but I must continue to live here in Silden, success or failure. Should you fail, I will still be here.”

“I see. What’s in the bag?”

“Heart of Joy,” said Joftaz.

James closed his eyes a moment. Joy was a common drug in the poor quarters of most cities in Kesh, and showed up from time to time in Krondor and other port cities in the Kingdom. A small amount consumed in wine or water would induce a pleasant euphoria for up to a night. A slightly larger dose would transport the user to a state of happiness that could last days. If the dose was too large, the user would be rendered unconscious.

Heart of Joy was a different thing. It was the essence of the drug, compounded in such a way as to make it easy to transport. When sold, it would be mixed in with a harmless powder, often powdered sugar or even flour, anything that would dissolve. By weight it was worth a thousand times more than Joy when sold on the streets of the city.

“A bag that size is worth—”

“Enough to ensure that Jacob will have to run for his life when the Crawler finds out, and any who might be held responsible as well, say Linsey and Franklin, will flee along with him.”

James filled in, “Leaving a void into which you can step to reestablish business locally in a fashion more to your liking.” Narrowing his eyes, James added, “And he who finds it will find anxious buyers willing to say nothing about where the drug came from, realizing enormous profits.”

With a smile, Joftez said, “Well, there is that.”

“So, if I get that bag, you put the Crawler’s agents in Silden out of business and make yourself a fortune in the process.”

“If all goes well.”

James said, “We’ll be in the corner, my friends and I. When you are ready, tell me where I must go and what I must know.”

“We close the common room at midnight. Wait until I do, then we shall see about your needs.”

James returned to the table, and Owyn said, “What did you find out?”

“That nothing in life is ever free,” said James, sitting down and leaning his chair back against the wall, settling in for a long afternoon’s wait.

*    *    *

The house was apparently deserted, its occupant away on some errand. Gorath was instructed to stand a few doors down, watching for anyone coming up from the docks. Owyn stood on the other side of the street, watching in the other direction. Both agreed to cooperate, both expressing their doubts as to the wisdom of this enterprise.

James quickly inspected the door for obvious alarms and found none. He judged the lock an easy enough one to pick, but just for reassurance, he ran his thumb along the doorjamb. Unexpectedly he found a crack in the wood, which moved under his thumb. Carefully he pushed on it, and heard a slight click from within. Pushing harder, he moved the wood. From behind it protruded a piece of metal.

James removed a brass key from a hiding place in the wood. He almost laughed. It was an old, very simple trick, and served two purposes: the key was never lost if the owner was in a hurry leaving someplace else, and it disarmed whatever trap waited inside. In the daylight, James expected he could have looked for hours and not seen it, but an old thief had once taught him to trust his other senses, including touch. Running the thumb over the doorjamb occasionally brought splinters as its only reward, but the sound of that click made the hours James had spent fishing splinters out of his thumb with a steel needle worth it.

James still knelt as he pushed the door open slightly, ready for anything that would alert him to another trap. By kneeling, any crossbow bolt aimed at the door should fly overhead.

The door slid open easily, and no device sent death his way. He moved quickly through the door and closed it behind him. He inspected the room without moving. He never knew where someone would hide valuables, but most people were predictable. This time, however, he considered the owner of this place was not “most people,” but someone who would do something unpredictable. So his first choice was to look for something out of place.

The room was undistinguished. A simple table, a large breakfront clothes closet, and a bed. A door to a rear yard where the outhouse would be. A fireplace, above which rested potted plants on a wide mantel, and next to that a door leading into a small kitchen.

Then it registered on James. Potted plants? He moved to inspect them. They were dry and dying, and he knew the reason why. He couldn’t remember the name of the variety, but Princess Anita had struggled to raise the same plants in her garden in Krondor. She had remarked that they were difficult to grow in soil with as much salt as the soil near the palace, and that they demanded a great deal of sunlight.

Silently, James asked, why would a leader of a gang of cutthroats in a pesthole like Silden have potted plants on his mantel? He carefully lifted the pots, one at a time, until he picked up the one on the far right. It was lighter than the rest. He lifted the plant and it came away, devoid of dirt on the roots. Under it he found a bag, and he returned the plant to the pot and opened the bag. In the dim light coming from the sole window to the house he saw what he expected to see, a slightly yellowish powder.

He tied the bag and moved quickly to the door. One backward glance reassured him he hadn’t inadvertently touched anything. He slipped through the door and closed it behind him. He locked it, and returned the key, resetting whatever trap had awaited the unwary on the other side.

He motioned without looking at either of his friends, and they returned to the Anchorhead Inn. As they neared the door at the rear, left open for them by Joftaz, James felt a flush of excitement. No matter how high he might someday rise in the King’s service, there was a part of him that would always be Jimmy the Hand.

Inside he handed over the bag to Joftaz, and said, “Well, then, your part of the bargain.”

Joftaz admired the bag of powder a moment, then put it behind the bar. “To find the owner of that spider, you must seek out the trader Abuk. I have sold four such as this to him over the last two years.”

James produced the spyglass. “What about this?”

Joftaz admired the glass and held it up to his eye. His eye widened, and he put down the glass, glancing around the room. “This is a dangerous thing, my friend.”

“Why?”

“It shows secrets, and some secrets are worth killing to preserve or to learn.” He handed the spyglass back to James. “I have heard of such as these. They are modest-looking, but valuable. You pierce illusions, see traps and hiding places with a glass like that. I have heard of such glass being fashioned for generals to pierce the fog and smoke on the battlefield.”

“Do you know who might have sold this?”

“Again I say, Abuk. Had this item come to you from any other source, I would not guess, but if you found it near the spider, I suspect they were both sold by him, and to the same man.”

“Then we need a room for the night, my new old friend, and then we’re off in search of Abuk.”

They shook hands, and Joftaz said, “You serve your king well, my new old friend, for not only do you seek out Nighthawks who do black murder in the darkest hour of the night, you have rid Silden of the plague of the Crawler. Jacob and his companions will be on the first ship bound for distant lands once word of this reaches their employers. Now, I’ll show you to your rooms, then I must find a certain rumormonger to spread word that three Keshian gentlemen now residing in Silden have just sold a great deal of Heart of Joy to a smuggler bound for the island Kingdom of Roldem.”

Joftaz took them up to a room and bid them good night, and informed them that they should expect to encounter Abuk on the road between Silden and Lyton, as he was due back from there in the next few days. James settled in and quickly fell asleep, feeling at last he was making some progress in unraveling these mysteries.