“And now they are gone, they are all dead, or best to be believed that they are dead,” Hammen whispered.
“There are still rumors that they’re alive.”
Hammen looked up at Garth, suddenly wary.
“We both could be killed for what I’ve just said,” Hammen hissed. “Even to mention they might still live is a death sentence. Even to be suspected of knowing such things, or worse, knowing of someone, is a death sentence now.”
He paused for a moment.
“Just who are you?”
“I am Garth One-eye.”
“Go back home, wherever that is,” Hammen suddenly blurted out. “You ask too many questions. You won’t live to see the end of Festival if you stay.”
“I have things to do.”
“They’re not worth it. Whatever it is you are after is dead.”
“You’re free to leave my side at any time.”
Hammen cursed loud and long for a minute.
“Thanks. And you know I won’t. Not now. You know you have me. It’s as if you planned it that way from the beginning, just like everything else. That your meeting me in the circle I drew in the mud was planned.”
Garth laughed and shook his head.
They walked in silence for long minutes, the crowd around them boisterous, laughing, arguing, the now ever-present gambling sheets being waved in the air, dirty fingers pointing at them, arguing over favorites and odds. “Any reason we’re passing here?” Hammen finally asked, nodding toward a tavern and the crowd milling about outside, watching an oquorak match between two warriors, one Brown, the other Gray.
“Just happened to be along the way.”
“And it’s where you met that Benalian.”
Garth nodded and slowed to watch the fight, which ended seconds later as Gray made three quick slices, one after the other, flaying open the shoulder of Brown.
Brown staggered backward and grudgingly paid his wager as the cord which held the two together was cut, while copper and silver was passed back and forth by the crowd.
“Could you do me a favor?”
“Now what?”
“Track her down for me. I think it fair to assume you have contacts all over the city. She would be easy enough to find.”
“I tell you she’s nothing but a bother; all Benalish women are strange.”
Garth smiled.
“I think I can take care of myself. Take a couple of the gold coins and spread the money around if need be.”
Hammen looked up at him coldly.
“Don’t worry, your commission won’t be touched. And while you’re at it, I’d like you to find a hovel someplace, preferably on or near the Plaza. It has to be secure.”
“A hiding place or a place of rendezvous?”
“The former, and who knows, maybe the latter as well.”
Hammen snickered.
“Fat chance. Like I said, she’s Benalish.”
“Anyhow, just do it. It might come in handy if we need a place to disappear to.”
“What do you mean we? I can take off at any time and disappear.”
Garth looked down at Hammen and smiled.
“Then just for me.”
Hammen cursed and spit on the ground.
“All right, I’ll see what I can find.”
Garth turned to look back to where some of the mob was busy taunting the Brown fighter who had just lost the oquorak. A gust of wind swept down the street and Garth’s cowl fluttered off his head for a moment and he quickly pulled it back up to hide his face.
“Hey, don’t I know you?”
A beggar came up toward Garth, weaving drunkenly and pointing a stubby finger at him and then at Hammen.
Garth started to turn away.
“I knew it!” the beggar shouted triumphantly, scurrying over to Garth’s side. “I never forget a man I win a copper on. You’re One-eye.”
An instant later the name echoed through the crowd, which swarmed after Garth.
“One-eye, One-eye!”
The mob swirled around him, hands reaching out, patting him on the back. Slobbering voices offered drinks, women, and other pleasures.
“Which color is it now? Will you fight in Festival? What’s your favorite spell? My cousin saw you fight against Naru; he won five coppers on it!”
Fights broke out in the crowd’s wake as a few partisans of other fighters argued against the mysterious One-eye.
“You’re certainly popular,” Hammen shouted, trying to be heard above the tumult, “but I think we better get out of here. That Brown warrior’s heading off in the opposite direction. Most likely to get his friends.”
Garth slowed to a stop, the mob swirling in around him, cheering, hands reaching out to grab at his tunic or just to touch him.
“Friends, you know the Grand Master wants me. If you continue to do this, his Watch will come.”
“A fight! Let’s have a fight!” someone shouted, and the cry was picked up, so that within seconds it echoed down the street, the meaning changing as it traveled so that those farther away thought a combat was actually in progress. As they swarmed toward the commotion some of them were already placing bets on One-eye, though they had no idea against whom he was fighting.
Garth extended his hand and a green swirl of smoke rose up around him. He grabbed hold of Hammen’s hand and tried to push his way through the crush, most of them falling back, coughing and choking.
And yet as he ran down a side street, the mist still around him, the mob set off in pursuit.
“There he goes, follow the smoke, the smoke!”
The mob followed after him, shouting and laughing, as if he were playing a prank for their amusement.
“They’re going to get us killed. Try that disappearing act of yours.”
“You have to stand still and stay within the circle of protection,” Garth replied. “It won’t work now.”
As they reached the edge of the Great Plaza Garth slowed to a stop, the crowd again swarming in around him.
Garth reached into his tunic and snapped off a small bundle tied around his throat and pressed it into Hammen’s hand.
“Get away from me,” Garth hissed, “get away now!”
“Master?”
“Now, move it. Now!”
Hammen looked up at him, confused, as the smoke drifted away. Out in the Plaza a line of warriors was drawn up, crossbows raised. Hammen looked back at the mob that was closing in around them and saw at the far edge another line, this one of fighters wearing the Grand Master’s livery, pouring out of a side street.
“Run, damn it, run.” And with that Garth pushed Hammen with such force that he knocked him over into the crowd. Garth darted through the crowd, disappearing from Hammen’s view. The old man tried to regain his footing, people tripping over him, kicking, cursing. Finally he grabbed hold of an ankle and bit it, sending his victim to the ground, howling and cursing, and climbed up over him.
In the confusion Garth was gone from view.
Garth continued to run, dodging down a side street, his admirers still following in his wake, laughing and shouting, revealing to the Watch the direction he had taken. He dodged down a side alley, leaping over piles of refuse, cutting between buildings, and still the mob followed. He ducked into a dark alcove and the mob stormed past until finally one of them, wheezing for breath, stopped directly in front of Garth, coughing and hacking. He looked up and saw him.
“Here he is! One-eye!”
The mob turned, shouting, and Garth set off again, pausing to block his path with an invisible wall, which stopped those behind him. But as he reached another thoroughfare the hue and cry was raised yet again, fans swarming in around him. Pushing his way through the press, he reached the side of the House of Fentesk. There was no hope of finding a secret entrance without Hammen leading the way and he darted for the front door. Out in the Plaza a crowd was already gathering, cheering, laughing, and he could hear them placing bets as to whether he would gain sanctuary or not. As he stepped into the Plaza a crowd rushed forward to engulf him, slowing him down yet again.