“What things?”
Garth simply smiled.
CHAPTER 12
THE CITY WAS IN A STATE OF BEDLAM. DURING the games rival gangs, taking advantage of the fact that nearly anyone who could afford it had gone to the arena, had set to looting. Supporters of Ingkara had raided Fentesk sections of the city and a mob of Kesthans attempted to loot Purple, while Bolk had simply gone after everyone else. Fires had broken out in several quarters of the city and the glare of the flames filled the midnight sky.
“Ah, how I love Festival days,” Hammen growled, pausing to look furtively around a corner and then turning to watch the flames engulf the home of a much-hated merchant down the street.
“It wasn’t always this way,” Garth said, more as a statement than a question.
Hammen spit on the ground.
“The old days are dead as are all old days.” He paused for a moment and sighed.
“Maybe it wasn’t as golden as some want to remember,” Hammen finally said, “but at least the games were not for the entertainment of the mob. Back then they were tests of skill and practice, a time of truce before going out again to wander and study, or to serve a contract with a prince who treated his fighters with honor. Now it is for blood, contracts, and the delight of the mob.”
Hammen shook his head and then chuckled sadly as some looters raced past, bearing a heavy barrel between them.
Hammen looked back up at Garth.
“All right, Garth, the game’s over. We increased our money six times over today. Even minus my commission you’ve got enough to live like a prince for the next couple of years. Besides that, you’ve got a spell usually only a Master ever holds. Why don’t you take it and get the hell out of this madhouse?”
Garth smiled and shook his head.
“I’ve still got some things to do.”
“Damn it, son, today was a fix. The captain was a fix, the spell was obviously given to him by the Grand Master, and they set you up for a death match. Do you think he’ll play any fairer tomorrow?”
“Actually, yes,” Garth said quietly. “The mob knows, your people have passed the word around. He’ll play it straight tomorrow, at least until the Walker comes to back him up.”
Garth paused, turning to look back as the merchant’s house collapsed, a shower of sparks soaring heavenward. A laughing, drunken crowd was gathered around outside, raising tankards of ale and wine in salute to the fire while the merchant cursed and swore, pulling out great tufts of his beard in anguish.
Hammen slowed, still troubled by their conversation on the way back from the arena at the end of the day’s fights.
“I think what you asked my friend to do is insane.”
“You said he hates the Grand Master for the death of his son last year. Remember it was you who first pointed out the connection.”
“I was just musing, that’s all. Talking about what the Grand Master has done.”
“It’s an obvious path to what I want done. You’ve been carrying that ruby of mine around and it’s time we put it to good use.”
“It’s a terrible risk for my friend. He could be denounced and dead before the offer is barely out.”
“It’ll be amusing,” Garth said. “And besides, the person we want to bribe is a customer of his for illegal potions. He has some leverage over him.”
“Do you know how many bribes it’ll take to arrange such a thing?”
“You already saw me take care of it.”
“The man, or should I say creature, you’re attempting to bribe will pocket your money and forget about it.”
Garth smiled and shook his head.
“You don’t know the nature of guilt and vengeance very well. Half a dozen wagonloads of pots are simply mixed in, that’s all. No one will be able to trace it, and our friend comes out the richer for it.”
Hammen looked around nervously.
“You’re talking about bribing the captain of Zarel’s fighters, Uriah the Groveler.”
Garth smiled sadly.
“Yes, Uriah.” His voice was distant and wistful.
“That was a ruby worth at least a hundred gold,” Hammen groaned.
Garth looked back as if drawn from a distant land.
“When you bribe high you have to be willing to pay,” he said quickly.
“And yet you appeared before me penniless and I actually trusted you.”
“I had to keep my reserve.”
“And is there any reserve left?”
“A little,” Garth said with a smile. “Later, tomorrow after the games, I want you to go out through the gate of the city down where we first met. Walk exactly one thousand fifty paces.”
“Your paces or mine?”
“Mine, damn it. How could I know what yours were?”
“I’ll try to manage.”
“Anyhow. Go exactly one thousand fifty paces. There is an ancient tomb on the right side of the road, about a hundred paces up the side of the hill. In the back of it the bricks are weak. Tucked in behind the bricks is an oilskin bundle. Bring it back to me and, for the sake of the Eternal, don’t open it.”
“So now I’m your errand boy too.”
“I’d go myself, damn it, but a lot might happen tomorrow.”
“Like your getting killed.”
“Then the bundle is yours as a reminder of me. I think you’d find it interesting.”
Garth continued to shoulder his way through the swirling crowds, thankful that a light rain was falling so that his drawn-up hood and drooping, wide-brimmed hat did not seem out of place.
Reaching the Great Plaza, he pushed his way into the crowds and moved forward with a purposeful stride.
“Damn it,” Hammen hissed, but he kept close to Garth anyhow as his companion approached the perimeter around the palace. A line of guards was drawn up just inside the row of fountains, warily watching the crowds which streamed past. Since the riot of the day before the tension between the Grand Master’s warriors and the city’s inhabitants was at near-breaking point.
Without slowing down, Garth pushed through the edge of the crowd and broke into a run, charging straight at the nearest warrior. Before the man even had time to react Garth caught him full in the solar plexus, the blow doubling the man over in spite of his leather armor. The warrior to the man’s right turned, startled by the sudden attack, and Garth, spinning around, slammed a balled fist into the man’s neck just behind his ear. Pulling out his dagger he sliced the man’s purse off his belt, cut it open, and then heaved it into the startled crowd. This started a mad scramble for the money, which jingled on the dark pavement. Three more warriors came running over, swords drawn. Garth stepped past the first one, knocking him over with a simple tripping of feet. The second came in warily, slicing low. Garth jumped over the blow and, as he did so, kicked the man in the face. The third slowed, came to a stop, and then, turning, started to run, blowing his whistle, sounding the alarm.
The mob, which had been stunned by the sudden onset, now swarmed forward to rob the downed warriors. Garth turned and quickly strode away into the darkness, while behind him came the trumpet call of the alarm. Within seconds a company of warriors came charging out of the palace and waded into the crowd.
The excitement started to draw spectators from across the Plaza and Garth dodged his way through the human tide which swept forward to watch. As the heaving, shouting crowd drew closer they were drawn into the spreading fight as the ill feelings between the Grand Master’s guards and the mob exploded.
Garth continued across the Plaza, moving straight at the House of Kestha. Just before reaching the outer circle of paving stones that marked Kestha’s territory he tore off his cloak, revealing an Orange uniform underneath, though his face was still concealed by his wide-brimmed hat. Garth pointed toward one of the guards standing at the entryway into the House.