“We leave. His friends will be up those stairs in a minute.” He pointed to the window. Martin stood by the door as Arutha ripped aside a dirty canvas shade and pushed open the wooden shutters. Amos said, “Now you see why I chose this room.” Less than a yard below the window’s ledge was the roof of the stable.
Arutha stepped out, Amos and Martin following. They hurried carefully down the steeply sloping roof until they reached the edge. Arutha leaped down, landing quietly, followed a moment later by Martin. Amos landed more heavily, but suffered only a minor bruise to his dignity.
They heard a cough and an oath, and looked up to see a bloodied face at the window. Radburn shouted, “They’re in the courtyard!” as the three fugitives started for the gate.
Amos swore. “I should have cut his throat.”
They ran to the gate, and as they entered the street, Amos grabbed at Arutha. A group of men were running down the street toward them. Arutha and his companions fled the opposite way, ducking into a dark alley.
Hurrying along between the blank walls of two buildings, they cut across a busy street, overturning several pushcarts, and ducked into another alley, the cart owners’ curses following. They continued to run, the sounds of pursuit never far behind, following a twisting maze of back alleys and side streets through darkened Krondor.
Turning a corner, they found themselves intersecting a long narrow street, little more than an alley, flanked on both sides by tall buildings Amos rounded the corner first and motioned for Arutha and Martin to halt. In low tones, he said, “Martin, hurry down to the corner and take a look around. Arutha, go the other way.” He pointed toward a spot where dim light could be seen. “I’ll stand watch here. If we become separated, make for the ship. It’ll be a desperate chance, breaking the blockade, but should you win free, have Vasco make for Durbin. Your gold will buy you enough protection there to get the ship refitted and you back to Crydee. Now go.”
Arutha and Martin ran down the street in opposite directions, and Amos stood watch behind. Abruptly shouts came down the narrow street, and Arutha looked back. At the other end of the street he could see the dim figure of Martin struggling with several men. He started back, but Amos shouted, “Go on I’ll help him. Get away!”
Arutha hesitated, then resumed his run toward the distant light. He was panting when he reached the corner and nearly skidded to a halt as he entered a well-traveled, brightly lit avenue. From carts decorated with lanterns, hawkers sold their wares to passing citizens out for a stroll after supper. The weather was mild—there looked to be little chance of snow this winter—and large numbers of people were about. From the condition of the buildings and the fashions of those in the area, Arutha knew he was in a more prosperous section of the city.
Arutha stepped into the street and forced himself to walk at a leisurely pace. He turned and made a display of examining a garment seller’s wares as several men appeared from the street he had just fled. He tugged a garish red cloak from among the goods and swirled it about his shoulder, pulling the hood over his head. “Here now, what do you think you’re doing?” asked a dried-faced old man in a reedy whisper.
Affecting a nasal voice, Arutha said, “My good man, you don’t expect me to purchase a garment without seeing if it fits?”
Suddenly confronted by a buyer, the man became unctuously friendly. “Oh no, certainly, sir.” Looking at Arutha in the ill-tailored cloak, he said, “It’s a perfect fit, sir, and the color suits you well, if I may say.”
Arutha chanced a glance at his pursuers. The man called Radburn stood at the corner, blood dried upon his face and his nose swollen, but still able to direct his men’s search. Arutha adjusted the cloak, a great, cumbersome thing that hung nearly to the ground. In a display of fussiness, he said, “You think so? I wouldn’t care to appear at court looking like a vagabond.”
“Oh, court is it, sir? Well, it’s just the thing, mark me It adds a certain elegance to your appearance.”
“How much is it?” Arutha saw Radburn’s men walking through the busy crowd, some looking into each tavern and storefront as they passed, others hurrying on to other destinations. More followed from the smaller street, and Radburn spoke quickly to them. He set some to watching those in the street, then turned and led the rest back the way they had come.
“It’s the finest cloth made in Ran, sir,” said the seller. “It was brought at great expense from the shore of the Kingdom Sea. I couldn’t let it go for less than twenty golden sovereigns.”