Arutha looked Aaron Cook squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know.”
The man who had struck Arutha began to step forward again, but Cook held up his hand. “That may be true. You’ve been something of a fool, the way you’ve been popping up here and there, hanging around the gates of the palace, playing the innocent. You are either poor spies, or poor fools, but there is no doubt you’ve aroused the interest of the Viceroy’s men, and therefore ours.”
“Who are you?”
Cook ignored the question “Jocko Radburn’s the senior officer in the Viceroy’s secret police. Despite that open, honest face on him, Radburn’s one of the most steel-nerved, immovable bastards the gods ever graced this world with. He’d happily cut his grandmother’s heart out if he thought the old girl was making free with state secrets. The fact he put in a personal appearance shows he, at the very least, judges you potentially important.
“We first learned three men were nosing about town a day or two after you arrived, and when our people heard some of Radburn’s men were keeping an eye upon you, we decided to do likewise. When they began offering small bribes for information about you three, we became especially interested. We were content to simply keep watching you, waiting until you showed your hand.
“But when Jocko and his men showed at the Sailor’s Ease, we were forced to act. We snatched those two from under Jocko’s nose, but Jocko and his bully boys came down the alley between you and us, so we hurried them away. Jimmy’s finding you was a bit of luck, for he didn’t know we were ready to bring you in.” He nodded approval to the boy. “You did right bringing him here.”
Jimmy laughed. “I was on the rooftops, watching the whole thing. I knew you wanted him in as soon as you grabbed the other two.”
One of the men swore. “You’d better not have been trying for a boost without writ from the Nightmaster, boy.”
Cook raised his hand, and the man fell silent. “It will not hurt for you to know that some here are Mockers, others are not, but we are all united in an undertaking of great importance. Mark me well, Arthur. Your only hope of leaving here alive rests upon our being satisfied you do not endanger that undertaking I spoke of. It may be Radburn’s interest in you is only coincidental to his interest in other matters. Or there may be a weaving of threads here, some pattern as yet unseen. In any event, we shall have the truth, and when we are satisfied with what you have told us, we shall set you free—perhaps even aid you and your companions—or we shall kill you. Now start at the beginning. Why did you come to Krondor?”
Arutha considered. There was little but pain to be gained by lying, yet he was not willing to tell the entire truth. That these men were not working with Guy’s men wasn’t proved. This could be a ploy, with Radburn in the next room listening to every word. He decided what part of the truth to tell. “I’m an agent for Crydee. I came to speak to Prince Erland and Lord Dulanic in person, to ask for aid against a coming Tsurani offensive. When we learned Guy du Bas-Tyra was in possession of the city, we decided to gauge the temper of things before committing ourselves to a course of action.”
Cook listened closely, then said, “Why should an emissary of Crydee slip into the city? Why not come in with banners flying and receive a state welcome?”
“Because Black Guy’d just as soon toss him into a cell as not, you stupid bastard.”
Cook’s head snapped around: Amos was sitting up against the wall, groggily shaking his head. “I think you busted my skull, Cook.”
Aaron Cook looked hard at Amos. “You know me?”
“Aye, you wooden-headed sea rat, I know you. I know you well enough to know we’re not speaking another word until you go fetch Trevor Hull.”
Aaron Cook rose from the table, an uncertain expression on his face. He motioned to one of the men by the door, who also looked discomforted by Amos’s words. The man nodded to Cook and left the room. Minutes later he returned, followed by another man, tall, with a shock of grey hair, but still powerful looking. A ragged scar ran from his forehead through his right eye, which was milky white, and down his cheek. He took a long look at Amos, then laughed aloud and pointed at the captives. “Untie them.”
Amos was lifted by two men, then untied. As his ropes were loosened, he said, “I thought they’d hung you years ago, Trevor.”
The man clapped Amos on the back. “And I you, Amos.”
Cook looked questioningly at the new arrival, while Arutha was untied and Martin revived with a cup of water thrown in his face. The man called Trevor Hull looked at Cook and said, “Have your wits fled, man? He’s grown a beard and cut his famous flowing locks—lost some on top and put on a few pounds as well—but he’s still Amos Trask.”