Back and forth the attacks and defenses moved the two men, each waiting for the other to make a mistake. The fury was finally flowing out of Jacoby as he tired, while Roo vowed he would never go so long without practicing his weapons again. Clashing steel echoed across the harbor. Upon distant ships at their moorings, guards lit lanterns and called questions.
A watchman came out between two buildings, saw Randolph lying in a spreading pool of blood, the two fighters, and the two bands of men, and retreated hastily. When he was safely out of harm’s way, he produced a tin whistle and began blowing it fiercely. A squad of three constables appeared a short while later, and the watchman explained what he had seen. The senior constable sent one of his men to headquarters for more men, and then accompanied the other man back toward the dock.
Roo felt his arms begin to ache. What Jacoby lacked in skill he gained back by using two weapons, a style of fighting difficult to defend with a single blade.
Jacoby had a tricky move, an advance with his sword extended, followed by a slash with his left hand. It was designed to cut across the chest of any opponent who tried to engage his sword and riposte. The first time he tried it, Roo barely escaped with a tear in his tunic.
Roo wiped perspiration from his brow with his left hand, keeping the point of his sword directed at Jacoby. Jacoby’s right boot heel tapped, and then he extended and advanced, following with the left-hand slash. Roo leaped backward. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw that he was being driven toward a large pile of crates, and once his back was against them, he would have no room to escape.
The tap of Jacoby’s boot heel against the cobbles saved Roo’s life, for he leaped backward before he turned to look again at Jacoby, and barely missed the poniard slashing through the air. Roo crouched.
As he expected, he heard the boot heel tap again, and without hesitation Roo leaned foward. He beat aside Jacoby’s extended blade, but rather than come straight in, Roo dropped his own blade, extended his left hand downward to touch the stones, and ducked under the vicious slash of the poniard. For a moment he was completely vulnerable, but Jacoby’s blades were in no position to take advantage. Roo knew that any experienced fighter might kick with his boot, sending Roo to the stones, but he doubted Jacoby had ever seen this move. With his right hand, Roo thrust upward, catching Jacoby in his right side, just below the ribs. As the sword traveled upward, it pierced lung and heart.
Jacoby’s eyes widened and a strange, childlike sound issued from his lips, and his fingers ceased to possess any strength. Sword and poniard fell from his hands. Then his knees wobbled and he collapsed upon the ground as Roo yanked his blade free.
“Don’t anyone move,” said a voice.
Roo glanced over his shoulder and saw the senior constable approaching with riot club in one hand, absently slapping the palm of the other. Gasping for breath, Roo felt a giddy admiration for the officer of the Prince’s City Watch, willing to confront two dozen armed men with nothing more than his badge of office and a billy.
Roo said, “Wouldn’t think of it.”
More horsemen could be heard approaching as the constable said, “Now then, what have we here?”
Roo said, “It’s simple. These two dead men are thieves. Those men over there”—he pointed to the disarmed guards by the wagon—“are hired thugs. And that wagon and that boat are loaded with my stolen gold.”
Seeing no one was attempting to cause trouble, the constable put his billy under his arm and rubbed his chin. “And who might that wet fellow floating in the harbor be?”
Roo blew out and took a deep breath. “By name, Herbert McCraken. He was an accountant at my countinghouse. He helped those two steal my gold.”
“Hmmm,” said the constable, obviously not convinced. “And who might you be, sir, to be having countinghouses, accounts, and large shipments of gold?” He glanced down at the Jacoby brothers, and added, “And a surplus of corpses.”
Roo smiled. “I’m Rupert Avery. I’m a partner in the Bitter Sea Company.”
The constable nodded. As horsemen rounded the corner and approached the group, he said, “That’s a name few haven’t heard in Krondor in the last year or so. Is there someone here likely to vouch for you?”
Dash stepped forward. “I will. He’s my boss.”
“And who might you be?” asked the constable.
“He’s my grandson,” said the lead rider.
Trying to see the figure on horseback through the gloom, the constable said, “And then who might you be?”
Lord James rode forward into the circle of torches and lanterns and said, “My name is James. And in a manner of speaking, I’m your boss.”
Then the other newly arrived riders appeared, soldiers in the garb of the Prince’s personal guards, and Knight-Marshal William said, “Why don’t you take these men”—he pointed to the Jacoby guards—“into custody, Constable. We’ll deal with these other gentlemen.”