“Where were they scheduled to patrol?” asked Dash.
Gustaf, the former prisoner, had turned up looking for work a few days before and Dash had made him a corporal. Gustaf had the duty roster. ‘ “They were working down near the old Poor Quarter.”
“Damn,” said Dash. The old Poor Quarter of the city was now a shanty town of huts and tents, and people living in the lees of partial walls. Every vice imaginable was available there and, predictably, the Thieves Guild was establishing its power there faster than the crown. “Now all bets are off.”
Since taking the office of Sheriff of Krondor, Dash had managed to keep hanging to a minimum. Two murderers had been publicly hanged five days before, but the majority of crimes had been relatively petty.
“What were these two doing down there anyway?” asked Dash. “They were both new to the job.”
Gustaf said, “The draw just came up that way.” Lowering his voice, he said, “There’s no one here with what you might call a great deal of experience, Dash.”
Dash nodded. The two dead men weren’t downy-cheeked youths by any stretch of imagination. “Four to a squad down there, starting tomorrow.”
“What about tonight?” asked Gustaf.
“I’ll take care of tonight,” said Dash, leaving the small squad room.
He hurried down the street and made his way through the open market, heading toward what had been the Poor Quarter. He kept his wits about him and his eyes open. Even in the daylight he could count on nothing but trouble in this part of the city.
Reaching a burned-out two-story building, he ducked inside. Quickly he removed his red armband and ducked out the back of the building. He hurried down a narrow alley and climbed a wooden fence that was still somehow standing between two stone walls while everything nearby had been reduced to ash. Ducking under a low-hanging arch of stone he reached his goal.
He crept through an open building, a small former business on the edge of the Poor Quarter. He hung inside, staying hidden in shadow, while watching the view out in the quarter.
Men and women moved through the tents and shacks, dealing trade goods and food, as well as illicit goods. Dash was looking for a certain face and would be content to wait until he saw it.
Near sundown, a small man came hurrying toward the building, intent on some errand, lost in thought. As he passed the open door, Dash reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his dingy shirt, hauling him inside.
The man yelped in terror, and started to beg, “Don’t kill me! I didn’t do it!”
Dash put his hand over the little man’s mouth and said, “Didn’t do what, Kirby?”
When he saw he wasn’t going to be instantly killed, the little man relaxed. Dash removed his hand. “Whatever it was you think I did,” said the little man.
“Kirby Dokins,” said Dash, “the only thing you do is trade in information. If you weren’t so useful, I’d squash you like the bug you are.”
The vile-smelling little man grinned. His face was a patchwork of scars and blemishes. He was a beggar by trade, and an informant when opportunity presented himself. Like the cockroach he was, he had crawled into a crack in the stones and survived the destruction of the city. “But you have use of me, don’t you?”
“For the moment,” conceded Dash. “Two of my men were dumped on the jail steps last night, their throats cut. I want those who did it.”
“No one’s bragging.”
“See what you can find out, but at midnight tonight, I’ll be here, and you better be as well, with names.”
“That might prove difficult,” said the snitch.
“Make it happen,” said Dash, hauling the little man up so that Dash’s nose almost touched Kirby’s. “I don’t need to make up crimes to get you hung. Keep me happy.”
“I live to keep you happy, Sheriff.”
“Exactly.” He let go of the little man’s shirt. “And pass word back to that old man.”
“What old man?” asked Kirby, feigning ignorance.
“I don’t have to tell you who,” said Dash. “Tell him if this murder lands at his feet, any faint affection I might feel toward his merry band of mummers will be gone forever. If they’re his pranksters cutting throats, he better serve them up to me, or the Mockers will be crushed, root and branch.”
Kirby swallowed hard. “I’ll pass that along, if it becomes appropriate.”
Dash pushed the little man outside the door. “Go. Midnight,” he ordered.
Dash saw that he still had an hour of daylight and imagined there were many tasks waiting for him back at headquarters. He turned to retrace his steps back to the New Market Jail, and cursed Patrick for giving him this thankless task of beating obedience into his subjects. But as long as it was his job, vowed Dash, he would do it properly. And that started with keeping his constables alive.
Dash hurried through the failing light into the shadows of Krondor.
Eighteen - Revelations