"Feist, Raymond E - The Riftwar Legacy 02 - Krondor- The Assassins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

It was almost dawn when James started looking for his last contact. The
squire was having trouble keeping his concerns in check. The first three
informants he had sought were missing. The docks were unnaturally
silent, devoid of even the boisterous noise usually marking the area s
inns and taverns. The poor quarter was clearly a no man s land, with
many of the Mockers" usual bolt-holes and accesses blocked off and
sealed.

Of the Mockers, James had seen nothing. That alone was not completely
unusual. He wasn t the only one adroit at traveling through the sewers
and streets unnoticed. But there was something different about this
night. There were others who used the sewers. Beggars who weren t
Mockers had places where they could sleep unmolested. Smugglers moved
cargo short distances from secret landings built into the larger
outflows into the harbor to basements farther in the city. With such
activities came noises: small, unnoticed unless one was trained to
recognize them for what they were, but usually they were there. Tonight
everything was silent. Only the murmur of water, the scurrying of rats
and the occasional rattle of distant machinery, waterwheels, pumps, and
sluice gates echoed through the tunnels.

Anyone in the sewers was lying low, James knew. And that meant trouble.
Historically, in times of trouble, the Mockers would seal off sections
of the sewers, especially near the poor quarter, barring the passages to
Mockers" Rest, the place called "Mother s" by members of the Guild of
Thieves. Armed bashers would take up station and wait for the crisis to
pass. Others not belonging to the guild would also hole up until the
trouble passed. Outside those enclaves and safe areas, anyone in the
tunnels was fair game. The last time James had remembered such a
condition had been during the year following the end of

47 the Riftwar, when Princess Anita had been injured and Arutha had
declared martial law.

The more he had traveled through the sewers below and the streets above,
the more James was convinced something equally dire had occurred while
he had been out of the city on the Prince s business. James looked
around to see that he was unwatched and moved to the rear of the alley.

A pair of old wooden crates had been turned toward a brick wall to offer
some shelter against the elements. Inside that crate lay a still form. A
swarm of flies took off as James moved the crate slightly. Before he
touched the man s leg, James knew he wasn t sleeping. Gingerly he turned
over the still form of Old Edwin, a one-time sailor whose love of drink
had cost him his livelihood, family, and any shred of dignity. But,
James thought, even a gutter-rat like Edwin deserved better than having
his throat cut like a calf at slaughter.