here so quick, and half the time, my back is turned. Even if someone snuck up on you, the chances are I would’ve missed it.”
“You’re forgetting the boy,” came a voice.
Godfrey turned and saw a drunk old man, hunched over, sitting alone at the end of the bar, who looked over at them warily.
“Did you say something?” Godfrey asked.
The man was silent for a while, looked back to the bar, mumbling to himself, and Godfrey thought he would not speak again. Then, finally, he spoke up again, not looking at them.
“There was a boy. A different boy. He came and left, real quick like.”
Godfrey recognized the old drunk; he was a regular. He had drank at the same bar with him for years, but had never exchanged words before.
Godfrey and Akorth and Fulton exchanged a curious glance, then all got up and ambled their way over towards the end of the bar. They took up seats on either side of the old man, and he didn’t bother to look up.
“Tell us more,” Godfrey said.
The old man looked up at him and grimaced.
“Why should I?” he retorted. “Why should I stick my nose in trouble? What good would it do me?”
Godfrey reached down, pulled out a bag of thick gold coins from his waist, and plopped them down on the bar.
“It can do you a lot of good,” Godfrey answered.
The old man raised one finger skeptically, reached over, and pried open the sack. He peeked inside at the stash of gold, far more than he had ever seen in his life, and he whistled.
“That’s a high price. But it won’t do me much good if I don’t have my head. How do I know your brother’s not going to send his men down here and poison me, too?”
Godfrey reached down and plunked a second sack of gold beside the first one. The old man’s eyes widened in real surprise, for the first time.
“That’s enough money to go far from here-farther than my brother’s reach-and to never have a worry again,” Godfrey said. “So now tell me. I won’t ask again.”
The man cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on the two sacks of gold, then finally, he grabbed them, pulled them close, and turned to Godfrey.
“He was a commoner,” the old man said. “An errand runner. You know the type. I seen him before, once or twice, over at the gambling den. You pay this boy, he’ll run any kind of errand you want. He was in here that night. He came and went. Never seen him in here before, or since.”
Godfrey studied the old man carefully, wondering if he was lying. The old man stared back, holding his gaze, and Godfrey concluded that he was not.
“The gambling den, you say?” Godfrey asked.
The old man nodded back, and Godfrey, wasting no time, turned and hurried from the tavern, Akorth and Fulton following.
In a moment they were out the door, hurrying down the street, twisted down the narrow alleyways as they heading towards the gambling den, just a few blocks away. Godfrey knew it was a den of sin, with cretins of all types. Lately the crowd there had grown even worse, and he stayed clear of it, for fear of getting into yet another fight.
Godfrey and friends pushed open the creaking door to the gambling den, and he was immediately struck by the noise. The small room must have held a hundred people, all busily engaged in gambling, hunched over tables, betting with odd coins, with every sort of currency. Godfrey scanned the crowd for a boy, for anyone under age, but saw no one his age, or younger. They were all older, mostly broken types, lifelong gamblers, all hope lost in their eyes.
Godfrey hurried over to the manager, a short, fat man, with eyes shifting in his head and who would not look him in the eye.
“I’m looking for a boy,” Godfrey said, “the errand runner.”
“And what’s it to you?” the man snapped back at him.
Godfrey reached down, and pushed a sack of gold coins into the man’s hand. The man weighed them, still not looking into Godfrey’s eyes.
“Feels light,” the man said.
Godfrey shoved another sack into the man’s hand, and finally he grinned.
“Thanks for the gold. The boy’s dead. Found his body washed up last night, in the streets with the rest of the sewage. Someone killed him. Don’t know who. Or why. Means nothing to me.”
Godfrey exchanged a baffled look with Akorth and Fulton. Someone had killed the boy who was sent to kill him. It was Gareth, no doubt, covering his tracks. Godfrey’s heart fell. That meant yet another dead end. Godfrey racked his brain.
“Where is the body?” Godfrey asked, wanting to be sure this man wasn’t lying.
“With the rest of the paupers,” the man said. “Didn’t want the body in front of my place. You can check out back if you like, but you are wasting your time.” The man burst out laughing. “He’s dead as death.”
They all turned and hurried from the place, Godfrey anxious to get away from that man, from that place, and they hurried out the back door, down the road, until they reached the pauper’s cemetery.
Godfrey scanned the dozens of mounds of fresh dirt, sticks and markers in the ground in the shapes of all the different gods they prayed to. He looked for the freshest one-but so many of them seemed fresh. Did that many people die in King’s Court each day? It was overwhelming.
As Godfrey walked, turning down a row of graves, he spotted a young boy kneeling before one of them. The grave before him was fresher than most. As Godfrey neared, the boy, maybe eight, turned and looked at him, then suddenly jumped to his feet, fear in his eyes, and ran off.
Godfrey looked at the others, puzzled. He had no idea who this boy was or what he was doing here, but he knew one thing-if he was running, he had something to hide.
“Wait!” Godfrey screamed. He broke into a run after the boy, trying to catch up with him as he disappeared around the corner. He had to find him, whatever the cost.
Somehow, he knew this boy held the key to finding his assassin.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Thor sat with his Legion brothers around a roaring bonfire in the center of Sulpa, his muscles weary from a long day of work. They had spent all day helping the villagers rebuild, rolling up their sleeves and getting to work as soon as he had left Selese’s home. Reece was not strong enough yet to join them, and he’d spent the day sleeping and recovering in her cottage-and the tenth Legion member was recovering himself, from his crushed leg. That had left Thor, O’Connor, Elden, the twins and a few others, and they’d labored until the second sun grew long to help reinforce whatever simple defenses this village had, rebuilding walls, patching roofs, clearing rubble, putting out fires, reinforcing gates. To Thor it didn’t seem like much, but to these villagers, he could see that it meant a great deal. Thor felt a great sense of satisfaction as he saw their grateful expressions, many of them finally able to return comfortably to their homes.
The fire crackled before him, and Thor looked around, and saw all of his brothers looking equally weary. He was thrilled to have Reece back, sitting beside him, looking a little bit weak, but recovering, and in good spirits. His day of recovery had went well, and he seemed back to his old self. It had been a close call.
“But when I woke, she had already gone,” Reece repeated to Thor. “Do you think that means she doesn’t like me?”
Thor sighed. Reece had been going on about Selese ever since he had left her cottage. Thor had never seen his friend like this; he was obsessed with this girl, and would talk of nothing else.
“I can’t say,” Thor said. “She certainly didn’t seem to dislike you. She seemed more…amused by you.”
“Amused?” Reece asked, defensive. “What is that supposed to mean? That doesn’t sound positive.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Thor said, trying to back track. “But you have to admit, you were delirious, and
