kept a tight grip on them. The baron was devoted to the king and he had earned his position for his genuine efforts, not because of money or family ties.
Avendoom had benefited greatly from this man’s appointment as head of the guard, even though it meant hard times for us thieves. The number of crimes was not reduced, of course, but now the cutthroats looked around carefully before setting out on their dark business, to make sure that His Grace was nowhere near at hand. A small, but nonetheless real victory in the eternal battle between the law and crime.
“I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you,” the baron growled, glaring at me from under his thick, bushy eyebrows. “I’d be delighted to ship you off to the Gray Stones.”
I said nothing. I did have a certain appropriate phrase right there on the tip of my tongue, but I decided to hold it in reserve for later. That evening, at least, I didn’t really want to go to prison.
“Let’s go, Harold.”
“Where to, Your Grace?” I asked. The man had shocked me. “Not to those beloved Gray Stones of yours?”
“No. Not yet anyway.” He glanced at me. “A certain . . . individual wants to have a word with you. I have to deliver you to him.”
Although I tried not to, I couldn’t help casting a glance at the bored guardsmen loitering by the door. I couldn’t handle them. Too many. And there were probably just as many at the back door.
“All the exits are closed off.” The baron seemed to have heard what I was thinking.
I pushed my chair back without speaking and stood up, wrapping myself in my cloak.
“Well, that’s good,” the commander of the guard said quietly and, picking up the unpaid-for bottle of expensive wine in his left hand, he set off toward the door. I followed him, feeling the curious glances of every eye in the inn boring into my back.
3 THE COMMISSION
Standing outside the inn, engulfed by the twilight as thick as cream, was a large carriage, harnessed to a foursome of ash-gray horses of the Doralissian breed. The horses were squinting sideways at the guardsmen and snorting nervously. Humans weren’t the only ones who wanted to spend the night behind the protection of secure walls.
I suddenly noticed that the windows of the carriage were blocked off with thick planks of wood.
An expensive carriage. Not the kind everyone can afford. And a four-in-hand of Doralissian horses cost an incredible amount of money.
We set off along the dark streets, and the only time I bounced was when the wheel ran over a cobblestone jutting out especially high from the surface of the road. The baron didn’t say anything, merely casting occasional gloomy glances in my direction, and I was left with nothing to do but listen to the clip-clopping of hooves from the mounted guardsmen escorting us and try to guess where they were taking me.
Who is it that wants to meet me? It’s obvious straightaway that whoever the lad might be, he must have plenty of influence—since he sent Frago Lanten himself to fetch me. I wonder what this unidentified individual wants from me? Payment for some inconvenience that I’ve caused him? I just hope he isn’t one of the magicians. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days in the skin of a toad or a Doralissian.
I chuckled quietly to myself, attracting the baron’s surly glance. It was hard to say which was worse, the body of a toad or the body of a goat-man. I would probably have chosen the former, because in Avendoom they were less fond of Doralissians than they were of toads. Suddenly the driver stopped the carriage and a pair of zealous guards swung the door open. The cool breath of night struck me in the face. Even in summer it is rather cool in Avendoom—since it is quite close to the Desolate Lands, the blessed heat only visits the city in August, and even then only for a couple of weeks, until the wind from the Cold Sea brings the rains. Valiostr is the most northerly kingdom of Siala, so the weather here leaves a lot to be desired.
“What’s this, then? A brief recreational stroll?” I asked the baron, trying to maintain my presence of mind.
“Stop wrangling with me, Harold. Just do as you’re told and all will be love and affection between us.”
I shrugged and jumped down onto the stone road and surveyed the surroundings. The little street was empty and the dark houses on one side hung over us like the Zam-da-Mort. There was a high wall running along the other side of the street. Right then. That meant we were somewhere on the edge of the Inner City.
Thin, tentative tongues of grayish yellow mist were already creeping out of the municipal drainage system. It was still timid, pressing low against the surface of the street, not yet daring to rise higher. But in a few hours’ time a thick blanket of the mist would cover the city, just as it did every night in June, and hang there until the morning.
On this occasion the darkness in the street was impenetrable, clouds covered the sky with their heavy carcasses, and the only light radiated from the guards’ torches and the oil lamps hanging on the carriage. The guards were peering hard into the darkness, holding their crossbows at the ready.
“Is he clean? No weapons?” Frago asked.
The guards hastily patted me down once again, took the lock picks out of the secret pocket on my belt, then extracted a slim razor from the top of my boot and nodded.
“Clean, Your Grace. Clean as a Doralissian on his way home after a business meeting with a dwarf. Yargi knows the thieves’ tricks.”
The guards on the horses burst into laughter. “Enough of that!” Lanten barked irritably. “Blindfold him and let’s get going.”
The guard who called himself Yargi took a strip of heavy, dark cloth out of his pocket and blindfolded me with it. Hands took hold of me by the arms, shoved me into the carriage, slammed the door shut, and the carriage set off again. I raised my hands to ease the pressure of the cloth against my eyes.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Harold,” the baron said straight into my ear, speaking very politely.
