Guardians of the West

Highness." Silk laughed again.
    "Everybody in Drasnia is a spy -or wants to be. It's our national industry. Didn't you know that?"
    "Well -I knew that there are quite a few spies in the palace, but I didn't think they'd be out in the streets."
    "Why should there be spies in the palace?" Errand asked him curiously.
    Kheva shrugged. "Everybody wants to know what everybody else is doing. The more important you are, the more spies you have watching you."
    "Are any of them watching you?"
    "Six that I know of. There are probably a few more besides -and of course, all the spies are being spied on by other spies."
    "What a peculiar place," Errand murmured.
    Kheva laughed. "Once, when I was about three or so, I found a hiding place under a stair and fell asleep. Eventually, all the spies in the palace joined in the search for me. You'd be amazed at how many there really are."
    This time, Silk laughed uproariously. "That's really very bad form, cousin," he said. "Members of the royal family aren't supposed to hide from the spies. It upsets them terribly. That's the building over there." He pointed at a large stone warehouse standing on a quiet side street.
    "I always thought that the headquarters was in the same building with the academy," Kheva said.
    "Those are the official offices, cousin. This is the place where the work gets done."
    They entered the warehouse and went through a cavernous room piled high with boxes and bales to a small, unobtrusive door with a bulky-looking man in a workman's smock lounging against it. The man gave Silk a quick look, bowed, and opened the door for them. Beyond that somewhat shabby-looking door lay a large, well-lighted room with a dozen or more parchment-littered tables standing along the walls. At each table sat four or five people, all poring over the documents before them.
    "What are they doing?" Errand asked curiously.
    "Sorting information," Silk replied. "There probably isn't much that happens in the world that doesn't reach this room eventually. If we really wanted to know, we could probably ask around and find out what the King of Arendia had for breakfast this morning. We want to go into that room over there." He pointed toward a solid-looking door on the far side of the room.
    The chamber beyond the door was plain, even bare. It contained a table and four chairs -nothing more. The man seated at the table in one of the chairs wore black hose and a pearl-gray doublet. He was as thin as an old bone, and even here, in the very midst of his own people, there was about him the sense of a tightly coiled spring. "Silk," he said with a terse nod.
    "Javelin," Silk replied. "You wanted to see me?"
    The man at the table looked at the two boys. He inclined his head briefly to Kheva. "Your Highness," he said.
    "Margrave Khendon," the prince responded with a polite bow.
    The seated man looked at Silk, his idle-appearing fingers twitching slightly.
    "Margrave," Kheva said almost apologetically, "my mother's been teaching me the secret language. I know what you're saying."
    The man Silk called Javelin stopped moving his fingers with a rueful expression. "Caught by my own cleverness, I see," he said. He looked speculatively at Errand.
    "This is Errand, the boy Polgara and Durnik are raising," Silk told him.
    "Ah," Javelin said, "the bearer of the Orb."
    "Kheva and I can wait outside if you want to speak privately." Errand offered.
    Javelin thought about that. "That probably won't be necessary," he decided. "I think we can trust you both to be discreet. Sit down, gentlemen." He pointed at the other three chairs.
    "I'm sort of retired, Javelin," Silk told him. "I've got enough other things to keep me busy just now."
    "I wasn't really going to ask you to get personally involved," Javelin replied. " All I really want is for you to find room for a couple of new employees in one of your enterprises."
    Silk gave him a curious look.
    "You're shipping goods out of Gar og Nadrak along the Northern Caravan Route," Javelin continued. "There are several villages near the border where the citizens are highly suspicious of strangers with no valid reason for passing through."
    "And you want to use my caravans to give your men an excuse for being in those villages," Silk concluded.
    Javelin shrugged. "It's not an uncommon practice."
    "What's going on in eastern Drasnia that you're so interested in?"
    "The same thing that's always going on in the outlying districts."
    "The Bear-cult?" Silk asked incredulously.