The Diamond Throne

and looked out into the street. ‘It’s still a little underpopulated out there,’ he grunted. ‘Let’s have a tankard or two while we wait for the neighbourhood to wake up.’
    ‘Why not have some breakfast instead?’
    ‘That’s what I said.’
    They sat at one of the tables, and the tavern keeper came over, giving no hint that he recognized them as Pandions. He made an ineffective swipe at a puddle of spilled beer on the table with a filthy rag. ‘What would you like?’ His voice had a sullen, unfriendly tone.
    ‘Beer,’ Kalten replied.
    ‘Bring us a little bread and cheese, too,’ Sparhawk added.
    The tavern keeper grunted and left them.
    ‘Where was Krager when you saw him?’ Kalten asked quietly
    ‘In that square near the west gate.’
    ‘That’s a shabby part of town.’
    ‘Krager’s a shabby sort of person.’
    ‘We could start there, I suppose, but this might take a while. Krager could be down just about any rat hole in Cimmura.’
    ‘Did you have anything else more pressing to do?’
    The whore in the red dress hauled herself wearily to her feet and shuffled across the straw-covered floor to their table ‘I don’t suppose either of you fine gentlemen would care for a bit of a frolic?’ she asked in a bored-sounding voice One of her front teeth was missing, and her red dress was cut very low in front. Perfunctorily she leaned forward to offer them a view of her flabby-looking breasts.
    ‘It’s a bit early, little sister,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Thanks all the same’
    ‘How’s business?’ Kalten asked her.
    ‘Slow. It’s always slow in the morning.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to offer a girl something to drink?’ she asked hopefully
    ‘Why not?’ Kalten replied. ‘Tavern keeper,’ he called, ‘bring the lady one, too.’
    ‘Thanks, my Lord,’ the whore said. She looked aroundthe tavern. ‘This is a sorry place,’ she said with a certain amount of resignation in her voice ‘I wouldn’t even come in here – except that I don’t like to work the streets.’ She sighed. ‘Do you know something?’ she said. ‘My feet hurt. Isn’t that a strange thing to happen to someone in my profession? You’d think it would be my back. Thanks again, my Lord.’ She turned and shuffled back to the table where she had been sitting.
    ‘I like talking with whores,’ Kalten said. They’ve got a nice, uncomplicated view of life.’
    ‘That’s a strange hobby for a Church Knight.’
    ‘God hired me as a fighting man, Sparhawk, not as a monk. I fight whenever He tells me to, but the rest of my time is my own.’
    The tavern keeper brought them tankards of beer and a plate with bread and cheese on it. They sat eating and talking quietly
    After about an hour the tavern had attracted several more customers sweat-smelling workmen who had slipped away from their chores and a few of the keepers of nearby shops. Sparhawk rose, went to the door and looked out. Although the narrow back street was not exactly teeming with traffic, there were enough people moving back and forth to provide some measure of concealment. Sparhawk returned to the table. ‘I think it’s time to be on our way, my Lord,’ he said to Kalten. He picked up his box.
    ‘Right,’ Kalten replied. He drained his tankard and rose to his feet, swaying slightly and with his hat on the back of his head. He stumbled a few times on the way to the door and he was reeling just a bit as he led the way out into the street. Sparhawk followed him with the box once again on his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you overdoing that just a little?’ he muttered to his friend when they turned the corner.
    ‘I’m just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. We’ve just come out of a tavern.’
    ‘We’re well past it now If you act too drunk, you’ll attract attention. I think it’s time for a miraculous recovery.’
    ‘You’re taking all the fun out of this, Sparhawk,’ Kalten complained. He stopped staggering and straightened his white-plumed hat.
    They moved on through the busy streets with Sparhawk trailing respectfully behind his friend as a good squire would.
    When they reached another intersection, Sparhawk felt a familiar prickling of his skin. He set down his wooden box and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his smock.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Kalten asked, also stopping.
    ‘The case is heavy, my Lord,’ Sparhawk explained in a voice loud enough to be heard by passers-by Then he spoke in