The Hidden City

boulder.’
    ‘All right, move on.’
    Kalten’s altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled his shoe back on and stood up. ‘Friend,’ he said in a pointed sort of way, ‘you’ll be getting off guard-duty before very long, and you might just decide to stop by Senga’s tavern for a few tankards of beer. I’m in charge of security there, and if you start pushing me around here, I might just decide that you’re too rowdy to be served when you get there. Understand?’
    ‘I’m supposed to keep people away from this building,’ the guard explained, quickly modifying his tone.
    ‘But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.’ Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which Ehlana watched. ‘I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag—you know him, don’t you? The one-eyed fellow with the lochaber axe?’
    The guard shuddered. ‘Is he as bad as he looks?’ he asked.
    ‘Worse. He’ll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.’ Kalten squared his shoulders. ‘Well, I guess I’d better be getting back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, “’Tain’t hardly likely that I’ll make no profit lollygaggin’ around in the street.” Come on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I’ll buy you a tankard of beer.’ And he went off down the street, still whistling ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’.
    ‘Treasure him, Alcan,’ Ehlana said, her heart still soaring, ‘and don’t let that face deceive you. He gave me more information in two minutes than Sparhawk could have in an hour.’
    ‘My Lady?’ Alcan looked baffled.
    ‘He knows that we’re here. He started to whistle along while you were singing. He also told me that Sir Bevier and Caalador are here with him.’
    ‘How did he do that?’
    ‘He was talking with the guard. Bevier’s probably the only man in Daresia right now with a lochaber axe, and his other friend sounds just like Caalador. They know we’re here, Alcan, and if they know, Sparhawk knows. We might as well start packing. We’ll be leaving here shortly and going back to Matherion.’ She laughed delightedly and threw her arms round her maid.
    Kalten tried very hard to keep his face expressionless as he walked back along the moss-covered streets toward Senga’s tavern, but the excitement kept bubbling up in him, and it was very difficult to keep from laughing out loud.
    Scarpa’s army had cleared the northern quarters of Natayos and restored the buildings there to some degree of habitability when they had first arrived, but most of the city was still a vine-choked ruin. Senga had considered several possible sites for his tavern and had rather shrewdly decided to set up operations some distance deeper into the old city to avoid interference from officious sergeants or junior Elene officers with deep convictions and not much sense. He had chosen a low, squat building with thick walls but no roof, a deficiency easily overcome with tent-canvas.
    He had considered hiring off-duty soldiers to clear the brush out of the street leading from Scarpa’s main camp to the tavern door, but Caalador had persuaded him to save his money. ‘Then ain’t no need, Senga,’ the disguised Cammorian had told the harried businessman, reverting to his dialect. ‘Them thirsty soldiers’ll clear the street fer us then very own-selfs ’thout no money changin’ hands a-tall.’
    The tavern crouched in the ruins, indistinguishable from nearby buildings except for its canvas roof and the crudely lettered sign reading ‘Senga’s’ out front. Kalten entered the tavern through the side door and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The place was moderately crowded, even at midday, and the six aproned outlaws from Narstil’s camp hustled back and forth behind a rough plank counter, drawing foamy beer and collecting money.
    Kalten pushed through the noisy crowd, looking for Bevier and Caalador. He found them sitting at a table on the near side of the room. Bevier’s sawed-off lochaber and Caalador’s stout cudgel lay in plain sight on the table as a sort of constant reminder to the assembled revelers that while having a good time was encouraged, there were strictly enforced limits.
    Kalten carefully lowered himself onto the bench, keeping his exuberance tightly bottled in. He leaned forward, motioning his friends closer. ‘They’re here,’ he said quietly.
    Caalador