The Hidden City

who wasn’t careful these days. Caalador’s a Cammorian, and he’s got curly hair and a red face. He’s sort of blocky—you know, big shoulders, thick neck, and a little stout around the middle.’
    Order’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘What did he tell you? Repeat his exact words.’
    ‘Wal, sir,’ Caalador replied, exaggerating the dialect just a bit, ‘Ol’ Caalador, he tole us t’ come down yore t’ Delo an’ look up a feller name o’ Order—on accounta this yore Order, he’s th’ one oz knows whut’s whut in the shadowy world o’ crime herebouts.’
    Order relaxed and laughed. ‘That’s Caalador, all right,’ he said. ‘I knew you were telling me the truth before you’d said three words.’
    ‘He certainly mangles the language,’ Caalador agreed. ‘He’s not as stupid as he sounds, though.’
    Kalten covered a smile with his hand.
    ‘Not by a dang sight, he ain’t,’ Order agreed, imitating the dialect. ‘I think you’ll find that highway robbery isn’t very profitable around here, Ezek, mainly because there aren’t that many highways. It’s safe enough out in the jungle—not even the Atans can find anybody in all that underbrush—but pickings are slim. Three men alone in the bush won’t be able to make ends meet. I think you’ll have to join one of the bands out there. They make a fair living robbing isolated estates and raiding various towns and villages. That takes quite a number of men, so there are always job openings.’ He sat back and tapped one finger thoughtfully against his chin. ‘Do you want to go a long way from town?’ he asked.
    ‘The further out the better,’ Caalador replied.
    ‘Narstil’s operating down by the ruins of Natayos. I can guarantee that the police won’t bother you there. A fellow named Scarpa’s got an army stationed in the ruins. He’s a crazy revolutionary who wants to overthrow the Tamul government. Narstil has quite a few dealings with him. There’s some risk involved, but there’s a lot of profit to be made in that neighborhood.’
    ‘I think you’ve found just what we’re looking for, Order,’ Caalador said eagerly.
    Kalten carefully let out a long sigh of relief. Order had come up with the exact answer they’d been looking for without even being prompted. If they joined this particular band of robbers, they’d be close enough to Natayos to smell the smoke from the chimneys, and that was a better stroke of luck than they’d even dared to hope for.
    ‘I’ll tell you what, Ezek,’ Order said, ‘why don’t I write a letter to Narstil introducing you and your friends?’
    ‘We’d definitely appreciate it, Order.’
    ‘But before I waste all that ink and paper, why don’t we have a talk about how much you’re going to pay me to write that letter?’
    The Styric was wet and muddy and very nearly blue with the cold. He was shivering so violently that his voice quavered as he hailed their camp. ‘I have a message for you,’ he called. ‘Don’t get excited and do something foolish.’ He spoke in Elenic, and that made Berit quite thankful, since his own Styric was not all that good. It was the one major flaw in his disguise.
    ‘Come on in, neighbor,’ he called out to the miserable-looking fellow at the upper end of the beach. ‘Just keep your hands out in plain sight.’
    ‘Don’t order me around, Elene,’ the Styric snapped. ‘I’m the one who’s giving the orders here.’
    ‘Deliver your message from right there then, neighbor,’ Berit said coldly. ‘Take your time, if you want. I’m warm and dry in here, so waiting while you make up your mind won’t be all that unpleasant for me.’
    ‘It’s a written message,’ the man said in Styric. At least Berit thought that was what he said.
    ‘Friend,’ Khalad said, stepping in quickly, ‘we’ve got a slightly touchy situation here. There are all sorts of chances for misunderstandings, so don’t make me nervous by talking in a language I don’t understand. Sir Sparhawk here understands Styric, but I don’t, and my knife in your belly will kill you just as quick as his will. I’ll be very sorry afterward, of course, but you’ll still be dead.’
    ‘Can I come in?’ the Styric asked, speaking in Elenic.
    ‘Come ahead, neighbor,’ Berit told him.
    The lumpy-faced messenger approached the front of their shelter, looking longingly at the fire.
    ‘You really look uncomfortable, old boy,’ Berit noted. ‘Couldn’t you think of a spell to keep