The Ruby Knight

she doesn’t, corporal,’ one of the other men said. ‘If she wakes up and takes control of her own treasury again, Annias won’t have the money to pay us next month.’
    ‘He can always dip into the church coffers.’
    ‘Not without giving an accounting, he can’t. The Hierocracy in Chyrellos squeezes every penny of church money until it squeaks.’
    ‘All right, you men,’ the young officer called out of the fog, ‘the Pandion inn is just up ahead. I’ve relieved the soldiers who were on watch, so we’d better go there and take up our positions.’
    ‘You heard him,’ the corporal said. ‘Move out.’ The church soldiers marched off into the fog.
    Sparhawk smiled briefly in the darkness. It was seldom that he had the opportunity to hear the casual conversations of the enemy. He had long suspected that the soldiers of the Primate of Cimmura were motivated more by greed than from any sense of loyalty or piety. He stepped out of the alley and then jumped soundlessly back as he heard other footsteps coming up the street. For some reason the usually empty night-time streets of Cimmura were awash with people. The footsteps were loud, so whoever it was out there was not trying to sneak up on anybody. Sparhawk shifted the short-handled spear in his hands. Then he saw the fellow looming out of the fog. The man wore a dark-coloured smock, and he had a large basket balanced on one shoulder. He appeared to be a workman of some kind, but there was no way to be sure of that. Sparhawk remained silent and let him pass. He waited until the sound of the footsteps was gone, then he stepped into the street again. He walked carefully, his soft boots making little sound on the wet cobblestones, and he kept his grey cloak wrapped tightly about him to muffle any clinking of his chain-mail.
    He crossed an empty street to avoid the flickering yellow lamplight coming through the open door of a tavern where voices were raised in bawdy song. He shifted the spear to his left hand and pulled the hood of his cloak even farther forward to shadow his face as he passed through the mist-shrouded light.
    He stopped, his eyes and ears carefully searching the foggy street ahead of him. His general direction was towards the east gate, but he had no particular fanaticism about that. People who walk in straight lines are predictable, and predictable people get caught. It was absolutely vital that he leave the city unrecognized and unseen by any of Annias’s men, even if it took him all night. When he was satisfied that the street was empty, he moved on, keeping to the deepest shadows. At a corner beneath a misty orange torch, a ragged beggar sat against a wall. He had a bandage across his eyes and a number of authentic-looking sores on his arms and legs. Sparhawk knew that this was not a profitable time for begging, so the fellow was probably up to something else. Then a slate from a rooftop crashed into the street not far from where Sparhawk stood.
    ‘Charity!’ the beggar called in a despairing voice, although Sparhawk’s soft-shod feet had made no sound. ‘Good evening, neighbour,’ the big knight said softly, crossing the street. He dropped a couple of coins into the begging bowl.
    ‘Thank you, My Lord. God bless you.’
    ‘You’re not supposed to be able to see me, neighbour,’ Sparhawk reminded him. ‘You don’t know if I’m a Milord or a commoner.’
    ‘It’s late,’ the beggar apologized, ‘and I’m a little sleepy. Sometimes I forget.’
    ‘Very sloppy,’ Sparhawk chided. ‘Pay attention to business. Oh, by the way, give my best to Platime.’ Platime was an enormously fat man who ruled the underside of Cimmura with an iron fist.
    The beggar lifted the bandage from his eyes and stared at Sparhawk, his eyes widening in recognition.
    ‘And tell your friend up on that roof not to get excited,’ Sparhawk added. ‘You might tell him, though, to watch where he puts his feet. That last slate he kicked loose almost brained me.’
    ‘He’s a new man.’ The beggar sniffed. ‘He still has a lot to learn about burglary.’
    ‘That he does,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Maybe you can help me, neighbour. Talen was telling me about a tavern up against the east wall of the city. It’s supposed to have a garret that the tavern-keeper rents out from time to time. Do you happen to know where it’s located?’
    ‘It’s in Goat Lane, Sir Sparhawk. It’s got a sign that’s supposed to look like a bunch of grapes. You can’t