Quest for Honour (66 page)

“I got him good, didn’t I, commander?” The recruit had swung down from the roof and now stood beside his commander.

Wakannh opened his mouth to bark at the recruit, but changed his mind instead. If Sargat could move that fast, he might have slipped past a less alert guard, even one waiting on the roof. “Yes, you did, for once. Good job. Now go get the others.”

Within moments, the four guardsmen had Sargat’s hands bound behind his back, and his legs hobbled together, so that he wouldn’t try
running away. Wakannh didn’t intend to take any chances with someone who moved that fast.

“Where are you taking me?” Sargat had regained his wits quick enough.

“To the Compound. And if you open your mouth again, I’ll deliver you with your balls cut off and shoved down your throat.” He turned to the still smiling recruit, busy massaging his right fist. “Put a sack over his head. The less he sees and hears, the better.”

S
argat’s fingers dug into the wall, and he swung himself onto the ledge, taking care to keep his silhouette as inconspicuous as possible. Once on the inner side of the ledge, he settled in and remained motionless. Over the years, he’d learned many things about climbing about on other people’s rooftops, but the most important lesson was to fade into the shadows and avoid the slightest movement. Many times the creaking of a ceiling beam or rustling of cut branches had caused a head to pop up from the smoke hole and look around. Thick shadows, dark clothing, and the absence of the slightest motion tended to render him unseen.

Another lesson well learned was patience. He’d reached the roof adjoining the hut that held Jovarik and his companions. Now he needed to assure himself that anyone below who might have heard something became reassured, until whatever sound from the sagging roof faded from memory.

While Sargat waited, he thought about what had happened earlier. The guards had caught him easily enough. Sargat hadn’t thought anyone even knew he’d returned to Akkad. He’d only slipped into the city twenty days ago. In that time, he’d robbed only three houses, descending through the smoke holes, taking what he could, and disappearing into the night as silently as he’d come. He would have sworn that no one had seen him. Despite all his care, the guards had come straight to the tavern. Someone had planned his capture with care, to ensure that he didn’t escape and vanish once again into Akkad’s criminal underworld.

He soon learned who that was. When his captors removed the sack covering his head, he found himself sitting across the table from Annoksur. Lady Trella sat just outside of the candlelight, a half-step behind the older woman. When he glanced around, Sargat realized he was in the king’s Compound, the so-called workroom where Lady Trella dispatched her agents to spy on Akkad’s troublemakers. Which included him, Sargat decided. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light from the single candle, he realized that no guards or servants stood nearby. They would be within call, of course. Still, their absence meant that something private needed to be discussed.

Annok-sur’s hands remained below the table, and he guessed a weapon would be in her hand, ready should he make any sudden movement toward either of them. His own hands remained bound, but the rope looped about his ankles had been removed before they had escorted him up the stairs, and not replaced.

“Welcome to the Lady Trella’s house,” Annok-sur said. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.” Still trying to collect his wits, he didn’t trust himself to say more. The less he spoke, the harder it would be for the witch-queen of Akkad to read his thoughts. Or so he hoped.

“Good. We only learned of your return to the city a few days ago. You should know that guards are waiting in the courtyard to bring you before the King’s Justice. I expect that you’ll be found guilty of enough crimes to warrant you being sentenced to the slave gang for the rest of your life.”

Sargat heard the threat, but they hadn’t brought him here in the night to remind him of his fate. Sentenced to the labor gang meant that they would break his legs first, so that he couldn’t run, then, when he had recovered, he’d work for the rest of his life. He put that thought out of his mind. They wanted something from him, but what?

“Of course, you may be able to avoid the work gang, and earn a few silver coins in the bargain. If you’re interested, that is.”

His eyes flickered to Lady Trella, but the shadows hid her eyes, and he couldn’t read anything from her expression. Whatever she wanted, and it must be something important to warrant her presence, he’d find out soon enough.

“What can I do for you, and . . . Lady Trella?”

“There are some men in Akkad who may be plotting with our enemies,” Annok-sur continued. “We want you to discover what it is that
they plan. You would need to get close enough to hear what they’re saying.”

“And if I do that . . . ?”

“If you learn what they’re plotting, you can go free. And you’ll have ten silver coins as a reward.”

Another glance toward the still silent Lady Trella. Obviously, they wanted to use his skills as a thief to gather the information they wanted. Sargat knew how to play that game. He’d dealt with men who’d hired his services for such tasks before. But never a woman, let alone the one in charge of the city’s spies and informers. “And if I can’t learn anything?”

“Then I fear you will have to face the King’s Justice. Of course, if the men discover you, you’ll probably be killed outright.”

Death, or mutilation and slavery for the rest of his life. “For ten silver coins, I would be happy to help you.” Promise them anything, he decided. The minute he was on his own, Sargat would be over the roofs and gone. They wouldn’t catch him again, and he knew of several ways to slip out of the city undetected. “What do you want me to do?”

Annok-sur told him about Jovarik and his companions, and the place where they were staying. He knew the lane, but didn’t remember that particular rat-hole. Still, it was familiar enough ground for him.

“And you need this information . . .”

“Tonight, if possible. They are still eating their supper and sipping ale, and there is plenty of night remaining before they sleep. If you don’t succeed tonight, you may not have the chance to try again.”

The haggling began. He asked for more coins, more assurances of protection, more promises of safe passage while in Akkad. Annok-sur had agreed to them all. Sargat let himself relax the tiniest bit. All those tales he had heard of Annok-sur and her power now sounded foolish. She was just another woman, one willing to believe whatever she was told.

“Then I should go and see what I can learn.”

Annok-sur smiled, but turned to Lady Trella. By now he had nearly forgotten her presence.

“How many seasons do you have, Sargat?”

Lady Trella’s odd question surprised him, and despite the soft tone of her voice he felt a hint of his prior nervousness return.

“I have eighteen seasons, Lady Trella.”

“You shouldn’t lie to us, Sargat. You have only sixteen seasons.”

He started to protest, but she held up a slim hand.

“That doesn’t matter, of course. But lying about helping us, when instead you plan to just disappear again, that is something we cannot tolerate. You may be a very agile thief, but your eyes, your face, all show your lies.”

“Lady Trella, I . . .”

“Be silent!” She raised her voice. “Wakannh!”

The door opened at once, and Wakannh stepped inside the room. In one hand he carried a large block of wood. In the other, a small bronze axe. The block, Sargat noticed, appeared stained a darker color.

“The penalty for lying to us is to have your tongue removed.” Trella leaned closer for a moment, and Sargat caught a glimpse of her brown eyes fixed on his own, as if staring into his heart. “The penalty for being a thief is to have your right hand cut off. Which of these would you prefer to have done to you first?”

She uttered the words in the same soft voice a woman would use with her lover, but Sargat felt a chill pass through him.

He glanced back at Wakannh, standing there, patiently waiting for the order to begin. Suddenly he realized that she would as easily give that order as not. “I . . . Lady Trella . . .”

“You had a friend named Tammuz once. Do you remember him? He befriended you many times, even saved your life once by hiding you from the guard. You undertook a similar mission for him once, just before Korthac seized control of the city.”

Sargat felt his heart racing. How did she know about these things, events that happened years ago? He’d told no one, and only Tammuz knew. “Yes, I remember him, Lady Trella. But Tammuz left the city years ago.”

“And I know where he went. Before he left, Tammuz told me you could be trusted. Was he wrong? Or would you let Akkad’s enemies capture the city and put everyone to the sword, yourself included?”

Sargat remembered that Tammuz had fought against Korthac when the king recaptured the city. Sargat had thought that a foolish risk at the time, but now he realized that even then Tammuz must have been working for Lady Trella. That meant . . . what did any of this mean?

“I . . . I will do as you ask, Lady Trella. I swear it on Marduk’s –”

“No need for that, Sargat. Just your word as a thief. And you will be rewarded, and I will be able to tell Tammuz how well you served both him and his city. If you try to escape, you will find no one will help you, no
hiding hole so deep that I cannot find you. And if you give away your presence to our enemies, then you will spend many days with the pain-givers before you repay your crimes. So think carefully before you speak again. Will you learn what these strangers want in Akkad, and will you bring that information back to me – if for no other reason than it would give honor to your friendship with Tammuz?”

Sargat found his throat dry, and had to swallow before he could answer. “I will not fail you, Lady Trella. If you speak for Tammuz, then I will do what you ask.”

She kept her gaze on him for a moment, as if searching for the truth in his words. “Wakannh, take Sargat to where the strangers are staying. Give him whatever help he needs, and when he is finished, bring him back to me.”

“Yes, Lady Trella.”

Sargat saw the guard bow, but caught a glimpse of disappointment on his face. No doubt the man would have preferred to use his axe.

All that had transpired not long ago. Now Sargat lay stretched along the roof of the adjoining hut, his weight spread out over as many roof poles as possible. The poles had creaked a little when he settled in. Unless one kept to the edges of the mud-brick walls, a little noise was unavoidable. Sargat had squirmed and wriggled his way over the tops of people’s heads for more than ten of his sixteen years. Victims, he’d learned, might wake at any little sound, but if they then heard nothing, they were likely to fall back asleep, or attribute what they’d heard to some bird, cat or rodent moving about.

This roof was scarcely two body lengths from end to end. He picked his way across, taking his time and always letting part of his weight settle before he moved the rest. When he reached the small ledge that separated the two huts, he heard movement on the other side. Either someone was sleeping on the roof, or a guard was keeping station.

Gradually he lifted his head, moving so slowly that, even if the guard happened to be looking in that direction, he might not notice the tiny change in the ledge’s silhouette. When Sargat’s right eye cleared the top, he saw a man laying on his back, staring upwards, his hands behind his head. The relaxed position told Sargat that the sentry didn’t expect anyone to disturb his rest.

Sargat settled back down and considered his choices. Despite all of Annok-sur and Wakannh’s warnings, Sargat hadn’t expected to find
anyone up on the roof. At worst he’d expected the thieves or whatever they were to stick their heads up occasionally through the smoke hole and look around. That was usually enough to ensure privacy for those below. But the guard’s presence ended most of Sargat’s easy plans. It also confirmed that these strangers were up to no good, and were probably dangerous.

He took another glance over the wall, studying the prone form of the man less than four good paces away. Before Sargat ascended to the nearby roof, Wakannh had sketched the layout of the two chambers that formed the structure below. Twice as long as wide, the men were likely gathered near the back end of the house. That meant that Sargat could hear whatever conversations were being held below without coming too close to the smoke hole. If he could get across the ledge, and take up a position directly behind the guard, he might lie there unnoticed, even if the sentry should glance around. With nothing breaking the line of the roof, Sargat knew the guard’s eye would skip over the darkness, and search only for the contrast lines where dark and light met.

Ordinarily, this would be foolhardy, and Sargat had never been a fool. But the chance for plenty of silver – not to mention placing Lady Trella in his debt – made the risk worthwhile. Besides, if the guard did notice Sargat’s presence, he would be up and running over the rooftops to where Wakannh and his men waited. Despite what Lady Trella had said, he didn’t think they’d kill him if the strangers detected his presence.