Master and Fool Read Free Page A

later, after the note was
delivered. It would certainly be a good idea to keep out of Tawl's way. The
knight would be mad as hell about Bodger and Grift turning up on the doorstep,
and even madder about the note.
    Nabber felt in his
tunic: still there. Dry as an archbishop in a desert, and yet another thing to
feel guilty about. The problem was that Tawl didn't know about the plan. He and
Maybor had concocted this between themselves, and Nabber was quite sure that
the knight would not like it one little bit. It was a gamble, there were
risks-which in fact was why Nabber had agreed to it in the first place: he
could never resist a risk-and, at the end of the day, nothing to gain from the
whole thing, only a little personal satisfaction on Maybor's part. Still,
Nabber understood the need for personal satisfaction--Swift himself had lived
for it. Besides, he liked to be out and about. Being cooped up in the hideaway
all day with Tawl, Melli, and Maybor was not his idea of fun. Deals needed to
be struck, pockets needed to be lightened, cash needed to circulate, and he was
the man to do it.
    Before he knew it,
Nabber found himself by the storm conduit. Bren had no sewer systems to speak
of, but it did have a system of drains and tunnels that prevented the city from
becoming waterlogged during the countless storms and rain showers that came
down all year round from the mountains. The problem was, as Nabber saw it, that
the city lay between the mountains and the lake. Any water that ran off the
mountains wanted naturally, as all water did, to join with its larger watery
friends, and Bren was stuck right in the middle of the course of least
resistance. Hence the network of storm channels and drains that were built to
divert the water both around and under the city.
    The duke's
palace-or was it the duchess' palace now? being situated right on the
shore of the Great Lake, was naturally well-supplied with such tunnels. And it
was to one of these that Nabber had made his way. Of course he hadn't counted
on the rain. He was going to get very wet, might even catch his death. There
was one consolation, though: all the spiders would have drowned. Nabber
hated spiders.
    A quick look left,
a quick look right, no one around for the moment, so off with the grille. With
speed and agility that would have brought a tear to Swift's eye, Nabber swung
himself down into the drain channel. His feet landed, splash, in a
stream of cold, smelly, and fast-rising water. He quickly shunted up the wall,
dragged the grille back in place, and then jumped down into the water.
Knee-deep now. He had to get a move on; he didn't want it reaching his neck.
No, sir. No dead spiders down his tunic.
    The smell was
appalling. The rain brought out the worst in a city, churning up long-dried
horse dung and slops, carrying blood from the knacker's yard, grease from the
tallow drums, and bearing a circus full of carcasses along in the swell. By the
looks of things, everything had ended up here, down under the palace. Nabber
took a last longing look around--there were lots of interesting-looking
floaters that were crying out to be investigated-and then entered the full
darkness of the tunnels.
    This was familiar
territory. No one loved the dark as much as pockets. Nabber's feet found their
way with little prompting whilst his eyes searched out lightness in the shade.
Up and up he went. Stone staircases wet with slime welcomed him,
barrel-ceilings lined with moss echoed his every move, water rushed ahead of
him on its way to the lake, and shadows and dead spiders trailed behind.
    At last he came to
the entrance he needed: the one in the nobles' quarters. Putting his eye to the
breach in the stone, Nabber looked out onto a broad quiet corridor that was
lined with old suits of armor. He knew it well. Busy with servants on their way
to light fires and warm baths in early morning, it was as still as a chapel by
midday. Guards only patrolled here once an hour, and most noblemen were