Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 Read Free Page A

pretties for Beysib gold. Most goes where it should, but some sails west and hooks about the Hag Banks—and you know what that means." It galled a bit, but Hakiem had to shrug and shake his head. He'd

INTRODUCTION 223
    heard of the banks, where the Beysib fisherfolk had taught Hort's people to set their nets for deep water fish, but he knew nothing more. Hort's smile deepened. "Catch the current there," he whispered, leaning further across the table. "And you bring up in the lee of Scavenger Island with a harbor as deep as ours, twice as wide—and no law at all to interfere with your gold."
    The master storyteller twirled a grey tuft of his beard. He knew the history of Sanctuary better than any other man. These days the Rankans were the tyrants and the townsfolk pointed with underdog pride to their Ilsigi ancestry; it hadn't always been that way. Not far beyond the reach
    of living memory the Ilsig kings had been the enemy, and Scavenger's Island had been the sanctuary toward which the oppressed fled. Scavenger's Island—pirate haven. A place which made Sanctuary at its worst seem serene and orderly by comparison. Scourge of the seas, Harrier of the coast, and, also, a place which had generally regarded Sanctuary as a poor relation and left it alone. But Sanctuary wasn't poor any longer.
    "How does this tie to the missing men?" Hakiem asked, completely sober now.
    Hort shrugged. "Some go willingly as recruits, the rest as galley slaves."
    "And no one else suspects that we're being harvested by pirates?"
    "Did you?"
    Again Hakiem had to shake his head. Sanctuary had always been downtrodden—a home to thieves, not the target of pirates. Old habits died hard, indeed.
    "The Old Man," Hort continued, speaking of his father, "says you can always trust kings and princes to build their walls in the wrong place."
    / suppose you can, Hakiem agreed in silence.
    "You'll tell them, won't you?" Hort asked, no longer a storyteller but simply a young man who was afraid for his home and his life. Hakiem nodded. He would, of course; nevertheless, a tale like this was wood-ripe for burning and required special care. There were people in Sanctuary who could confirm the substance of Hort's suspicions, and few of them owed an old storyteller a favor. He'd get started tomorrow, but without Hort. There were some tricks to his trade Hakiem hoped the younger man would never need to know.
    "Anything else, my boy? Scandals, magic, two-headed calves?" Hort relaxed and began one of many tales, about a love charm gone remarkably awry.
    224 UNEASY ALLIANCES
    It was nearly dawn when Hakiem made his way out of the Maze to West Gate Street. He'd stayed out later than planned, drunk more than he should, and could practically feel his plump bed beneath his cheeks. A
    group of tired guards hailed him as he came through the gate, then looked the other way as he took a candle from the rack and slipped into the backways.
    The backways were always the fastest, most discreet ways through the palace. A warren of hidden stairways, corridors and cul-de-sacs had been built in order to be officially forgotten at the end of each burst of palatial
    expansion. Like the Maze and the sewers, they were runwred to be more mysterious than they actually were. Beneath the Hall of Justice, Hakiem passed not one but three courtiers scurrying back to their proper beds; he
    didn't even try to count the servants.
    There was only one protocol along these backways: silence. One might look, but never see; hear but never speak. Hakiem remembered what he saw, but unless he saw the same event in a public area it stayed locked forever within him.
    As the storyteller rounded the dusty comer where the backways merged with the public ways, he was minded again of the similarities between palace life and criminal survival. There were seeds of an epic tale
    sprouting in his mind and no room for other thoughts. Later on Hakiem would say of those next few moments that he was neither a kowtowing