A Darkness at Sethanon by Raymond E. Feist

Softly he said, ‘I’m looking for Trevor Hull.’
    At once the men stopped advancing upon the boy. One turned and indicated with his head a back door. Jimmy hurried toward it and pulled aside the hanging cloth cover.
    A group of men sat gambling in a large, smoke-filled room. From the pile of betting markers on the table, it was for high stakes. The game was lin-lan, common to the southern Kingdom and northern Kesh. A colourful display of cards was unfolded and players bet and dealt in turn, determining odds and payoffs by which cards were turned. Among the gamblers were two men, one with a scar from forehead to chin, running through a milk-white right eye, and the other a bald, pock-faced man.
    Aaron Cook, the bald man and first mate on the customs cutter
Royal Raven
, looked up as Jimmy pushed toward the table. He nudged the other man, who sat regarding his cards with disgust, throwing them down. When he saw the youth, the man with the white eye smiled then, as he took note of Jimmy’s expression, the smile faded. Jimmy spoke loudly, over the noise in the room. ‘Your old friend Arthur wants you.’
    Trevor Hull, onetime pirate and smuggler, knew at once who Jimmy meant. Arthur was the name Arutha had used when Hull’s smugglers and the Mockers had joined forces to get Arutha and Anita out of Krondor while Guy du Bas-Tyra’s secret police had been combing the city for them. After the Riftwar, Arutha had pardoned Hull and his crew for past crimes and had enlisted them in the Royal Customs Service.
    Hull and Cook stood as one and left the table. One of the other gamblers, a heavyset merchant of some means by his dress, spoke around a pipe. ‘Where are you off to? The hand’s not played out.’
    Hull, his shock of grey hair fanning out around his head like a nimbus, shouted, ‘It is for me. Hell, I only have a run in blue and a pair of four counts to play,’ and he reached back and turned over all his cards.
    Jimmy winced as men around the table began to curse and throw in their cards. In the common room, as they headed for the door, Jimmy observed, ‘You’re a mean man, Hull.’
    The old smuggler turned customs officer laughed an evil laugh. ‘That fat fool was ahead, and on my gold. I just wanted to take some wind out of his sails.’ The nature of the game was such that as soon as he revealed his hand, play was disrupted. The only fair thing would be to leave the bets out and redeal the entire hand, a prospect not appreciated by those with good cards left to play.
    Outside of the inn, they hurried along the streets, past celebrants as the festival began to pick up while afternoon shadows lengthened.
    Arutha stood looking down at the maps on the table. The maps were from his archives, provided by the royal architect, and showed the streets of Krondor in detail. Another, showing the sewers, had been used before in the last raid against the Nighthawks. For the past ten minutes Trevor Hull had been carefully studying them all. Hull had headed the most prosperous gang of smugglers in Krondor before taking service with Arutha, and the sewers and back alleys had been his means of bringing contraband into the city.
    Hull conferred with Cook, then the older man rubbed his chin. His finger pointed at a spot on the map where a dozen tunnels came together in a near-maze. ‘If the Nighthawks were living down in the sewers, the Upright Man would have spotted them before they could have dug in. But it may be they’re using the tunnels as a way in and out’ – his finger moved to another spot on the map – ‘here.’ His finger lingered over a portion of the docks resembling a crescent along the bay. Halfway along the curve the docks ended and the warehouse district began, but also nestled against the water was a small section of the Poor Quarter, like a pie-shaped wedge driven between the more prosperous trading areas.
    â€˜Fish Town,’