A Darkness at Sethanon by Raymond Feist

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.
    “Fish
Town,” said Jimmy.
    “Fish
Town?” echoed Arutha.
    “It’s
the poorest section of the Poor Quarter,” said Cook.
    Hull nodded.
“It’s called Fish Town, Divers’ Town, Dockside, and
other things as well. Used to be a fishing village a long time ago.
As the city grew northward along the bay, it was surrounded by
businesses, but there’re still some fisher families living
there. Mostly lobstermen and mussel raters who woii tne bay, or dam
diggers who work the beaches north of the city. But it’s also
located near the tanners, dyers, and other foul-smelling sections of
Krondor, so no one who can afford better lives there.”
    Jimmy said,
“Alvarny said the Upright Man thought they were hiding in a
place that smells. So he thinks of Fish Town as well.” Jimmy
shook his head as he considered the map. “If the Nighthawks are
hiding in Fish Town, finding them will be difficult. Even the Mockers
don’t control Fish Town as firmly as they do the rest of the
Poor Quarter and the docks. There’s a lot of places to get lost
in there.”
    Hull agreed. “We
used to run in and out near there, through a tunnel to a landing once
used to carry cargo into the harbour from some merchant’s
basement.” Arutha studied the map and nodded: he knew where
that landing lay. “We used a number of different locations,
moving things in and out, varying where we kept them from time to
time.” He looked up at the Prince. “Your first problem is
the sewers. There are maybe a dozen conduits leading up from the
docks to Fish Town. You’ll have to block each one. One of them
is so big you’ll need to block it with a crew in a boat.”
Aaron Cook said, “The trouble is we don’t know where in
Fish Town they’re hiding.”
    “If that’s
where they are,” said Arutha.
    Cook said, “I
doubt if the Upright Man would even mention it had he not a good
notion that they’re down there somewhere.”
    Hull nodded
agreement. “That’s a fact. I can’t think of any
place else in the city they could be hiding. The Upright Man would’ve
pinned down the