Into a Dark Realm by Raymond E. Feist

half an hour of watching, Kaspar had some sense of it. Every so often one boy, or more often a pair, would exit from or enter the alley. If anyone else approached too closely, a signal was made—Kaspar assumed a whistle or a single word, though he was too far away to hear. When the potential threat moved past, another signal was given.
    Curiosity as much as a desire to chase down information about Jorgen and his mother impelled Kaspar through the market to the distant alley. He approached, but halted just shy of where he had seen the lookouts.
    He waited, observed, and waited some more. He could sense as much as see that something was about to happen, and then it did.
    Like rats erupting from a flooding sewer during a sudden downpour, the boys came roiling out of the alley. The two lookouts just ran, in seemingly random directions, but the dozen or so after them were all carrying loaves of bread—someone must have found a way into the back of a bakery and handed out as much fresh bread as he could before the baker cried alarm. A moment later shouts echoed across the square as merchants became aware that a crime was in progress.
    One boy of no more than ten hurried right past Kaspar, who reached out and snagged him by the collar of his filthy tunic. The boy instantly released his bread and threw his arms straight up, and Kaspar realized he was about to slip right out of the rag he wore as a shirt.
    Kaspar grabbed him instead by his dirty long black hair. The youngster yelled, “Let me go!”
    Kaspar hauled him away down another alley. When he was out of sight of those in the market, he hiked the lad around and inspected him. The boy was kicking, trying to bite and strike him with surprising strength, but Kaspar had grappled with an assortment of wild animals all his life, including one unforgettable and nearly disastrous encounter with an angry wolverine. Hanging on to that creature’s neck with an iron grip and holding its tail had been the only thing between Kaspar and being eviscerated, until his father’s master of the hunt could come and dispatch the animal. He still carried an assortment of scars from that encounter.
    “Stop struggling, and I’ll put you down, but you have to agree to answer a few questions.”
    “Let me go!” shouted the dirty boy. “Help!”
    “You want the constable to come and talk to you?” asked Kaspar as he held his struggling prey high enough that the boy had to dance on his toes.
    The boy ceased struggling. “Not really.”
    “Now, answer some questions and I’ll let you go.”
    “Your word?”
    “My word,” answered Kaspar.
    “Swear by Kalkin,” said the boy.
    “I swear by the God of Thieves, Liars, and Tricksters I’ll let you go when you’ve answered my questions.”
    The boy ceased his struggles, but Kaspar hung on. “I’m looking for a boy, about your age, I’m thinking.”
    The young thief fixed his eye on Kaspar and said with a wary tone, “Just what sort of boy did you have in mind?”
    “Not a sort, but a particular boy, named Jorgen. If he came through here, it would have been a year or so ago.”
    The boy relaxed. “I know him. I mean, I knew him. Blond, sunburned, farm lad; came from the north, looking for his pa, he said. Nearly starved to death, but we taught him a thing or two. He stayed with us for a while. Not much good with thievery, but a stand-up boy in a fight. He could hold his own.”
    “‘Us’?” asked Kaspar.
    “The boys and me, my mates. We all hang together.”
    A pair of townsmen turned into the alley, so Kaspar put the boy down, but held tight to his arm. “Where did he go?”
    “South, down to Kadera. The Raj is fighting down there and that’s where Jorgen’s pa went.”
    “Did Jorgen’s mother come after him?” Kaspar described Jojanna, then released the boy’s arm.
    “No. Never saw her,” said the boy; then before Kaspar could react he darted off.
    Kaspar took a deep breath, then turned back toward the market. He’d look