old man’s eyes widened in real surprise, for the first time.
“That’s enough money to go far from here—farther than my brother’s reach—and to never have a worry again,” Godfrey said. “So now tell me. I won’t ask again.”
The man cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on the two sacks of gold, then finally, he grabbed them, pulled them close, and turned to Godfrey.
“He was a commoner,” the old man said. “An errand runner. You know the type. I seen him before, once or twice, over at the gambling den. You pay this boy, he’ll run any kind of errand you want. He was in here that night. He came and went. Never seen him in here before, or since.”
Godfrey studied the old man carefully, wondering if he was lying. The old man stared back, holding his gaze, and Godfrey concluded that he was not.
“The gambling den, you say?” Godfrey asked.
The old man nodded back, and Godfrey, wasting no time, turned and hurried from the tavern, Akorth and Fulton following.
In a moment they were out the door, hurrying down the street, twisted down the narrow alleyways as they heading towards the gambling den, just a few blocks away. Godfrey knew it was a den of sin, with cretins of all types. Lately the crowd there had grown even worse, and he stayed clear of it, for fear of getting into yet another fight.
Godfrey and friends pushed open the creaking door to the gambling den, and he was immediately struck by the noise. The small room must have held a hundred people, all busily engaged in gambling, hunched over tables, betting with odd coins, with every sort of currency. Godfrey scanned the crowd for a boy, for anyone under age, but saw no one his age, or younger. They were all older, mostly broken types, lifelong gamblers, all hope lost in their eyes.
Godfrey hurried over to the manager, a short, fat man, with eyes shifting in his head and who would not look him in the eye.
“I’m looking for a boy,” Godfrey said, “the errand runner.”
“And what’s it to you?” the man snapped back at him.
Godfrey reached down, and pushed a sack of gold coins into the man’s hand. The man weighed them, still not looking into Godfrey’s eyes.
“Feels light,” the man said.
Godfrey shoved another sack into the man’s hand, and finally he grinned.
“Thanks for the gold. The boy’s dead. Found his body washed up last night, in the streets with the rest of the sewage. Someone killed him. Don’t know who. Or why. Means nothing to me.”
Godfrey exchanged a baffled look with Akorth and Fulton. Someone had killed the boy who was sent to kill him. It was Gareth, no doubt, covering his tracks. Godfrey’s heart fell. That meant yet another dead end. Godfrey racked his brain.
“Where is the body?” Godfrey asked, wanting to be sure this man wasn’t lying.
“With the rest of the paupers,” the man said. “Didn’t want the body in front of my place. You can check out back if you like, but you are wasting your time.” The man burst out laughing. “He’s dead as death.”
They all turned and hurried from the place, Godfrey anxious to get away from that man, from that place, and they hurried out the back door, down the road, until they reached the pauper’s cemetery.
Godfrey scanned the dozens of mounds of fresh dirt, sticks and markers in the ground in the shapes of all the different gods they prayed to. He looked for the freshest one—but so many of them seemed fresh. Did that many people die in King’s Court each day? It was overwhelming.
As Godfrey walked, turning down a row of graves, he spotted a young boy kneeling before one of them. The grave before him was fresher than most. As Godfrey neared, the boy, maybe eight, turned and looked at him, then suddenly jumped to his feet, fear in his eyes, and ran off.
Godfrey looked at the others, puzzled. He had no idea who this boy was or what he was doing here, but he knew one thing—if he was running, he had something to hide.
“Wait!” Godfrey screamed. He broke into a run after the boy, trying to catch up with him as he disappeared around the corner. He had to find him, whatever the cost.
Somehow, he knew this boy held the key to finding his assassin.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Thor sat with his Legion brothers around a roaring bonfire in the center of Sulpa, his muscles weary from a long day