Free A Darkness at Sethanon by Raymond E. Feist

the Nighthawks’ hideout. He listened at the trap for a long minute, hearing nothing.
    Gently he pushed upward, peeking through the tiny crack made by the rising door. Directly before his nose was a pair of boots, crossed at the ankles. Jimmy froze. When the feet didn’t move, he pushed the trap an inch higher. The feet in the boots belonged to a nasty-looking customer who was sound asleep, a half-empty bottle clutched tightly to his chest. From the cloying odour in the room, Jimmy knew the man had been drinking
paga
– a potent brew, heavily spiced and laced with a perfume-sweet mild narcotic, imported from Kesh. Jimmy chanced a quick glance about. Aside from the sleeping sentry the room was empty, but faintly heard voices came from the single door in the nearby wall.
    Jimmy drew a silent breath and noiselessly emerged from the trap, avoiding touching the sleeping guard. He moved with a single step to the door and listened. The voices were faint. A tiny crack in the wooden door allowed Jimmy to peek through.
    He could see only the back of one man and the face of another. From the manner in which they were speaking, it was clear there were others in the room as well, and from the sound of movement, some number of them, perhaps a dozen. Jimmy glanced about and nodded to himself. This was the headquarters of the Nighthawks. And these men were Nighthawks, beyond doubt. Even if he hadn’t seen the ebon hawk on the man he had killed, those in the next room were nothing like the common folk of Fish Town.
    Jimmy wished he could better scout the building, for there were at least a half-dozen other rooms, but the restless sounds of the sleeping man alerted the former thief that time was quickly running out. The false Prince would be inside the Palace soon, and while Jimmy could run down the streets whereas the false Arutha had to slog through the sewers, it would be a close thing who would be at the palace first.
    Jimmy quietly left the door and moved back to the trap. He gently lowered it overhead. As he reached a point halfway between the trap and the sewer, he heard voices from directly overhead. ‘Matthew!’
    Jimmy’s heart leaped as the other voice said, ‘What!’
    â€˜If you’ve drunk yourself asleep, I’ll have your eyes for dinner.’
    The other voice answered irritably, ‘I only closed my eyes for a minute, just as you walked in, and don’t threaten me or the crows will have your liver.’
    Jimmy heard the trap being lifted, and without hesitation swung himself around to the side of the ladder. He hung in midair, only one hand and boot on the small rungs as he flattened himself against the wall, barely holding on to scant hand- and footholds in the rough stones. He trusted his black clothing in the gloom – and the fact the eyes of those above would take time to adjust to the darkness of the sewer – to hide him. A light was shone from above and Jimmy averted his face, the only part of him not black, and held his breath. For a long, terror-filled moment he hung in space, arm and leg burning with fatigue with the strain of holding himself motionless. Not daring to look upward, he could only imagine what the two Nighthawks above might be doing. Even at this moment they could be drawing weapons. A crossbow could be aiming at his skull and in an instant he could be dead, his life blotted out without warning. He heard feet scuffling about and laboured breathing above where he hung and then a voice said, ‘See? Nothing. Now, leave it, or you’ll be floating with the other garbage.’
    Jimmy almost flinched when the trap was slammed close above him. He silently counted to ten, then quickly scampered down the ladder to the water and moved off.
    With the bickering voices fading behind, Jimmy headed towards Teech’s Tannery, and the way back to the palace.
    The night was half over, but the celebration was still in full swing. Jimmy hurried through the