The lanterns weren’t an act of charity toward travelers. They were intended to drive lurking footpads into somebody else’s doorway.
Khamwas paused, then directed them up one arm of a five-way inter- section, past a patrol station. The gate to the internal courtyard was lighted by flaring sconces, and there was a squad on guard outside. An officer took a step into the street as if to halt the trio, but he changed his mind after a pause.
They were in the neighborhood of the palace now, a better section of the city. The residents here stole large sums with parchment and whis- pered words instead of cutting wayfarers’ throats for a few coins.
And the residents expected protection from their lesser brethren in crime. The troops here would check a pair of men, detain them if they had no satisfactory account of their business; kill them if any resistance were offered.
But two men carrying a young child were unlikely burglars- Most probably, they were part of the service industry catering to Sanctuary’s wealthy and powerful . . . and the rich did not care to have their night- time sports delayed by uniformed officiousness. Samlor had no need for the bribe-or the knife-he had ready.
“We’re getting close, I think,” Khamwas remarked. He lifted his head as if to sniff the air which even here would have been improved by a cloudburst to ram effluvium from the street down into the harbor.
Samlor grimaced and looked around him. He wanted to know how Khamwas found his directions … but he didn’t want to ask; and any- way, he wouldn’t understand if the scholar/magician took the time to explain.