Jimmy the Hand

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘Keep it then, but it’s to be locked up.’ He jerked his head toward the weapons lockers.

  ‘Soon as it’s cleaned,’ Jimmy agreed. The rules allowed for that and they both knew it.

  The Nightwarden turned away and stalked off. Jimmy turned his eyes to Blake who sat by himself at a table, a tankard in his beefy paw, gazing at nothing. He didn’t bother to go and thank him; you didn’t do that with Barmy. But he made a mental note of a favour owing, more honourable and more useful by far than any spoken thanks.

  ‘Well, there’s a pretty thing.’

  Jimmy looked up and smiled at Hotfingers Flora, so named because of her early success in stealing pies that their owners mistakenly thought were too hot to handle. Unfortunately for Flora the insensitivity that allowed her to do so made her a very poor pickpocket despite Jimmy’s best efforts. At sixteen, and pretty, she was turning to a different profession.

  She sat beside him and twined her arms around his neck, slipping her legs onto his lap, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Hello, Jimmy,’ she purred, fluttering her eyelashes at him, one chubby hand rubbing his chest.

  He laughed. ‘As if I’d keep anything valuable there,’ he said.

  Flora pouted, then smiled gamely. Pulling her legs off his lap she pointed at the sword. ‘What are you going to do with that, eh?’

  Jimmy gave it a swipe with the oiled cloth and held it up to glint in the torchlight. ‘I’m going to keep it,’ he said positively.

  She looked at him speculatively, then glanced around the large hall. ‘There was quite a fight out there tonight,’ she said. ‘Word’s already spread the Princess and some other nobles escaped to the west.’ She made a face and then added, ‘Radburn and his bastards will be fit to be tied if that’s the truth of it. When the Duke gets back . . .’ She left the thought unfinished, but her expression showed a gleeful anticipation of what the Duke might do to the head of his secret police. ‘The market’ll be a quiet place with so many Mockers laying up licking their wounds.’ Flora gave him a wicked look. ‘Got any wounds you want licked, lovey?’

  He laughed and gave her a friendly nudge. Inside he felt the slight tickle of excitement a rising flirtation often gave him, and flirtations with Flora often ended in bed. Flora hadn’t been Jimmy’s first, but not long after. He’d been around whores his entire life—his mother had been one—but Flora came from a better class than most; her father had been a baker before he died, so she had been raised a proper girl until she was ten. She could talk like a lady when she needed, which sometimes got her a better class of client. And she was prettier than most, with large expressive blue eyes and her light brown hair tending to curl around her face. She had a delicate chin and a nose that was ‘just so’. She also had a lovely smile. It was a shame she had no skill with her fingers, thought Jimmy, more than once; she’s just not suited to earn her living on the street.

  Flora had said that she felt safe with him, and he assumed, without the slightest resentment, that it was because she was a foot taller than he was. As for himself, well, he liked Flora and he greatly enjoyed their private times together. He smiled at her blatant invitation and moved a bit closer. But then she gasped and her hand flew to her lips. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I forgot, I, um, have to meet someone in an hour.’ She snuggled against him. ‘But I can be all yours until then.’

  Jimmy thought it over; first they’d have to find somewhere private, which given the lack of time they had meant somewhere uncomfortable and smelly, and Flora would have to leave early to keep her appointment . . . so that was far less than an hour, perhaps only a few minutes. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time he and one of the girls had ripped off a quick bump in a dark corner while the others slept nearby. He’d been raised in a place where couples grabbed pleasure when and where they could all his life—but while Flora was one of his favourites, he didn’t feel the usual hot rush, just a little tingle.

  He was really tired. Besides, the Princess was travelling further and further away with every moment, and his heart sank. Suddenly a few minutes in Flora’s arms was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t like feeling this sadness . . .

  Not that I’m certain just how I do feel. But it wouldn’t be fair to inflict this strange mood on his friend.

  ‘Sad to say I can’t spare the time now, more’s the pity,’ he said with a grin as he put the pieces of the scabbard back together. ‘Never thought I’d live to say that.’ But now that he had said it he felt downright noble.

  Flora giggled. ‘Not to worry,’ she whispered, ‘there’ll be other occasions.’

  He gave her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh, Flora, my flower, you are too good to me. Besides, I would probably disappoint you. All I have strength for is to look for a place to sleep tonight. I feel like I’ve been up and about since the day I was born.’

  ‘You may have been about, but I haven’t seen you,’ Flora grumbled. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing about you,’ Jimmy lied easily. ‘I thought you’d been hired into someone’s pleasure house.’ If he wasn’t going to take advantage of Flora’s invitation he wouldn’t suffer if she went off in a huff.

  ‘No,’ she said, looking away haughtily. ‘I’m doing very well on my own.’

  He looked at her; the new dress was pretty, but of cheap cloth, coarsely woven and coloured with dyes that would run and turn muddy soon: nobody had wasted good alum on fixing them. She wore a pair of dainty slippers on her feet, and a spangled scarf decorated her brown hair, more new things than she’d ever owned in her life. But she looked tired and not too clean.

  The shine would be off her in six months, he knew, and in a year she’d look thirty. Life in the pleasure houses of the city was no holiday, but it was worlds better than the street. At least the girls had some hope of a future.

  He couldn’t forget what had happened to his mother. Murdered by a drunk just because she was on her own and so there was no one to stop him. He understood better than most that, for women, independence sometimes came at far too high a price.

  ‘No you’re not doing well,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re risking life and limb every time you go with someone. Look, Flora, if this is what you really want to do I’m the last person to try and stand in your way. But listen to a little friendly advice. You’re pretty enough that any house in this city would take you, and the better houses will take care of you. You speak well enough, almost like a lady, you could get hired at The White Wing, I’m thinking.’

  Flora tossed her head with a ‘tsk!’, but he could tell she was listening.

  ‘The pleasure houses will watch your customers for you, so you don’t get sloppy drunks or bastards who’ll beat you up for fun and not pay you. Better by far than the street.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Better by far, of course, to do something else.’

  She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Like what? You know I’m a lousy thief. And I’m not about to pass for a beggar, now am I?’

  He nudged her shoulder again and smiled. ‘C’mon, you’re a bright girl. I can get you some forged references. How do you think Carsten’s sister got work at the palace?’

  Flora looked thoughtful, then she gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Does she like it?’

  ‘Seems to,’ Jimmy lied, having no idea himself. ‘What wouldn’t she like? She sleeps warm and in a bed of her own, with nobody else in it unless she wants him there, gets a new dress every year, good food, and paid in the bargain. Mind, she works hard, and the pay’s no royal bequest, but all in all she seems to think it’s worth it.’

  His tongue itched to tell her, and she helped to rescue the Princess Anita, but he restrained himself. That would only lead to, And so did I, which wasn’t something he wanted spread around. The last thing he needed was to be on Jocko Radburn’s wanted list in a personal capacity.

  Flora’s mouth opened to speak when Laughing Jack stepped up onto a bench and thence to a table and called out, ‘Listen up!’ When the
crowd had quieted and every face turned to him the Nightwarden continued. ‘Word’s down from the Upright Man, hisself! All Mockers are to lie low.’ He raised his hands for silence as this announcement brought forth a torrent of muttered protest. ‘That means out of sight, here, or if you got another flop, stay inside. And you beggars and younger thieves especially. Radburn seems to like to target your kind. No boosting, at all.’ He paused and glared around the room: ‘Not without special writ from the Day - or Nightmaster. We’ll be getting some food in later, so you won’t starve, until this business is over. Any questions,’ again he passed a glare over the room, ‘keep ‘em to yourselves.’ Laughing Jack stepped down and walked off to a rising chorus of speculation.

  ‘What about the whores?’ Flora asked, frowning.

  ‘For Banath’s sake, Flora,’ Jimmy said, invoking the god of thieves, ‘free food and a safe place to sleep! We’re finally getting to see something for all those shares we pay out. Why work when we can laze about like—’ he’d been about to say ‘royalty’, but changed it to, ‘—Bas-Tyra’s bully-boys. Besides, it will give you a chance to think about your future.’

  With a shy smile, she nodded, pleased at the attention. ‘Oh, for . . .’

  The Nightwarden took to the table again and said in exasperation: ‘If you’ve got another flop, leave now! Those that don’t can stay here.’ He stepped down again and this time left the hall.

  ‘Well,’ Jimmy said, rising, ‘I’m off to bed.’

  He glanced at the rapier in his hand and decided after all to leave it in the weapons locker. A boy his age and station carrying a first-class sword down the street in what would soon be broad daylight was bound to receive unwelcome attention. The purchase price would be ten years’ wages for a tailor or potmaker, much less a common labourer or child of the streets. He could scarcely assure the watch that, no, it wasn’t stolen, a visiting prince had given it to him . . .

  ‘What about you, Hotfingers?’ he said. ‘Do you need an escort?’

  ‘Go on!’ she said laughing. ‘An escort!’ She swatted him on the rump. ‘Nah, I’m staying here to take advantage of the Upright Man’s generosity.’

  Jimmy looked around nervously; that was a somewhat overbold statement, but no one had noticed.

  ‘Good night then,’ he said, and gave her a little salute with the hilt of the sword.

  Flora broke into giggles at the sight. ‘Escort!’ he heard her say as he walked off.

  TWO

  Crackdown

  Jimmy watched carefully.

  Despite the early hour, the streets were rapidly filling with people. The scrawny street-sweepers with their brooms and pans were just clearing off; for a moment Jimmy thought it was a job should be paid for by the Crown. A bit of a tax on each business and all the streets would be fit for travellers rather than just some of the better boulevards in the merchants’ and wealthy quarters where those who resided paid out of their own pockets.

  If I was Duke of Krondor, he thought idly, that’s how I’d do it.

  The sweepers were being replaced by cooks and their assistants returning from the farmers’ markets with fresh produce, fruit and poultry. Butchers’ apprentices hurried along carrying quarters of beef or sides of pork. Those tradespeople who didn’t live over their businesses were off to open their shops in the next hour, and those whose work-day started a bit later were looking for their bite to eat at the start of the day.

  Wood smoke curled from chimneys and he could smell porridge cooking, sometimes a fish or sausage frying—more odours to add their bit to the ghosts of ancient cabbage that haunted the city’s poorer quarters. Wooden shoes clattered on the cobbles, bare feet slapped, hooves racketed.

  The black and gold of Bas-Tyra wasn’t as visible as it had been on other mornings lately, and Jimmy smirked to himself at the thought that they were still nursing their bruises. But the few members of the old Constable’s company seemed on edge, as if trouble were coming and they didn’t know which side of it they’d land. He passed a gate where four soldiers still wearing the Prince’s tabards were huddled, talking with heads down rather than watching who passed through. Something was up and word was spreading. Jimmy knew every man on the docks the night before had been Bas-Tyra regulars or secret police.

  For a moment he toyed with the idea of wandering over to the temporary barracks used by Bas-Tyra’s soldiers and taking a look at the damage, but that notion was dispelled by a rare instant of common sense. Given how touchy the guards were no doubt feeling today, any number of poor boys were liable to be spending a few days in the city dungeon. But in his case it was liable to be more than a few days and a lot more painful.

  Suddenly a sergeant of the Bas-Tyra guard appeared and the Prince’s four sentries snapped lively and took their posts on either side of the gate. Jimmy watched from the sheltered vantage point of a deep doorway opposite the gate. The sergeant’s mood was dark and dangerous and when he left, the four soldiers of the Prince were studying every face that passed, looking for something. As he was about to slip away, Jimmy saw them halt one ragged fellow and start questioning him. Jimmy knew the fellow: he was not a true Mocker, but one of the threadbare poor who flitted around the edges of crime from time to time. He was a labourer named Wilkins, and Jimmy had seen him unloading smugglers’ cargo for Trevor Hull twice in the last year. One guard put the strong arm on him and marched him away.

  Jimmy sank back into the doorway. If they were taking in know-nothings like Wilkins, then he was certain to be nabbed if he showed his face. Although, if he could get into the dungeons he might be able to do something for Princess Anita’s father.

  If I could rescue Prince Erland, Anita would never forget me.

  And it might be very profitable. He’d gained two hundred in gold for helping Prince Arutha and he’d only needed to guide him to safety. How much more could he make if it took actual effort?

  The young thief stared into space for a moment, his fingers reaching out as if of their own volition to snatch up a bun from a passing vendor’s tray as she edged close to the doorway to avoid a passing horse-drawn wagon. His hand moved in a swift unhurried arc that put the pastry beneath the tail of his jacket without any flash to attract the eye as he faded back into the shelter of the doorway. The stout woman continued on, ignorant of the theft, still calling her wares. Jimmy bit into the warm bun, considering possibilities and savouring the cinnamon and honey.

  He’d need to speak to Mockers who’d been in the dungeon. That would lead him to the beggars, then. Thieves never made it out of the dungeons alive and bashers, who might be let go if they were thought to be innocent drunks who’d just got out of control, were people he tried to avoid. Especially when planning something the Upright Man might not endorse.

  Well, definitely wouldn’t endorse, he admitted to himself. Definitely would reject with... oh... cold fury would be a good description.

  Laughing Jack’s admonition to stay out of sight and out of action wafted through his mind to be dismissed. Being cautious never won the prize, at least not in his experience, and for thirteen or so he’d had a great deal of experience.

  His jaws cracked in a massive yawn, so Jimmy decided to get some sleep before he did any more planning. He waited until the three remaining guards had their attention distracted away from him, then darted out of the shadow of the doorway. He turned a corner and headed off to one of his places, one he’d actually paid for. It was nothing more than a cupboard with a tiny window and just enough space for a pallet and a rickety table with a cheap candle stand. The old couple who owned the house believed that he was a caravan master’s apprentice, which explained his frequent and sometimes lengthy absences. They charged only a few silvers a month and rarely climbed as high as his tiny room, providing him with both security and privacy. Even so, he only left a few rags of clothing there. Or, at least, that was all he left in his room so far. Up in the garret he’d found a few hiding places but had yet to use one. Now, with his gold heavy on his hip
Jimmy resolved to try one out. He’d given some thought to a proper safe house, and decided for the time being poverty was his best cover; none of his fellow Mockers or any of the rare independent thieves who wandered into Krondor would suspect gold would be hidden in a hovel such as this.

  He woke the old man up when he knocked and was greeted with a resentful grunt—since selling their businesses years before, the old couple slept in, often as late as seven or eight of the clock, and didn’t relish having to admit Jimmy at dawn.

  The old fellow locked the door behind the boy and headed back to his room, leaving Jimmy alone in the dim and dusty front hall. Jimmy started up the stairs, noting that the place smelled worse than it had the last time he was here. This was his only semi-decent roost. If it kept deteriorating like this he’d have to move.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he mumbled wearily, ‘I’m starting to sound respectable myself.’

  Baron Jose del Garza, acting governor of Krondor in the Duke’s absence and now, temporarily, the head of the Duke du Bas-Tyra’s secret police, sat behind the desk of the commander of the palace guard, seething and staring at the narrow, pointed window in the stonework across from him. The room smelled of ink, musty parchment, cheap wine, tallow candles and old sweat.

  Had it been his pleasure, he’d have been just about anywhere else in the Kingdom than in Krondor this morning. He’d have been far happier leading the charge against the Keshian raiders troubling the Southern Marches alongside the Duke of Bas-Tyra, rather than having to oversee the business before him today.

  Del Garza was a man of modest ambitions. He served at the Duke’s pleasure, and it had been Duke Guy’s wish that he administer the city in his absence, seeing that bills were paid, taxes collected, crimes were punished, and overseeing the usual details of running the principality while the Prince languished in his private quarters. It would be easy to think of the Prince’s confinement as being under arrest, but no guards were stationed outside his quarters; the man’s poor health prevented any chance of his escaping the city, and whatever else he was, the Prince was obedient to his nephew, the King. When Guy had arrived in the city with the Writ of Viceroy signed by the King, Prince Erland had graciously stepped aside.