Jimmy the Hand

by Raymond E. Feist

  When they came out behind the house, Jimmy looked around and traced a path to the rooftops. The roofs were different here in Land’s End, slightly steeper and mostly tiled, but not impassable; the walls had more stone and less brick and half-timbering, but his fingers were strong and his toes nimble.

  ‘Can you climb?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Then follow every move I make,’ he ordered.

  He unbuckled his belt and refastened it over one shoulder so that the hilt of his sword lay between his shoulder-blades.

  Up the drainpipe, he thought: it was bored-out wood and quite strong enough, fastened to the stone with bolts. Onto the transom of a window, thence over the eaves and onto the roof. From there, it seemed to Jimmy, the city was theirs. The girl put a hand up and he took it, giving her a lift that helped her scramble up. Then he led her to the deepest shadow he could find, hoping they’d be invisible from the street below.

  And not a moment too soon, as around the corner of the alley came four very angry men, now bearing swords or clubs. They looked up and down the street, then took a moment to argue, until the short one pointed one way and then the other, whereupon two men went up the street and two men went down. The man with the moustache shouted, ‘Find them. They’re worth three silvers each!’ He headed up the street, while the other men took off in different directions.

  ‘Three silvers!’ the girl exclaimed. ‘Those bastards!’

  Definitely not the Princess, then.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘That man said he was a thief catcher. They were going to turn me in for a bounty.’

  Jimmy was silent for a moment, then said, ‘It’s an old grift. Two or three “citizens” testify you’re a thief, and if you don’t have no one from around here to vouch for you, you’re off for the work gang or worse.’ He paused. ‘Did you happen to catch the name of that fellow with the moustache?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lorrie replied. ‘He said his name was Gerem Benton.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jimmy slowly.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I know him,’ said Jimmy with a nod. ‘Gerem the Snake. Used to run a confidence game up in Krondor. Thought he was dead.’ He stood up. ‘I’m Jimmy. If you like I’ll escort you home.’

  ‘I don’t live here,’ the girl said gruffly, then was quiet for a moment. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t interfered.’

  ‘It depends,’ Jimmy said. ‘But nothing good, you can rely on that. So what’s your name?’

  ‘Uh, Jimmy,’ she said.

  The young thief laughed so hard he slipped a couple of yards down the roof. He elbowed his way back up and grinned at her.

  ‘No, no, that’s my name,’ he said. ‘You weren’t paying attention.’ He leaned a little closer and whispered, ‘I know you’re a girl.’

  She looked startled, and her lips parted as though to deny it.

  ‘I know you are,’ he insisted.

  ‘How? They certainly didn’t!’

  ‘Well, I’m more . . . alert, I suppose. Or maybe it’s that you look amazingly like someone I know, and she’s most definitely a girl.’ He gave her shoulder a gentle poke. ‘So, what’s your name?’

  ‘Lorrie,’ she said, sounding discouraged. ‘Lorrie Merford.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Lorrie,’ Jimmy said at his most suave, managing to copy Prince Arutha’s courtly bow in miniature, while lying on slippery red tiles.

  She smiled at him. ‘Nice to meet you, too, Jimmy,’ she said.

  The sun was now setting, and night was almost upon them. It would be getting harder to see in the gathering darkness, but the young thief crossed his ankles as though they had all the time in the world. Better to let their pursuers get farther away before they themselves moved on.

  ‘So if you don’t live in the city, where do you live?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Somewhere you’ve probably never heard of,’ she said. ‘The nearest village is a tiny place named Relling.’

  Nope, never heard of it, he thought. Sounds like an early-to-bed-early-to-rise land of honest toil and earthy, peasant virtue. Hope I never have to go there.

  ‘Were you going to go back there tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh, no.’ Lorrie shook her head. ‘I’ve got something to do here.’

  I’ll bet you do, he thought. He’d also bet it was something her family wouldn’t approve of. Why else would she be in disguise? ‘So where are you staying?’ he asked. ‘As I said, I’ll walk you home.’

  With a short laugh she said, ‘I’m not staying anywhere. I just got to Land’s End today and almost the first thing I did was meet Benton and agree to run an errand for him.’ Her voice was rich with self-contempt.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ Jimmy advised. ‘He’s pretty slick. I’m a stranger here myself, so I don’t know which inns might be good for you. Do you have any money?’

  There was a long pause at that. ‘A little,’ she admitted cautiously.

  Almost none, Jimmy thought. Poor kid.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rising, ‘let’s go exploring. Maybe we can find you somewhere really cheap to stay.’ He helped her to her feet and led her back to a place where they could climb down.

  Jarvis Coe sat in the darkest corner of The Cockerel and sipped his beer with his cloak wrapped about him. There was a tired-looking roast of pork turning on a spit over the fire; but he’d contented himself with a hunk of dark bread and some cheese and a few good apples, since they were less likely to lay him out with stomach cramps. One advantage of being out of Krondor was that market-food was fresher and less expensive.

  He’d paid for the use of the table at the outset of the evening, since he didn’t intend to drink much and didn’t want any difficulty about it. He was here to eavesdrop. Over the years he’d found that the gossip most useful to a man of his interests tended to be found in the roughest taverns. It was certainly proving true tonight.

  The tables along the wall were separated by board partitions that didn’t run all the way to the rafters and lathes above. He could follow a very interesting conversation from the next one, given his training and a focused mind. The knotholes and gaps in the boards were helpful as well, giving him an occasional glimpse of the talkers.

  ‘Bring ‘em here, take ‘em there. I tell ye I don’t like this,’ a heavy-set man was saying to his companion. ‘It’s gettin’ worse there all the time! I don’t want to go there any more, I tell ye!’

  ‘Easy, Rox,’ his skinny companion soothed. ‘We’ve never been paid so well.’ He hoisted his goblet. ‘Drinkin’ the best wine, ain’t we?’

  Which at The Cockerel, Coe thought, must be a whole two steps above vinegar.

  Rox leaned in close to his companion, his glance nervously darting around the room. ‘It’s not right, what we’re doin’, not right at all!’

  Skinny whooped with laughter. ‘Well, of course it’s not!’ he said.

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ Rox snarled.

  Skinny looked away impatiently.

  Rox gave his shoulder a shove. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘That place, there’s somethin’ about it.’ Rox rubbed his lower lip with a dirty thumb. ‘It’s not right.’

  Skinny shook his head and then the rest of himself, like a dog flicking off water.

  Rox grabbed his arm. ‘You know what I mean!’

  ‘What I know is it’s the best money I’ve ever seen,’ Skinny said stubbornly. ‘And that’s all I need to know, or want to know, and if you’re smart, you’ll be like me.’

  Rox subsided for a moment, scowling darkly. ‘What’s he want with all them kids, then?’ he demanded suddenly.

  Skinny started to snicker. ‘Maybe he, hee-hee, maybe he’s running an orphanage!’ He smacked his thigh and whooped with laughter. ‘Out of the goodness of his heart, like.’

  Even Rox grinned for a moment, smiling as he took a sip from his cup. But when he lowered it his fr
own was back. ‘I don’t want to go there any more,’ he grumbled. ‘Why can’t he get somebody else to take ‘em?’

  ‘I think he’s keepin’ it secret,’ Skinny said. ‘We know about it, so,’ he shrugged, ‘he uses us instead of tellin’ someone else. Keeps it more secret, see?’

  Rox sat growling quietly for a few moments. ‘I want to quit,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘We can’t quit!’ Skinny snapped. ‘We need the money, best money we ever got. And beside . . .’ He stopped and rubbed his face with his hands, then looked over his shoulder. He leaned toward Rox and whispered, ‘I don’t think we can quit.’

  ‘Whaddaya mean?’ Rox sat up straight, looking worried.

  Skinny leaned closer still. ‘He’s important.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘He can do things to us.’

  Rox just stared at him, shaking his head slightly, confused.

  ‘You know what I mean. When people like us annoy people like him we don’t stay healthy.’

  Rox’s eyes widened. ‘Ohhh!’ he said.

  ‘So just hang on, all right?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Rox conceded. He picked up his mug and drained it, then smacked it down loudly. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Innkeeper! More!’

  ‘So we’ll just deliver the boy to the manse, take our money and go. Easy. Just hold on. Maybe this will be the last time we have to make a trip out into the country.’

  The bigger man didn’t answer but he made the innkeeper leave the pitcher of wine he brought to refill their goblets and then proceeded to get very drunk.

  Coe listened to all of it and decided that he, too, might just make a trip out into the country. It might be very interesting to see this place that ‘wasn’t right’.

  Jimmy led the girl down toward the warehouse district on the wharves. In his experience he’d discovered that one could usually find an abandoned space or two or more there. Besides, a lot of these places were sparsely patrolled; one or two watchmen to a row and those weren’t usually the most alert of men. Or the most curious.

  He kept them to the shadows, which resulted in a lot of tripping on Lorrie’s part. At first he’d been sympathetic, then amused, but now she was beginning to curse and he was worried that she’d attract attention. The watchmen probably would not come looking, but if he and Lorrie forced themselves on them they wouldn’t turn a blind eye.

  ‘Lorrie,’ he whispered, ‘we have to be quiet.’

  ‘I can’t see where I’m going!’ she said between her teeth.

  Jimmy stuck his tongue in his cheek and took a long, deep breath. He knew better than to get involved with ordinary citizens, they were nothing but trouble, yet here he was dragging one around by the hand. ‘I understand, but could you at least stop swearing? Out loud, I mean.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  They moved on. He was looking for somewhere run-down, preferably abandoned. But all the warehouses they’d passed so far seemed tightly locked and well tended. Land’s End seemed to be a busy port, for all it was a smaller one than Krondor. This close to Kesh I suppose it would be, Jimmy thought. Then he spotted a likely-looking place. He led the girl to a dark recess between two buildings. ‘I’m going to scout around,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take a bit of a rest?’

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, then, in a highly suspicious voice she asked, ‘Why?’

  Nothing but trouble, he thought. ‘Because I think I’ve seen a place where you can sleep for free. But I’ve got better night-sight than you do and I don’t want to drag you over there for nothing. I’ll be right back. I promise.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, sounding as if the idea of free lodging had never occurred to her. ‘All right.’

  Jimmy gave her shoulder a pat and moved off. The place had stairs to the second storey and he put one foot on the bottom step very lightly, only to have it squeak even when he kept his weight to the inner side of the riser. Going up there would probably make enough noise to wake the dead; he was going to have to find another way up.

  After looking around he found a shorter building that backed up to his chosen site; the peak of its roof was just below a single window, and the shorter building was eminently climbable. He tested the route and found the window unlocked. Slipping inside . . .

  A nice, long-deserted attic room over the main warehouse. Probably used to store occasional high-value cargo—brandy, say, or spices. It held very little now, a keg or two of what was probably nails, one or two bolts of cheap sacking cloth, some broken furniture and a wealth of dust. Jimmy walked carefully, but the floor was solid oak planks which were neatly pegged and made no noise: that sort of construction lasted forever if it was kept dry, and the roof seemed very sound. The door to the main loft opened inward—but there were crates stacked in front of it, almost touching his chest when he stepped into the doorframe. He gave an experimental shove and found he couldn’t move them. At least not without more noise and effort than he wanted to make. He pushed his knife gently through a crack between two slats, and it chinked dully when it hit the cargo within, but straw and willow-withy padding showed too.

  Crockery of some sort, he thought. Damned heavy. Good as having a fortress wall in front of you—you could hear them hours before they cleared the door—and the only other way in is the window.

  Doubtless others before him had found the building below to be the perfect route into this warehouse and the owner had moved to block them.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

  Lorrie was exactly where he’d left her, sitting with her back against the building.

  ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘I’ve found a place to stay.’

  She was a game little thing, he had to admit, if far too trusting. I could be a slave-taker, or a brothel agent, or just a freelance rape-and-murder artist. This one is a little lamb far from home.

  Once he’d described their route to the window and started to climb she followed him without question or complaint. Once they were in the room he began unrolling one of the bolts of cloth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, sneezing at the dust he was raising.

  As he’d thought, once you got through the first few layers the cloth was clean and dust-free, though still smelling sour from long storage. ‘Making you a bed,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I can’t use that,’ she said, sounding honestly horrified.

  ‘Of course you can,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re only borrowing it. What harm can you do it by sleeping on it? Besides it’s obviously been here for years, so no one’s missing it.’ When she still hesitated he rolled his eyes and continued, ‘And if you leave it the way we found it no one will ever know.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lorrie said. She grabbed the other bolt. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll be able to do a good turn for the man who owns it.’

  Jimmy kept unrolling cloth, looking toward her shape in the darkness. Honest people never failed to amaze him.

  Together they arranged the cloth into a reasonably comfortable bed and Lorrie thanked him. Jimmy considered trying to steal a kiss from her, then decided that might complicate things too much.

  Then she decided to complicate things by asking, ‘Will I see you again?’

  ‘I’ll check here tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you’re still here I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. Reaching out, she found his hand and shook it.

  She had calluses on her hands, he noted, but the hand felt small and shapely, her teeth were good, and she was tall for her age: working folk, but not poor. ‘You’re welcome.’ He felt suddenly awkward. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’

  Jimmy climbed out the window and down the other building, then headed back to Aunt Cleora’s house.

  That was strange, he thought. He wondered what had brought the country girl into the big city. Especially disguised as a boy.

  He’d like to see her in daylight, see if that glimpse he’d had of her had told the truth. Did she really resemble the
Princess as much as he’d thought? Maybe he would return tomorrow. Time permitting.

  TEN

  The Baron

  The sleeper tossed and moaned.

  Outside the room the guards ignored the sounds, for they had heard them before; it was a rare night the Baron slept the night through without the dreams. The guards were hard men, picked for their ability to ignore the strange goings-on inside the baronial home as much as for their ability to defend their liege. They were all former mercenaries, men whose loyalty was to gold, not tradition, and they were content to be oblivious to the screaming that often came from their master’s quarters, or other parts of the mansion.

  Bernarr ap Lorthorn, Baron of Land’s End, vassal to Lord Sutherland, Duke of the Southern Marches, writhed in troubled sleep. He knotted his fine linen sheets in clutching fists and struggling limbs, the fabric already damp with perspiration. In his dreams he was not the scrawny, ageing man with limp grey hair of his waking hours, but young and strong and deeply in love with his beautiful wife Elaine.

  Please, no, he thought. The lips of his aged body whimpered the words. Please, no.

  The dreams were wonderful, and hateful, beyond description. They were always the same, as if he were riding in the mind of his younger self, seeing and smelling, tasting and feeling as he had—but in some lost corner of his mind he knew how the story ended. Disaster loomed on the horizon, rearing like some ghastly fortress of demons beyond the edge of time, casting a shadow that made all the beauty and glory a sickness. Yet he was doomed to relive the past in his dreams, to endure the joy and wonder, only to find, at the last . . .

  He’d met her in Rillanon.

  It was early summer when he first visited Rillanon, a time of flowers, blossoms everywhere. Wherever his glance fell a riot of nature’s favourite colours gladdened the eye. Even the wharfside taverns bore window-boxes or were wrapped in some flowering vine.

  As he left the docks, on horse, to ride to the King’s palace, the sheer magnificence of the Kingdom’s capital took his breath away. He hated even to blink for fear of missing some new and even more beautiful sight; only a lifetime’s practice enabled him to ride the unfamiliar horse through the crowded streets without being thrown off, while his eyes were captivated and his mind beguiled.