Jimmy the Hand (23 page)

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 frown 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.

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.

The city was
built upon hills wound round with silver ribbons of rivers and
canals. It seemed that Rillanon had no top, but kept reaching up to
the clouds forever. Graceful bridges arched over the waterways.
Countless spires and slender, crenellated towers bore colourful
banners and pennons, all fluttering in the breeze as though
applauding the wind.

His heart, so
heavy since his father’s death during the winter, lifted at the
sight. Bernarr’s eyes teared with pride and his heart swelled
at the great honour of being a part of the Kingdom of the Isles.

Thank the
gods duty delayed me,
he thought.
This must be the most
beautiful of seasons in the most beautiful of cities. I have seen her
at her best, and the image shall be in my heart always.

He’d come
to offer his fealty to the King and be installed as the new Baron of
Land’s End. Traditionally, his demesne was part of the Western
Realm, and his master, Lord Sutherland, was vassal to the Prince of
Krondor, but it was traditional that every noble of the Kingdom, no
matter from how distant a province, made a journey within as short a
time as possible to kneel before the King in the ancient birthplace
of the nation.