Jimmy the Hand (7 page)

Neville spat on
his and clapped hold of the boy’s before Jimmy could draw away.
Then laughed uproariously at the young thief’s disgusted
expression.

Jimmy slipped
through the crowd.

‘Larry,’
Jimmy said.

The younger boy
gave a well-concealed start and Jimmy felt a small spurt of pride.
Sneaking up on guardsmen was easy, but the boy was a fellow
professional.

‘I’ve
found something out,’ Jimmy said, looking around the crowd to
make sure they weren’t overheard. ‘A way into the
dungeon.’ He made a pressing gesture with his hand. ‘But
there’s a problem.’

‘What
problem?’

‘The only
one who knows the way is Noxious Neville—so we have to take him
along.’

Larry’s
face went from joyful to sour, as if he’d just bitten into
something unpleasant.

‘And I had
to promise him a half skin of wine. Which means . . .’

Ol’
Neville was the type to disappear in an instant for reasons of his
own, yet come back demanding the promised reward. Rewards never
slipped the old man’s porous memory, even when his recall of
deeds performed was vague.

They turned,
watching as Neville conducted a conversation with someone who wasn’t
there. Jimmy interrupted the conversation and lured Neville out of
the Rest by pouring out a stream of raw red wine that Neville
hastened to catch in his mouth. When they were outside Jimmy
stoppered the skin.

‘Lead us,’
he said.

The old beggar
smacked his lips, then rubbed his hands over his face and neck and
licked up the drops of wine he collected from his fingers.

Jimmy
ostentatiously swung the skin over his shoulder.

‘Whenever
you’re ready,’ he said.

‘That’s
it,’ Neville said.

The three
Mockers crouched, straddling the stream of foulness that ran down the
centre of the sewer. Ahead, an oval opening in a wall poured its own
tributary into the fetid stream; broad streaks of glistening nitre
down the brick showed that the trickle had been larger once.

‘Took long
enough,’ Larry said sourly.

Jimmy shrugged.
Not all of Neville’s madness was an act; they’d
backtracked more times than Jimmy cared to remember with the old man
whining about how thirsty he was. But the young thief had been
adamant; no wine until they found the place.

If he’s
like this half sober, we’d never see daylight again if I’d
let him get drunk.

‘Are you
sure this is it?’ Jimmy asked dubiously.

As he’d
said, the tunnel was partially collapsed. Rubble splayed out in an
incline into the main sewer, giving them easy access, but the air
that blew towards them from above was more foul than the beggar
himself. Larry said, ‘Something’s died up there!’

Neville ignored
the comment to answer Jimmy’s question. ‘Yes I’m
sure,’ he snapped; his lips worked angrily and one discoloured
snag of a tooth showed. ‘You’d been payin’
attention you’d know it!’

The old
coot’s right,
Jimmy acknowledged unhappily. They’d
passed signs that warned they were approaching the underpinnings of
the keep.

‘Phew!’
Larry said and choked as he stuck head and shoulders into the gap.
‘You can’t mean it! We can’t go in there! A snake
couldn’t get in there!’

Jimmy was
definitely in sympathy with Larry. He tossed the wineskin to the
beggar who hurried off without demanding the rest of his pay. He
grimaced as he watched Noxious Neville scurry into the darkness, then
climbed the rubble and thrust the torch through a gap.

‘Look, it
gets broader past here,’ he said. ‘And this rubble’s
easy enough to move.’ He levered a handful aside, then wiped
his hand on his breeches.
Good thing I was going to buy new ones
anyway.

‘We could
clear enough to get through in less than an hour, even if we take
care not to make any noise. After that it’s easy enough, for
folk our size. We’re not looking to ride a horse through, after
all.’

The torch
flickered and dimmed in a slightly stronger gust of air and Jimmy
pushed himself back and staggered, retching, away from the pile of
rock and earth.

He shook his
head, his eyes streaming. ‘You’re right, only sheer
desperation would get me in there. And even then . . .’

Three extremely
wealthy merchants sat across the desk from the acting governor of the
city. The men were members of the powerful Merchants’ Guild—a
body that included the most wealthy men in the city, along with
representatives of the other important guilds: tanners, smiths,
shipwrights, carters and others. After the authority of the Prince’s
Court and the temples, the Merchants’ Guild was the most
influential faction in the principality. Too many nobles in the
Kingdom owed debts to or did business with the more powerful members
of the Guild. Crops didn’t come to market from outlying estate
farms if the teamsters didn’t drive wagons. Dock warehouses
filled up with goods that were headed nowhere if the dockworkers
refused to load them on the ships. Originally begun as a body to
adjudicate disagreements between the different guilds and independent
merchants, they had evolved over the years into a voice for the
merchant class in the halls of power. The Guild’s co-operation
was vital to the success of del Garza’s plans, or at the very
least he needed to ensure they were not in opposition to him.

The three
maintained equally supercilious expressions while their eyes,
glittering in the candlelight, were fixed on del Garza’s every
move. They waited for his attention with dignified restraint,
ignoring the draughts that moved the wall hangings, barely moving to
draw their cloaks tighter around their shoulders.

Del Garza
continued to write, scratching away at an only moderately important
document, fully cognizant of how rarely these gentlemen displayed
such patience. He was enjoying this little exercise of power. Indeed,
this was for his pleasure; the next part of the evening’s
endeavours would be for his lord’s advantage.

He finished
writing, sanded the document and shook it, then laid it aside and
turned to look at the men seated opposite him. ‘Thank you for
coming,’ he said, his voice coldly insincere.

Marcellus
Varney, a shipper of Quegan ancestry, raised an eyebrow. He was a
bull-necked man who had obviously spent his youth in hard labour.
Now, in his middle years, there was still muscle under the rich man’s
fat. ‘We were not invited,’ he said precisely. ‘I
was under the impression that we were arrested.’ His entire
attitude spoke of distaste.

‘Nevertheless,’
the acting governor said with great politeness, ‘you could have
resisted.’ He tipped his head to the side and opened his hands.
‘No, no, you must allow me to thank you for your co-operation.’

‘Get on
with it,’ the shipper said, his tone flat, his eyes resentful.

Del Garza
glanced at each of them, then made an acquiescent gesture.

‘As you
wish, gentlemen.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘You are, no
doubt, aware of the special orders and state of emergency I am about
to declare in Krondor. I’ve submitted a copy of the order to
your guild and I expect you’ve had the day to ponder it.’

The three men
shifted in their chairs. It amused him; they might almost have
rehearsed it, the timing was so mutual.

‘I invited
you here tonight to see if there was anything I could do to gain your
support. Times ahead will be difficult and I want to ensure that the
most respected voices in the Merchants’ Guild speak in favour
of the necessity for these acts.’
That’s got their
attention,
he thought with an inner smile. A little flattery
beside intimidation did wonders.

The gentlemen
focused on him as though they believed he cared about their opinion.
Which, of course, he did, as long as it was in agreement with his.

Rufus Tuney, a
grain merchant with six critically located mills around the city,
grimaced, then waved a hand somewhat languidly. He was a foppish man
who tended to wear excessive amounts of lace and powder, and a
cloying cloud of spices and lilac scent surrounded him wherever he
went. ‘The new regulations you have proposed are not without
merit,’ he commented. ‘The trouble is they seem . . .
somewhat excessive.’ He looked at the acting governor with
raised brows. ‘Even if the three of us were wholeheartedly in
support of your position—’ he gave a delicate shrug, ‘—of
what use are a mere three votes?’

‘Do not
allow
that to
be a consideration, gentlemen,’ del Garza
said, his voice hard and flat. ‘What you must consider are your
own advantages in the matter.’

Silence greeted
his remark and del Garza could see them resisting the urge to glance
at one another.

‘Advantage?’
Varney queried.

I expected
him to be the one to ask that question.

The third
merchant, a spice trader named Thaddius Fleet, shifted in his seat.
He was a nondescript man, given to well-made but simple garments.
‘See here, del Garza. What exactly are you proposing?’

And del Garza
had expected him to try to lead the negotiations. Sometimes it was
almost too easy. He sighed. ‘Must I go into detail?’ he
asked wearily. ‘Remember where you were, gentlemen, when my men
requested your presence here.’ He watched that sink in. This
time glances were exchanged from the corners of their eyes.

What fools
these men are!
He held most of their breed in contempt, but the
three sitting before him now were particularly noxious. Tuney and
Fleet had indulgences of which they were ashamed, which made them
vulnerable. Varney had a profitable sideline selling young women and
boys as slaves to Kesh, drugging them and smuggling them out in
secret compartments on his ships. Once his usefulness was at an end
del Garza thought it would be a blessing to the Kingdom to end his
business. Slavery, except for prisoners of the Crown, was outlawed in
the Kingdom.

Perhaps I’ll
sell him to Great Kesh. That should certainly provide some amusement.
As for the others, they were just shallow men with foolish
peccadilloes. One liked to be spanked by pretty women, the other
liked to pretend he was a pretty woman. They harmed no one but
themselves.
I’m almost grateful to them, and to Radburn for
keeping such conveniently complete files.
Seeing the key members
of the Guild in twos and threes over the next few days would bring
them nicely to heel.

‘That
certainly puts things in a new light,” Fleet said grimly. He
glanced at his two companions; none needed to say anything; they all
knew del Garza was in possession of information that would ruin them,
and in Varney’s case, send him to the gallows.

After a moment’s
silence del Garza said impatiently: ‘And by this new light can
you see your way clear to supporting my decrees? After all, Baron
Radburn will be returning soon. I assure you he will be far less
concerned with the Guild’s position on these matters than I
am.’

‘I . . .
believe so,’ said Tuney.

‘Good.
Then I can count on all of your votes?’ Del Garza stared at
them until each one of them had nodded and mumbled an affirmative.
‘Excellent! I won’t keep you further, gentlemen.’
He gave them a bland smile as he took a document from a pile to his
left and placed it before him. ‘Enjoy the rest of your
evening.’

He rang a small
hand-bell and the door to the office opened. A guard waited without.
Del Garza turned his attention to the document, apparently unaware of
their existence.

The three
merchants looked at one another in disbelief. They were not
accustomed to being dismissed like that. As they rose from their
seats they dared to cast upon del Garza’s down-turned head the
kind of looks that promised evil reprisal.

The acting
governor timed the scene, so that when he looked up he caught those
expressions, and smiled. The threat in that smile was much more
powerful, and they knew it.

‘Oyez,
oyez,’ the crier intoned.

Jimmy the Hand
stopped in the shadows of a doorway, carefully inconspicuous. A
man-at-arms in black and gold accompanied the crier, and his eyes
were objectionably active. Two days had passed since his trip to the
sewers with Noxious Neville and Larry the Ear, but he’d only
just cast off the mild case of the runs that had followed, and he was
in no mood to be chased.

‘By the
proclamation of the acting governor of the City of Krondor, the
following changes have been made to current law: Street prostitution
will now be considered a crime equal to robbery and burglary, and for
which the same penalties will apply. All bawdy houses and brothels in
the city must obtain Crown licence to operate. Begging has also been
declared a crime and will now be punished with no less than fifty
lashes.’

He went on to
the formal conclusion of ‘by my hand this day of’ and so
on, but Jimmy had ceased listening.

Licensing the
brothels meant the Duke’s agents and soldiers would be
searching the buildings and registering the girls. That was not
important.

But burglary and
robbery were hanging offences and fifty lashes would kill any but the
strongest of men. He drew back into the alley in a daze. That meant
that everyone they’d already caught—Flora and Gerald and
the rest—were doomed. He turned and hastened through the maze
of alleys to the nearest sewer entrance. It was now just a matter of
days before they died.

‘The
acting governor has had his proclamation,’ he muttered to
himself, swinging down on a grating and dropping soundlessly to the
slimy brick. ‘Let’s see what the Upright Man has to say.’

Mocker’s
Rest was packed; Jimmy had never seen so many people there, and he
could barely hear himself speak. The mood was frightened, but the
faces around him were blank and hard. There wasn’t a Mocker
here who didn’t have a friend or relative already in the cells.
Jimmy wondered if the prisoners knew what awaited them.