One thing he should do today was steal some more respectable-looking clothes. The ones he was wearing smelled bad, even to himself.
Or I could buy some, just for a change, he thought. But first, a money-changer.
The changer worked out of a narrow shop in an alley, denoted by a pair of scales on a sign above the door; the paint was so faded that only a hint of gold peeped through the grime. Jimmy hopped over the trickle of filth down the centre of the alley, nodded to the basher who stood just outside, polishing the brickwork with his shoulder, and pushed through the door. The basher would find a reason to delay any citizen from entering the shop whenever a Mocker was inside.
Ference, the money-changer, looked up and said, ‘Ah, Jimmy! What can I do for you?’
Jimmy reached inside his tunic and pulled out his coin pouch, and with a quick flip of his wrist, rolled half a dozen coins on the counter. The others were safely hidden on top of a ceiling beam in his room.
‘Gold?’ Ference said, looking at the thumbnail-sized coins Jimmy shoved across the smooth wood of the table.
The money-changer was a middle-aged man with a thin, lined face and the sort of squint you got from fretting about your strongbox when you should be sleeping. He dressed with the sort of sombre respectability a prosperous storekeeper might affect.
‘Getting ambitious, are you, Jimmy lad?’
‘Honestly earned,’ Jimmy said, ‘for a change.’ And it was even true, for once.
He kept a close eye on the scales as Prince Arutha’s coins turned into a jingling heap of worn and much less conspicuous silver and copper. The Upright Man’s regulations kept men like Ference moderately honest – broken arms were the usual first-time penalty for changers or fences shorting Mockers, and then it got really nasty – but it never hurt to be self-reliant.
‘There,’ the changer said at last. ‘That’ll attract a lot less attention.’
‘Just what I thought,’ Jimmy said, smiling a little to himself.
He bought a money-belt to hold it – too big a jingling purse was conspicuous too – and wandered out into the street.
‘Pork pies! Pork pies!’ he heard, and the words brought a flood of saliva into his mouth; he had missed breakfast. ‘Two of your best, Mistress Pease,’ he said grandly.
The pie-seller put down the handles of her pushcart and brought out two; they were still warm, and the smell made his nose twitch. What was more, Mistress Pease’s pork pies were actually made from pork, not of rabbit, cat, or the even less savoury concoctions you got from some vendors. He bit into one.
‘Feeling prosperous, I see,’ she said, as he handed over four coppers.
‘Hard work and clean living, Mistress,’ he replied; she shook all over as she laughed.
Well, a thin cook wouldn’t be much of an advertisement, would she? he thought.
He washed the pies down with a flagon of cider bought from a nearby vendor, and sat in the sun belching contentedly, his back against the stone-coping of a well.
He was just licking his fingers when a pebble hit the top of his head.
Ouch, he thought, and looked up.
Long Charlie’s cadaverous face peered around a gable. His hands moved: Report to Mocker’s Rest, he said in the signing can’t. Right now. No delay, no excuses.
Jimmy swigged back the rest of the cider and hastily returned his flagon to the vendor with polite thanks. Then he headed for the nearest alley.
Once in the sewers he moved at a confident jog – even through the pitch-black places, of which there were many – and passed the guards the Mockers had stationed at various locations, who seemed unusually alert today. Not that they were ever less than wide-awake; sleeping or getting drunk on guard duty could get you badly hurt or seriously dead.
The smell was homelike, though ripe; Jimmy flicked his toe aside and sent a rat more belligerent than most flying through the air. Its squeal ended with a sodden thud – you had to be careful about the ones that didn’t run away, chances were they were sick with something. Jimmy had seen a man foaming at the mouth from a rat bite and it wasn’t a sight he would quickly forget.
The Rest was like a kicked anthill, all swarming movement – although ants didn’t produce that sort of din, or wave their arms so that you nearly got clouted in the face walking through. Agitated people moved quickly from group to group; everyone seemed to be talking at once. He spied a boy he knew standing apart and went over to him. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
The boy, dubbed Larry the Ear because his were enormous, stood tense as a bowstring watching the frantic activity. He spoke to Jimmy without taking his eyes from the scene before them. ‘Bas-Tyra’s men are arresting the girls and the beggars and anyone else they can get their damned paws on,’ Larry growled. ‘They took Gerald.’
Jimmy blinked. Gerald was Larry’s younger brother, not much older than seven, if that. Jimmy had known Radburn was a vindictive swine, but arresting babies was beyond contempt.
He started to ask, ‘Was he pick …?’
‘No!’ Larry snapped, turning to glare at Jimmy. ‘He wasn’t doing nothing. He was just playin’, just bein’ a kid!’
‘Damn Radburn’s bones,’ Jimmy said quietly.
‘Damn him right enough,’ Larry said. ‘But this was del Garza. Radburn’s out of town – took ship not an hour after the Princess got away.’ Jimmy blinked. If Larry knew the Princess had been the one fleeing last night, then everyone knew it. So much for secrets. ‘Del Garza’s in charge, and he’s gone crazy mean.’
Crazy like a fox, Jimmy thought, motionless, as implications ran through his mind. Princess gone, Radburn chasing her – del Garza will want lots of people to pin the blame on when the Duke gets back. Radburn can at least say he went after them right away. What was that old saying? Victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan. Del Garza wants to have as many other candidates for the role of defeat’s father as he can.
‘Del Garza’s a snake from the same egg as Radburn,’ Larry said passionately. ‘He’s up to something and even if it takes hurting a little boy, he’ll do it!’
Jimmy nodded in agreement. ‘Well, we won’t let him,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s see what the Upright Man decides and if he doesn’t make the right decision, well, we’ll see.’ He punched Larry’s shoulder. ‘You with me?’
The younger lad’s eyes filled with hope and he nodded.
‘Who else do you think will take our point of view?’ Jimmy asked quietly.
‘I’ll find out,’ Larry said, swiping his dirty sleeve over his eyes, leaving dark smears behind.
Jimmy nodded. ‘Me too. But we’ll not discuss this again until we’ve found out what action will be taken.’ And he meant by del Garza as much as he did the Upright Man and his lieutenants. ‘Let’s move around, see what we can find out.’
Larry nodded and they both moved off.
‘Have any of the houses been affected?’ a fat man was asking a group of prostitutes. ‘The ones we’re behind, I mean.’
‘Not yet,’ one of the women answered, a needle-nosed woman who looked well over forty. ‘But if this doesn’t get old Jocko what he wants they’ll be next. Sitting-ducks, so to speak, that’s what they are.’
‘A lot of the gentry go to those places,’ said one of her friends. ‘They wouldn’t like having their pleasures interfered with.’
‘Oh, that’ll worry the secret police,’ needle-nose sneered. ‘They’d just love to have something like that on a gentleman of quality, or a rich merchant with a jealous wife. Mark my words, even if this does get the bastard the results he wants, that’ll be their next step anyway.’
‘True,’ the fat man agreed. ‘Once he’s begun, why should he stop?’
Jimmy had to agree. He supposed it was more surprising that the secret police hadn’t already made such a move – Radburn was clever enough to see it. For a power-mad, soulless bastard it seemed a logical step, much more so than picking up the street girls. You could learn a great deal if you h
ad the power to squeeze the sporting houses; the walls there literally had ears – conveniently placed listening posts behind false walls in several of the richer brothels. More than one merchant gladly paid a madam a little extra every month to keep him current on what his drunken competitors said to impress their current favourite. It took nothing for Jimmy to imagine an agent of the Crown behind that listening post rather than the madam.
Even before the events of the last week, rumours were that Guy du Bas-Tyra had ambitions to be the next Prince of Krondor, and that Jocko Radburn had his cap set on being the next Duke of Krondor. Western nobles would certainly object openly in the Congress of Lords to such appointments, but western nobles with something to hide might be a great deal less vociferous in voicing those objections. Besides, the more useful results Radburn and del Garza could squeeze out of this mess, the more likely the Duke would be forgiving when he returned.
Jimmy spied Noxious Neville sitting in a corner by himself; not unusual given Neville’s aroma, which started with old sweat and worked up from there. But the beggar had been a frequent guest in Krondor’s dungeons and might have useful information. It just depended on how addled he was today.
Jimmy squatted down in front of the old beggar and waved a piece of silver back and forth, knowing it was the best way to get the old man’s attention. Gradually Neville stopped his rocking and his eyes began to follow the coin; then his hand rose and tried to capture it. Jimmy snatched it back and closed it in his fist.
‘Neville,’ he said, ‘I need some information.’
The old man stared at him. He was quite mad, but deep in his eyes a canny intelligence lurked. After all, he hadn’t starved or frozen or been kicked to death by drunks yet.
‘Whatcha wanta know?’ he asked, slurring his words.
‘Tell me about the keep’s dungeons,’ Jimmy said. ‘I want to know everything you can remember.’
Neville started to chuckle until he choked, then he coughed until Jimmy expected him to spit out a lung at any moment. Annoyed, because he suspected that the coughing was a demand for liquid relief, Jimmy nevertheless rose and acquired a mug of ale for the old beggar.
As expected, as soon as the flagon was in Neville’s gnarled hand the spasm ceased.
‘Take more’n one silver to get that much,’ the old man rasped, then took a sip.
‘How much?’ Jimmy asked.
The beggar shrugged with his whole body. ‘Twenty,’ he said, clearly knowing he’d never get it.
Jimmy got up and started to walk away.
‘Hey!’ Neville called, clearly irritated. ‘Where ya goin’?’
‘To talk to someone who isn’t crazy,’ Jimmy threw over his shoulder.
‘C’m back here,’ the beggar demanded. ‘Don-cha know how to bargain? What’ll ya give me? I’m crazy, not stupid.’
Jimmy held up the coin and Neville started rocking and grumbling inaudibly.
‘Gimme three,’ he demanded.
‘I’ve already spent two coppers on your ale,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m not throwing good money after bad. You give me something for that and if I think it’s worth more, I’ll pay more.’
‘S’fair,’ Neville said reluctantly. ‘Whatcha want to know?’
Jimmy sat before him, breathing through his mouth to avoid the old man’s prodigious stench, and asked him questions about the dungeons. How deep were they, how to get in, how many cells, how many guards, how often were the guards changed, how often were the prisoners fed, how often were the slops taken out, if they were? Noxious Neville answered every question with his eyes fixed keenly on the young thief’s face and with every answer Jimmy’s heart fell further.
‘Is there any way to get out without the guards knowing it?’ he asked finally.
Noxious Neville barked a laugh. ‘By the goddess of luck, who hates me, how should I know that?’ he demanded. ‘I never tried to get out. More trouble’n it’s worth. Four days’s the longest I’s ever there.’
Leaning closer, Jimmy asked, ‘Did you ever hear of anyone escaping?’
The old beggar began to giggle and wag a filthy finger at him. ‘Whatsa matta? Jocko steal yer sweetie?’
Jimmy made his eyes hard. ‘You’ve only got three teeth left, Neville,’ he pointed out. ‘Do you want me to break ’em for you?’
Fast as a striking snake the old man’s hand grabbed Jimmy’s arm with shocking strength.
‘Like to see you try it, I would,’ he snarled. ‘Little brat.’ He flung the young thief’s arm away from him. ‘Think I stayed alive this long by accident? Maybe Lims-Kragma, the great goddess of death, forgot about me? That what ya think? Hah! Stupid brat.’ He spat to the side.
Jimmy assumed from that that the old man was still willing to earn his silver. If he’d finished talking Neville probably would have spat on him. And then I’d have had to kill the old bastard. Or himself. The idea of being spat on by Noxious Neville was that revolting.
‘Did you,’ Jimmy repeated evenly, ‘ever hear of anyone escaping?’
The old man looked aside, shaking his head and waving the question away.
‘Is there any way in or out that the guards don’t watch?’ Jimmy asked desperately.
‘Only thing I know about is the drain in the floor of the big cell.’ He chuckled, giving Jimmy an evil look. ‘But you wouldn’t like that, it’s the hole we pissed in.’
Jimmy just stared at him, thinking hard. No, he didn’t like it, but it might have possibilities.
‘This drain, it leads directly to the sewers?’ he asked. ‘Or does the keep have a separate outfall to the harbour?’
Neville laughed again and Jimmy reflected that the old coot was getting a lot more pleasure out of this conversation than he should be.
‘How should I know?’ Neville demanded. ‘Ye think I follow me piss to see where it goes? The hole’s only this big!’ He held his hands up to indicate a circle the size of a dinner plate and Jimmy’s heart sank again.
‘Hey!’ Neville said and gave the boy a poke. ‘Maybe the Upright Man knows a way out of the prison. Why don’t ye ask him?’ And he laughed wildly.
The young thief rose and started to walk away.
‘Hey!’ the beggar screeched. ‘Where’s my money?’ He held out a skinny hand.
Jimmy flipped him the single silver he’d first offered.
‘Hey!’ Noxious Neville cried. ‘Yer s’posed to gi’ me more! That was the bargain.’
‘The bargain,’ Jimmy said coldly, ‘was that if I thought your information was worth more, I’d give you more. Give me something I can use.’
The old man made grumbling noises and glared at him, but something made Jimmy wait. ‘Leads to the sewers,’ Neville finally conceded. ‘But the tunnel’s half caved in, ain’t safe.’
‘And the drain?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Can someone get down there?’
Neville turned his head this way and that, as though protesting the continued questioning, then he nodded. ‘Drain used to be bigger,’ he admitted. ‘Filled it in a bit wi’ bits of stone and mortar they did. Shaft’s big enough for someone skinny. Give it a coupla good kicks and the drain’ll fall open, big enough for someone to crawl down if’n he don’t have too much girth.’
Light broke in Jimmy’s mind and he stared at the old beggar. ‘You’ve used it!’ he accused. ‘You used that shaft to escape!’
Neville broke out in a flurry of crazed motions meant to indicate go away and leave me alone or there’ll be trouble – a move he’d perfected over a long career of dealing with the public.
Jimmy stabbed a finger at him, unimpressed. ‘Stop it!’ He glared until the old man settled down and glared back at him. ‘Now,’ he said evenly, ‘tell me what I want to know and if it turns out to be the truth, I’ll give you this.’ He flashed a gold coin for a fraction of a second. ‘If it turns out you’re lying, you get nothing.’
A gold coin was a fortune to a man like Neville; it would get him fifty flagons of ale – a hundred if he stuck to the reall
y vile stuff sold in the Poor Quarter. He sat sucking his gums and thinking it over.
‘Why not?’ he said at last. ‘Not like’s a secret worth keeping. I’s a thief once, ’n young. They caught me, wasn’t easy.’
Noxious Neville’s face took on a slackly reminiscent grin and just when Jimmy thought he’d have to shake him to bring him back to the here and now he began speaking again.
‘I was gonna hang.’ Neville spat again. ‘But I knew if I had time and patience I’d get out. There’s a grille,’ he said, pointing down with one dirty finger.
Jimmy glanced down automatically then grimaced and looked back at the old man.
‘Not too big, mind, but me, I could.’ Neville wriggled where he sat, arms working above his head as though squeezing through a tight space. ‘M’shoulders come apart,’ he said and gave a wheezing laugh at the young thief’s look of doubt.
Not that Jimmy hadn’t heard of such before, but it was hard to believe the human wreck before him would have such a useful attribute.
Neville slapped his knee, laughing and after a moment he went on. ‘Those days the grille wasn’t even mortared, they di’nt think anybody could get down that shaft.’ He shook his head, grinning. ‘Wished I coulda seen their faces wh’n they come fer me.’ He chuckled.
Jimmy nodded. ‘So where is it?’ he asked.
Neville stared into space, one finger tracing the air as he tried to remember the route. ‘Take the fourth shaft at Five Points,’ he said uncertainly. ‘No, no, take the second –’ He went silent, gazing. Suddenly he was more animated. ‘Go toward dockside, always go for the lower way … no, no, that leads to the fullers. Don’t want to go there.’ He huffed impatiently. ‘I know how te get there,’ he said impatiently, ‘I jes’ never had to tell anybody how to get there.’
Jimmy stood. ‘Show me then. It’ll be easier.’
The old beggar looked at him as though Jimmy had suggested he strip to his loin-cloth and dance on a table.
‘Not fer me!’ Neville said. He waved his flagon. ‘I’ve got all my comforts here.’ He looked around and waved a hand as though to indicate the cosiest surroundings in the city.