Legends of the Riftwar (73 page)

Jimmy moved to the far wall and picked up some rags, a whet
stone and a small vial of oil from the storage box near the weapons lockers. Such thoughts made his head swim. He was a boy of unknown age–perhaps fourteen, perhaps sixteen, no one knew–and such considerations were intriguing to him, yet he knew he didn't fully understand all of it. Politics and intrigue were attractive, but in an alien way.

He made his way to a secluded corner to clean his rapier.
His
rapier, and a gift at that! There had been few of those in his life, making the fine weapon all the more precious. It would take the finest craftsman half a year to fashion such a thing of deadly beauty; it was as different from the crude, heavy weapons of ordinary soldiers as a war-horse was from a mule.

He pulled the blade from the scabbard again and realized to his dismay that he'd put it away bloody. He quirked his mouth wryly. Well, he'd never had such a thing before: he couldn't be expected to remember every detail of its care immediately. On closer inspection he realized that the scabbard was held together with ivory and brass pins, and could be taken apart for cleaning and oiling.

His pleasure in his gift went up a notch, if that was possible. This was a prize!

‘Loot like that's to be turned in for sale, so's we can make proper shares,' Laughing Jack said. He reached for the sword and Jimmy slid it and himself away from Jack's hand with an eel-like motion.

‘It's not loot,' he said. ‘It's a gift. From Prince Arutha himself.'

‘Oooh, you're getting gifts from princes these days are ye?' Jack had never actually been known to smile; his nickname had been bestowed on him by Jimmy as a joke.

But he sneers better than anyone else I've ever met
, Jimmy thought.

The Nightwarden reached for the blade again, and again the young thief slid away. As senior lieutenant to the Nightmaster
he had a great deal of authority; most of the time, when appealed to, the Nightmaster would come down on Jack's side of an argument. But Jimmy knew he was in the right, and was sure that this time the Nightmaster would side with him.

Jimmy stood defiantly. More than one member of the Mockers had promised Jimmy someday Jack would kill him over the joke of a nickname he had given the glowering man. Now Jack appeared on the verge of making that prediction come true.

Jimmy stood a full two heads shorter than the Nightwarden. He was a slight boy, nimble and with a speed of hand and foot few in the Mockers could equal, and none could surpass. His own nickname was well-earned, for no Mocker was better able to lift a purse in a crowded market without being detected. He was a handsome boy, with curly brown hair cut tight against his head. His shoulders were just promising to broaden to a man's. His smile was infectious, and he had the knack of fun, but right now there was a hint of menace in his eyes as he stood with his hand on the pommel of the sword, ready to dispute Jack with blood if needed. His age was uncertain, perhaps thirteen years of age, perhaps fifteen, but he had already seen more danger and death in his life than most men twice his age. Softly he said,
‘It's mine, Jack.'

‘His. Saw,' Barmy Blake said in a voice like rock talking. The huge basher said no more, continuing on his way into the far recesses of the hall as though he'd never spoken at all.

Laughing Jack gave the basher's retreating back an uncertain look. Blake wasn't named Barmy for nothing; he was as unpredictable as a wild animal and capable of terrifying berserker rages. If Jack decided to make an issue of Jimmy's right to the sword after the basher had spoken up for him the Nightwarden might well find himself in a world of pain, senior lieutenant to the Nightmaster or no. Jack turned his sneer once again on Jimmy.

‘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?'