Legends of the Riftwar (80 page)

‘There were two large cells before this one, but little else. So
I think we should go this way.' She pointed to the right and then quickly moved off.

‘Better let me go first,' Jimmy said. ‘I've got something I can use in case we meet anyone.'

Flora raised an eyebrow, but didn't object.

Jimmy moved ahead of her, feeling awkward because while what he'd said was true the real reason he wanted to be first was, well…

Because I want to be first
. And he suspected Flora knew it.

 

The corridor they followed was dark and narrow. Jimmy couldn't imagine why it was laid out this way, unless the proposed inhabitants were supposed to be owls and cats. He thought that it actually worked to their advantage though, providing them with cover when they needed to look around a corner, to see if the way was clear. So far, there was no one here to notice them. Every cell they'd checked on their way was empty.

Which surprised him; he'd been sure del Garza was jailing anyone he felt like throwing into the dungeon. And given Jocko Radburn's personality, Jimmy had been sure he'd find half the city behind bars. At least the official half.

He was getting impatient; they'd been walking so long it felt as if they must be all the way on the other side of the keep by now.

Then the flickering light of a torch outside a cell up ahead revealed the presence of a guard. A Bas-Tyran from his black and gold uniform and nearly asleep, even standing up and leaning on his halberd, judging from the way his helmeted head kept nodding off and then jerking up again. Sleeping standing up seemed to be one of the basic military skills.

Jimmy squatted, waving Flora down too; they were behind a quarter-turn in the passageway's meander. Then he dug the small bag he'd purchased from Asher out of his pouch and unknotted the string. That was when it occurred to him that he had no
idea how much of the stuff to use. His mouth twisted in exasperation. He'd been thinking about the wrong thing; how much he'd pay, rather than how much to use and how long it would last. Too late now.

He decided to sneak up on the nodding guard and blow just a pinch into the man's face. He'd keep on doing that until the guard collapsed. Jimmy gave a mental shrug. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. After all, things had gone pretty well so far using trial and error.

He turned to Flora and silently cautioned her to stay put. She nodded and made a shooing gesture. When he'd turned away Jimmy crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, a gesture he'd never dream of making to her face; but he hated being told what to do. Especially when it was his idea to do it in the first place.

Focus
, he told himself and did so.

He went forward swiftly but without hurry, moving on the balls of his bare feet like a cat. The guard was in the head-nodding phase of his waking doze: Jimmy took a pinch of the magician's powder and blew it into his face just as he jerked it up again. With a loud, pig-like snort, the guard dropped like a sack of potatoes and the young thief barely caught the man's polearm before it, too, crashed to the floor.

Flora moved up beside him and the two of them stared at the fallen soldier in astonishment.

‘What did you use?' Flora whispered.

‘Something I got from a magician,' Jimmy told her in a more normal voice. He snatched the keys from the guard's belt. ‘Something I've got to get more of. Useful stuff!' He took the bag out of his tunic and handed it to her. ‘Here, you keep it. If someone comes, blow a pinch into his face and make sure you don't breathe any of the powder yourself.' She nodded and put the small bag inside her bodice. ‘Come on, let's open that door.'

 

The tiny cell was pitch-black, until they brought the torch in with them. It was colder than the corridor outside and smelled of mould and human waste.

On the floor was a thin pallet of filthy straw and on the pallet, beneath a single ragged blanket, lay a man. His face was waxen pale, eyes and cheeks deeply sunken and his breathing rasped and gurgled as if each one was a struggle.

Flora breathed an ‘Ooooh' of sympathy and crouched by the man's side. She took one of his hands in hers and immediately began to chafe it. ‘He's so cold, Jimmy.' She turned and looked up at him. ‘Go and get that guard's cloak.'

Jimmy raised his brows; he hadn't expected her to start nursing anybody. But if this was the Prince he'd need to be a lot more active than he was if they were to get him out of here. He placed the torch in an iron bracket by the door and went to do as she'd asked.

When he returned she said, ‘Let's get some of that under him. This straw's no protection at all from the floor.'

Jimmy nodded, but he was dismayed to find the man still unconscious. How were they going to know they had the right prisoner if he couldn't tell them? The young thief had only ever seen the Prince from a distance and he'd been healthier then, by far, than this man.

He slipped an arm under the prisoner's head and shoulders and heaved, almost sending him flying, for he weighed nothing at all, as if his body was made of sticks and air.

‘Well, if we have to carry him we can,' he muttered.

‘But, Jimmy, he's so ill,' Flora said. She tucked the cloak around her patient's emaciated body. Then she threw up her hands in despair. ‘Just listen to his breathing, it's pneumonia, no doubt, and he's got a fever.'

‘And we don't know if he's the Prince,' Jimmy said grimly.

‘Who are you children?' the man whispered, and he opened his fever-bright eyes upon them.

Then he coughed, long and hard, curling into himself until the spasm passed, his face contorted with pain. When it was over he lay back with a careful sigh. His two would-be rescuers watched him with wincing sympathy that turned to solemn looks when he opened his eyes again.

‘Well?'

‘We're Mockers,' Jimmy said. ‘Who are you?'

The man formed the word
Mockers
with his lips, but didn't say it. Then he grinned, a truly terrible expression on his pale and wasted features. ‘I,' he said breathlessly, carefully separating his words, ‘am Prince Erland of Krondor.'

They could see the pride in the man, even under these sordid conditions.

‘Have you got anything to drink?' Flora asked. ‘His lips are so dry.'

Jimmy shook his head. ‘I'll check the guard.'

He was back in a moment and handing a flask to Flora.

‘I think it's wine,' he said.

Flora lifted the Prince's head and brought the flask to his lips.

‘Thank you,' Erland said after a long drink. He raised his brows. ‘That was rather good, and I haven't had anything since they moved me down here this morning.'

It might have been his imagination but it seemed to Jimmy that the Prince's colour was better. Erland indicated that he would like more and Flora gave it to him.

‘We've come to get you out of here, uh, your
highness
,' Jimmy said. At least he thought highness was the right thing to call him. He was pretty sure that your
majesty
was totally wrong.

But the Prince shook his head. ‘There's little point.' He smiled at them. ‘Not that I don't appreciate your efforts, young Mockers. But,' he paused to catch his breath, ‘I will not live much longer.' He cleared his throat and the fear that he might cough was in his eyes. When no such fit took place he continued speaking. ‘I
have been ill for a long time, and I am tired. Putting me here will only hasten my death, but death is coming, no matter where I am.' He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. ‘The priests and chirurgeons have done all they can, but there is a sickness inside my lungs that is slowly eating away at me.' His face was so drawn and pale, Jimmy would have thought him confined for years, not hours, so he judged the Prince a man very much close to death. ‘Much too tired to make the effort to escape. But you should.' He smiled at them.

Jimmy knew the Prince was right for somehow he could see the man's death in his worn face.

‘Your wife!' Flora said. ‘We could help her escape.'

‘She's under guard up in our apartment,' Erland said. ‘You could never reach her.' He took a long, slow breath, trying to avoid another coughing fit. ‘Del Garza ordered me put here when my daughter fled the castle. She's hiding somewhere in the city. He thinks that by threatening me with a cold death, she'll return without him tearing apart the city and starting a civil riot.'

‘No, sir,' said Jimmy. ‘She's not in the city. She's three days or more gone by ship to Crydee, with Prince Arutha.'

‘Arutha!' said Erland, then he was racked by another coughing attack. When he could speak, he said, ‘How is it the Prince of Crydee was here?'

Jimmy quickly recounted what he knew, that Arutha and his companions had come to Krondor to seek Erland's aid in the next spring campaign against the invading Tsurani, and had found the city under martial law and Guy du Bas-Tyra's rule. That they had tried to lie low while assessing what was in play in Krondor, and had come under observation of both Radburn's secret police and the Mockers; the Mockers had barely got to Arutha first.

He finished quickly by telling of the night fight at the docks and the successful departure of the
Sea Swift,
and the likelihood
that Anita was safely away from Krondor if she hadn't been returned by now.

‘Thank you for that,' said the Prince. ‘That is comforting. If du Bas-Tyra returns to word my daughter is out of the city, he will almost certainly return me to the comfort of my apartments and the good ministry of my wife. I couldn't ask for better news than to know my daughter in safety with the son of Borric of Crydee.

‘Now, you must go. The guard will rouse or another will come soon, and you must not be here. Return the wineskin and cloak as you found them. The guard must think he fell asleep. No matter what else, no one must know you saw me. If word reached the city I was near death, foolishly loyal men might seek to free me. Bloodshed on behalf of one already near death is pointless. Promise you'll not mention this visit to anyone?'

They both said they would keep silent.

With surprising strength, Prince Erland demanded, ‘Not even to one another, lest someone overhear. Your oath!'

Jimmy blinked in surprise, but said, ‘By Ruthia and Banath, my oath, highness.'

Flora repeated the same oath and the Prince relaxed somewhat. ‘Good. Now go.'

Jimmy quickly returned the cloak and wineskin to the guard, taking a moment to pour a bit on the man's face and down his tunic so that his sergeant would be less inclined to believe any stories about unexplainable slumbers, and turned to look back before he closed the cell door. He saw the Prince seem to shrink, becoming even smaller as he lay back and closed his eyes, and something in his heart twinged.

The two Mockers moved swiftly back to the large cell, not meeting anyone on the way. Inside they found the floor covered with sand.

‘Where did this come from?' Flora wondered. ‘I swear it wasn't here before.'

Jimmy looked up at the ceiling nervously, but it seemed solid. Then he looked over at the hole in the centre of the cell and saw a flood of sand pouring down through it.
Oh
, he thought and his heart sank. Asher had kept mumbling about ‘Something…' Apparently the ‘something' he'd forgotten was how much of the potion to use. Maybe only a part of a drop, while Jimmy had dumped the entire contents! It looked as if the potion was far more powerful than Jimmy had anticipated.

Which might just mean that the ceiling would be coming down imminently.

‘Let's go!' Jimmy said, giving Flora a shove.

She turned and gave him one back.

‘Now, Flora! Before this whole place comes down on us!'

The girl stared at him, her eyes wide. ‘Magic!' she said. ‘You used magic!'

‘What else?' he asked and thrust the rope into her hands. ‘Now go!'

By the time she turned to him, she was up to her waist in falling sand. ‘Don't tell me you went to Alban Asher.'

‘At this point I'll say anything you want, Flora!' He waved her down. ‘Go! So that I can go. Please!'

The last thing she said before she disappeared into the hole was, ‘For the love of Banath, Jimmy, he's a drunk!'

‘As if I didn't know it,' Jimmy muttered, taking hold of the rope.

This would be one of those times when the magician's spell didn't work as expected. Not exactly the way he'd planned for his name to pass into legend. But since, for the most part, this exploit had been a success Jimmy supposed he could accept this one little mishap. He pulled the cloth over his face, closed his eyes and went down the rancid shaft for the last time.

 

Laughing Jack smacked Jimmy hard enough to knock him down, then yanked him back up by his collar and shook him, hard.

‘Enough,' the Nightmaster said.

Jack snapped a look at him, showing his teeth.

‘I said, enough,' the Nightmaster repeated, quietly, but with an edge in his voice.

Laughing Jack let Jimmy go so suddenly the boy staggered.

‘You can go.'

Jack nodded, his expression showing his disagreement. Then he glared at Jimmy and turned and left, closing the door behind him.

They were in the upper room of a supposedly abandoned house in the Poor Quarter, and they could hear the floor creaking with every step the Nightwarden took as he walked away.

The Nightmaster shook his head and tsked. ‘You are too bold, Jimmy the Hand. Do you know that almost half a tower came down today? Straight down it fell, right into the west half of the dungeon. It's a miracle that no one was killed.'

The Nightmaster's face was bland, but Jimmy could hear a smile in his voice. It was all he could do not to smile in return.