Thieves World tw-1

by Robert Lynn Asprin

  'Surely he isn't tall enough,' Zaibar said hopefully. He stood about six inches from the crank of the rack on which Hanse lay, taut.

  'Well do something to him!' Milady snapped.

  The smith surprised everyone. The movement was swift and the crack loud. He drew back his whip from a white stripe across Hanse's stomach. It went pink, then darker, and began to rise. The smith raised his brows as if impressed with himself. Struck again, across the captive's chest. The whip cracked like a slack sail caught in a gust. Chains rattled and Hanse's eyes and mouth went wide. A new welt began to rise. The smith added one across the tops of his thighs. An inch from the jewels, that. Milady Consort breathed through a mouth gone open.

  'I don't like whippin' a man,' the smith said. 'Nor thisun either. Think I'll just ease this arm out of its socket and turn it around t'other way.'

  'You needn't walk all the way around to this side,' Zaibar rumbled. 'I'll turn the crank.'

  To the considerable disappointment of Zaibar and Sanctuary's first lady, Hanse began to talk. He told them about Bourne and Lirain. He could not tell them of Bourne's death, as he did not know of it.

  'The Prince Governor of Sanctuary,' Kadakithis said, 'and representative of the Emperor of Ranke, is merciful to one who tells him of a plot. Release him and hold him here - without torture. Give him wine and food.'

  'Damn!' Zaibar rumbled.

  'Might I be getting back to my wife now. Highness? This job ain't no work for me, and I got all that anchor chain to work on tomorrow.'

  Hanse, not caring who released or guarded or fed him, watched the exit of the royal party.

  With Zaibar and Quag, the prince went to Lirain's apartment. 'Do you stay here,' he said, and took Quag's sword. Neither Hell Hound cared for that and Zaibar said so.

  'Zaibar: I don't know if you had a big brother you hated or what, you're a mean hothead who really ought to be employed as royal wasp-killer. Now stand here and shut up and wait for me.'

  Zaibar came to attention. He and Quag waited, board-stiff save for a rolling of dark eyes, while their charge entered the chamber of his treacherous concubine. And closed the door. Zaibar was sure that a week or two passed before the door opened and Kadakithis called them in. Quag's sword dripped in his hand.

  The Hell Hounds hurried within and stopped short. Staring. Lirain lay not dead, but asleep, sprawled naked and degagee on a rumpled couch, obviously a recent participant in love-making. Naked beside her lay Bourne, not alive, and freshly bloodied.

  'I've knocked her unconscious,' the Prince said. 'Take her down to the less comfortable bed so recently vacated by that Hanse fellow, who is to be sent to my apartment. Here, Quag - oh.' The prince carefully wiped Quag's sword on Lirain's belly and thighs and handed it to his Hell Hound. Both guards, impressed and pleased, saluted. And bowed as well. They looked passing happy with their prince. Prince Kadakithis looked flagrantly happy with himself.

  Attired in a soft tunic that proved a thief could be the size of a prince, Hanse sipped wine from a goblet he wished he could conceal and carry off with him. He rolled his eyes to glance around this royal chamber for audiences most private. For that reason the door was open. By it sat a deaf woman plucking a lute.

  'Both of us are overdue for sleep, Hanse. The day presses on to mid-morning.'

  'I am ... more accustomed to night work than y - than His Highness.'

  The prince laughed. 'So you are, Shadowspawn! Amazing how many clever men turn to crime. Broke into the very palace! My very chamber! Enjoyed a royal concubine too, eh?' He sat gazing reflectively at the thief, very aware that they were nearly of an age. Peasant and prince; thief and governor. 'Well, soon Lirain will be babbling her head off, and all will know there was a plot - and from home at that! Also that she was dishonouring her royal master's bed with her co -conspirator.'

  'And that His heroic Highness not only slew the son of a toad, but showed a true noble ruler's mercy by sparing a thief,' Hanse said hopefully.

  'Yes, Hanse. That is being put into writing at this moment. Ah, and there were witnesses to everything! All of it!'

  Hanse was overboldened to say, 'Except... Bourne's death, my lord prince.'

  'Hoho! Would you like to know about that, Hanse? You know so much already. We have holds each on the other, you and I. I killed Bourne up at Eaglenest. With one stroke,' Kadakithis added. After all, it had been his first.

  Hanse stared.

  'You do seem to be learning caution, Shadowspawn! I do hope you will accept the employment I'll soon be offering you. You avoid mentioning that when you came out of that well you saw no corpse. No; he tried to flee and died a few feet away. The moment we returned here, I drugged Lirain. Drank it herself; thought she was drinking poison! She has lain with no one this night. I arranged her on the couch. One absolutely loyal man and I went back and fetched Bourne. My lady wife and I placed the corpse beside Lirain. Along with a bladder of the blood of a - appropriately! - pig. I thrust my sword into it before I called in Quag and Zaibar.'

  Hanse continued to stare. This saffron-haired boy was clever' enough to be a thief! Hanse bet he was dissembling still, too; doubtless a favoured rug merchant had aided in the bringing of Bourne's corpse into the palace!

  The prince saw his stare, read it. 'Perhaps I'm not Prince Kitty-cat after all? I will shortly have high respect in Sanctuary, and wide knowledge of the plot is a weapon against my enemies at home. You are a hero - ah.' The prince nodded towards the doorway, beckoned. An oldish man entered to hand him a sheet of parchment. It soon bore the governor's signature and seal. The secretary left. Kadakithis handed the document to Hanse with a small flourish and a smile that Hanse saw was distinctly royal. Hanse glanced at it - very impressive - and looked again at the prince.

  'Oh,' Kadakithis said, and no more; a prince did not apologize to a thief for forgetting his lack of education. 'It says that by my hand and in the name of the Emperor in Ranke, you are forgiven of all you may have done up to this day, Hanse. You aren't a quintuple murderer, are you?'

  'I've never killed anyone, Highness.'

  'I have! This very night - last night, rather!'

  'Pardon, Highness, but killing's the business of them that rule, not thieves.'

  Kadakithis looked long and thoughtfully at Hanse after that, and would likely quote Shadowspawn long hence. Hanse had twice to mention the ransom at the bottom of the well.

  'Ah! Forgot that, didn't I. It's been a bit busy tonight - last night. I've things to do. Hanse. A busy day ahead on no sleep and much excitement. I fear I can't be bothered thinking about some coins someone may have lost down an old well. If you can get it out, do. And do return here to discuss employment with me.'

  Hanse rose. He felt the kinship between them and was not comfortable with it. 'That ... will need some ... some thinking, Prince-Governor, sir. I mean ... work. And for you! Uh, yourself, that is - Your Highness. First I have to try to get used to the fact that I can't hate you any more.'

  'Well, Hanse, maybe you can help a few others not to. I could use the help. Unless you take it ill of me to remind you that half of salvage found in this demesne is the property of the government.'

  Hanse began to wonder about the possibility of transferring the few gold coins into one saddlebag. If he was able to get the bags out of the well. That would take time, and help. And that would require paying someone. Or cutting someone in ...

  Hanse left the palace wearing a soft new tunic, eyes narrowed. Planning, calculating. Plotting.

  THE PRICE OF DOING BUSINESS by Robert Lynn Asprin

  Jubal was more powerful than he appeared. Not that his form conveyed any softness or weakness. If anything, his shiny ebony skin stretched tight over lithe, firm muscles gave an immediate impression of quick strength, while his scarred, severe facial features indicated a mind which would not hesitate to use that strength to his own advantage.

  Rather, it was his wealth and the shrewd mind that had accumulated it which gave Jubal power above and beyond his
iron muscles and razor-edged sword. His money, and the fierce entourage of sell-swords it had bought him made him a formidable force in the social order of Sanctuary.

  Blood had been the price of his freedom; great quantities of blood shed by his opponents in the gladiator pits of Ranke. Blood, too, had given him his start at wealth: seizing a poorly guarded slave caravan for later sale at a sinful profit.

  Where others might be content with modest gains, Jubal continued to amass his fortune with fanatic intensity. He had learned a dear lesson while glaring through hate-slitted eyes at the crowds who cheered his gory pit victories: swords and those who wielded them were bought and sold, and thus accounted as nothing in the minds of Society. Money and Power, not skill and courage, were what determined one's standing in the social order of men. It was fear which determined who spat and who wiped in his world.

  So Jubal stalked the world of merchants as he had stalked the pits, ruthlessly pouncing on each opportunity and vulnerability as he had pitilessly cut down crippled opponents in the past. To enter into a deal with Jubal was to match wits with a mind trained to equate failure with death.

  With this attitude, Jubal's concerns prospered and flourished in Sanctuary. With the first of his profits, he purchased one of the old mansions to the west of town. There he resided like a bloated spider in a web, waiting for signs of new opportunities. His fangs were his sell-swords, who swaggered through the streets of Sanctuary, their features disguised by blue hawk-masks. His web was a network of informants, paid to pass the word of any incident, any business deal, or any shift in local politics, which might be of interest to their generous master.

  Currently the network was humming with word of the cataclysm in town. The Rankan prince and his new ideas were shaking the very roots of Sanctuary's economic and social structure.

  Jubal sat at the centre of his web and listened.

  *

  After a while, the status reports all began to run together, forming one boring monotone.

  Jubal slouched in his throne-like chair staring vacantly at one of the room's massive incense burners, bought in an unsuccessful attempt to counter the stench carried from Sanctuary by the easterly winds. Still the reports droned on. Things had been different when he was just beginning. Then he had been able to personally manage the various facets of his growing enterprises. Now, he had to listen while others ... Something in the report caught his attention.

  'Who did you kill?' he demanded.

  'A blind,' Saliman repeated, blinking at the interruption. 'An informer who was not an informer. It was done to provide an example ... as you ordered.'

  'Of course.' Jubal waved. 'Continue.'

  He relied heavily on informants from the town for the data necessary to conduct his affairs. It was known that if one sold false information to Jubal, one was apt to be found with a slit throat and a copper piece clenched between the teeth. This was known because it happened ... frequently. What was not widely known was that if Jubal felt his informants needed an example to remind them of the penalty for selling fabrications, he would order his men to kill someone at random and leave the body with the marks of a false informer. His actual informers were not targets for these examples - good informants were hard to find. Instead, someone would be chosen who had n;ver dealt with Jubal. As his informants did not know each other's identities, the example would work.

  '... was found this morning.' Saliman plodded on in his tireless recitation voice. 'The coin was stolen by the person discovering the body, so there will be no investigation. The thief will talk, though, so word will spread.'

  'Yes, yes.' Jubal grimaced impatiently. 'Go on with another item.'

  'There is some consternation along the Avenue of Temples over the new shrines being erected to Savankala and Sabellia -'

  'Does it affect our operations?' Jubal interrupted.

  'No,' Saliman admitted. 'But I thought you should know.'

  'Now I know,' Jubal countered. 'Spare me the details. Next item.'

  'Two of our men were refused service at the Vulgar Unicorn last night.'

  'By who?' Jubal frowned.

  'One-Thumb. He oversees the place evenings from -'

  'I know who One-Thumb is!' Jubal snapped. 'I also know he's never refused service to any of my men as long as they had gold and their manners were good. If he moved against two of mine, it was because of their own actions, not because he has ill feelings towards me. Next item.'

  Saliman hesitated to reorganize his thoughts, then continued.

  'Increased pressure from the prince's Hell Hounds has closed the wharves to the smugglers. It is rumoured they will be forced to land their goods at the Swamp of Night Secrets as they did in the old days.'

  'An inconvenience which will doubtless drive their prices up,' Jubal mused. 'How well guarded are their landings?'

  'It is not known.'

  'Look into it. If there's a chance we can intercept a few shipments in the Swamp, there'll be no reason to pay their inflated prices at the bazaar.'

  'But if the smugglers lose shipments, they will raise their prices all the more to recover the loss.'

  'Of course.' Jubal smiled. 'Which means when we sell the stolen goods, we will be able to charge higher prices and still undercut the smugglers.'

  'We shall investigate the possibility. But -'

  'But what?' Jubal inquired, studying his lieutenant's face. 'Out with it, man. Something's bothering you about my plan, and I want to know what it is.'

  'I fear we might encounter difficulty with the Hell Hounds,' Saliman blurted. 'If they have also heard rumours of the new landing sites, they might plan an ambush of their own. Taking a shipment away from smugglers is one thing, but trying to take confiscated evidence away from the Hell Hounds ... I'm not sure the men are up to it.'

  'My men? Afraid of guardsmen?' Jubal's expression darkened. 'I thought I was paying good gold to have the finest swords in Sanctuary at my disposal.'

  'The Hell Hounds are not ordinary guardsmen,' Saliman protested. 'Nor are they from Sanctuary. Before they arrived, I would have said ours were the finest swords. Now ...'

  'The Hell Hounds!' Jubal snarled. 'It seems all anyone can talk about is the Hell Hounds.'

  'And you should listen.' Saliman bristled. 'Forgive me, Jubal, but you yourself admit the men you hire are no newcomers to battle. When they speak of a new force at large in Sanctuary, you should listen instead of decrying their judgement or abilities.'

  For a moment, a spark of anger flared in Jubal's eyes. Then it died, and he leaned forward attentively in his chair.

  'Very well, Saliman. I'm listening. Tell me about the Hell Hounds.'

  'They ... they are unlike the guardsmen we see in Sanctuary, or even the average soldier of the Rankan army.' Saliman explained, groping for words. 'They were handpicked from the Royal Elite Guard especially for this assignment.'

  'Five men to guard a royal prince.' Jubal murmured thoughtfully. 'Yes, they would have to be good.'

  'That's right,' Saliman confirmed hurriedly. 'With the entire Rankan army to choose from, these five were selected for their skill at arms and unswerving loyalty to the empire. Since their arrival in Sanctuary, every effort to bribe or assassinate them has ended in death for whoever attempted it.'

  'You're right.' Jubal nodded. 'They could be a disruptive force. Still, they are only men, and all men have weaknesses.'

  He lapsed into thoughtful silence for several moments.

  'Withdraw a thousand gold pieces from the treasury,' he ordered at last. 'Distribute it to the men to spread around town, particularly to those working in the governor's palace. In exchange, I want information about the Hell Hounds, individually and collectively. Listen especially for word of dissent within their own ranks ... anything that could be used to turn them against each other.'

  'It shall be done.' Saliman responded, bowing slightly. 'Do you also wish a magical investigation commissioned?'

  Jubal hesitated. He had a warrior's dread of magicia
ns and avoided them whenever possible. Still, if the Hell Hounds constituted a large enough threat...

  'Use the money for normal informants,' he decided. 'If it becomes necessary to hire a magician, then I will personally -'

  A sudden commotion at the chamber's entry-way drew the attention of both men. Two blue-masked figures appeared, dragging a third between them. Despite their masks, Jubal recognized them as Mor-Am and Moria, a brother-and-sister team of sell-swords in his employment. Their apparent captive was an urchin, garbed in the dirty rags common to Sanctuary's street children. He couldn't have been more than ten years of age, but the sizzling vindictives he screeched as he struggled against his captors marked him as one knowledgeable beyond his years.

  'We caught this gutter-rat on the grounds,' Mor-Am announced, ignoring the boy's protests.

  'Probably out to steal something,' his sister added.

  'I wasn't stealing!' the boy cried, wrenching himself free.

  'A Sanctuary street-rat who doesn't steal?' Jubal raised an eyebrow.

  'Of course I steal!' the urchin spat. 'Everyone does. But that's not why I came here.'

  'Then why did you come?' Mor-Am demanded, cuffing the boy and sending him sprawling. 'To beg? To sell your body?'

  'I have a message!' the boy bawled. 'For Jubal!'

  'Enough, Mor-Am,' Jubal ordered, suddenly interested. 'Come here, boy.'

  The urchin scrambled to his feet, pausing only to knuckle tears of anger from his eyes. He shot a glare of pure venom at Mor-Am and Moria, then approached Jubal.

  'What is your name, boy?' Jubal prompted.

  'I - am called Mungo,' the urchin stammered, suddenly shy. 'Are you Jubal?'

  'I am,' Jubal nodded. 'Well, Mungo, where is this message you have for me?'

  'It... it's not written down,' Mungo explained, casting a hasty glance at Mor Am. 'I was to tell you the message.'

  'Very well, tell me,' Jubal urged, growing impatient. 'And also tell me who is sending the message.'

  'The message is from Hakiem,' the boy blurted. 'He bids me tell you that he has important information for sale.'